#is in no way comparable to top surgery and saying it is

[madtomedgar]

It's a transphobic tactic to conflate gender affirming care with appearance altering plastic surgery that women are socially pressured to get to look "normal" like face lifts and elective rhinoplasties. The way to combat this argument is not to insist that all plastic surgery is good actually because some of it is gender affirming. It is not a good thing that so many women (cis and trans) feel like they have to undergo painful,, expensive, risky procedures that have short shelf lives and often dramatic side effects to be treated as human.

[sirfrogsworth]

I saw someone passionately arguing against trans teens getting gender affirming surgeries. And it is clear they have researched this to great lengths. And it is clearly a super important issue for them. And they probably talk about it constantly online.

And the frustrating thing I feel is... it isn't happening.

I mean, it is.

But from a statistical point of view, it's not. In fact, these surgeries could increase in frequency by 200% and it would still not be happening.

I think 200-300 top surgeries per year. And maybe 2 or 3 bottom surgeries with very special circumstances.

I can't even imagine what percentage of the population that is.

Compare that to the 230,000 cosmetic procedures done on cisgender 13-19 year olds.

People will say, "Oh well I'm against that too."

But are you really? Are you supporting legislation to stop it? Are you spending hours researching it? Are you having constant debates about it online? Seems pretty low on the priority scale considering it involves like a zillion percent more people.

It's the same with athletics too. My state banned K-12 trans students from participating in sports.

All 8 of them.

People were commenting they could just compete in a special trans league. That was their solution. So a 2nd grade soccer player could maybe do the backstroke against a freshman swimmer.

Good thought. A+ idea.

Also, the NCAA has 226,000 women athletes. Estimates say maybe 100 or so are trans.

You have a higher chance of getting into a car accident on the way to a match than actually competing with a trans person.

I can't remember any other issue that was prioritized this much in the public discourse that involved so few people. It's mind boggling.

[sooniebby]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫

𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟯: 𝘃𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲/𝗲𝗱𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝗯𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗴𝗲

Bottom trans male reader. Reader’s lower part is called interchangeable: cunt, pussy, clit, folds, heat, hole. No mention of anything feminine. Reader has had top surgery.

“Is… the rope necessary?”

You were dressed in your Halloween costume, a very simple makeshift murder victim. A tired white shirt with fake blood splattered all over it. Jeans that you purposely tore and also splashed some blood on it.

The real “kill wound” in your costume was a fake slit throat that you had. It was starting to feel itchy on your neck after being at this party for over two hours now. The blood on your face had uncomfortably dried up a bit that you just wanted to wash it off.

The guy you were with, inside some random room. You didn’t really know who owned the house. You were just here for free drinks and candy.

He was dressed pretty bland compared to you.

Just a nice dress shirt and dress pants. You wondered why he’d wear something so nice to a college party like this.

His white shirt was unbuttoned now, letting you see his chest a bit better. Which was nice as you were currently being tied up. He wrapped the rope around your chest and shoulders, leaning it down to circle around your hands.

He was slow and methodical, making sure it was tight but not too tight. You were a bit too drunk to complain about him taking too long. Hey, if he needed bondage to get off, so be it!

“W..what are you anyway? Such a boring costume..”

He glanced up at you and smirked. You saw the faintest sight of fangs. Ah, vampire.

Eh, he could’ve done better.

You yawned, getting comfortable on the bed. Wow, this bed was so soft. All that alcohol was making you a bit sleepy. And this bed wasn’t helping you.

With a jolt, you glanced down at the man as you felt himself slap your thigh. He didn’t say anything, just finishing his touches on your bondage. You could still move your legs and if you tried hard enough—you could slip your hands free though it would hurt your wrists to do so.

“Are… you going to speak?” You whisper, watching him move down to your jeans. He glanced up at you and with a smile, turns his attention back to your pants.

You spread your legs open to give him space as he.. quite literally tears your jeans apart?!

You cry out in shock, sobering up a bit at the sound of tearing jeans.

“D..dude?! What the fuck..?”

He paid you no mind as he reached your boxers and also teared that open. Fuck, he was going to ruin your clothes to bits at this point. You squirmed a bit, wondering just what the fuck you were going to do after this with no pants or boxers.

You watched as he leaned close to your legs and began to kiss it. His kisses were wet as he trailed down to your wet heat that was beginning to ache to be kissed itself.

His fangs.. which.. felt real in a way, teased your skin. You grunted, wishing you could just reach down and tangle your hands in his curls but your hands were tied.

“Jeez… those fangs of yours feel.. real, man.”

He stopped for a moment and glanced up. His eyes just staring at you before looking down as he pressed a soft kiss on your inner thigh. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the softness.

Why weren’t most one night stands this nice?

You gasp as you felt his kisses on your pussy this time. He was soft—just pressing kisses on your folds while one of his hands teased your clit.

“E…mhm.. ever eat… cat before?” You drunkly joke.

He looked up at you unimpressed. You pout. Hmph, this guy just didn’t know what a good joke was.

His breath was really the only sound you ever heard from him. But you wanted him to talk. So badly but you didn’t know how to get him. You had come up to this room with him because of his teasing on your waist and you thought he’d start flirting with you.

But no, just started binding you.

“Name..?” You muttered, thinking maybe he’d be nice enough to tell you.

But he didn’t. He leaned in and began to lick your pussy, slow and methodically once more. You flinch, your legs accidentally closing on his head. He grunted in discomfort and moved his hands to grab your legs and force them apart.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit happy.

You got him to grunt!

That’s something..

He was sucking and licking your heat with a sense of ownership—eyes staring straight at you as he watched you try to move your hands against the bondage. Your lips were parting constantly as moans left your throat, filling the room.

You couldn’t really help yourself that you began to try and ride his face. He didn’t seem to mind as he allowed you to do so. You whimper and whine, his nose was a bit good to ride on.

Huh, maybe you should stick to sleeping with man with long noses.

The drunk thought leaves your mind when he pulls away. You whine and pout at him, wondering why he’d pull away. His lower face and nose was wet from your slick but he didn’t seem to care at the moment.

He reached down and pulled open his pants, his cock slipping out. You blinked in shock. Holy fuck, that cock was huge.

Maybe.. eight inches?! Jesus, what type of man needs eight inches???

You glance down and watch as he grips his cock and rests it against your cunt. He gently rubbed his cock between your folds, earning a sharp gasp from you.

You were biting your lip in excitement—even if the thought of such a large cock was scary.

But he didn’t slip inside of you.

His cock began to rub against your pussy, getting between your slick folds. He reached down with his free hand and placed it on your hips, gripping it tightly as a way to keep you still.

“W…c’mon… inside~” you whined.

He continued his thrusting against your folds, his cock constantly rubbing against your clit. His grunts began to fill the room, overpowering your moaning.

You felt as if you were being used.. but honestly it made you excited.

You just wished he said something to you.

Praise. Degradation. Something!

Much to your shock, his cock began to cum. He moved his cock between your folds and cummed right near your hole—teasing you with the thought of him pushing his cock inside and just filling you with cum.

He pulled away after a second and reached down, scooping up the cum that was dripping from your pussy and fingering it inside. You began to squirm and twitch, hips thrusting upwards as you cried out.

Finally… something inside!

But then he pulled away.. again!

“F…fuck you! I wanna cum, man!” You grunted, wishing you could just reach down and make yourself cum.

He simply smirked and patted your stomach before pulling away. You watched in shock as he buttoned up his shirt and pants and… left.

He fucking left.

You panicked a bit, wondering what the hell were you supposed to do now?! As you shuffled around the bed, trying to force your hand out of the bondage, the door opened again.

He was back.. with water and a bowl of grapes.

He sits down on the bed and makes you sit up but makes no effort to untie you. You part your lips and gladly accept the water, humming at the cool drink blessing your dried throat.

Huh, you didn’t notice that.

His lips pulled into a smile as you saw you begin to feel comfortable once more. Once the water was finished, he grabbed the bowl of grapes and began to feed them to you.

He was.. taking care of you? Oh, this was nice.

You hummed in delight, starting to feel sleepy again after being mildly taken care of.

“You.. do this with everyone you fuck?”

He didn’t answer. Stupid man. He placed the empty bowl on the night stand and made you lay back down again. Getting between your legs, he pulled down his cock.

You didn’t know if eating and then fucking so quick was smart but eh, you were still a bit too drunk to truly care about that.

He leaned over you, staring over you as a smirk pulled on his lips. Staring at his teeth you began to notice his fangs were a bit too real. It looked as if they came straight from his gums.

“You.. must’ve put most of your money into the fangs, huh?”

He raised an eyebrow, as if in a way telling you that you’re wrong. You gasped at the feeling of his cock pushing inside of your tight heat. His cock was stretching you but you couldn’t help but sigh in relief—happy to fully be fucked.

His thrusts were different from his other one. No longer slow and methodical. He was like a beast, his hips slamming into you as you squirmed and cried. Your cunt tightened around his cock with each thrust.

“S…so good! Fuck.”

You cummed in no time, arching your back as you screamed out. But he didn’t stop, his thrusts were even faster now—forcing you to squirm as your body was being forced to cum again so quickly.

You could’ve sworn you were squirting at this point.

But he hasn’t cummed.

And he wouldn’t cum for a few minutes as your body got tired from the constant and back to back squirting. Your body was limp by now, your pussy lightly clenching at this point. The only sound leaving you was soft little whimpers.

You couldn’t even speak properly now.

He leaned down, pressing kisses on your throat. You hoped he was close soon, your body couldn’t handle another orgasm. His teeth grazed your throat as he moved down right where your shoulder and neck connected.

And he bit.

You screamed out, spasming against his body that held you down to the bed. This wasn’t just a simple bite, his teeth—no fangs, pierced your skin.

“W…h…!”

Any sort of pain you felt was soon pleasurable. You began to softly moan, trying to move your hand but still not able to. He continued to drink.. just like a vampire before pulling away after a few seconds.

His lips were stained with your blood, turning them red in color. A few drops slipped down his chin and his eyes were blood red. He reached down and gently rubbed the spot his bit, giving a bit of comfort for it.

You felt something warm inside of you now… oh, he came. His cock slipped out of you as white cum slowly dripped out of your aching hole. Your breathing was light and soft…

You somehow felt content.

He grinned down at you. His black curly hair was no longer neatly laid like before. You tried to truly look at him now but all you could do was whine about the ropes still bonding you.

He pulled the bondage off and began to rub your wrists, pressing a kiss on the mark it left on your skin. His eyes trailed your body. The only thing you had left was your shirt.

“You…you’re….?”

He smirked.

“B…wh..?”

He hummed and walked over to the closet in the room. He pulled out a long coat from it and wrapped it around your body. Much to your surprise, he picked you up easily.

You whimper but glance up at him, wondering what he was thinking.

“Y…you..? Wh.. a… college..?”

He looked at you thoughtfully as if he was actually thinking why he, a vampire, came to a college Halloween party. But he simply shrugged. He looked close to your age, but perhaps now getting a better look, three to four years older.

Physically at least.. who knew how old he was mentally.

“Wh…ere..?” You mutter, starting to feel so tired. But you weren’t sure why.

“Home.”

Your eyes open in shock as you stared up at him. His voice was nice and velvet. So smooth and deep. You wanted him to keep talking. Please, keep talking.

“Sleep. You were good… so I decided…”

He leaned down a bit to your ears, gently nipping it as you hummed, snuggling a bit in his arms.

“To keep you forever.”

Realistically, that was such a fucking scary thing to say. An immortal being taking you forever.

But.. you were drunk and happily satisfied by sex you knew no one else could possibly give you.

How long was forever anyway…?

Eh, you only meet a sexy vampire once.

You get it? He edged you with his cock and his voice… a true edger… does that make sense? Lol, anyway, hope this was sexy enough cuz he doesn’t talk basically at all! Why he doesn’t talk..? Don’t ask, I just thought it’d be sexy

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @nakedtoasterr @smellwell @tehyunnie @ofclyde @chill-guy-but-cooler @iwishtobeacrow @remdayz @mello-life69 @kiiyoooo @kaedezu @tomoeroi

[cocklessboy]

I see a lot of people saying that gender-affirming health care like top surgery for trans people like myself should be freely available (which is correct), but one of the reasons they often give is that top surgery is very safe and has a very low rate of complications compared to other surgeries. And I often see transphobes clutching their pearls over the few people who do have complications. What about them?! What if you're one of the unlucky ones?! Should we really let those transes risk it??!!!

Setting aside the fact that no one raises such concerns over other types of surgery, I'd like to use myself as an example for anyone who needs one.

In May of 2022 I had top surgery (double mastectomy). The surgery was done by a gynecological surgeon, not a plastic surgeon, because that way my insurance would cover it.

The surgeon did his job and removed the breast tissue, but he did not make it look pretty. I have dog-ears at both ends of both scars (extra bits of skin that hang off in a very unappealing fashion), my chest still looks unnaturally flat with no muscle or fat despite a lot of working out, and one of the stitches didn't heal properly and was left as an open wound through "secondary healing" for several months before it finally healed over into a very large scab (and eventually a very large scar). My nipples are uneven and irregular and look... well, just awful, really. Due to bad genetic luck, I wound up with keloid scars which, instead of getting smaller and lighter over time, have instead expanded, becoming thicker and darker. Worst of all, I now have chronic nerve pain in my chest. My GP thinks the surgeon must have hit a nerve during the procedure, and now I have random sharp pains all over my chest even now, nearly ten months later. The pain might improve with time, or it might not.

I basically had almost every possible complication one can have from this surgery short of infection or death. Some of the aesthetics might be fixable with more surgery (though plastic surgery will be expensive). Some are probably permanent. I might never feel comfortable taking my shirt off in public again. I might have to tattoo over the scars.

And pay attention to this next bit, because it's the most important part of this whole post: I do not regret the surgery. Even with all the complications and the ugly state of my chest and the pain. If someone said they could push a button and make it so that the surgery never happened and I'd have a perfect, unmarred chest with C-cup breasts again, I would tell them to take their button and fuck right off. Because even with basically the worst of all possible outcomes, that surgery was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I don't feel good about taking my shirt off in front of people now. I do think my chest is ugly. But it's a male chest now. When I put on a t-shirt, it rests flat against my chest. No one will ever mistake me for a woman again. I'll never have to wear a bra or binder ever again.

The dysphoria I felt from having breasts was so severe that a hideously scarred chest and chronic pain are vastly preferable. The euphoria I feel when I look in the mirror with a shirt on is something I never knew I was capable of feeling.

And it's my fucking body, and it's up to me what I do with it. If I wanted to tattoo myself from head to toe, or file my teeth into fangs, or have a doctor break my legs and surgically implant extensions to make me taller, that's my right because it's my body. The fact that all those things are regarded as basically acceptable (if a little weird), but I had to have a dehumanizing interview with an old cis psychiatrist who hates trans people and wants us all sterilized just to get a piece of paper giving me permission to have my tits removed, is fucking absurd.

Top surgery (of any kind) is generally very safe, and complications are rare. But even with the worst outcome, a trans person will basically never regret it.

And frankly, if a cis woman wants her tits cut off, or a cis man wants a pair of boobs to play with on his own chest, more power to them because literally who gives a fuck what people do to their own bodies? I saw a dude on TV when I was a kid who'd tattooed his whole body to look like a cat, filed his teeth into fangs, and had loads of plastic surgery to surgically implant whiskers and make his face look more feline. It was weird! But literally no one said that should be banned because he might regret it. It's his body to do whatever weird shit he wants with.

The next time someone clutches their pearls and kicks and screams about how you can't let someone permanently alter their body in a way they might regret, feel free to point to me and my complete and utter lack of regret.

(Or have a little fun with it, go hard in the other direction, and say you absolutely agree, which is why we should ban ALL non-emergency surgeries until the patient has been FULLY evaluated by three psychiatrists - along with tattoos and piercings. Oh, and ballet lessons for anyone under the age of 25, since ballet changes the structure of a child's body FOREVER.)

[bakugoushotwife]

born sinner (part one)

pairing: crime boss!suguru geto x fem!surgeon!reader series content: blood, gore, realistic descriptions of surgery but like as accurate as someone with access to google has, angst, slow-burn, eventual smut, anxiety as a heavy theme, no curses!au, violence, guns, gang mentions and typical violence, religious imagery, etc. words: 8.5k a/n: omg omg happy new year! the gojo writer takes on suguru geto!! he's so challenging for me in the best of ways and i hope that his characterization is at least tolerable LMFAO!! i got this amazing idea from a gorgeously detailed outline from @antizenin who trusted me to bring her outline to life. i hope you love it!! part two //

the lights are entirely too bright in the meeting hall. it’s nothing compared to the lights in the OR that illuminate the vessels of a heart as you slice into it—finding the clot that caused the fourty-one year old mother of two to collapse in the middle of making breakfast. you saved her life, you save lives. you’re a cardiothoracic surgeon–and a top one at that, though you spent your residency flirting with general and neurosurgery, you ultimately landed on the heart of it all–literally. it was riveting work. it was satisfying work. you got to play god, holding the lives of everyone that came through the hospital doors in your hands. you got to be the one to repair the tear in their aorta, the one to physically pump their heart with your own grip. it was thrilling. until it wasn’t. until you couldn’t stop the bleeding or make the heart beat again. until being god of the emergency room meant sending some people to the afterlife, and realizing that you are no god. you’re just a woman with a degree and a scalpel and a crippling fear that you don’t know what you’re really doing at all.

that’s what got you here. the clock in front of you is just about the only thing to look at in this section of the hospital. the board meets here—the people that convene to discuss fates. it’s almost comically just that the long hallway before the meeting room was barren and hopeless–only the clock’s hands to tick loudly by in mock of you. 7:55 am. just five more minutes until you went from the god above it all to a simple beggar praying to be spared. you were no different from those you operated on. you’re suddenly very aware of how scratchy and hard your chair is, making you adjust and readjust to try to find some semblance of comfort in the last five minutes before judgment day. as a surgeon, you know just how out of whack your vitals are. as someone with a diazepam prescription, you know exactly what’s causing it, regardless of the MD at the end of your last name. shit, you forgot to take your pills again this morning—

there’s a faint sound of heels clicking against the cold tile floor in conjunction with the loud clunk, clunk, ding dong ding! of the clock that signals the top of the hour. it’s time. the secretary calls your name as if you’re not the only person waiting out here, and you nod without meeting her eyes. you know without lifting your gaze that hers is judgmental–like everyone’s lately. 

the problem with being god is that you can’t make mistakes without feeling the wrath of the people that once loved you and championed your name.

millions of thoughts race inside your head simultaneously: if you can’t handle the hardening stare of a measly secretary, how on earth would you be able to function under the eyes of the council, the real gods amongst men. they have the authority to revoke your license if you don’t figure out how to answer to them. the one case, the one incident, the one person’s life that ended because of your inability to handle such racing thoughts drives you to clutch at your chest now as you rise from your chair, back aching. 

“right this way.” she says without another glance, and you’re thankful for that reprieve. she turns, loud heels click clacking their way back down the hall at the same pace of your hammering heart. you love being a surgeon. you can’t lose that. you have to fight for it. saving lives is important to you! you just have to convey this. it’s not hard. swallow your fear and finally fight for something you want, put one foot in front of the other, you tell yourself. breathe in and breathe out—you have to get your sinus rhythm back to normal if you have any hope of getting through this. but it’s so hard when all your senses lie to you like this, the clock’s ticks still rattling across your brain—the long and dark hallway only stretching to be longer and darker before you. you know it’s impossible–just your mind playing tricks. or, more aptly, part of you knows that. but the other part starts to break out in a cold sweat once you finally approach the door. on the other side of the heavy oak were the group of people who would decide what your life was worth: do you get to stay a god amongst men, or will you be cast out like the devil himself? 

you can hear the different voices speaking in low whispers before the secretary has even pushed into the room. you know they must be speaking about you from the way their eyes dart all over your timid form in front of them as they shuffle their papers—reports of every mistake and triumph you’ve ever had laid out in front of them, reducing you to a datapoint. it’s a medical license hearing, but you feel like a freshly hit opossum standing before the vultures just waiting to pick your bones clean. maybe being roadkill was more freeing than this. 

this room is much darker than the lobby you waited in, dimly lit by reading lamps positioned to the right of each panelist–five total. three men and two women would decide if your mistake was enough to ruin your career. their desk towered above you, so much so you had to tilt your chin back to be able to take in their disgruntled, disappointed, and disapproving stares. your saliva feels like liquid cement when you go to swallow it down—though it tastes like bile.  

“good morning doctor.” the man on the furthest right says. he has the kindest eyes of them all, though your brain catches his deception. he’s just acting. the other panelists give you tight lipped smiles of greeting and head nods of acknowledgement. you clear your throat a little and give them a bow. 

“good morning, board of internal medicine. i’ve…prepared a statement?” you clench your jaw at the shakiness you can hear in your voice. it’s the older of the two women that nod at you this time. 

“you may present it.” she says, a drawn-on eyebrow raised expectantly. you swallow down that bile-cement flavored spit again, training your eyes on a hairline crack in the tile under your toe. it’s fitting. as time passes, this crack will widen and cause that tile to erode and crumble away. this meeting could be the crack in your foundation. the decision made here today could be the first domino of events to ruin the picture perfect life you’ve carefully put into place. 

“..hiroshi nakamura entered the emergency room on november twenty-third at 4:57 pm. he was suffering from an aortic aneurysm. as many of you are former surgeons yourselves, i know you’re familiar with the diagnosis. many of these go unnoticed. symptomatic pain is brushed off, and many times it’s too late to save them, the silent killer.” you shift your weight, doing your best to maintain eye contact despite the haunting memory. “nakamura-san was a patient of mine previously. he was diagnosed with arteriosclerosis three years prior, the exact date escapes me. it was in the summertime. july maybe. later that day i performed an endarterectomy to reduce the atheromatous plaque in his carotid artery. we kept him for the next three days for observation, his vitals improved and he was discharged with instructions to receive regular checkups. when he was brought back in…i knew immediately that the buildup must have returned, making it harder for blood to travel until it turned into a clot. when i opened him up, his pressure started dropping. he had an aortic dissection, which i’ve run into many times. but the size of nakamura-san’s was significant. i hesitated, deciding between a graft or a stent for treatment. i took too long to choose, and nakamura-san…bled out on the operating table.” you grimace, looking down at that cracked tile again. the line was shaped like a lightning bolt, its jagged curve leading straight under your shoe. you can feel your chest tighten, so you close your eyes and try to push back against the wave of emotion sitting in your throat. “i had to tell nakamura-san’s family what happened. his wife of forty years, his thirty-four year old son, thirty year old daughter, and twenty-eight year old son as well as his young grandchildren. i’ll never forget what my mistake has done to their lives, and i believe it is punishment enough.” 

you step back once you’ve finished speaking, heart still hammering away in your chest. the members of the board nod, seemingly unaffected by your words. the man in the middle of the massive mahogany table picks up his stack of papers, licking his forefinger before flipping through them. “how long have you been prescribed diazepam, doctor?” 

your blood stills. your anxiety was clearly well documented, and you knew it would be on their list of questions. “since i was a teenager, sixteen i believe.” 

he hums, eyes focused on the paper before him. “and how would you say it helps you manage your generalized anxiety disorder?” 

you would do anything for that ticking clock right about now, for this room is so quiet you swore they could hear your thoughts. “it helps considerably. i’ve stayed on it for over ten years now.”

“your prescription history is spotty. were you trying alternative therapies?” the younger woman asks, manicured red nails clutching your entire life between them via vulturous paper reports. 

you open your mouth to answer–no, argue–but realize that won’t help you anymore than the truth will. “no. i…had not.” 

she raises her brow just like the other woman did, except her eyebrow was real and also well taken care of. “so what happened? it seems like you’ve forgotten to pick up your medicine three times this year—one of which was during nakamura-san’s surgery?” you are a cardiothoracic surgeon, one that was considered proficient enough to pick her specialty. you are no fool. you can see the trap she’s laid before you even unmedicated. 

this is the end. all because of your busy schedule and long hours at the hospital. sometimes you missed pharmacy hours, other times you just forgot about it altogether, mind racing with diagnoses and cases that wait for you the next day. but that won’t matter now, you can feel it before you even answer. they knew what they were going to do before you ever walked in this room. “my business hours are usually reserved for saving lives at this hospital. sometimes i’m not able to make it to pickup.” 

“how long until your death toll matches that of your successes, doctor?” the final man at the left asks, punctuating their line of questioning. he shuffles the edges of his papers against the flat top he sits behind. “i think our decision has been reached. you’re no longer licensed to operate in this hospital or any other, effective immediately. take your medicine.” 

he has his doubts, but he supposes that is his nature. it feels strange to organize a meeting between two warring sides, hoping for a somewhat amicable and fortuitous outcome. hope is a foreign concept in this world, in suguru geto’s reality. he runs the west side of tokyo—keeping businesses running and funding local projects as well as controlling the streets with his biggest means of profit—guns for hire. he was a local historic monument. a ghost–everyone knew of him but pretended not to. everyone from bar owners to bakeries, lawyers and school teachers alike all under his influence, his pulse on the town. that’s how he knew the rival eastside head planned to make a move on his territory, and he’s been able to orchestrate a negotiation between them based on the opinion of his mentor and right hand man. 

traditionally, suguru would eliminate his problem at the source. there’s no need to play politics when you make your own rules. but he trusts wholly in his sacred few, the ones who have been with him since the beginning of his reign, and even before then. suguru’s best friend, satoru gojo was his best assassin and loudest mouth. choso kamo was a younger pup, but loyal and hardworking—very protective. and then there was toji fushiguro, the most valued of all. he’s shown suguru the ropes of this industry while still respecting and protecting him. geto entrusts his life to toji. if the man believes a meeting would be wise, then they’ll have the meeting. 

besides, there was no arguing with his logic. if they were able to pull this off, then his men will have free reign in the east, able to expand their territory into shinjuku, and have a working alliance with their only competition. so why was he having second thoughts? he blames satoru and his creepy blue eyes staring at him in the mirror he’s checking himself over in. 

“do you not trust me?” he asks the other man, tugging the top half of his too-long black hair into a neat knot. it reveals the long dragon tattoo that creeps up his neck, eyes glowing with anger at whoever looked. his own golden eyes flicker with unease as they survey the only person in the room. suguru hated how opinionated satoru could be at times, and valued it in others. though he usually didn’t know which way he felt until after the fact. 

the arctic-haired boy scoffed, kicking himself into stride from his previous position leaning against the wall. “oh i trust you. i just think it’s weird. i mean–toji’s so gung-ho, let’s slaughter ‘em all, and now we’re supposed to believe he’s become a diplomat?”

“i didn’t know you knew what diplomat meant.” suguru comments drily, sidestepping his friend’s critique of their teacher.

satoru shoves his round sunglasses back up his nose to conceal his eye roll. suguru was technically his boss—though he could get away with more than most. “hey, you asked. i just…have a bad feeling about this.” he shrugs–a knock at geto’s door causing both men to go on high alert immediately. satoru reaches for his weapon, always expecting an ambush. such is this way of life. 

“geto–sama, the car is ready.” the driver says from the other side of the wood, and satoru relaxes at the realization that it was just ijichi–a man so weak and cowardly that an ambush at his hands would be impossible. suguru releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding onto. he fastens the final button on his shirt, glancing over himself in the mirror once again. he wanted to appear polished and professional in his all black attire—and it worked. he seemed larger than life and as intimidating as ever. 

“perfect. i should get going.” he nods to his best friend–who, due to his abrasive and blunt nature, will not be attending this meeting. suguru adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, strapping his guns to his torso and giving satoru a tight lipped smile. the latter gets the door for him, mockingly saluting. 

“i’ll hold down the fort until you get back, boss!” he chirps, nodding to ijichi before making his way back to the data room. 

toji meets them in the car. it’s a bulletproof black bronco, a fitting vehicle to cart around a high-profile crime boss. suguru’s confidence is bolstered at the sight of his most trusted companion, and he genuinely smiles as he ducks into the backseat with him. 

“hey kid, big day.” the older man says gruffly, his gravelly voice making it sound like he were sixty years his senior instead of a mere fifteen. suguru was no child, and didn’t appear to be one either. the twenty-eight year old man towered over six feet, thick with muscle and riddled with scars of experience, but to toji—suguru was a helpless kitten. 

suguru hums, eyes already scanning for potential danger as the car rolls out of the garage. “big day indeed. you’ve spoken to him already this morning?”

toji claps his broad hand down on suguru’s even broader shoulder, chuckling. “we wouldn’t be headin’ out if i hadn’t. sukuna’s ready for us.” he assures, noting how strong and steady suguru looked. toji was proud, geto has grown quite bit from the scrappy little boy he once was. if he was nervous, he was keeping that close to his chest. 

“good. i think he’ll find my proposal beneficial for us both.” he nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. sukuna’s crew mostly pushed petty crime and even pettier drugs—suguru’s bunch could elevate their product and offer more riches for the notoriously greedy ‘cursed king’ ryomen sukuna. 

toji snorts a little, amused by his arrogance. “let’s hope so.” he nods, checking the rearview and windows before they fall into silence. 

the ride is smooth due to the expensive tires and ijichi’s careful nature, leaving geto plenty of peace and quiet to brainstorm all of the ways this could go down. he’s doing a genuine good for japan–sure, he has to break a few laws to do it, but the people of tokyo—well, his half anyway—are prospering. he hopes that even the arrogant man that ryomen is can see what banding together would do for them both. then, it could be just a matter of time before he can branch out into the rest of japan. 

there’s that word again. hope. he feels silly each time he catches himself using it. it’s akin to faith to him. something ideal in entirety, hardly true to the touch. he only believes in what he can see–things like optimism and god are lost on him, they are only fantasies. 

“ijichi! watch the right side—” toji commands gruffly, sitting up straighter in his seat to get a better look. suguru is grounded with a shot of adrenaline, leaning over to peer at the black suv hot on their tails. this highway is busy—civilians in their own cars without a clue in the world littered all over the roads at various speeds. it could be nothing–except geto knows better than to hope that the tinted windows on the car were meant to block out the sun instead of concealing identities. the large suv switches into the left lane, speeding up to catch them. “idiot! step on it!” he calls, and suguru draws one of his guns to be prepared ahead of time, a lesson he learned from the man sitting to his right. 

“is it one of sukuna’s?” he asks aloud, cocking his .45 as the first shots ring out from the vehicle beside them. they bounce right off his armored car, but one knicks the tire. geto curses under his breath, cracking the window enough to pop off a few returning shots of his own. the cadillac is impenetrable too–though he had hoped to flatten one of their tires in return or even get one under the hood. 

ijichi starts to lose control on the vehicle as the tire blows—just the metal rim scraping against the concrete with a deafening hiss. the bronco starts to fishtail, the car beside them only furthering the inevitable by nudging the rear quarter panel into the median ahead. “i’m losing it! we’re gonna flip!” ijichi cries out in panic, prompting suguru’s eyes to widen. 

there’s a loud crunch of metal on concrete before they’re airborne. geto feels a sense of finality wash over him as they turn, his seatbelt the only thing keeping him from breaking his neck. there’s another gross sounding scrape of the driver’s side scraping on the road briefly before they rotate again—heartbeat erratic. this is it. all of his hard work would end in a fiery car accident. he can’t even feel it as his head bounces off the window, only thinking about how satoru was right. he should have appreciated his friend more—he’s probably the only person who will mourn him when he’s gone. the roof caves in when they fall onto it this time, shrapnel scratching his face and making him realize they had stopped. they’re on their back–he’s hanging upside down, but he’s alive. he can smell oil and gas and the inevitable smell of fire, so his numb fingers fumble for the seatbelt’s release button. the car alarms are going off—and he knows if he doesn’t get out soon, the relief of being alive won’t even have time to sink in before it’s ripped away again. he looks around the car—toji’s door ripped off in the accident and his body nowhere to be seen. 

“goddammit–” he growls, clicking the button on his seatbelt over and over, unable to get free. there’s a million alarms going off—the car’s sensors, the airbags, the bitter hum of gunshots ringing in his ears still, maybe even faint police sirens heading this way. none as loud as the one in his head telling him that he had to get out soon–fighting until the button finally releases him and he lands with a thud on the sunroof portion of the now mangled bronco. he crawls toward the only exit, toji’s exit, grimacing at the sickening sound of crunching glass digging into his side as he drags himself through it. he thought dying would be more peaceful—that he would be ready for it, even if he hadn’t finished his work yet. in this business, there is no tomorrow, yet he found himself fighting for one. this wouldn’t be the end of him, some sort of voice in the back of his head told him so. it wasn’t his own, in fact he didn’t recognize it—but it made him take the pain and push forward, out of the car and onto the street beside. 

the sunset would be prettier under better circumstances, but he’s grateful to see it irregardless. his head hurts, and he can’t look around as fast as he wants to without getting dizzy, that ringing deafening his senses. he sees the cadillac–still on the scene– with a group of men huddled outside of it talking. 

he sputters out a cough, clearing his lungs of some of the debris he’s inhaled. it catches their attention—and all geto can process is a pair of dark boots stomping over rubber scraps and glass shards until they’re inches from his face and the legs attached are squatting down to get a better look at him. 

“eh, shoulda known you’d survive it if i did.” he grumbles, a voice so unmistakable suguru’s blood stills in his veins. the sole of the man’s boot shoves into suguru’s shoulder, kicking him to his back. “you trust too much kid. why would sukuna negotiate when he could just take from you instead? shame. you coulda been great.” he says, fumbling behind his back for a 9mm piece, the sobering click of the safety and familiar cock of the gun clearing out all the other noises. geto’s too devastated to speak—though he knows there’s nothing he could say. he lived through the accident just to die with the truth: his mentor betrayed him. 

bang!

getting shot doesn’t feel like you think it does. it’s white hot and instant, a blistering intensity that tells you you're dying. suguru’s hand flies to cover the damage to his chest, eyes wide in disbelief still. he must have already died and gone to hell. he can’t hear anything now but the ringing of the gun and toji’s sigh. 

“meh–just to be sure.” toji yawns, scratching his head with the barrel before turning it back to suguru’s chest. 

bang!

it hurts to breathe, but he has to gasp for air either way—bleeding out on the pavement below. the ringing in his ears is replaced by tires spinning out—signifying that the rival crew had left before the cops could arrive. suguru holds his crimson soaked hand up above his face, clenching his jaw. the pain was hitting him in waves, the clawing feeling of glass embedded in his skin mixed with the burn of being shot, the inability to take a deep breath and his growing weakness, he really was dying this time. 

no. 

that voice again. he’s annoyed by it, but intrigued. why? why not give up? he asks himself, coughing despite the excruciating pain it puts him in and the wetness that seeps out of his mouth—something even he knows is blood. 

there’s so much life to live. fight. revenge, love. there’s more for you. 

he stares up at the pale outline of the moon hanging in the sky, growing brighter as the sky darkened. revenge. that was something he’d like to see. he didn’t know about the rest of it–but was confused by this…guardian angel of his. is this god? he was a born sinner—far away from anything holy. this must be an imagination of his—yet it was motivating enough to get him to move again. they wrecked just outside of harajuku. he knew of a dive bar under his business portfolio that he could try to get to–he could hang on until satoru found him and got him to the hospital, though that was a whole new set of problems. he had to get moving, the ringing of sirens getting closer by the second. 

his vision is blackening and he doesn’t even know how close he is to the bar. his breathing is ragged, everything screaming and aching, body telling him to give up but that voice urging him to keep going. night has settled in fully by now, and he’s thankful for that cover. this area of town is avoided by anyone with good intentions, hence its emptiness at this hour. it couldn’t be too late, 8 pm at the latest, but the only traffic moving through this district are giggly college students and no good drug pushers meeting up with customers in the dark. but it’s reassuring to him, it means he’s getting closer. that’s when the reminiscing hits him. he’s able to see some bright flashing lights—a telltale sign that the bar was just ahead. the shelter of the alleyway gives him some reprieve. maybe if he stops just stopped for a second to catch his breath he’d be able to get to his feet and walk inside, or just getting a phone call in would be enough to save him. he thinks about satoru, how he’d come running as soon as he picked up the phone all while cursing him out for not listening to his warnings sooner. he feels embarrassed that the only person he has to think about is his sarcastic best friend, left to wonder if things would be better or worse if he had a family to think about instead. the last thing he thinks about is that mysterious voice calling out to him to stay awake—but his body is done fighting. all is black. 

what better way to end the worst day of your life than getting shitty at the shittiest bar in town? there were probably lots of better options, like conserving your money since you didn’t know where your next source of income would stream from—but that was tomorrow’s problem. tonight’s problem was drinking your sorrows away next to the attractive man buying all your drinks. he was tall and his hair was spiky to look at but you knew it would be soft to the touch–or maybe that’s the vodka talking. his smile was more akin to a smirk rather than a genuine grin. he was trouble. but trouble was buying, so you’d keep batting you lashes and whining about your sorrows so the shots kept coming. the top-shelf vodka the man offers each time is working to its desired effect, numbing the ache in your heart and the bickering thoughts in your brain. it almost cloaks the mildew scent in the air—rose-colored glasses making the nasty blue carpet and hideous wood paneled walls of the bar look like a dream come true. you finally feel light. you almost forget about the man eyeing you like a predator in wait to your left, consciousness floating high in the clouds. 

you used to hate drinking. as a surgeon, you need a clear mind at all times. who knew when you’d be called in for an emergency case. well, needed. plus, you’ve always been an angry drunk, overly emotional and yelling constantly. it wasn’t a pleasant sight. not to mention the hangovers, ugh—your long-term psyche had always beaten out the short-term pleasure, but tonight you owed it to yourself to feel as bas as possible tomorrow. that’s why the clouds clear—your light-hearted joy short-lived as the bartender slides you another shot before muttering. 

“that’s your last one, doctor.” he tilts his head down, used to serving your fellow surgeon friends when you did have a well-timed night off, though he’s never seen you drunk as the most responsible member of your group, you were always designated driver. not anymore, you’d be lucky to get a text back from any of them now that you were disbarred. maybe that’s what actually makes you mad instead of being cut off. it’s the realization of all the things you’ve really lost–-including the right to drown your sorrows out with a swollen liver. 

“what the fuck?? and i know ya heard me talkin’...not a doctor anymore!! so let me have my vodka, i deserve it!” you whine, stretching your upper body over the scratched and chipped wooden bar keeping you from jumping across at his dumb stupid fat neck—

“no can do, miss. you’re over served as is, ‘s my job on the line.” he shakes his head, eyeing the man next to you to get you under control, assuming he knew you better than a few hours of tipsy talking. you scoff at his insinuations–both that you’re too drunk to handle yourself and that this wallet has any sway over your motor-mouth. 

“don’t look at him—fucking look at me! i’ll kick your goddamn ass, you know that?” you’re fuming. this is the proverbial straw that broke the hypothetical camel’s back. after the day you’ve had, you’re surprised it took this much to get you this rowdy. how much was one person meant to take anyways? venting out your anger would help you plenty, you think to yourself as you lift your knee up, prepared to crawl over that wooden plank saving that man’s life. 

“security!! come get ‘er. she’s wasted.” he scoffs, taking your shot away and making your blood boil even more. “they’ll get an uber for ya. take it easy, doc.” he shakes his head, making you feel remarkably judged all of a sudden, every eye in the place was on you as a guard even bigger than the man next to you drags you off the bar as carefully as he can. you don’t make it easy, kicking and screaming out despite the burning sensation in your cheeks.

“you’re scared of a girl? that’s fucking embarrassing!” you bellow to cloak your own, getting tossed on your feet gently— outside of the dingy building. 

“come on, little lady. let’s get you a ride home.” the security guard says, another one of them making their way outside as some sort of backup–like you were some genuine threat. you scoff, folding your arms. 

“fuck off—don’t need your shitty help, i’ll get home on my own!” you kick his shin, throwing your hair over your shoulder before marching off into the dead of night. 

in one of the worst parts of town. 

the cold shocks you awake, the fear putting you on edge and pushing back the drunkenness that fought so hard to claim you. every rustle of the bushes, each twig snapping has your head on a swivel. you just need to make it to your car, though it was daytime when you foolishly parked it a few doors down to avoid the traffic of drunk people leaving later in the evening. you’ve already made half the distance, the connecting alleyway just up ahead. 

you don’t make it two hundred feet before everything hits you again—and you’re bawling at your own stupidity. you should have made time to pick up your pills. you wouldn’t have to be worried about being kidnapped or murdered in the middle of the night if you had just taken your medicine. your life if over—and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself. you’re a mess. you’re nearly gasping for breath already—the dark alley mocks you with long shadows reflecting from the moon and stray cats that hop out of the dumpster just to make you fear the worst. you wipe at your cheeks, desperately sniffling to try to regain your senses, eyes aching from the downpour. you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not being followed, entirely too focused on what’s behind you to notice the log in front of you—you’re sent flying over it and towards the pavement. luckily you take the impact on your shoulder, nothing more than a shocked, “ow–” leaving your lips before you realize you’re not hurt at all thanks to your coat absorbing the brunt of it.

it’s just another strike of your famous luck then, something annoying enough to inconvenience you on a day chock full of them, but not enough to take you down. you push to your hands and knees, looking back towards the offending log—only to realize it’s breathing and has long dark hair strewn about its head. you gasp–the fog muddying up your senses clearing instantly at the realization that this was no log, but some severely injured man! you can hear his struggling breaths, springing into action immediately. it’s nearly second nature to you as you push his hair out of his face and away from his neck. it’s much too dark for you to make out specifics–but his chin shines with something you can only imagine is blood, the same wet liquid pooling in front of his torso, the man laying on his side in an almost fetal position.  

“sir–can you hear me?” you try, placing your fingers where his heartbeat should be. it’s weak and much too slow, but it’s there. you can save him. “sir what happened to you? what’s your name?” you ask loudly, trying to get him to wake up. you groan when he doesn’t respond, blindly fumbling around for the wounds. your heart is racing, any slowness from the alcohol was killed by the adrenaline consuming you now. you gasp out again when you feel glass shards and bullet holes, a good fifteen minutes away from home even if you step on it. you’re not sure if this man has fifteen minutes left in him—the reasonable part of your brain telling you to call the emergency line to get him helped. though, they’d take just as long to show up despite how serious his wounds are. “you’re gonna have to help me a little, big guy.” you groan even louder, trying to put him on his back. it would jostle him less and was the only shot you had at getting a man of his size back to your vehicle on your own. 

you swear you hear him chuckle, but perhaps you were still a bit tipsy. you grab his hands, trying to be careful of the one riddled with glass, situating them in your own at the best leverage point. you’re strong—you can do this. you need to feel useful again–and this man needs to be saved. he’s so heavy, nothing but dead weight as you tug him along behind you. you have to bend a little and pray that your legs can make it to your car, just a final push to get to safety. 

you’re grateful when you see your mom-mobile waiting for you. this was your ambulance, and you were running out of time and the strength to keep pulling, gnawing nervously on your lip. what if he died anyway? what if you couldn’t save him at all, and were only chasing highs you’d never feel again? 

no. you’re skilled. if you couldn’t save this man then… the truth was that no one could. so determination overrides your anxiety for the time being, and you pop the trunk of your sporty suv, looking down at the man with a heart sigh. “okay–i can do it. what are ya, 200, 220?” you muse, squatting down and fixing him over your shoulders as best you could—a fireman’s carry of sorts. your hips and thighs should support you more than your exhausted arms, so you heave up with a strangled grunt. you throw him in a little harder than intended, grimacing. “sorry!” you huff, circling to your driver’s side. at least he’s in, even if your arms are jello and you know you’ll have to get him in the house somehow. you aren’t even thinking about how his blood will stain your tan interior—the rush of saving a life quieting any background noise in your mind. “you gotta hang in there. hang in there, please.” you mumble, weaving through traffic. 

you back up as close to your garage as possible, trying to think ahead for anything that could make this easier on yourself. you throw the car in park, hurrying to get him out of the back. he’s running out of time, and a surgical god you may be–but there’s only so many miracles you can call in. you get him in the same hold from earlier yet you let his feet touch the ground, muscles burning at the exercise. you have to breathe in short bursts, crushed by his heaviness, adrenaline helping you accomplish something you normally wouldn’t be capable of. you stumble with him, still half dragging him. it’s a battle you’re worried you might lose, but you get him on your dining room table, splayed out like a gurney. then you’re prepping your OR, getting the lights on, all the tools and dressings you would need, and most importantly—scrubbing in. infection would kill him if you weren’t careful now. 

“you stumbled into the right hands, mister. or well…i guess i stumbled over you–but you get the point.” you roll your eyes at yourself and glove up, stretching the vinyl over your fingers and flexing them, all part of your pre-op routine. you get your first good look at him then. he’s terribly hurt, it really is even worse than you thought. bullet holes and all this blunt trauma–he must have endured something horrific. but beneath all the bruising marring his olive skin, you can tell that he’s a beautiful man. his inky hair gleams under your bright dining room lights, somehow looking silky despite the tangles bunched up throughout the mane. you sigh, turning your attention to the blood soaked shirt he had on–two perfectly round entrance piercing his front, but no exit wounds. in his case, it was probably saving his life, those bullets possibly lodged in important arteries—scary, but better than bleeding out. he’s already lost quite a bit of blood–and it’s not like you have any history on him to know what type he is. there’s no time to worry about tests–you’d have to get your emergency stash of o negative. it was universal–your own blood that you kept on hand in case of the worst. it looks like this is it. you flawlessly install the iv, watching the slow stream shoot through the clear iv catheter and into his body. it helps with his paleness after a few minutes, and you smile in relief. this was a good sign. you rip his shirt with the last remaining strength you’ve got left, buttons flying to expose extremely bruised ribs and those gaping bullet wounds. “this isn’t gonna feel great, i’m sorry.” you grab your cheap bottle of house vodka, taking another shot from it to steady your nerves before pouring a decent amount over his chest. “i have to get in here—i’m happy you can’t feel it–now, anyway.” you take a deep breath and reach for your scalpel. you decide to perform a sternotomy—cutting between his breast plate to the web of arteries beneath. “i can see the bullets. you’re gonna make it.” you whisper, more encouragement for yourself than for him. your retractors keep his chest open for you wide enough for you to get your forceps in, aiming to pull out a bullet out of a vein close to his heart. “it missed the aorta. you’re actually really lucky.” you chuckle humorlessly.

you wedge your forceps in and take a deep breath. it’s not the aorta, but it will spew blood anyway. “not my preferred method of grafting—no catheters here but. i gotta fix it somehow.” you growl a little in annoyance. you have to squint and move slowly, but you’re able to repair the first leak with a shifty little graft. you’re onto the next one, dropping the offending metal into a bowl—complete with a little clink. “we’ll get you to the hospital just to check my work, yeah?” you sigh, hoping that this would be good enough to save his life. your hands steady over the second bullet, and you repeat the same motions as before. you’re relieved at the sight of his heart literally beating underneath your working hands, knowing that he’s still fighting for his life. you remove the second one and get out of his body—sewing up his chest, letting the blood bag refill his own supply until the bag is drained. you push some saline to clean out the line before hanging a bag of morphine, the pain this mystery man would wake up to would be excruciating. 

once you’re done with the intense life-saving measures, you sit in a chair to pluck the glass from his skin and apply ointments to the road rash on his face and arms. it takes another hour or so of work, but you don’t mind. it’s strangely relaxing to feel like you’re doing your job, and it’s so rewarding when you check his pulse every ten minutes to find it getting stronger and stronger. you hate that you hadn’t invested in a stat monitor, having to check his blood pressure the old fashioned way, but that looked like it was perking up too. you grin, proud of yourself. losing your license didn’t mean you lost your touch. you decide to get the glass and rubble out of his hair, pulling it back away from his face for a second time tonight. you take another lengthy look at the man you’ve saved, still grimacing at the ugly bruises and scrapes when something else catches your eye. the man had several tattoos that seemed unremarkable at first, different dark lines tangling into patterns you didn’t recognize. but the dragon creeping from his collarbone to peek over the collar of his shirt—it’s a yakuza trademark. this man wasn’t a poor soul caught up in a tragic accident—this was a dangerous man. you just saved the life of a war-monger, countless lives ended due to his line of work. part of you wants to open his chest back up and make your grafts fail—but the other part of you wants to feel the success course through your veins when he wakes up. besides, what makes a surgeon and what makes a gang lackey? is it a good childhood? morals? options? who’s to say this man had killed anyone? god knows you wouldn’t want to be judged based off of a few sneak peeks. you sigh, piddling off to your room to get him some new clothes. 

it’s invasive, changing a stranger. but you’re at fifth base already right? saving his life gave you a get out of jail free card, even if he was in the most dangerous crime syndicate in japan. you get his matted jeans off, making yourself look up at the ceiling in modesty and respect. you shimmy the plaid pajama pants up his body–thankful that your ex never came back for his stuff. you decide against wrestling a shirt around all the bandages on his arms and chest—knowing you could hurt him just as much as you’ve helped. you decide to try your luck one last time, pushing your table the short distance to your living room to let him rest on something more comfortable than the cold marble slab. it’s an easy shove to get him onto the couch, and you finally take a deep breath and sigh it all out. success is sweet–surgery is exhausting. you pull a little blanket over him, setting hourly alarms to check on your patient until he wakes. 

he wakes up to the smell of something cooking. the light pouring in from the curtain makes him squint–definitely a sharp adjustment from the darkness that consumed him before. he hears a woman humming a few rooms away, only furthering his confusion. he didn’t die? but how…he didn’t call anyone, and he knows no one in that area would willingly bring the sirens in to help him–and where exactly was he? all of these things hit him at once, but nothing harder than the deep ache in his bones. he couldn’t describe it, something so sharp and throbbing he could hardly get his body to obey his mind’s orders to move. 

sitting up is pure hell. every red flag and stop sign goes off, making him grunt in agony. but he knows he has to get going–get out of whatever trap he’s got himself into. he doesn’t recognize the room–for all he knows, sukuna’s men followed him and have him here to torture. 

but that woman’s voice, he knows it. that doesn’t mean this isn’t a trap still. the humming stops, and footsteps pad closer until a bright face pokes into the room, an ‘o’ shape forming on her face before she enters–complete with a plate of food. 

“you’re awake–” you gasp in surprise. you had just come to do your rounds, deciding that eating with him would help you better watch out. you weren’t expecting him to already be up and at ‘em, he must be very strong. though you still notice how rigid he’s holding himself. “you really should lie down, you…” he cranes his sore neck, flashing you a glimpse of that black ink. you suddenly remember just how dangerous he is, and he looks like a dog backed into a corner, narrow black eyes sizing you up—distrust all over his feline features. 

“who do you work for?” he tilts his head to one side, and your brows furrow in confusion, oh–he was worried you worked for a rival. you shake your head, eager to defend yourself. 

“n-no one, no one right now!” you blurt out, anxiously shifting your weight foot to foot. you look down at the breakfast in your hands, holding it out for him to take instead. “here! eat, as a sign of my goodwill.” 

he analyzes the plate, then looks back up at you–peacocking his shoulders back and hissing at the pain the stretch brought him. now you know just how weak he is—and he can’t make another target out of himself. “i hope you know i will have you killed if you’re lying.” 

despite the way his glare makes your skin crawl and the hair at the base of your neck stand up, you can’t help but laugh at that. “i wouldn’t lie. i saved your life, why would i waste my time?” you shove the plate out further, basically putting it in his hands–one still heavily bandaged from dragging himself through the wreckage. 

he takes the plate from you. if he’s shocked by that, he doesn’t show it. he only watches you as he eats your food, grunting in pain every so often. you took the iv out while he slept, not sure how he’d react when he woke up to wires. “i uh…i have medicine…for the pain.” 

“who are you?” he returns without a second passing. he takes another reluctant bite of food, stomach growling in thanks. 

you tell him your name, stealing a few glances at the heavy furrow of his brow. “you were badly hurt. i am a doctor..so i helped repair what i could. you should recover. i imagine you need to lay low?” you ask with a raised brow, betraying your intellect. he knows you must have some idea of who he is. “you can stay here as long as you need. you might want to shower–but you’ll…probably need some help.” 

his expression shifts before your very eyes. his clenched jaw and steel brow relaxes into a soft look of…gratitude? truthfully, he was baffled. a doctor stumbled upon him, realized that he’s a criminal, saved him anyway—and now offers her home? he almost worries about how naive you really must be—but he owes you a debt he can never repay. you have given him a second chance—made revenge possible when he had given up completely. “thank you, little ebi. i will take up your gracious offer.” he nods, smiling kindly. 

you smile, heart going awol inside your chest. it was the right thing to do, he was injured and needed to be cared for. you’re a doctor who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. it means nothing–but that you still have empathy left in you. you know you’re close to shaking, but you turn to leave before it can show. “i’ll grab you a change of clothes. don’t move too much until i get back.” you hum, and he hums in acknowledgement. 

he’s rather polite for a yakuza, his refined calmness even in the most dire of situations rubs off on you easily—you hold your head high as you pilfer through the tote of clothes your ex left behind, trying to find something for the big scary man in the living room. you finally decide on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. you even nab some of those painkillers you offered earlier, hoping to ease that stiffness he carries himself with to mask his suffering. 

but when you get back to the living room the only thing waiting for you is the empty breakfast plate and a few hundred dollar bills—your curtains blowing in the harsh wind. your heart sinks for an unknown reason, and you tell yourself it’s because your patient wasn’t dressed for the cold.

[hedwig221b]

Hi could u pls suggest a pic where derek or Stiles gets injured and the other takes care of them?

Ah, yes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, the top tier duo...

Holy Injuries, Batman! by LadyDrace

Stiles gets hurt. Badly. Getting better turns out to be more of a process than anyone expected, and there are a few surprises along the way.

Leave It All Behind by asarcasticwitch

A coil of panic tightens in his chest as, after just three short rings, Derek’s voice—raspy as if barely awake—echoes through the speaker. “Do you know what time it is?” he grumbles, and at any other time, Stiles would’ve made a joke or retorted with something so sarcastic it would’ve undoubtedly earned him a huff in return. But right now, he can’t think of anything to say.

Our Days Are Numbered by tylerfucklin

They didn't know, not until it was too late. The damage was done; the scars and broken bones made, and the nightmares endless. No amount of corrective surgeries and physical therapy would take away what had happened to Stiles that day.

Beltane by DevilDoll

"Watching Stiles heal someone has always been a little uncomfortable for Derek, like he's seeing something intimate and private that shouldn't have an audience. That's nothing compared to how it feels." This is an AU in which Stiles has magical healing powers.

The Bite by LeeHan

The first time Stiles was offered the bite, he said no, but the universe only gave him the courtesy of asking so many times. When the inevitability of the bite catches up with him, Stiles has to face his new nature. Luckily, he has Derek by his side every step of the way.

Surrounded and up against a wall, I’ll shred ‘em all (and go with you) by Gorgeousgreymatter

Stiles hates hospitals. He’s always hated hospitals. Well, not always (who likes them, anyway?), but since her. Since before -- and now just the thought of them makes him want to retch, gives him that crawling-out-his-skin feeling that makes him want to peel it all off with his fingernails. Which he should really stop biting, he muses, wincing as he tears a hangnail off with a rabid flash of teeth. Although, technically this wasn’t exactly a hospital. Not for humans anyway. But whatever, Stiles thinks, veterinary hospitals still counted. At least as long as Derek was in that back room screaming like he’s dying, because maybe he is.

This is Ridiculous by zosofi

There's a unicorn in Beacon Hills. A fricken' unicorn. In fricken' Beacon Hills, California. And it turns out that unicorns aren't drawn towards virgins in a happy-go-lucky let-me-lay-my-not-at-all-metaphorical-horn-in-your-lap way. No. They kill them. And guess who's the only virgin idiotic enough to get sucked into the Beacon Hills supernatural scene? Stiles, that's who.

I will stand with you by Taigrin

John Stilinski comes home to find Stiles and Derek passed out on the couch pretty much after telling his son to stay away from the werewolf. Or the one with family Stilinski feels mixed up with angst and a hurt alfa.

Not Your Disney Romance by Wrennefer (Wrenegadeone)

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | mafia | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles

[lycandrophile]

conversations i’ve had with my mom this week about top surgery that will make my brain melt if i try too hard to make sense of them:

i was talking to her about how i might have to extend my medical leave because i probably won’t be ready to work at 4 weeks. she told me she didn’t expect my recovery to take this long. this is the same woman who, before i got top surgery, told me horror stories about someone she knew who had complications for months after having a mastectomy. was she just making shit up? was she lecturing me about things she was actively still in denial about? i can’t even begin to guess.

i mentioned to her that i’ve been posting about my experiences with recovery and she seemed…offended? by the idea that i was talking about it publicly. i shouldn’t be surprised because she’s the one who once told me the online trans community is “cult-like” and that she thought i was only getting top surgery because the trans people in my computer convinced me. the thing is, she’s also constantly asking me how my recovery timeline compares to other people so i…don’t know how she expects me to get that information if she also thinks talking to people about my recovery is bad.

she was asking me about how my incisions are healing and she told me to describe how they look to her…but “not anything that’ll make me cry”. do i know what she meant by that? nope! i can only assume the right move was to not describe anything too in-depth, even if it meant not including important details because they might upset her. priorities, am i right?

she asked me if, having been through the worst of recovery and knowing what it’s like, i would still make the same choice to get top surgery. obviously i said i would. she then proceeded to keep saying things like “really? are you sure? even after all this? you know you don’t have to say that, right?” as if it was completely impossible to believe i don’t regret this. why did she ask if she didn’t really want to hear the answer? god only knows.

we found out how much my insurance paid for the part of my surgery costs that were covered and it turns out they paid way more than any of the estimates i was given. my mom kept saying “that’s a lot of money you know” over and over again, as if i didn’t know that an amount of money high enough to buy a small house is a lot. i think she was trying to make some kind of point. what point? idk man.

0/10 totally incomprehensible interactions. i don’t even know what to make of them. i think now that the surgery is done and she can’t fight it anymore, she’s gone from being overtly ridiculous about it to just bringing the absolute weirdest vibes to every conversation about it.

[beigetiger]

Thinking about that small detail in Mortal Coil during the surgery scene when Valkyrie is hallucinating and she sees the reflection wearing the clothes Ghastly made her, but entirely in pink.

It’s such a small detail, but it reveals so much about Valkyrie as a character that I don’t think gets discussed enough in fandom (and isn’t really discussed in text either).

Valkyrie isn’t completely butch, but she is pretty butch, I think we can all agree on that. And it’s shown several times throughout the series that a lot of the mortals around her (sans her parents) don’t really approve of, say, a girl with enough muscle to make full-grown men in her life jealous. There’s very much an aspect of “girls must be pretty and wear makeup and crop tops” vibe we get from her fellow highschoolers, even if we don’t see that much of it. And that might be part of why twelve-year-old Valkyrie wasn’t very connected with her peers. She WASN’T like that and refused to act like she was.

The REFLECTION, on the other hand. The reflection’s entire job was to be a societally acceptable version of Valkyrie, meaning quieter, more agreeable, and probably more fem-presenting. That was who Valkyrie was SUPPOSED to be if only she was normal, and it’s very clear in that moment when she’s strapped to the surgical table that she’s feeling a lot of shame for not being “normal” enough (tying into the Darquesse thing). Even if she rationally knows her parents love her, that shame of not being normal or properly acceptable follows her and manifests as her parents claiming to love the reflection more and the reflection itself appearing as a more fem version of Valkyrie, which is something that would NEVER fly in Val’s line of work.

And I think that part of the reason Valkyrie generally doesn’t like to present more fem is because of her work environment. She is a teenage girl in a place mostly made up of full-grown men, and we can SEE in numerous instances throughout the books that she does get harassed and does get targeted for bullying and misogynistic infantilazation/objectification because she’s female.

And what is perceived as appropriately feminine in her home environment is…inefficient. It’s more likely to slow her down or get her injured and is generally impractical, and so she only does it on extremely rare occasions. Her partner is a guy who’s hundreds of years older than her, incredibly strong, incredibly smart, and INCREDIBLY well-known. This is the guy she gets compared to with pretty much everything she does. The standards are in the goddamn sky, and so she CAN’T afford to present herself or act in any way except for the most efficient way possible.

And all of this, her general dislike of presenting fem, her shame of being Darquesse, the need to be as efficient as possible, culminates in the form of her reflection, dressed all in pink. Ridiculous, inefficient, but more acceptable. More normal. More worthy of her parent’s adoration. It would have been SO easy for Landy to just say that the reflection was wearing Valkyrie’s outfit, but he went out of his way to SPECIFY that said outfit was pink, and it silently gave her so much fascinating characterization.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

A disgustingly economic discussion that is far more clear about the realities of covid than what our governments are telling us

“There is a huge delusion at the moment that COVID is over and when we talk about it, we say ‘when the pandemic happened’ but actually it is still happening,” he said. “So, insurance companies need to be very conscious of that and to be thinking ahead. Swiss Re has a powerful role across the market to make sure that this is being thought about. “In our view, there are a range of scenarios, but most of them anticipate a return to normality in five to 10 years, depending on your level of optimism. And we think that because of the other more fundamental movements happening around cancer, lifestyle risk and eventually Alzheimer's, to name the three biggest ones, that mortality improvements will also return over the longer term.”

By Mia Wallace

“COVID-19 is far from over.”

A recent Swiss Re report suggested potential excess mortality in the general population of up to 3% in the US and 2.5% in the UK by 2033 in a pessimistic scenario, highlighting the lingering impact of COVID-19 – both as a direct cause of death and as a contributor to cardiovascular mortality.

Discussing the report with Re-Insurance Business, Paul Murray (pictured), CEO of L&H Reinsurance at Swiss Re, outlined some of the key ageing and mortality trends shaping the life and health reinsurance market today. “Of course, we saw excess mortality when we were locked down and experiencing the pandemic but now we’ve returned to normal life, we think it’s over and it’s not. People are still getting ill with the COVID infection and they’re still dying.”

The debate for the market now is how long that trend is likely to continue, and whether its impact will fade over time – with Swiss Re’s recent report offering multiple scenarios into the reinsurance giant’s viewpoint on that question. Top of mind is understanding the key factors driving future mortality trends and changing life expectancy statistics – and how these influencing factors may change going forward.

What are the top trends driving future mortality trends? Pinpointing some of the key considerations driving future mortality trends, Murray underscored the need to look at historical data. “The headline for me is always that there has been a phenomenal period of mortality improvements, of life expectancy extending. This is probably one of the biggest social transformations that the human race has been through.

“One of the main drivers of that has been cardiovascular improvements. Smoking cessation helped a lot towards that in the 20th century and is continuing now as well. There’s also new technology that enables low-intervention cardiovascular surgery, like stents. We’ve shifted from a lot of surgery having to be open-heart and high-risk in an operating theatre to in-and-out in a day with injected stents. It has been completely transformational.”

Where do medical advances go next? The ”plumbing” of the human body and the way it’s protected and healed by modern medicine has been largely optimised, he said, but now some of the benefits of that is starting to level off. Looking to the future, he sees that there is still the potential for some further improvements as a factor driving increased life expectancy, particularly amid improving access to information and education about healthy living choices – and improving intervention techniques.

“When we look forward, I anticipate the area where we have the best chance of improvements is on the cancer side,” he said. “Comparatively to cardiovascular risk, improvements to cancer treatments have been relatively low in the past. Of course, it’s very complex as 'cancer' is a bucket term which combines 200-plus types, but we are seeing some very promising technologies emerging here that will help address that.

“Take mRNA vaccines, for instance, which are not new but became very prominent in the pandemic, specifically as it helped us develop vaccines very quickly. mRNA capabilities, combined with immunotherapy, are currently in trials, and showing very significant improvements in outcomes for cancer patients in specific causes. And we've only really started scratching the surface of that. Looking 10-to-30 years out, which is the duration we have to think about as life insurers, we think that’s a prominent contributor to future improvement.”

Alzheimer's is another pressing area for consideration, he said, as, with people generally living longer, this is becoming a much more significant risk. Due to a myriad of reasons, more people than ever are living with Alzheimer’s today and society is being increasingly challenged to deal with it and to support those living with the disease. “Again, improvements in dealing with Alzheimer's historically have not been that great, and I think this is one area where there's the potential for a meaningful breakthrough, and we're starting to see some signs of that in scientific research.”

Understanding the impact of lifestyle factors on future mortality trends An interesting element shaping discourse in the life and health reinsurance market is the question of the impact of lifestyle factors on future mortality trends. Murray noted that if you characterize overall mortality rates into lifestyle or non-communicable diseases, between 30-40% of mortality is driven by lifestyle choices – including such factors as what you eat, whether you smoke, whether you exercise, how much sugar you eat, and how you manage your stress.

The insured population are typically quite happy to engage with that, he said, and Swiss Re is seeing improvement on those metrics, but there remain large swathes of the overall population who don’t engage in that conversation. As more data emerges over time, he believes the market will start to see stronger connections between activity and outcomes which, in turn, will help it to drive better results.

“An interesting area here is diabetes and Swiss Re is taking a leadership position on this globally,” he said. “We regularly engage with policymakers around the world – with doctors and thinkers on nutrition and food policy in particular – to [highlight] how your diet has a big impact on your health, but also to assess whether the current advice is appropriate for the future.

“Obesity and diabetes continue to increase. That debate has a long way to go, but if it continues to evolve positively, it will have a positive impact on mortality.”

Poor metabolic health drives obesity and diabetes, which are offsetting previous advances made by treating cardiovascular diseases and smoking cessation. The emergence of GLP-1/GIP weight loss injectables has shown early promise in reducing weight and improving baseline clinical risk factors, when combined with long-term lifestyle alterations. Although long-term data doesn’t yet exist on the impact of GLP-1 drugs, in the short term these medications are showing positive results in reducing all-causes, and specifically cardiovascular mortality. In addition, the drugs appear to positively affect a range of other conditions such as cancer, liver and kidney diseases, and even neurodegenerative diseases.

When will excess mortality return to pre-pandemic levels? Underpinning the broader conversation is the big question on the minds of many across the life and health reinsurance market – when, or if, excess mortality will return to pre-pandemic levels. Swiss Re’s recent paper posited both a pessimistic and an optimistic scenario because its role is not to say what will happen, but rather to encourage people to think about the tail risk of the COVID crisis and how it might play out.

“There is a huge delusion at the moment that COVID is over and when we talk about it, we say ‘when the pandemic happened’ but actually it is still happening,” he said. “So, insurance companies need to be very conscious of that and to be thinking ahead. Swiss Re has a powerful role across the market to make sure that this is being thought about.

“In our view, there are a range of scenarios, but most of them anticipate a return to normality in five to 10 years, depending on your level of optimism. And we think that because of the other more fundamental movements happening around cancer, lifestyle risk and eventually Alzheimer's, to name the three biggest ones, that mortality improvements will also return over the longer term.”

Study link: www.swissre.com/institute/research/topics-and-risk-dialogues/health-and-longevity/covid-19-pandemic-synonymous-excess-mortality.html

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hello~!

So may I request a poly ghost face (from 1996) where they have an autistic trans!reader. Ik a lot (I'm projecting) the reader stims vocally by mimicking what they say, and they have a special interest (am like bugs, gore, sharks, dinosaurs, something around those lines yk? I feel like gore would fit) the reader rambles and rants Abt their special interest a lot! Just those kinds of things. I feel like you'd be able to capture this perfectly, thank you! Have a wonderful time zone :)

Poly Ghostface x autistic trans male reader

Headcanons

I always headcanon Stu as having something like ADHD, or just more hyperactive autism.

Been a while since I wrote about these two, huh? I’ve kinda missed em, ngl. Hope it’s alright I took some liberties with the hyperfixations :)

I can imagine that maybe you were friends with Stu when you were kids, because you were both “weird” in other people’s opinion. Stu because he was too hyperactive and could never sit still, and you because of your weird interests and how you were quite antisocial at times.

Time would pass, you guys would grow older. Stu would become someone popular, as his erratic and hyper personality becomes something others admire because he’s fun, whilst you stay being the weirdo with too much interest in medical texts, insects, and decomposition.

Neither of you meant to do it, but you would grow apart. Stu would get his new friends, specifically Billy, and you would stay by yourself burying yourself in your special interests. Its not strange to find you flipping through medical books or books about the horrors of war and medical malpractice. The more pictures the better.

When its not medical texts and war pictures with as much gorey detail as possible in the text and pictures, you can be found reading about death and the work of being a mortician, the way a body decays, and all that.

And when its neither of those things, you can be found looks at bugs, lifting rocks or moving trash to see what critters you can find. You have a sketchbook you like to draw in, three ones at that, one for each hyperfixation since you don’t wanna mix the information in them.

Its in the many niche medical books you learn about being transgender, and suddenly how uncomfortable you are in your own body makes sense. You don’t need any friends, or your families support to transition, that’s what you tell yourself at least.

You haven’t really had any real friends since you split form Stu when you were kids, and your creepy interests chase off anyone who might attempt to befriend you.

So, when you show up one day to school and openly tell people you are now a boy, no one really questions it, because why would they? You’re already weird, and compared to all your other quirks, being a boy is probably the most normal thing about you.

Through all these years you haven’t experienced as much bullying as you probably would have anywhere else, all thanks to Billy and Stu.

Stu because he still sees you as his friend in some way, and Billy because he’s fascinated by you. One day after you had come out, he walked behind you and saw you drawing detailed diagrams of top surgery in grotesque detail, and Billy has been hooked since.

At some point you and Billy would end up talking, one way or another. Maybe it was at the video store around Halloween one night, maybe the year Sidney’s mom died, and Billy would ask your opinion on the horror movie selection.

Youd grimace and say they sucked since the gore was so unrealistic, which Billy, the freak, would definitely ask into why you thought so. This would lead to you infodumping to him for a long time, going through multiple movies and explaining how its unrealistic and what would have made it better.

As infodumping goes, you don’t even realize how long you’ve been standing there talking to one of the hottest guy at your school about fictional gore, until Randy has to tell you guys that the store is closing soon.

You end up getting real embarrassed about wasting his time like that, which Billy is quick to tell you that nothing was wasted because he loved talking about it with you and hearing what you had to say. He would love to talk again some time.

You don’t really believe him, until he searches you out the next day in your shared free period when you are sitting outside drawing bugs and beetles, dragging Stu with him of all people. You haven’t actually interacted with Stu in a while, so you cringe and get jitters when he hugs you and gets into your personal space.

Its Billy who has to remind him of personal space, and before you know it, they’ve asked in about your special interests, and then they just sit back as you infodump and show them the pictures and drawings you have in all three of your sketchbooks, making the two Woodsboro killers fall for you harder and harder.

Time would pass and you three would start spending a lot of time together, Billy and Stu always hanging around you to listen to what you have to say, never growing tired no matter how much you infodump.

Stu would be the first to confess his feelings, as he feels fast and he feels strong, so one day when you two are laying on his bed and you’re talking about the difference between two beetles who look almost the exact same, whilst also talking about lungs and how they’re built, Stu just leans over and kisses you.

You would be so confused, until Stu tells you that he really likes you, he would even spill the beans that Billy feels the same way too. As if summoned, Billy would show up and Stu would be all like “right Billy? You like him too, right?” and Billy would facepalm cuz he planned on confessing in a much better way.

But hed agree and say he fell pretty damn hard for you, but neither rushes you in your decision as they know it’s a big step. I can imagine Stu also rambling about how hes always liked you since you were kids, even before you transitioned, and how he actually started liking you even more afterwards because you looked so much more comfortable with yourself and who you were.

At some point you would come to the conclusion that you felt the same way, and boom, now you got two boyfriends who like you for who you are, and would stab a bitch if they tried to disrespect you in any way, shape, or form.

When the ghostface killings happen, you wouldn’t be at the party since they are super overstimulating, but you would go to the hospital to check on Billy and Stu since they are the only “survivors”.

I thought it would be funny if you developed a special interest in the ghostface killers and started a fourth sketchbook filled with your notes and theories, but you would keep it hidden form Billy and Stu because you fear it would trigger their trauma, since you don’t know they are the killers.

The fourth sketchbook would also have rants you can’t put anywhere else, like how certain people have hatecrimed you because of your gender, or because you are “weird”, and how some dark sick part of your brain wants the ghostface killers to kill them.

At some point your boyfriends would find the sketchbook and go through it together, whistling as they see the detailed analysis made for each kill, and how you are so close to figuring it out. But when they read all the stuff you’ve written you never told them, it angers them that people have been hurting you without them knowing.

You wouldn’t have told them since you didn’t want to worry them, and it wasn’t their fight in your opinion. Billy and Stu decide that they have to pull out the masks once more, seems they have a couple of horrible people to get rid of for mistreating you.

Imagine your surprise when one night you walk into your room stimming with both your hands and repeating stuff that Billy and Stu said earlier that day, only to find not one, but two people wearing ghostface gear in your room.

It takes you a little too long to even spot them as you were scribbling in your death sketchbook, having gotten a sudden spark of inspiration on the way home from your apprenticeship as the local funeral home.

You almost get to scream before they pounce, never actually hurting you but clamping a hand over your mouth, their gloves wet with what you can smell is blood. After they make you promise to stay quiet, they unmask and reveal who they are.

You buffer like an old computer for a little too long, before smacking the shit out of both of them, wacking them in the chest for not telling you. Your opinion on death and murder are probably really twisted, and the people they’ve killed have either hurt you or you had no relationship with them.

It does light up every light in your hyperfixations though, and you might demand them to explain what killing someone is like, or what a freshly killed body looks like for your sketchbooks.

Billy would grin and try to kiss you, because how can you be so perfect? But you’d wave him off with a grimace and demand Stu explain once again what it was like stabbing someone so you can get it all down in your book.

I don’t know if youd join them as a third Ghostface, but they might take you along every now and then, letting you roam the place after they’ve done their thing if the chance is there. I could imagine them taking pictures of things for you too.

I’m imagining them both dressed up as ghostface, except no mask, both kissing at your cheeks and neck and being all lovey dovey and almost purring, whilst you are sketching down the different pictures and notes about them.

They love you so much, its insane. You’re gonna have them hanging on you for the rest of your life, sorry man, I don’t make the rules. Even if you move to another city and start studying to be a professor or like, investigator for the FBI, they would go with you. It would even help them in their Ghostface work as you are an expert in them not getting caught.

[c4n1d43cup1d]

Some hogcanons. notes (me rambling) under the cut

So silver was the reason i wanted to make this in the first place despite him looking the most on model (not entirely obviously, but i don't have many hcs for him). Mostly i wanted to draw his height compared to the other hedgehogs since him being freakishly tall despite being younger than sonic and shadow is funny. I saw someone say hes probably the most conventionally attractive hedgehog and i think that's true, hes a pretty boy and his fur/quills are really sleek and well maintained. The fluff on his chest is less spikey and more fluffy looking plus i put some fluff in his ears as well. I think his paws and nails are black and he doesn't wear eyeliner his lashes are just really long and hes got black markings on his eyes. Coming back to this after writing Amy's desc but i think hes genderqueer in some way idk maybe bigender i need to study him under a microscope some more every character i touch becomes transgender

Sonic has a few more added details, i like giving him a little nick in his ear and top surgery scars because that hog is trans. I haven't really seen many people give him stylized top surgery scars surprisingly, i tried to make his look kind of lightning bolty because uh something about him being fast. idk man. i think i imagined its similar to what itd look like for him to run in a zigzag? whatever i think it looks cool. I think his claws are kind of uneven and he doesn't really care too much about how they look especially since he just has them under gloves most of the time

Amy is fat because i said so, also i gave her wavier quills and heart markings everywhere. Her ears might look a little strange since it like implies her skin is making that heart shape but i imagine thats her fur spiking into the point. Her nails are painted the same red that shadows markings and stuff are mostly because i think them being besties is cute like. i see shadamy as a queer platonic relationship. Theyve always been my favorites im going to to make them as close as i want. Anyway, i think she and sonic are tied for having the shortest ears, and hers are the rounest (might make them even rounder the next time i draw her) also not entirely related to her design but i think shes transfem and genderfluid.

Shadow my son. im taking custody from black doom and gerald. anyway, i have the most headcanons for him because he is my absolute favorite guy ever he rots my brain. I think he and Amy are the same height, his rocket shoes are like platform/heels and so when he has them on he looks like Sonic's height or maybe a teeny tiny bit taller. I give his quills extra little spikes for no reason other than i think its cute, i could bullshit that its a black arms thing but idrc. What are black arms things though are his eyes and claws, his scelera is a more yellow compared to everyone elses (jaundiced as my friend put it. thanks endy) and i didn't draw it but his pupils are slits. Claws are long but are even longer when all the way out (retractable) his gloves are thick enough that he doesn't pierce them but he probably has a few spare pairs. Also not pictured but black arms related: his teeth are fucking razors, larger than the other hedgehogs and also serrated because i think thats cool. his tail is the longest out of all of them though i think it used to be longer but was lopped off in the name of science and never properly grew back. also his inhibitor rings are connected to a sort of device that does the task of being a proper gateway between his internal energy and the rings themselves, i didn't draw them but essentially its like a smaller ring that is embedded into his wrists i think. also hes trans but in a sort of alien way, i think the black arms can do the clownfish genderswap thing and shadow has it to a somewhat lesser degree its like an internal tshot i guess idfk

ok yeah thats all if u made it to the end thanks for reading the ramblings of a mad man

[deadguywalkin]

seb+sam+alex hcs because i am STILL gay and extremely evil + some pre t seb hcs because… sigh

( sam+alex centric!! aside from the last part )

cw: dramatic switch from ‘yeah alex and sam are traumatized’ to ‘sam likes boobs’. that pretty much sums this up. (minimal nsfw and most of it is jokey)

jewelry:

alex: minimal. no rings or bracelets because they get in the way. ‘does sam’s pick count? c’mon, i’m an edgy boy too!!’

sam: medium. face piercings and some rings

sebastian: not actually that much, but he only wears silver. gothic necklaces of dragons on swords, silver rings, and the likes. maybe even a blood vial.

hands:

alex: missing his whole index finger?? big big hands with some little scars. engulfs whoever’s hand he’s holding.

sam: calloused fingers, tiny scars from hurting himself a lot on accident. he has very shaky hands. also has his little memory bands

sebastian: thin fingers and careful, steady hands. chipped black nail polish. there is more of a reddish tint on his knuckles.

—————

sebastian carries bandaids on him because sam is an idiot and alex is also an idiot (they’re not idiots they just have 0 spatial awareness)

alex wears sam’s guitar pick as a necklace. i refuse to draw him without it

alex carries their band equipment when sam whines about being too lazy to do it

seb never gets scared during horror movies or any horror experiences. however samalex are gripping onto each other like they’re about to die

alex cannot bear to watch super violent graphic stuff for obvious reasons. sambastian will always skip those parts ahead in movies for him because they already know. not that he can’t do it himself, but it’s just a small gesture.

alex is a huge ‘i’m sorry, did i do something wrong? I’m really sorry. you can tell me if i did.’ kind of guy when the vibes are off. he just has a fear of being useless or annoying and needs to be reassured.

sam needs to be reassured that he doesn’t have to always take care of everyone or constantly be the emotional support beacon. he also needs some support and to take a break!!

sam just has his best friends memorized by heart. ‘you were gonna ask abbie to hang out..? bro, don’t you know? she’s gonna have a headache tomorrow.’

sam has a habit of biting at his lips, ‘my mouth gets bored!

samalex are insanely emotionally intelligent, compassionate and understanding even if they’re not all there. they’re more tender and sweet when it comes to someone opening up and just know exactly what to say and what they need to hear.

on sebs end, he’s pretty bad at reading people and understanding everyone even if he’s smarter than the other two are. he’s quick to get it but doesn’t know how to comfort people and is more of a chill ‘oh.. that sucks, dude. me too, anyways, wanna light a blunt and talk about it?’ kind of guy

^^ he’s only good at that stuff when it comes to understanding books/movies/music. that’s where it’s over for samalex (sam aside from the music part

“what are you watching?”

“a 6 hour commentary video about sonic.exe”

“adventure time!!”

“black mirror.”

“oh..”

(sam has a short attention span but locks in when it comes to commentary videos about random niche shit)

pre-t trans seb down here

alex to pre top surgery seb: “c’mere.. stress balls”

post top surgery seb to alex: “c’mere.. stress balls.”

sam just enjoys having his face stuffed in boobs. doesn’t care wether they’re pecs ‘boobs’ or regular boobs.

seb is confident in his gender pre t or not. he’s more of a ‘i genuinely believe and know i am a man’ than a ‘i want to be a man’

..as confident as he is and as much as he loves them, he feels a slight resentment to samalex because he just feels this hint of jealousy and insecurity around them. they’re just such big representations of masculinity. it makes him feel a little sick that he feels that way because he knows he should love and appreciate them for being patient, he just can’t help it. he will find himself comparing them to him.

sebastian randomly showed up at sam’s house on a random night when he was younger and came out to him before he asked for help cutting all of his hair off. he already had his emo shag but ended up keeping it 

seb has a hard time remembering to take his binder off.. though it makes him feel better in his skin, his ribs are about to explode.

cuddling and then a hand just reaches up and.. squeeze (seb doesn’t even question it)

this ones a bit of a shorter dump;p

[velvetvexations]

Just saw a post telling trans women it was okay to want vaginoplasty even if it's "just" for sexual reasons (true, it's not "shallow" or "perverted" to want your body to feature a vagina for sex reasons, it's literally genitals) and some people in the comments were acting like there was some sort of unique, super strong stigma and backlash to trans women getting bottom surgery compared to other demographics, and like. Lol. Lmao even.

Of course, there are plenty of people being extremely shitty (saying gross stuff like that "angel without its wings" phrase, or "axe wound", "rot pocket"...) but I'd say most of it comes from cis people, who... Say similar shit about trans men. Maybe I'm wrong, but I've never come across someone praising FTM bottom surgery while simultaneously dragging MTF bottom surgery. Meanwhile, even within the trans community, everyone and their mother has an opinion about FTM bottom surgery and how awful it supposedly is. Joking about how "it's easier to dig a hole than build a pole" to say it's worse than vaginoplasty. Bottom surgery is not even considered an option, you're supposed to only get top surgery and be satisfied, and never dare to want to ruin your ~ pure AFAB body ~ by adding an Evil Oppressor Penis. Some people will straight up tell you that they prefer dating or being around trans men because they "feel safer since they don't have a penis" (imagine what they think of trans men who are post bottom surgery... Well you usually don't even have to imagine, as people love to loudly announce to everyone how they think transmasc bottom surgery is terrible).

So, from what I've seen, no, I don't think there's an unique bias against trans women getting bottom surgery that doesn't exist for others. I don't think they're seen as way more predatory or sexually perverted for wanting bottom surgery than other trans people (just using a packer gets you called a pervert walking around with a dildo in your pants, ffs...)

In fact, again, from what I've personally seen, I'd even say that's it's considered slightly more acceptable to want vaginoplasty than to want phalloplasty. I've seen, several times, places offering various trans surgeries listing every mainstream trans surgery and giving information about them, but suspiciously omitting phallo and meta. A "post-op" trans woman has a vagina. A "post-op" trans man has top surgery. I've lost count of how many trans people I've heard saying that vaginoplasty is indistinguishable from a cis vagina and then turning around to say that phalloplasty is just an ugly flesh tube. At some point I even read with my own two eyes an informative pamphlet about trans surgeries *made by a trans organization* saying positive things about the different types of vaginoplasty and reassuring people wanting it, but when it talked about phallo (I don't remember their stance on meta but the one on phallo really shocked me so it stuck), instead of just talking about the surgery neutrally like they were supposed to do, the text suddenly started criticizing people who wanted it for "conforming to cis society" or some stupid shit like that. Straight up, wanting vagina = good, wanting penis = bad. There's a huge taboo about wanting surgery to have a penis, even within the transmasc community. Everyone will say the most disgusting shit about it and try to discourage you to get it. Your motives get questioned, because obviously the only people who would get that kind of surgery are shallow, toxically masculine, "trying too hard to be like cis guys", wanting to become oppressors and planning to be rapists. They need to learn to deconstruct gender, don't they know they don't need a penis to be a man ? Clearly they haven't read enough feminist or queer theory. Oh, they have ? Well then, if they weren't misguided and still seek the evil penis surgery on purpose... It's clearly because they have bad intentions, they're predatory, power-hungry and probably fantasize about becoming a rapist...!!

So yeah, it kinda pissed me off. I don't really see why people feel the need to insist that if something is bad for trans women, then it must automatically be The Absolute Worse compared to every group. Idk.

I'm really sorry anon. <3 SRS should be normalized for everyone.

[thatmonsterfuckerguy]

Surprise! I'm not dead

MTF!Harpy Lady X FTM!Reader

Warnings: Lots of talking at the beginning, sorry. Sub!Reader, Softdom!Harpy, you call her Mommy

You were on a walk in the woods to ease your mind. Little did you know, it was mating season for harpies and you had caught the attention of a harpy lady in quite a bit of heat looking for a mate. You were lost in your thoughts when suddenly, your eye caught movement and focused on it. Something was flying at you really fast. Before you could make out what it was or what was happening, she flew into you and pinned you to the ground under her talons. You fell back with a yell. Luckily, she made sure you wouldn't hit your head by shielding it with her winged arms. You looked up and were met with the excited gaze of a beautiful crow-like harpy woman.

"Hello!" She cawed.

"H... hi..." You were stunned and didn't really know how to react. She cocked her head to the side.

"You look a bit strange with your lack of feathers and talons... but that's ok, I do too! See, I was born with male parts, but I'm female. Or at least, I should have been, I think, and I got corrective surgery for my upper half, and I'm debating doing my lower half too. I hope you don't mind..." She said, a little shyly.

"I- uh... n-no... I don't mind at all... Actually, uh, I was assigned female at birth, but I'm a man, and I also got top surgery, but not bottom..." You awkwardly explained. You were too stunned to ask what you wanted to. First of all, harpies exist? Second, they're advanced medically enough to have successful surgeries?? And what's with the lack of clothes??? Before you could ask any of that, her eyes lit up as she blurted out,

"Oh my Gods! You're like me, but the opposite!!! I knew my good feeling about you was right!!! You need to be mine!!!" She stopped and thought for a moment. "Wait, you don't have a mate already, do you? If you do, would they be ok with sharing?"

"I- uh... n-no? I don't have one..." You forced yourself to say. Her eyes lit up at your response.

"Good! Then, you're my mate now!" She chirped.

"What?" You let out. Before you could ask any further questions, she gripped you into her talons and began to fly away, carrying you with her. She brought you to a large nest atop a large tree. She gently set you down. She looked at you in a sweet and bashful, but excited way. She began to slowly approach you and started caressing you carefully with the talons on her hands. She admired you, fondling with your clothes and hair. She was pretty tall compared to you. You couldn't help feeling bewitched by her confidence, her sweetness, and her beauty.

"You'll make a great mate..." She sighed longingly as she cupped your face and looked you in the eyes.

"I- uh- Y-yeah... about that... uh..." You stammered. She looked at you in anticipation. "So, I just met you... This feels a bit sudden... I don't even know your name..." You tried to explain. Her expression softened.

"Oh, I'm Corvidia!" You mentally told and forced yourself not to laugh at her ironic name. "And it's ok, we can go slower." She reassured you. You took a deep breath. "What's your name?"

"Y/n"

"Such a pretty name." She smiled.

"Thank you... I just want clarifications on some stuff. If I'm your mate, is it for life or just for the season? Do you want me to carry a baby for you? Is it optional? Or do you just want a lover or fuck friend?" You explained. She perked up.

"Oh! Well, for now, I'm ok with a lover or a mating partner, but if things go well, I would love to escalate things! I do want a baby, but we can adopt if you're not comfortable with breeding. Also, we can be mates, but platonically if you don't like romance. If we don't work, we can just be friends, that's nice too. I just want to connect with someone and start a life and possibly a family, really." She smiled.

"So you just wanna see where this goes with no set goal?" You asked. She nodded.

"Ok, well, I'm a human, so I don't really know how to court you... How do I do it?" You asked. Her eyes widened.

"You're not a harpy?" She asked.

"No..." You answered.

"Oh... That's ok, how do humans usually court?" She asked.

"Uh... well... we don't. Usually... it depends on the situation. I mean, there's foreplay, if that counts." You shrugged.

"What's foreplay?" She asked.

"It's kinda doing sexy stuff before sex without having sex yet, I guess." You half-assedly explained. She smiled.

"I can do that!" She giddily told you. She hugged you out of impulse. She was completely nude and her decently sized tits were very much in your face as she hugged you. They were big and firm, but not too big that they would make her back hurt. You couldn't deny, she was really cute, hot, confident, and she seemed very sweet.

"So, where is your..." You trailed off. She got what you were saying before you could finish. She pulled away from you slightly, exposing a large, wet, pink tentacle emerging from her cloaca. She smiled at you with desire in her eyes.

"Oh damn, you're huge..." You let out.

"Is that a good thing?" She asked.

"It's a great thing as long as you know how to use it without hurting me in unwanted ways." You bluntly said. She smiled.

"Feel free to give me directions." She said seductively. She began to help you strip and got excited as she got closer to your front door. She gently got you to lie down in her nest before she pulled down your boxers. When she did, you heard her gasp softly in amazement. Your very erect t-dick did not go unnoticed. She lightly grazed over it with one of her talons, making you squirm a bit and clench your hole. She visibly got a shiver down her spine at your reaction. She hurriedly crawled on top of you to face you. She began to kiss you passionately as best as she could as she slowly slid inside you. You both moaned into each other as it happened. She slowly got you to adjust to her girth.

"F-fuck you're so tight!" She moaned. Once you began bucking your hips against her for more, she delivered. She fucked into you like her life depended on it, occasionally slowing down yo last longer, but never stopping. You were both moaning messes. She held you against her tightly, her talons digging into your back. She peppered kisses and nips all over every inch of you she could reach. She abruptly picked you up while remaining inside you. You both moaned at the abrupt movement. She smiled cheekily at you as she held you. She gently propped you up against the tree stump and shielded your back with her soft wings. She began fucking into you again. The way her tits were bouncing as she fucked you were driving you crazy. You began to stroke your t-dick. She stopped for a moment, to see what you were doing. She slowly slid her hand down your abdomen and lightly tapped your hand, silently asking for a turn. You moved your hand out of the way and let her fuck into you as she stroked your t-dick. She was lavishing in the sounds you made for her. "Good boy..." she moaned. You moaned in response. "Oh, you like that?" She teased. She leaned in closer. "Do you like being Mommy's little fuck toy?" You felt your face burn. You buried your face in her tits so she wouldn't see. "Look at me, Sweetie." She cooed. You lightly perked your face up. She cupped your chin and lifted your face gently. You couldn't look her in the eyes for too long. "There you are." She moaned. You felt her harden inside you as she took in your expression. "If you stay with me..." She panted as she fucked into you. "I'll make sure you're taken care of no matter what." She moaned. "Would you like that, pretty boy?" She asked.

"Y-yes!...M-mommy!..." You moaned. You hid your face in her tits again after saying that. Sex usually makes you lose your filter. You felt her thrust into you faster and harder after you buried your face. Her soft, warm tits were bouncing on your face.

"C-call me that again!" She moaned desperately. Your face flushed more.

"M... Mommy..." You said quietly, hoping she'd hear.

"Ohhhhh please one more time baby!" She moaned as she fucked you faster.

"Mommy!" You blurted out from being fucked so well. She moaned loudly as she filled you with her seed. You both took a moment to catch your breath as she stayed inside you. She held you close, nipping and kissing at you.

"Mmmm... So, you'll stay, pretty boy?" She asked eagerly.

"Y-yeah..." You panted with a smile.

[decepti-thots]

sorry if i sound stupid but can you explain the joke about tattoos?

ok ngl i considered keeping The Bit going (the bit being 'it would be funny if we just started doing this for trans headcanons without explaining and wait to see what people come up with about why'), but I will actually explain lmao, not least of all because i know it's actually often not widely known among trans people either and witholding would be a dick move considering that! you're not stupid, anon, i promise! it's not nearly as widely known as many other trans things, even among some trans folks. <3

phalloplasty (the form of bottom surgery that constructs a phallus that is average or larger sized as compared to perisex cis men) very often involves a skin graft that is commonly taken from the forearm. as a result, people who have had phallo often have a large, rectangular scar on their forearms, if that's the kind of surgery they had. (other kinds exist, of course! but this is now a very common type.) a common way to minimize its appearance is to find a tattooist good at doing tattoo work over scar tissue and get a sleeve! skin graft scars are often quite obvious, so getting a tattoo- especially one with a lot of blocked colour or blackwork- is a great way to make it less visible. therefore, there are a lot of transmascs who get sleeve tattoos, and so we reach the idea 'rodimus' holoform has a big-ass blocked out tattoo makes him Trans Coded'.

for a little context on my specific shitposting: a lot of the time even ostensibly trans-positive fandom spaces get Very Awkward about specifically bottom surgery, or explicitly negative even, and i therefore am on a mission to make it seem Cool and Awesome that means i make a lot of jokes about the need to do trans headcanons based on it because i want to see it have the kind of positivity that, say, top surgery scar stuff has in a lot of fanwork spaces. so that's why i want to post about it more, lmao. i would like to see it be treated with the same kind of fun irreverence that top surgery is.

[social---moth]

a love letter to my favorite game

My favorite game is unlike any game I’ve played, comparing it to anything else i’ve played feels unfair, it’s barely a game but it could occupy my top 10 games by itself

It isn’t the most fun, engaging, adrenaline rush ever, ultrakill or titanfall have it comfortably beat in that category

It doesn’t have the most well constructed narrative, signalis has more intrigue and disco elysium is a better character study

but all of those are constructed, you always feel the hand of the author

There are games with better character creators, but they don’t let you actually *play* your characters

in baldurs gate you can change basically anything about your appearance, but at the end of the day the preset dialogue the developers came up with is your only real option for roleplaying

which is understandable, letting a character say *anything* would be basically impossible, there’s no way for an AI to account for every possibility. Though it still feels like half measure, like i’m playing a customized variant of a default character

The trick is to pack 100+ people into a game and let the situation unfold

A simulated space station with simulated air, you need a proper mix of Nitrogen and Oxygen or else you’ll suffocate (or waste oxygen)

your characters body is the most in depth health bar i’ve seen in a game

you have blood, everyone has an appropriate blood type, and getting the wrong type is toxic. If you get shot the bullet can cause internal bleeding, which you need surgery to fix.

The same bullet can hit your bone, breaking it, a broken hand won’t let you hold something, a broken leg will slow you down, a broken skull will be very bad for any important organs that happen to be in it

if you get hurt enough, your body goes into shock

it gets harder to breathe, you gasp for air and collapse onto the ground, struggling to get back up before dying, if you don’t get medical attention you will inevitably die

The Station itself is similar to a body, needing a working engine to pump electricity through the hull, making sure the lights stay on and the doors keep working

Breaches in the hull leak air out, needing an engineer to fix it before the room succumbs to vacuum, if the station computer gets a virus it can pump flammable gas into the same hallways, leading to the most lethal analogue for a fever since plague inc

And every person, the doctor that keeps you from bleeding out, the engineer that keeps the station powered, the security guard that makes sure the law is obeyed

every single one is a real, living human, a person who logs in to the server to play

the stories that this makes is unmatchable, you do something and everyone acts in the unpredictable but sane way that humans do

what happens when a crewmember takes a contract from a rival corporation, or said rival corporation decides that nuking your station would be a good idea

how do people react to a creature straight out of The Thing replacing a crewmate

what happens when a vampire starts abducting people and enthralling them?

what if a Space Wizard attacks?

No round is the same, and I haven’t even talked about half the jobs

There is something to love for anyone

there’s combat with more true to life pacing than dedicated shooters

there’s roleplay with more reactive characters than any constructed narrative

there’s always a way to optimize a system a bit more, always a reason to come back

It is my favorite game, it’s barely a game, it’s a playable movie

I spent my whole life learning lessons from media i watch, because they’re all meant to have a purpose, something to say

but i get really annoyed when someone does something stupid, i wonder what i would have done in their situation, i wouldn’t monologue before killing my victim, i wouldn’t go into the dark hallway with a xenomorph hiding in it

i know i’d find some other way to fuck up, and Space Station 13 gives me the chance to

I see this game in everything, it’s addicting enough that i barely realize i’ve been playing it for 8 hours straight, i have my current *real job* because of this game

and it’s free, short of donating to the people hosting the server, or the people working on the engine itself, you cannot spend money on this game

this game is older than i am, based in an engine that predates Y2K, and nothing released since has captured its magic

Play Space Station 13, you might not like it, it took me 2 tries over 3 years for it to click, but once it did I had hundreds of hours in my first few months of playing

as for where to start? Paradise Station is pretty cool. GoonStation (yes that’s its real name) is way more advanced than any other codebase, at the cost of lag. /TG/ is pretty ubiquitous, at least some code fragments from there are in every server.

Personally, i recommend Para, but each station i mentioned has an appeal to someone

If anyone who reads this gets a bit curious and does any amount of research into the game, I’ll be happy

thank you for your time, and I’ll see you in outer spess