#it's good at least to know that there's a specialist who can see him and some options to go from here

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Fives Thoughts

Sooooo I literally just made a post being like 'here are some fun bits from Umbara because the arc is depressing and I don't wanna talk about the sad bits' but uh... I had thoughts in the last 15 mins and now I wanna share them. 😃

And of course tagging as usual for people I'm interested to hear opinions from: @saturn-sends-hugs @inkstainedhandswithrings @the-bi-space-ace

It's been a while since I watched these story arcs back-to-back, so a lot of the character development is really showing atm. And one I find interesting is a shift in Fives between The Citadel and Umbara.

Fives has always had a bit of a firey personality, but up until this point he's been a little bit held back with that passion for the most part. And I'm gonna touch in something that @novaceleste and @spaceyjessa spoke about in their podcast (@coffeeandclones I was just listening to it the other day and they talk about some interesting points. Defo recommend you check it out. Also #JusticeForDroidbait2024) because it really is the basis for this whole point. Despite Fives being the brasher, slightly more hardheaded personality, and Echo being the more by-the-books one, it's Echo that tends to do a lot of the talking when authority is involved. When they speak to Shaak Ti, it's Echo that takes the lead, while Fives is a little more hesitant.

And when they first meet Rex and Cody, Fives automatically introduces himself as CT-27-5555, despite being very open about his displeasure of being called that throughout their training. He has this louder personality but he tends to draw into himself and panic slightly when put in front of authority.

However, he still has these more fiery moments, like during his speech in ARC Troopers. When he's put in a fight, that spark within him comes out full force. "My blood is boiling for a fight." That's what drives Fives. That's where that passion comes from. He always wanted to make ARC trooper, to prove himself and to demonstrate that fire in the fight.

And yet when we get to the Citadel, he's surprisingly nervous. Echo seems to be fairly on board with everything, he's listening intently, he's down with the plan. But Fives is rather hesitant and doesn't seem totally enthused about the whole thing. They've made ARC trooper, they're being included in a specialist mission, the things that Fives so desperately worked for. But now that they're here? He's really not comfortable with it.

And I think that Fives' passion and drive is so prominent in the heat of battle because his adrenaline is going, he's got the energy to burn and so that's when we see this fire in him. But in the quieter moments, the meetings, the in-between fights? He's nervous. Those are the moments where he can sit on it and really think about what they're up against. And what becomes really apparent is that Fives is absolutely terrified of the thing that fuels his fire. The thing he worked so hard for scares the absolute shit out of him. And for good reason.

But it's never been so much of an issue because he had Echo. Echo, who's more level headed, who feels comfortable with plans and formats and authority. He could be the comforting presence that Fives needed outside of battle, while Fives could be the spark in it. They're like fire and water. They keep each other regulated, balanced.

But then The Citadel happens.

And watching the Umbara arc, I noticed that Fives doesn't have that very noticeable fear. It's not that it's absent, it's just that it isn't so obvious all of the time. Of course, some of that is going to come with experience, he's been an ARC for longer, he's know Rex for a while so there's slightly more comfort with that level of authority, but he's definitely more consistently confident than he was before.

So my suggestion is, what if that comes as a result of losing Echo (at least in part)? He doesn't have that calming presence anymore, the one to balance his nerves. He doesn't have someone to stand firm beside him or take the bigger step for the two of them, so he's had to learn to do that himself. I think part of it is natural growth that comes with experience (to quote Rex: "experience outranks everything") but I do also think it comes with no longer having that constant other half. Fives has had to learn to balance himself.

Like I said earlier, a lot of this links back to stuff said in Nova and Jessa's podcast, so I'd recommend checking it out. But I just wanted to add my extra thoughts on it, having just watched Umbara, because it definitely stuck out to me on this rewatch.

[practically-an-x-man]

Vet came over and looked at Loki. He said from what he could tell, it's either a bad tooth (in which case they'll run antibiotics and pull the tooth and he should be okay) or a carcinoma (in which case surgery would be an option but a risk)

He said that given it's isolated to the one side of his mouth and there aren't any other symptoms besides him not eating, he's a little more optimistic about it being a dental issue rather than cancer. There is an exotic vet at his practice who will see Loki on Thursday, we'll drop him off then and discuss the options. It's possible they'll sedate him and pull the tooth on that day, otherwise they'll run some antibiotics and see if he improves before Monday (Monday being the other day they might try to pull the tooth)

I recognize that anesthesia is a risk, especially at Loki's age, but the way I see it, letting this go unresolved is an even bigger risk. If the choice is risk anesthesia to pull the tooth or wait it out while he's in pain and refusing to eat, I'll risk the anesthesia.

Oh, and they said he was one of the best-behaved hedgehogs they've seen and was an ideal patient temperament-wise, which was nice to hear

[the-clockwork-three]

.

[lethalchiralium]

hii your bio says that requests are open, so, if you don't mind, can i request a simon x reader where reader is also part of the 141 and got severely hurt, and turns out she's pregnant with simon's baby (they are together) but because of her injuries she lost the child? maybe they didn't know that she's pregnant. thank you love💞

hi!! i LOVE this prompt, so sorry it took so long lol

bring heaven down just for you | simon riley x wife!reader

cw: mentions of injury, blood, miscarriages

The car accident was extreme, even for the 141. They weren’t expecting to get T-boned in a city street, trying to make their escape, but it was short lived. You didn’t remember much, being in the backseat with your seatbelt off, on “follower” duty - pistol in hand, watching if anyone was tailing the escape. Price in the driver’s seat, Gaz in passenger, and Soap and Ghost were already at the safe house.

You remembered the car rolling, throwing you around like a ragdoll. Your head slammed against the roof of the car and then darkness took over, at least until you remembered hearing Price’s yelling. The way the straps on your vest were tugged and the blood curdling scream that left you, the explosion of pain in your leg, your shoulder, your abdomen - it woke you up instantly, and adrenaline seemed to kick in ten fold. Barely a glance down and you could see why pulling you wouldn’t be a good idea - so many glass shards in your body, deep red blood bubbled up and trickled out, you felt your body internally gag. You looked to the sound of gunshots, seeing Gaz firing off round after round, and soon silence followed. A slow blink, you found yourself crying out in pain in the street, Price knelt beside you, administering aid as you heard faint sirens. Soon, your eyes closed then opened again, finding yourself being loaded into an ambulance - Gaz and Price covered in blood. Panic surged through you, but so did the pain. A low rumble of pain escaped your chest, Gaz reached forwards and took your right hand - where did you gun go? - and held it gently, saying something you couldn’t quite hear.

A hand settled on your good shoulder, the one opposite to Gaz, you looked to your captain, now able to hear the siren wailing as he spoke, “Who do we need to call for you?”

A breath filled your lungs, only for you to cough and squeal out in pain. A moment more and you were able to grit out, “My husband.”

“What’s his name-“

The ambulance screeched to a halt, the back doors flung open, and your gurney was taken out. The IV in your elbow that was placed while you had passed out now seemed to prickle with pain, one nurse who walked beside your moving gurney drew a vile of blood before taking off, the rest of the medical crew pushed you into what you assumed was a trauma bay. You wouldn’t know, you’re not a medic. You’re just a sergeant, an infiltration specialist.

A doctor came in, placing a plastic bracelet on your wrist as you looked around with a heavy head. Price was with you, Gaz wasn’t… Where’s Soap and Ghost? Will they be here soon?

It felt like only two second passed when the nurse came back to your gurney, she was the one who took your blood. The other nurses still fluttered about, getting you ready for surgery as your captain stayed by your side. She had a somber look in her eye. There was a gentle hand on your shoulder, the good one, you paid no mind to Price - moving it to get his touch off of you. You didn’t want him there, you wanted-

“I have your test results, Miss.” You heard Price take a step back, the pain in your body began to feel fuzzy as the sedatives kicked in from your IV. The nurse stood beside you, holding onto the bed rail and you felt unease bubble into your lungs. In your adrenaline delirious state, you could still make out the look of the nurse’s face - the bearer of bad news. “Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

“I’m not pregnant.” It escaped like a whine, grabbing the nurse’s wrist with what little strength you had, your stomach twitched. “My husband and I have been- been trying for years. I- I can’t be.”

“You are, test confirms it. But we have to take you into surgery now, and I’m unsure if it will be viable after this.”

A growl emitted from your throat, “Save it. Save it. Save my baby. Please.”

There was a grim look on her face, and the doctor beside her. She stepped in, a calm look in her own eye as she spoke, “We’ll do the best we can, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

A hiccup escaped you, pain leaving you and your consciousness slipping away too, “Please. Save my baby.”

The doctor only nodded before she left, and the nurse gave you a somber look before leaving too. You couldn’t even look at your captain, the man you would have always looked to your guidance. But this… This was something you had to navigate alone and with your husband.

You were only awake for a few more moments, the anesthesiologist saying something about needing Price to leave, that you would be out soon. Your eyes grew heavy, you refused to fight it. Giving in meant not having to worry about losing the chance you’ve wanted.

When you woke up, pain encompassed you. A groan escaped you, your eyes opened and scanned the left side of the room, the light above your bed not being able to flood your room with light. It was dark outside, the stars still perched in the sky, your eyes moved right and you could see the dark mass of someone just entering through the door.

“Simon,” You whined his name, tears escaping your eyes in fat globs, your one good hand reaching for him. He was instantly by your side, hand gently moving from strands from your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” He murmured as he pressed his lips to your temple. “You survived. Why would you be-“

Your jaw set, the words spoken like kerosene, meant to burn yourself alive. “I was pregnant.” The raw sob that escaped you made you push your head back, looking your husband in the eye as you sobbed from your injuries and the loss of what could’ve been. “I didn’t- I didn’t know and- and it’s gone.”

Your husband froze, you watched every muscle inside of him contract as he gazed at you. You watched, in such agony, as you husband’s forehead fell to your bandaged one, his warm hands holding your face and his own tears sprung from his face to mix with yours. And all you could hear was what sounded like howling - loud and heavy sobs, ones that would make your body tremble. It was just hard to realize that they were coming from you, you only realized it when Simon’s hand went around to your lower back, trying to move you towards him, trying to hold you in a way that could truly comfort you. It was useless. Useless.

“It’s gonna be okay.” A meaningless saying now. It hasn’t meant a fucking thing since your third miscarriage in your second year of marriage. It hasn’t meant anything since you had to stop counting your losses and began to pretend that your husband wasn’t fucking destroyed that you couldn’t give him the one thing you want to. A family.

How could it be okay when you couldn’t do this one fucking thing that your body was made to do?

“We’ll be okay.” He murmured against your skin, your good hand holding onto his jacket sleeve, your head pounded as the sobs grew louder, turning into wails. As much as it hurt your throat, it hurt more now that after three years since your last one, you had a chance. And it was ripped from you, ripped from your hands before you even had a chance to understand why it had been given to you. A chance to show your husband that you could be good too, that you weren’t like your past either.

“It- It hurt- hurts-“ Was all you could manage, and you felt Simon’s sob shake you, burn you, crucify you. God, this must be Hell for him, because it’s more than Hell for you to think about the pain he’s in.

“I know, my girl, I know it must hurt.”

A zap of pain in your belly and you were crying more, the wails quieting to you begging him for medicine. Tears watered your vision of your Simon as he pressed the call button, brushing your hair back before looking you in the eye again. Even if you couldn’t see too well from the tears and the pain, you could imagine his velvet brown eyes - you could feel his tears as he brushed your hair back over and over, his words rumbled through you like a prayer.

“Our time’ll come soon, baby. And I’m so sorry that it wasn’t now, n’I know that’s gotta hurt so bad.” A kiss and then his cheek was pressed to your hair, you could hear the nurse come in, and more voices enter your room. There was no reason to fight your urge to close your eyes, let the tears fall, and listen to him. “But I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, jus’ like every time before, and any time after. I’ll be here, even if I have to kill a thousand men to get here. I will be here.”

[sweatervest-obsessed]

New Shade of Green

Pairing: Spencer x Reader (gn!)

WC: 2.7k

TW: implications of murder, serial killer talk, mentions of abuse, crying, anger, swearing <3, Men sucking so bad

a/n: This was a request, which you can see here. Jealous Spencer was so fun to write! Enjoy babes!!!

"Oh my god. Shut the fuck up! I didn't know you were the consultant for this case!" You hopped up out of your seat on the jet to greet the man you called your best friend. 

His eyes lit up when he saw you, wrapping an arm around you, squeezing you tightly. "I assume you didn't read the text I sent you last week."

You laughed and pulled out of the hug slightly, hand still on his arm. "I never read anything you send me."

Spencer, whose hand you had abandoned when you got up to say hi to Oliver, was zeroed in on the fact that your hand was still on Oliver's arm, and Oliver's arm was still slightly wrapped around your waist. 

"Team, this is Oliver Swerdanski, my best friend and specialist in classics--" 

"Norse mythology specifically." 

It was not lost on the team that you clearly had a type. Oliver was about 6 feet tall, in a sweater, and wearing wired glasses frames. He was slightly buffer than Spencer, but not as tall. (something Spencer noted the first time you had introduced the two)

The team nodded and said their hellos, more interested in the shifting dynamics of the plane since you hadn't left Oliver's side, opting to sit with him on the couch instead of your usual seat by the window, next to a certain green-faced Doctor. 

The flight was going to be a long one. 

Eventually, Derek felt terrible enough for Spencer that he stopped by you and Oliver on his way to get some coffee. 

"So, Oliver, how long have you known our dear Y/N here." 

Oliver smiled over at you with a glint in his eye that most of the profilers on the plane noticed. Except for you. 

"Oh, well. We go way back." 

You nodded enthusiastically, just happy to have the company of an old friend. "We were neighbors growing up--you could say he's my childhood best friend." 

"That turned into one of your now best friends..."

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it asshat.”

Derek smiled slightly, realizing this was going to be an interesting case “Well, it’s nice to meet you Oliver.”

He left the two of you alone, taking your abandoned seat next to Spencer, a slight smirk washing over his face as he did. 

“Aren’t you the picture of joy this morning?” 

“Not in the mood, Derek,” Spencer mumbled, staring intently out the window, trying not to let his jealousy get the better. It’s not like it mattered since he was surrounded by profilers who could read him like a book. 

“What do you think of Oliver?” 

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and Derek chuckled. “Good luck, kid.” 

And with that, Derek left Spencer alone, knowing he had his plate filled with more than enough shit for however long this case would be. 

And it didn’t help anything that you were completely oblivious to both men: both of them filled to the brim with envy of the other, having what they each thought the other had—your attention. 

____________________________________________________________

Four years ago, Hotch had made you and Spencer share a bedroom, causing a chain of events to lead to the fact that you still share one now. 

Three years of dating had made you feel very comfortable in your relationship; You loved Spencer Reid. This was not some passing affliction, it was simply a fact of the universe. You would move hell and earth if he asked you to. 

But not right now. Right now? You kind of wanted to punch him. He was ignoring you, or at least that’s what it felt like. The car ride was completely silent. You could tell something was upsetting him, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure why he was so distant. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong.” 

He shrugged, effectively trying to murder the conversation before it even had the chance to live. 

You frowned slightly, shifting in your seat slightly, and looking over at him. 

“What’s going on?” 

You heard him mumble something under his breath, unsure of what he was saying, but it just made you even more upset. 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on with you?”

“I said. I’m fine.” Spencer huffed. 

“Well, clearly you aren’t.”

“Believe whatever you want to fucking believe then.”

And that’s where the conversation ended, leaving you effectively lost. Especially since he wouldn’t hold your hand in the car ride back and then didn’t wait for you as he walked straight into the police station. 

This was going to be a long case. 

___________________________________________________________

And you were right. 

Spencer ignored you at every chance he could. Even in the hotel room, he’d go to bed without you, no holding one another, no late-night talks, nothing. He would just get ready for bed in silence and then turn away from you. 

And tonight, you couldn’t deal with it anymore. He had been ignoring you for over a week and now that it looked like the case was going to take longer, you couldn’t stand it. Instead of getting into bed, you grabbed your phone and wallet and stormed out of the hotel, slamming the door behind you. 

You went down to the hotel bar and ordered yourself a tequila shot, downing it quickly before getting your regular drink. 

Oliver slid into the seat next to you, hand on your arm. 

“I haven’t seen you do tequila that fast since freshman year of college.” 

You gave him a dry laugh and took another sip of your drink. “Desperate times.” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“Not really. I’m just. I’m aggravated.” 

“Come on, babe, it’s me.” Oliver rubbed his hand up and down your arm. “You can always talk to me—so tell me what’s been going on. Boy troubles?”

You sighed. “It’s just…I don’t know what’s going on with Spencer. He’s barely said like three sentences to me since the case began, and clearly, he’s upset with me, but I have no fucking idea why since he’s being a stubborn ass and won’t talk to me. How the fuck am I supposed to fix something if he won’t even tell me what’s wrong.” 

Oliver rubbed his thumb across your arm. It felt intimate because it was, but this was Oliver, who only had the best intentions for you, who you had known since you were a little kid.

“He sounds like a douche babe.” 

You leaned away slightly, face becoming unrecognizable for a moment. “Okay, well, that’s not what I said. He’s clearly just upset abou—” 

“You kinda did. He’s acting like you don’t exist, and clearly, he doesn’t care about how all of this is affecting you.” 

You went to rebuttal his claims because Spencer would never be that callous; he’d never treat you like that. But he kind of was. “It’s only because something is wrong and…”

“So he treats you like this whenever he can’t communicate with you.”

“Well not…he doesn’t…” You were starting to doubt yourself, unable to keep up with the accusations. 

“He doesn’t what. Because it sounds like you’re saying he treats you like shit when he gets upset with you…”

“What are you trying to insinuate? That he hits me? Oliv–”

“I’m just saying that behavior–”

What? Oliver, no. Stop twisting my words.” 

“I’m not twisting your words; I’m just stating what I’m seeing.” 

“What you’re seeing? You’ve been here for a week. You don’t know the past three years.”

“It’s been a week and he’s still treating you like this. And honestly, whenever I come around, he…” Oliver moved his hand to your thigh, causing you to frown deeply. 

“Oliver. Step off.” 

He shook his head. “You’re upset. And I want to help.” 

You shoved his hand off your thigh and stood up. You left cash on the bar, standing up and moving away from Oliver. 

Oliver watched as you walked away, frowning once you couldn’t see him anymore. 

____________________________________________________________

The next morning, Spencer was woken up, and you were curled into his chest, sleeping soundly. He couldn’t move. He ghosted his lips over your forehead, causing you to stir slightly, clinging to him more. 

“Morning.” He whispered to you. 

You hummed and gripped a bit tighter to him. “Don’t go.”

Your voice broke Spencer’s heart a little bit. It’s not that he didn’t feel bad about the way he was treating you, it’s just that Oliver kept provoking him, making him turn greener every single time he saw Oliver talking to you. 

“I wasn’t planning on it, sweetheart.” 

“Oh so now we’re back to nicknames.” You grumbled into his chest. “I’m still mad at you.” 

He signed and brushed your hair out of your face. “I’m sorry Y/N. Let me make it up to you, yeah?” 

“You can make it up to me when we get home.” 

“Deal.” He kissed your head again, just as your cell phone began to ring. 

_________________________________________________________

After two grueling weeks on this godforsaken case, everyone was ready to get home. 

The rest of the case caused serious tension for the group because the mythology was the only thing tying these murders together, and your geoprofile was all over the place, meaning these two killers were too good at what they were doing. 

Once you had been shot at, and nearly grazed by a bullet, you would have expected Spencer to continue to speak to you, but all he did was stare at you from afar. It was infuriating. 

You couldn’t get a read on him. For the rest of the week, he had been speaking to you, kissing you, holding your hand; then after checking on you while you were getting checked out, he stopped speaking to you. 

The entire team watched you and Spencer shift back into the dynamic duo you were, functioning better than before. They watched as Oliver got more frustrated as you continued to ignore him unless it was a necessary part of the investigation. Maybe you had figured it out–they hoped you had.

Instead of trying to deal with even more bullshit, you opted to sit alone at the back of the plane, headphones on. It was one of those many unspoken rules about the plane that everyone knew not to disturb you while your headphones were on unless they wanted to get bitch slapped. 

Well, everyone except for Oliver. 

You were deep in thought, trying to mull over why Spencer wasn’t talking to you–both times– going over every scenario you possibly could and figuring out what changed during that first day. 

Oliver got up, ready to go and talk to you, his intentions pretty clear from the look on his face, but Derek grabbed his arm, effectively yanking him back down into his seat. 

“What the fuck man?” 

“Don’t bug Y/N while they have headphones on.” If Spencer wasn’t going to stand up for you, then Derek absolutely was. Oliver might have been your best friend, but Derek was your family. 

“It’s just music…”

“Yeah,” Hotch spoke up, not looking away from the report in his hands. “And no one wants to clean up your blood when you get murdered for trying to interrupt that music.” 

“Look. As Y/n’s best friend, I’m outside of most of their rules–”

“I don't think so.” Derek stood up, fully ready to restrain this man. 

“What the fuck is going on.” You had stood up, and turned around, headphones out of your ears, and my god did you look fucking pissed off. “I don’t know why is everyone arguing so loudly, but if we could keep the volume at a fucking minimum that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”

The team stared back at you, except for Hotch who just had a slightly amused look on his face as he filled out paperwork. You glared at Oliver and Derek, who were standing opposite of you. “Can I help you two or…”

Derek shook his head. “Go back to your music. We’re sorry.”  

“Thank you.” You grumbled to the group, sliding your headphones back over your ears, attaching a ‘sorry’ to the group as you did so. You moved further back on the plane, sitting on the couch, glaring at anyone who looked at you. 

This has been a stressful two weeks for you. Oliver was acting all weird all of a sudden, –causing you to reevaluate your entire relationship with him, considering he was trying to make Spencer sound like a villain. And then Spencer, acting like a villain and ignoring you all week, then acting like nothing happened, and then ignoring you again for another twenty-four hours. You couldn’t take it anymore. And, on top of all of this, you had lost two more victims to the unsub, because one of the killers worked in the station, using his knowledge to avoid the BAU. 

You were overwhelmed and frustrated, and you just wanted some peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask for? 

“I should go apologize–” Oliver didn’t move to sit back down.

Spencer stood up and shoved past Oliver, moving to sit on the couch with you, causing you to raise your eyebrows at him. 

“Can I help you?” 

Spencer shrugged and opened his book, knowing you’d rather have whatever conversation he was willing to have now, in private. He opted to just read and be in your company. It was easily recognizable as the beginning of an apology, and you would take it. You maneuvered so your back was up against his arm, initiating the amount of touch you were willing to have, but also not crossing a line. 

The plane ride was silent the rest of the way. 

______________________________________________________________________________

“I’m sorry for this w–the past two weeks really. I-I’ve been really in my own head and–”

You let out a hefty sigh, tossing your keys on the counter and your bag down next to the door. Spencer followed suit, closing the door behind the two of you as you went into the kitchen to put on the kettle to make some tea. 

“Are you going to tell me what was going on? What the fuck happened?”

He sighed back at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you into a hug. 

And while you muttered your displeasure, you didn’t move away from him at all, opting to grouchily mumble in his ear, while Spencer ran his thumb up and down your back, listening to you mumble. 

“I–god Spence. You just dropped me like all week, and then suddenly—”

“I-I know. I was awful. I’m so so sorry.”  

“That’s not an explanation.” You mumbled into his chest.

“I….” Spencer swallowed whatever sort of pride he thought he would be saving and opted to tell you. “I…It was Oliver, and-and the way you were treating him, an-and you sat next to him on the plane and he was touching you and he was constantly holding you and stealing your attention away and—”

You pulled away slightly to get a look at your boyfriend. “Spencer Reid, were you jealous?” 

He cursed under his breath and rolled his eyes. 

You placed a soft kiss on his neck, causing him to hum. “You have nothing to be worried about Spence. You are it for me. No one can change that, especially not Oliver.”

Spencer looked down and smiled again. You smiled back at him, pulling him to you for a kiss. 

It was recentering your universe. Everything was the way it should be–your lips on Spencer's, his hands around his waist, and a glowing sunset peering through your windows. 

The kettle whistled loudly, causing the two of you to jump apart, startled at the sound. 

“That was a good start, Spence. Once I finish my tea, you can show me how else you can keep making it up to me.” You smirked slightly, turning around to take the kettle off of the stove and grab the tea and mugs. 

Spencer has never been so excited to drink a cup of tea, and honestly, neither had you. 

[adverbally]

We Can Lock the World Outside

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Moonlight” | wc: 979 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: migraine, chronic illness, hurt/comfort, author is a spoonie projecting onto Steve | title from “Sometimes” by Erasure

———

It’s dark out when Eddie gets home, which isn’t unusual. All the lights in the apartment are off, which is.

Juggling grocery bags from his stop on the way, Eddie has already let the door slam shut behind him by the time he becomes aware of the darkness surrounding him. “Stevie? I’m home!” he yells, flicking the light switch on with some awkward elbow maneuvering. The sudden brightness leaves him blinking across the room.

The large, blanket-covered lump on the couch shudders with a muffled groan.

Eddie cringes as he realizes his mistake. Steve must have a migraine.

He stretches his elbow out to shut the light back off before making his way to the kitchen in the dark. He puts the groceries away as quietly as he can and grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer before tip-toeing back into the living room.

In the moonlight shining through the cracks in the blinds, Eddie can make out the shape Steve curled up on the couch. Almost all of him is cocooned in the quilt from their bed, though he has left his nose and mouth visible. Even with most of his face covered, Eddie can tell that his expression is creased with pain.

Crouching down beside the couch, Eddie whispers, “I’m sorry, baby,” so quiet he’s not sure Steve hears him at first.

“S’okay, you didn’t know,” he mumbles back.

Eddie holds up the bag of frozen peas, knowing that Steve will recognize the smell and crinkling of the package even if he can’t see it.

“You’re the best.” He sounds so relieved and grateful for such a simple gesture. It kills Eddie that after all these years, Steve is still surprised when people take care of him.

Slowly and carefully, Eddie helps unwrap the blanket burrito enough that he can drape the bag of peas over Steve’s head. “Good?” he asks, trying to gauge if his placement was correct. At Steve’s affirmative noise, he tucks the quilt back into its original shape so the fabric will hold the cold pack in place.

“Thank you,” Steve croaks.

“They’ve been bad lately.” Eddie shifts out of his squat to sit cross-legged on the floor beside him.

Steve’s mouth twitches downward, barely visible in the moonlight. His next exhale comes as a shaky sigh. “Yeah. And getting worse.”

Eddie knows what that means - more frequent, more severe, more debilitating. “We gotta do something. Get you checked out, at least,” he suggests softly.

“I know,” Steve agrees, sounding utterly miserable. It’s a conversation they’ve had a few times– not just between the two of them, but also with many of the Party parents who have become concerned with Steve’s health.

Eddie knows how much Steve struggles with the migraines. It goes beyond the pain, though that’s no walk in the park. It’s the hours before when the level of noise in his classroom becomes overwhelming, when Steve’s vision starts to flicker and fuzz, when he becomes so nauseated that he sometimes has to camp out in the bathroom so he will be near the toilet. It’s even the days after, when he can still feel phantom traces of the pain like a bruise, when he’s too exhausted to move and his brain won’t cooperate with him.

But Eddie also knows that it’s difficult for Steve to find time during the school day to call around and ask about a consultation. He might even need to leave town to see a specialist, and then there will be bloodwork and scans and the hassle of dealing with the insurance company… It amounts to a Herculean task, even for someone healthy.

“I know,” Eddie parrots, hoping Steve can hear the sympathy and concern underlying the words.

He must, because Steve squirms within his quilted fortress until he’s able to stick his hand out through the opening he left for his face. Eddie takes Steve’s hand in both of his, rubbing circles into the soft skin with his thumbs before he leans down to kiss it.

“Do you think you can eat something? I can bring you some toast, maybe a banana if they’re still good?”

Steve frowns. “Maybe in a little while. I don’t know if I can sit up yet.”

“Did you take any painkillers?” Eddie is pretty sure he already knows the answer based on the bottle of Tylenol that was left on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah.” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hands before tucking his arm back into his nest. “I’m just gonna enjoy my frozen peas and maybe nap a little more.”

“I can sit with you, if you want,” Eddie offers. They’ve spent hours and hours doing that, with Steve sprawled out across the couch, his head in Eddie’s lap while he rubs his back through the blankets.

Steve ducks his head a little so he can see Eddie through the opening of his cocoon. In the cool glow of the moonlight, the dark shadows and tension beneath his eyes are more pronounced. He looks utterly exhausted. “You don’t mind?”

Eddie makes eye contact with Steve as deliberately as possible. “I never mind taking care of you.” It doesn’t seem to have sunk in at any point in the last seven years, but Eddie will never stop reminding Steve that he’s not a burden.

Carefully, Eddie helps Steve leverage his body into a partially-upright position that leaves room for Eddie to sit on the couch, then guides him back to recline with his head on Eddie’s thigh. The bag of frozen peas makes Eddie’s hip cold, even through the layers of the quilt. They probably have about half an hour before the thawing peas make a mess and Eddie’s stomach starts to growl. But for now, he’s content to sit in the dark with Steve, petting his shoulder, watching the quilt’s fabric shift under the light of the moon.

[wordstome]

not to be pretentious or anything but I legit think whoever wrote König's bio was on some xgames shit. Like if we think about it, without his bio he's just some guy with a German-adjacent accent? The veil is kind of interesting, especially knowing it's a t-shirt, but a lot of people would just write him off as a Krueger clone. Richtofen from Black Ops has more personality.

But then someone, in exactly 119 words, conveyed so much and yet so little about who he is as a person? A lot of veterans come home with PTSD and anxiety, but König has always had anxiety, and he still chose to enlist at 17, which presents a lot of intriguing possibilities for what kind of childhood he had and what kind of person it molded him into. The fact that he was bullied as a child serves as a juxtaposition with "too big to be a sniper", which is at least 6'5". That's a big ass man. Did he hit a crazy growth spurt? Did the kids make fun of him specifically for being big? Was he a violent person in his youth, or did that manifest in the military?

Can you imagine hoping to become a sniper, a position that involves a high degree of skill and a fair amount of distance, and instead being assigned to be an insertion specialist, kicking down doors in the thick of it and frightening hostages? Quite a few people have explored this aspect of his character: is he bitter about that? Is he jealous of snipers? We know he holds some amount of resentment because of his "and they said I couldn't be a sniper" voice line, how would that tie into any insecurities carried over from childhood?

All of this also puts his voicelines into new context. Most if not all of the operators shit talk, yell, and cheer, but König seems to take a sort of vicious pleasure in what he does. He's confident in his abilities, bordering on arrogant. Part of this is probably just his accent, but it's another piece in the big guy/anxiety/YOU MISSED ME! puzzle. I love seeing how people reconcile these parts of him into a fleshed-out character. A lot of people deride people who like König despite him not being part of the story and only having a short bio to characterize him, but I think that's a good thing, and presents a lot of room for people to speculate and explore. That's kind of his appeal, at least to me.

[thefreakandthehair]

we feel a little warmer now.

rating: teen & up | wc: 1.1k | tags: canon-typical injuries, pre-relationship, getting together, fluff, light hurt/comfort | prompt: love is a fire that never goes out @steddielovemonth & a happy birthday gift for @henderdads! title from the woods, by hollow coves.

February in Indiana is still the dead of winter— cornfields are barren, trees sway in the wind without their leaves, and the sky seems to have a sheer layer of grey even on the cloudless days.

Eddie’s always loved winter. The shorter days followed by longer nights, snowy Sundays, watching the smoke from a joint or cigarette dance in the freezing air, and excuses to do donuts in the local abandoned grocery store parking lot. He’s always loved winter, or at least he did until his world shattered at his feet, leaving him with injuries that take ages to heal and scars that leave him perpetually cold.

It’s been difficult to explain, even to the people who’d lived it with him. He can’t fully enjoy winter anymore because the cold seeps into his bones, maybe through the scars, maybe just because of the nerve damage. He’ll never know for sure because Hawkins General doesn’t exactly have a Demobat Specialist on staff so he just keeps it to himself.

Well, mostly. Steve knows.

Hiding anything from Steve has proven impossible. His constant chill, his frustration with the new but still-improving limp, the grief, the guilt, the confusing simultaneous euphoria of survival. The only secret he’s managed to keep is the big fat crush he’s harbored, probably since Steve helped find him in the woods.

Maybe earlier. Maybe since high school. He tries not to think about it too much.

The point is, Steve knows and even if Eddie hasn’t said that it breaks his heart to lose the quiet winter nights smoking on the porch or the hood of his van, Steve figures that out, too.

He must, because Eddie nearly jumps out of his freezing skin when knuckles rap on the front door of his and Wayne’s new trailer. There’s a system these days: check the peep hole, crack the door with the chain still attached to confirm, and only then does Eddie open the door completely. An unfortunate system, but he’s far from the town hero that Steve’s been hailed as, albeit against his will.

Speaking of, through the peep hole, he sees Steve standing on his porch wrapped in what looks like a thick hoodie and winter coat.

“Who goes there?” Eddie asks, cracking the door and peering out with one eye.

“It’s me, you ass. Let me in, I have a surprise.”

The door chain unhooks with a metallic click and Steve enters the trailer like he belongs there.

Because he does, Eddie thinks.

“A surprise? For me? Oh, do tell.”

Steve stands in the living room, a live wire if Eddie’s ever seen one. His hair is a little messy, as though he’s been raking his fingers through it. His nose is pink, complemented by his frosty cheeks, and his eyes are wide and wild.

“If it’s overstepping or whatever, we can pretend I never mentioned it but I know how much you miss winter nights. And I uh, I built a fire pit at my house?” His voice pitches up, as though it’s a question.

“You built a fire pit? Today?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be honestly, time consuming but, yeah. I built a fire pit. And I was thinking that maybe with the fire and some blankets and a good jacket— a real winter coat, not just your leather jacket— you might be able to get some of that back.”

Eddie tries his best not to think about Steve lugging brick pavers and forcing them into place, thinking about Eddie and his stupid broken internal thermostat. Wanting to give him back something the Upside Down took. Worrying Eddie would somehow see this as overstepping.

It’s a quick Yes and even quicker drive to Loch Nora, a drive that Eddie’s always found hilarious. How can two neighborhoods exist so close together but feel like different worlds?

The whole way there, Eddie keeps Steve talking. If Steve’s talking, there’s less room for Eddie to spill yet another truth inadvertently, the only one left to spill. Instead, he asks questions about work, and Robin, and if he’s heard from his parents.

(“It sucks,” “she’s great,” “nope”. In that order.)

Pulling into the driveway, Eddie hops out of the car as best he can in one of Wayne’s old winter coats and follows Steve to the backyard. His jaw drops when he sees exactly what Steve’s done. More than a simple circle of bricks, there’s a pit made of concrete blocks in the center of a larger circle filled with wood chips and grey pavers marking the perimeter. Wood logs are already split in a pile off to the side next to two lawn chairs and dear God, Eddie really hopes that Steve bought that already split. He’s still not over him swinging on demobats with his bare hands, and the image of him with an axe is enough to put him down for good.

“C’mon, I’ll get it started,” Steve nudges their shoulders together and walks through the pit to the stack of logs.

Steve gets a roaring fire going, the kind that cracks and burns both red and blue, and passes Eddie an extra blanket. Flames dance beneath the clear sky, speckled with stars that do little to distract him from how unbearably warm he is for the first time in months.

People don’t just do things like this for him, not without expectation or out of obligation. So much of Eddie’s life has felt like a spectrum spanning from pity to transactional with very few exceptions in between.

Then again, Steve feels like an exception to a lot of things.

“Why?” Eddie eventually asks, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke like a kid seeing his breath.

Steve shrugs and tosses the butt of his own cigarette into the flames. “You lost enough down there, and I know how that feels. If there’s something easy enough to fix, I want to. You deserve that.”

Eddie turns and sees Steve smiling, just a soft upturn of his lips as he looks up at the sky. His face is flushed and Eddie wants to think it’s not from the flames.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Eddie says, scooting his chair over close enough for the arms of their chairs to nearly touch.

Steve looks back from the sky to Eddie, long lashes and the scar on his neck on full display.

“That a good thing?”

Eddie nods. “Oh yeah, definitely. Maybe the best thing.”

They sit outside for hours, eventually sharing a blanket draped around their shoulders and a first kiss that lights him up from the inside.

Eddie’s warm long after the fire burns out.

[spacelazarwolf]

"Note: If you're sensitive, or prone to nightmares, it might be best for you to skip the next section.

Ernest Armstead, emergency medical specialist:

I think of her as the living dead. I talked to the living dead. And I lied to the living dead. I told her to hang on, that help was coming. But I pronounced her dead in my mind. And she knew that. I put a black tag with a small white cross around her neck. And as best she could, she gave me hell for it. The psychiatrists and those from the post-trauma team say it is good for me to talk about her and the rest of that day. They say it is the only way I will come to terms with what happened and finally free my mind of her. So here I am talking to you.

This lady was among a half-dozen people I saw who probably fell a thousand feet or so when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the World Trade Center. I am not sure how she got on the plaza. Maybe she was on her way to Los Angeles and was ejected from the jet by the force of the collision. Or maybe she was an office worker in the tower sitting near one of the windows and she was swept away when the building caved around her. Or maybe she was trapped and jumped to escape the flames, though I don't think so. I happened upon her even before most of those people were seen jumping.

She was an elegant lady. About my age, early fifties. I could see that even with all that she had been through. I could tell that she had her hair done up very nicely. Brunette. She had on tasteful earrings. She was wearing pretty makeup. And in my profession you notice clothes because so often you have to cut them into pieces to save lives. That was the first thing that came to mind: This lady is well dressed....

Triage is the first thing that should be done at a disaster like this. It basically means dividing the injured into four categories so that backup medical teams can move quickly in and give treatment to those who need it most urgently. The categories are indicated by colored tags that are hung around the injured person's neck. Green is the least serious. Yellow more so. Red indicates critical injuries. And black means the person is dead or close to it. When you're engaged in triage, you have one thing in the back of your mind all of the time, My backup is coming. My backup is coming. That's the reason you can tag people who obviously need help and not stop and give it to them right then. You know you need to get everyone tagged, and you know that someone with a medical bag is coming right behind you.

That certainly is what I was thinking when I met the lady in the plaza, the big open space between the two towers that had a fountain ad a round sculpture in the middle. I had finished tagging everyone from the stairwells, when I turned to face the plaza. I had not noticed the people there on my way upstairs because I was in such a hurry and there was such a crowd of firefighters blocking my view out the window. But now I saw something that was so horrific that I am glad I missed it the first time around. When the plane hit, an incredible amount of debris from the collision rained down on the plaza. Most of it was chunks of airplane and building that had little meaning to me. But amid the destruction, there were a half dozen or so people, I ran toward them, my triage tags in hand. There was a man having a seizure and his eyes were rolling into the back of his head. He had struck the pavement so hard that there was virtually nothing else left of him. There were a couple others that I never got to, but I could see from a short distance that they were dead. And then there was the lady with the nice hairdo and earrings.

When I got to her, I ripped out a black tag. What impressed me -- and scared me -- was that she was alert and was watching what I was doing. I put the tag around her neck and she looked at me and said, "I am not dead. Call my daughter. I am not dead." I was so startled that for a split second I was speechless. "Ma'am," I said, "don't worry about it. We will be right back to you." That was a lie. She couldn't see what I could see. Somehow, I guess it was an air draft or something, her fall had been cushioned enough so that she didn't splatter like the others. Still her body was so twisted and torn apart that I could only ask myself, Why is this lady still alive and talking to me? How can this be? Her right lung, shoulder and head were intact, but from the diaphragm down she was unrecognizable. Yet she was lucid enough that she continued to argue with me. "I am not dead," she insisted again. I am convinced she had some medical training because she knew I had given her the black mark of death. And she resented it. "Don't worry about what I put around your neck," I told her. "My coworkers are coming right now. They're going to take care of you."

I knew I had to keep going, but she had so deeply shaken me that I lingered for a second or two. Then I stepped over her to get to the others. I put a black tag on the man having the seizure. But another wave of casualties arrived in the lobby from upstairs, so I needed to return. As I headed back, I stepped over the lady one more time. And as eerie and unsettling as our first encounter had been, the second was even worse. She started yelling at me.

"I am not dead! I am not dead!"

"They're coming, they're coming," I replied without stopping.

"I am not dead! I am not dead!"

I went back to the lobby, putting her out of my mind for now. There was so much that needed to be done. I began tagging the hundreds of people coming out of the building....

I can honestly say that I didn't fear death, though I walked for hours in a wretched place I can only describe with a biblical reference -- "the valley of the shadow of death." I felt death, I heard it, I saw it and I smelled it. And with that lady in the plaza, I even talked to it."

(x)

[korya-elana]

Your doctor isn't always right.

This'll be a long one. No tl;dr

I see a lot of rhetoric about "doctor shopping" and "your doctor is obviously right, quit trying to claim an illness that isn't yours" and other such nonsense. So I'm here to tell you why these guys suck and why they're wrong.

I'd like everyone to keep in mind that I am studying brain science, I readily admit that, due to my health issues, I could have died without my doctors. I am firmly pro-science and pro-medicine. However.

I was actually going to type up this post a few weeks back and then the universe smacked me with a relevant situation. For some context, I recently moved back to Ohio. I had lived in NY for the past few years due to traumatic circumstances and had not received any care for my disabilities at the time. Considering one of my issues is Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (my joints and connective tissue are loosey-goosey and don't work right) and EDS causes me severe pain from constant rib dislocations/subluxations, I went to go get pain management from a specialist as soon as I was back.

This "specialist" (literally the head of the relevant department) told me there was no way that I had EDS despite my relevant testing and family history, started testing me for the WRONG illness (Marfan's, which you can tell by looking at me I do not have) and then, despite his admittance he doesn't know much about EDS, proclaimed I don't have it and it wasn't worth seeking any help. And he obviously did shit for my pain. He also said this about my proven autoimmunity.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. At the ripe old age of 30 and relatively good health despite my disabilities, I had a real stroke. Not only is this highly unusual for my age and health, it was a very, very specific type of stroke that is highly indicative of a much more dangerous type of EDS than my previous specialists had ever thought. And now I need extremely expensive and hard-to-get approved genetic testing. I have therapies several times a week and in a month I see a neurologist. Specifically, a stroke specialist where I will likely be the youngest person in the waiting room by at least 20 years.

This doctor could have killed me. He could have permanently crippled me beyond repair due to his advice. I legitimately thought I was dying. I have lost parts of my life and activities vital to my sense of self that I will never get back and I am very early on a very long road to recovery. Because my doctor was wrong. And I'll sure as shit be suing him.

So if you think your doctor is wrong, I want you to ignore every single asshole tumblerite telling you that your doctor knows best and knows better than you do. Seek that second opinion. Or your third! Or your fourth! I went through five doctors before I found one that actually knew what he was talking about and could help my dysautonomia symptoms for real. There is merit to talking about diagnosis hunting and being more sure than you should be. But doctors are not perfect. Malpractice kills people. Follow your gut feeling and find someone who knows how to talk about it. Shutting up and ignoring that feeling could get you hurt.

[highfantasy-soul]

omg this tension with Evan and his character arc this season is sooo juicy!!!!

spoilers for episode 9 of mismag season 2

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

At some point, the tension is going to break and I really really hope the entire pilot program sits Evan on his ass and, since he's so concerned about people being plain with their speech, gives it to him like it is. How he's being so SHIT to his friends and at every opportunity spitting in their faces and calling them liars.

My jaw was on the GROUND when they went back to piss-berg and he accused the Quoli (spelling - who knows spelling??) of being purposefully obtuse about why he gave Evan the book and what his sad expression meant. Evan took it as "Evan's life will permanently be so sad and pathetic" and when confronted, the Quoli explained that wasn't the reason, Evan wanted answers and the book has what Evan had wanted when last he came to the island - but the whole reason the Quoli looked sad was inappropriate to tell Evan.

Like, the Quoli straight up said 'Evan, your emotional healing and self-realization has got to come from you - you can't get that shit handed to you by an outside force' and Evan threw a little tantrum.

What really made my jaw drop was when in response to Evan claiming the Quoli thought his life was all super sad and pathetic, the Quoli LOOKED TO THE OTHERS to ask if they thought Evan's depiction of his life was accurate. The others staunchly and firmly said 'no, we don't see Evan's life as just a sad, pathetic never ending cycle of depression - that's not who he is' - the Quoli looked to Evan and asked 'Do you really need ME to explain to you what your friends already know? (and just told you) or do you trust that with more time, you'll understand it for yourself?' (again, telling him - yo, you can't fast track emotional healing, but you got a whole ass support system here for you. To quote Bo Burnham: the love has got to come from YOU)

And EVAN'S RESPONSE WAS: "I don't like you. There could be clarity here and there's not. I'm not sure if that's your fault or just the nature of the world but either way, I don't have to be in a good mood about the imposition of mystery on someone who's just looking for answers."

My jaw DROPPED

Evan just heard his friends give clear and direct answers to the question he was asking and he TOLD THEM TO SHUT THE FUCK UP - THEIR THOUGHTS MEAN NOTHING, THEY DON'T KNOW SHIT AND HE WANTS A GOAT TO TELL HIM WHAT TO FEEL!!!!!!

He's claiming there's mystery and a lack of clarity but EVAN IS THE ONLY ONE OBSCURING HIS VISION!!!!

You can bring a horse to water but you for sure can't make him listen to his friends when they tell him point blank the answer to his question!

If I was Jammer, I wouldn't have just asked Evan if he was ready to go, I would have grabbed that motherfucker by the collar and drug his ass out of there and he'd be getting the cold shoulder for A WHILE

I really hope that's where his character arc is going because I get heated every time Evan insists his friends are shit and liars and 'no, no, they don't understand, I'm the most specialist boy in the whole wide world and my sadness is everything that defines and and I'm going to pretend to hate it, but every time my friends counter it, I'll ignore them and tell them they're stupid liars and retreat back into my comfortable sad boi aura that makes me feel special.'

Like, at some point, something's gotta break, right? I know K has the most to lay out for Evan in that department, but I kinda hope Jammer is right there with them because I don't think Evan will listen to K at all - he'll dismiss her as just a jilted lover who's opinion is the least among the group.

I know it's an improv show and there's no guarantee everything will pay off, but I think it'll be really good if they're able to fit it in.

---

Obviously, this isn't me dogging on Brennan and his choices while playing the game - it's a very VERY compelling and realistic look at the difficult healing journey that people who have gone through (or gone through similar) what Evan has might take.

What I will say though, on a serious note, is that if you find yourself in a relationship with someone who behaves the way Evan does, take care of yourself. Just because they've suffered unimaginable trauma doesn't mean it's ok for them to abuse you. Even if that abuse stems from their trauma, you do not have to accept being treated like that.

You cannot help someone who doesn't want to be helped. You cannot force them to drink the tonic you offer them, accept the help you give, or believe what reassurances you give them.

You cannot tell them how to view themselves - even if you think it's helping them see themselves how you believe they truly are. The belief HAS to come from them, you can't do their emotional labor for them (though many will try to make you and then have you blame yourself when it doesn't work).

Of course leave room for love and meeting people where they are, but trauma does not excuse abuse - you are not a bad person for stepping away from someone who is hurting you even if they're hurting, too.

[bullet-prooflove]

Lifetime: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @pear-1206 @keyweegirlie @nu1freakshow

Travis thinks about you all the time when he’s on the road. His dreams are filled with the taste of your honey on his lips and the sound of your ecstasy in his ears. You presence is nothing more than a memory when he’s on the rodeo circuit but those other girls, the belt bunnies, they don’t get a second look.

You’re the only person he trusts with the news that his condition has deteriorated, that he’s now in liver failure. It’s a wakeup call, especially for the man who thought that he was going to live forever.

“I’ve done everything you told me.” He argues with the specialist. “I’ve quit the drinking, changed my diet…”

“That’s just the way it goes.” He’s told in a sterile room with his scans hanging up on the wall for him to see. “Sometimes the damage is too great.”

He flies to Yellowstone that afternoon from Texas because he can’t stand another minute away from you.

“I’m dying.” He tells you as he lays tangled up in bed with you, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “The end, it’s coming quicker than I thought.”

He expects you to leave because this is a burden he wouldn’t wish on anyone. He’s going to get sicker, it’s just a matter of time. It breaks his heart because he offered you a future and now he’s ripping it away.

“You promised me a lifetime.” You whisper against this lips as your fingertips trace along his grizzled cheek. “I’ll take whatever’s left of yours.”

He doesn’t think he can love you more than he does in that moment.

You go on the road with him. You leave behind your home, your job, your life because you want to spend the rest of the time you have together loving him.

When you start to compete for the first time in three years, he’s exhilarated. He’s seen you race in Yellowstone, he’s watched you train the up and commers but he’s never seen you in your element. When you win, there’s a fire in your eyes, a passion that he recognises in his own heart. He’s never felt as proud as he does in that moment. He’s weaker these days but he’s still there to lift you down from your horse when you trot back to the paddock. He can’t express the joy he feels at the sensation of you in his arms as the crowd cheers.

“We should start telling people.” You say as you press a cold compress to the back of his neck after he spends the morning throwing up. “You’re going to have to stop soon.”

He knows you’re right but he can’t face that right now, once people smell weakness on the circuit you’re as good as gone and he wants to compete as long as he can.

It’s when he takes that fall that everything changes. One minute he’s in the midst of wrangling a calf in the centre of a televised arena, the next he’s waking up on the dusty floor in the recovery position, vomiting his guts out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rip demands when he wakes up in a hospital bed surrounded by brightly coloured flowers and helium balloons. He counts at least seven horse plushies littered around the room.

“You know why.” Travis says forcefully.

Rip sighs as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket because yea, he gets it.

“I’m a match.” He says finally. “I got tested while you were out. The docs are getting it on the books as we speak.”

“Rip.” Travis says, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

He knows the repercussions of this surgery. Rip will be out of action for six months maybe a year. Travis has the means to weather that but Rip, he doesn’t.

“You always were a stubborn son of a bitch.” Rip says before he tilts his head towards the glass window. Travis can see you on the opposite side, your arms crossed over your chest as you talk to his doctor. “If you won’t let me do this for you, then let me do it for your girl, let me do it so that the two of you can live a long, happy life together.”

Travis can’t find a way to argue with that because that’s all he wants, more time, with you, with Rip, with all the people he actually gives a shit about.

That evening he calls John Dutton to his hospital room and they begin to make arrangements. Between them they make sure that Rip’s going to be taken care of throughout the duration of his recovery, no matter how long it may take.

It isn’t until the day of the surgery that Travis realises just how terrified of hospitals Rip actually is. He endures the checkups through gritted teeth, he keeps his gaze trained on the TV, switching the channels constantly in an attempt to distract himself. Travis, he’s an old hand at this shit by now, he’s spend the past year in and out of treatment but Rip…

This is the longest he’s ever been inside one.  

“I’m buying you a fucking horse after this.” Travis tells him as he tips his head towards the other man. “An expensive one, a stud. You’ll make four, five grand everytime the thing pops a woody.”

“I don’t want a fucking horse.” Rip tells him as he turns off the TV and gestures to the pony plushie nestled against Travis’s chest, Rip has a matching one that he keeps stroking his fingers over. “What I want is for you to marry that girl as soon as you get out of here.”

“Can’t do that if I don’t have a best man.” Travis remarks as he studies the cuddly toy once more. It looks exactly like his rodeo horse Crash.

“OK.” Rip tells him, tucking his own plushie underneath the crook of his arm. “You pop the question and I’m there, you just tell me where and when.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

modern bingyuan ft. werewolf luo binghe and human shen yuan (listen i have a brain disease (autism that is omegaverse and werewolf flavored) okay, i cant help it)

binghe’s pack:

mobei jun, his second-in-command

shang qinghua, mobei jun’s mate pet human

sha hualing, nasty bitch (affectionate) who comes in clutch during territory disputes and shit

various underlings

(tangential pack members: tianlang jun and zhuzhi-lang, by virtue of bing lbh��s relatives. tlj was meant to be the pack’s alpha, but didn’t have much interest in leadership)

vague story ideas below the cut:

shen yuan moves to the same city as sqh to be closer to physicians that specialize in his medical condition. sqh initially seems really excited to meet in person, then puts it off again and again until shen yuan calls him from the hospital like ‘dude listen i know u maybe don’t actually want to meet irl but im gonna be in the hospital for a few days and im bored out of my skull, can u just bring me some games or smth and leave them at the nurses’ station’

sqh feels bad for putting off the hangout for so long, so he brings the games, the nurse directs him to shen yuan’s room, and here we meet mbj who’s curious abt who’s been bugging sqh to hang out for the past couple weeks. after that, sqh comes to visit shen yuan in the hospital every day while he’s there. he bitches about it, but it’s friendly bitching.

meanwhile sqh and mbj keep showing up to pack stuff smelling like human—one specific human. and he smells good, at least in lbh’s opinion. so he gets curious and keeps bugging qinghua to introduce him to this sweet-smelling human. ofc, he makes it seem like he’s suspicious of the human who’s suddenly started hanging around his second. sqh finally gives in and invites shen yuan to hang out with his other friends (shen yuan is very excited and extremely anxious).

binghe is immediately obsessed. shen yuan is smart and funny and a little rude, even though it doesn’t seem like he means to be, and he smells so fucking good it’s unreal. lbh doesn’t let hualing bully shen yuan, which is out of character for him nice. mobei jun tacitly approves of him, qinghua is already his friend, and hualing doesn’t try to kill him within 20 mins of meeting, so it’s p much a success. there’s one point where shen yuan’s scent suddenly turns sour from pain and the werewolves all pause, but qinghua keeps yapping on and the only sign shen yuan gives of being in pain is a tightening of his jaw and a deep, sharp inhale through the nose

after shen yuan goes home, mobei jun tells binghe that shen yuan had been in the hospital but wouldn’t say what for; he assumes shen yuan was injured somehow? but every few hangouts, shen yuan’s scent does that thing again. binghe and he have been getting closer, and eventually for some reason or another (tianlang jun or zhuzhi lang, maybe?) he’s pressured into revealing that he’s a werewolf. also at some vague, hand-wavy time, shen yuan explains that he’s not injured, he’s just got heart problems

shen yuan’s got a hand-wavy heart condition inspired by long QT; he moved because he went into cardiac arrest during a regular hospital visit and his family was like ‘ok we thought this was managed but u now need to see the best specialists in the country’ and the specialists were like ‘ok you’re getting an implantable cardiac defibrillator like yesterday; why didnt they do that after your heart stopped last time???????’ which is why he was in the hospital

anyways blah blah maybe somebody kidnaps shen yuan to get to luo binghe or smth like that, binghe goes all badass bingge mode and kills some people, and then they fuck nasty (but also tenderly!!!) and they live happily ever after

[kingshovelbug]

Hii what is your best advice to younger adults trying to make it independently and make a living? In art, savings or anything you think of. Thank you in advance!

dont be too hard on yourself. its tough out there right now in regards to like everything regardless of what old people say. also this is going to be a lot so im slapping a read more on here

⭐️ first thing id recommend for anyone is to start figuring out a budget. figure out how much youre making monthly. keep all your food receipts for a month or two to see what youre spending on food. find out what youre paying for thats necessary like utilities and whats not

the goal for a budget (or at least mine) is to find a good balance of earning vs spending. im paying off my credit card right now because i ran through all my savings after we had to move last year but my goal used to be to save 1/4 of what i earned after bills and putting money into an emergency fund (usually an emergency fund is 3 months worth of expenses). but it depends on how much you can comfortably put away. if you can put more away do it. but if you never spend money and deprive yourself of joy youre going to burn yourself out regardless of what your job is

⭐️ if youre not already buy store brand for as much shit as you can. if its an ingredient i promise as someone who cooks and bakes you probably wont notice the difference. if its an actual snack it depends. again both from a money perspective and to boycott pro-isreal companies we get a lot of snacks from aldis and theyre awesome. i dont miss anything from mars, oreos etc when i have my chocolate coconut wafers

⭐️ if you have any subscriptions and you need to get rid of something you can probably cancel them. for *most* things theres some kind of free alternative. but again just like with a budget. there are going to be some subscriptions that make your life easier and while youd save money without them it would lead to extra work and burning out. ex willow has kofi gold because it has really cool extra features that help with running the shop. but for streaming services? im going to be so honest. both to save money and with how cheeky streaming companies (in a bad way) have been getting… you can find whatever you want to watch online for free

if you need to use anything from the microsoft office suite, but youre not required by youre job to specifically use microsoft, libreoffice is a free alternative that i actually like better. its what i use to help willow run their shop and its free

for art programs. if you still have photoshop switch. not just for money reasons. adobe is getting bold with what they can claim as their content and use from what people produce in their program. the switch isnt the easiest but there are a bunch of alternatives. some free some like csp offer one time licenses which are so much better than subscriptions. will has spent almost $2k on photoshop and after effects from using it as long as they have. when csp is $50 and they like csp better anyways. i also know of krita and fire alpaca which are free

⭐️ also theres stuff about being an adult that i thought you had to pay for but you dont? like for car insurance i went through an independent insurance agent and they found me a cheaper plan than i could find myself. i didnt pay the guy. they get a cut from the insurance company for finding them another customer. some banks or credit cards offer financial advising sessions to users. its boring but if you can get a copy of your health insurance see if they have any free shit on there thats available for you. my brother gets free doctor finding? like i can call them, tell them what specialist he needs and instead of me calling around to find one that can take him, they connect me with someone. my work offers 3 free therapy sessions (better than nothing) and free food that i take advantage of

⭐️ i think one of the biggest things that makes an impact for us is researching before buying stuff. sounds like a no brainer but you dont just want to find the cheapest deal. you want to find the best bargain, the best bang for your buck. whats the best quality thing you can get that you can also afford? itll prevent your from having to replace stuff all the time and by extension spending more than you need to. we have nonstick pots and pans that are scratched and starting to peel (which apparently can cause cancer??) that were cheap because of being on sale. now after looking into what makes quality cookware i know i should of just slowly bought stainless steel

⭐️ last big one. credit cards. unfortunately we need them so find one with a low apr and that offers decent cash back. use it up to like 20% of your limit and pay it off every month. focus on using it on things that will get you cash back so you can essentially get free money

im sure i could ramble more but this is already super long

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: By Chance

In which Jungkook, simply by chance, meets the soulmate he didn't even believe existed.

Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU, Idol!Jungkook, angst, fluff

Length: short

Additional Content: Short 1

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'Jeon Jungkook, the Idol without a Soulmate...'

'Fans suspect to have found Jungkooks soulmate, company responds...'

'The truth about BTS' Jungkooks soulmate-curse...'

Every article seems to be the same these days.

It's true that a lot of people call his soulmate bond a curse, and he himself sometimes believes it is as well. Because he's not only unable to see color until he looks into his soulmate's eyes, he also has a mark on his wrist, suspected by specialists to be a bond. A red line reaching out for his future partner and lover. It's essentially like a thin blood vessel that sits so high under the skin it appears bright red, and it develops in teens at around 15 years old.

The only issue?

His line looks more like scribbles. It's scrambled, chaotic, broken, doesn't reach anywhere. Research and multiple doctor's visits had only given him the most dire answer there could be.

A broken bond.

His soulmate had passed away before he'd ever gotten to meet them.

For a long time, It hurt. Knowing the only one who could love you fully wasn't alive.

He tried to maybe move on, but falling in love with a person that's not your soulmate is nowadays almost impossible. It's just not the same, and it's always stressful and bound to end in bad blood. It's been seen numerous times before, from celebrities and 'normal' people as well.

Jungkook has simply accepted it.

There's no use in crying over what he can't change, so he rather throws himself into his work and deals with it by distraction rather than daydreaming. He'd done that enough as a kid.

Fans always dream of being his soulmate, and he can understand that. He himself yearns for a partner just as much, so if his existence can give them a bit of a soothing feel, then he's happy to provide it. They won't ever have to deal with watching him find someone that's not them, after all. So he just calls himself everyone's soulmate.

It's him until they find their own.

It's dark tonight, windy, snow still on the streets, making everything a bit slippery, dangerous. He wonders how many people must've fallen at this point. He hopes no one had been seriously injured yet.

Just as he thinks that, something is heard in front of him, and he can only helplessly watch as a short girl slips and crashes onto the concrete, bag of groceries spilling out. "Oh God, are you alright?" He asks eagerly, forgetting for a moment that he shouldn't be seen out as an Idol, rather occupied with trying to attend to you, who's still shaking on the ground, holding your knee. Your black and slightly sheer tights had clearly ripped, stripes of broken fabric already decorating up to your thigh and down your shin. "Hey, let's get all that back into the bag yeah? Did you hurt yourself?" He wonders, because you're clearly crying.

Or are you? Because that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

"Oh my God!" You clearly laugh out now, head thrown back, cat-shaped earrings dangling freely as you cringe with closed eyes for a second. "What a waste of eggs." You giggle, looking at the few broken eggs already spilled out.

"A few are still okay. Is your knee alright? Anything broken?" He asks, a but relieved that you're not in too much pain it seems.

"Yeah yeah, just scratched. AND I can throw those out." You huff, pulling on the broken fabric now before letting it snap back against your skin. Your hands are bloody, just a bit, but it doesn't seem to bother you. "Thanks. God how embarrassing, I hope it's caught on CCTV at least so someone's got a good laugh out of that." You grin, slowly getting up to brush your clothes off of any dust and dirt.

He smiles to himself, putting all your things back into the paper bag- but it's ripped. There's no way you can carry all that on your own. "Uhm.." he says, showing the broken brown paper to you, and you whine bitterly.

"Oh come on!" You complain, crouching down next to him. "Maybe.. ugh I don't know. God I was looking forward to eating that shitty lasagna." You mumble bitterly, probably contemplating what to leave behind.

"I could help you carry some stuff?" He asks, and you look at him for a second.

"Really?" You grin, and he looks oddly frozen now. "You- huh?" Now you notice it too. Then your gaze falls down to the ground. To the orange light from the streetlamp. The green of the bell pepper, and the red packaging of the lasagna.

That's color.

"Holy shit." You gasp out, before you hear Jungkooks quiet voice.

"Thats.. not possible." He almost whispers. "My soulmate is dead." He murmurs more or less to himself.

"I-what? No, I'm clearly alive! Okay a bit scratched up but hey, damaged goods are still okay?" You joke, but he seems genuinely confused. He shows you his wrist, his oddly shaped bonding line, and you compare it to yours.

It's tiny. Barely there. Just a single, short line.

"Oh, I think I get it now." You say.

"Huh?" He wonders, looking at you. His heart is beating out of his chest.

"I had an accident when I was younger, around 11 or 12. They had to resuscitate me four times. I was basically dead for like, I don't know, really." You explain. "Maybe that fucked up your bond? I'm really clumsy, sorry." You laugh, and suddenly, he laughs too. Because One look at you, and he knows.

Not just because of the colors-

But because he would've fallen in love with your smile anyway.

♥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

[charmixpower]

what are your hc's when it comes to the specialists hobbies? (+Nabu)

i'm kinda sad we don't really know a lot about them.

YEAH!!! Or if we know their hobbies, WE NEVER GET TO SEE THEM ENJOY THEM??? Unless ur Helia. Pretty people privilege

Sky

Listen, I need you to look at Erendor and Samara and tell me if Sky has a life or any real time for hobbies. The answer is no he does not

Listen dragon equestrian is a thing that exists in the magic dimension and he loves it do not argue with me this man loves it. Riding a dragon and doing tricks, what more could you want out of a sport???

He also spends so much time teaching Lady tricks you'd think he was entering her into a competition. He's not, he is simply having fun

Sky really likes running, and walking. With or without Lady, he is content to run around with this thoughts. It's his favorite form of exercise

I think Sky would enjoy at least some of the royalty approved activities pushed on him, like riding horses and dragons obviously, but also dancing. (Though he would hate learning how to play an instrument or something that required sitting without movement)

I think he'd like the fake duel's and mock battles like fencing over real combat but that's just my version of Sky that lives in my head talking

I don't think Sky is really snobby about anything that isn't tea. Does he argue with other people about which tea tastes the best? Maybe. It's like part because he and Diaspro have opposite tastes in tea and they will argue about anything, part because tea was the only meal he wasn't being hovered over because it's supposed to be a bit more informal than a real meal, half because magix doesn't have all that good tea options

Brandon

He suffers from has no life syndrome too but worse actually bc he's had a government job at 17!!!

Does crafting and maintaining an Instagram presence count as a hobby? I mean I do this as a hobby so I'm gonna say it counts. Making thinking your hot into a hobby, I wish I were him

I have no clue if Brandon genuinely enjoys weightlifting or gymnastics or if he does it because it's literally required of him but I DO think he'd enjoy exercise in general. Like?? He's getting hotter, better able to handle situations, AND it makes him feel great. 10/10 he loves it

I think Brandon would enjoy calligraphy. I have like multiple friends who are on their handwriting bullshit and Brandon would absolutely be one of these people. He'd write exclusively in fancy capital letters while pretending to be Sky, but he also like genuinely knows calligraphy and enjoys it. No one knows cept Sky until Stella wants to write something formally and he writes it for her

Brandon is way too chill of a person, and while I think he's like naturally good at controlling his emotions I also think he does SOMETHING for mindfulness. Reads self help books, does meditation, something that helps him stay so fucking chill all the time

On that topic I also think Brandon likes psychology, like the "why do people act the way they do?" side. Just a little bit, he gets along with way too many insane people to not have at least a little idea

Timmy

He's the least interesting specialist to me in canon so he's where I'm on my bullshit. Listen man we don't need TWO computer wizs, we can have one computer genius and an engineering nerd. For the sake of everyone around Tecna not being the exact same as her AND for my enrichment

Timmy is obsessed with their air crafts. He can talk for HOURS about types of planes, the Owl assigned to their squad is literally his fucking baby and Riven is NOT allowed to pilot it EVER. He lost his mind just a little bit when he's got to pilot a Hawk with Helia, he was so excited. This is definitely his main hobby and why he's in the RF air force track instead of the engineering track, he WILL fly and nothing will stop him

If Legos exist in the magical dimension he's obsessed with them and makes the most insane builds and you know I'm right

Riven absolutely gets Timmy into lock picking. Lock picking is just a logic puzzle that also has a real life application and they spend so much time trying to pick difficult locks when they need a no think thing to do

And speed running, all the specialists have a tendency to just watch him play a video game stupid fast and it's group bonding

Shooting is a sport and one that Timmy enjoys immensely

Riven

Reading. No I'm so serious he's the character shown holding a book the most often. This man reads. Tbh he's probably reading about types of magical animals that specialists are called in to deal with, and their behaviors. That and like lists of forgeable plants

Riven also sews and makes his own clothes! Like it's a restoration thing but also Riven just likes fashion and has very specific ideas for clothes so he just makes them himself.

Riven is the most passionate about sword play and combat. Like it's genuinely fun for him, I think if everyone was set loose they'd drift away from being in the military except Riven. This is his passion. Survivalist stuff is also a huge passion of his. It's his concentration at RF I will never shut up about that hc. His dream job is dealing with magical animal threats in the wilderness, everyone thinks he's just a little insane

That and podcasts. Oh my god the podcasts Riven would have listened to in middle school, cringe worthy, they're EXACTLY what your thinking and it's terrible. Thankfully he listens to calming podcasts and like educational podcasts now, and the occasional true crime one

I'm not sure if lock picking is a hobby for him or if it's just something he HAD to learn, but he takes a lot of pride in it so I'm assuming it's a hobby. Riven likes logic puzzles and that's what lock picking is

Does Riven have an interest in photography or did he print off pictures from Musa's Instagram, the world may never know

Helia

We know the most about his hobbies. Painting, origami, and poetry. Helia is well and truly vibing, and by that I mean I bet you he spends hours agonizing about every detail <3

He probably also has a bullet journal, it's the vibes, do you understand where I'm coming from?

I think Helia would be super into general DIY in every area and at one point he gets Timmy into helping refurbish a chair he found, sometimes he just wants to work on something and that something is a chair he picked up off the curb

Helia definitely picked up how to use his string gloves for fun and to have a body active hobby and he loves it? I think Helia would really enjoy doing things that challenge him and he has the most esoteric weapon so it fits

I also think Helia's glove string weapon is as much of a weapon as it can be used for string art? I think he'd like string art

Helia can parkour and that's on wanting to get the PERFECT angle for his reference piece and know he's 40 ft in the air, Saladin slowly lost his mind when he adopted Helia after his parents died because the kid would not stop climbing on RF

Helia is also a chronic people watcher. At least 70% time when he's people watching he's also drawing them but sometimes he's too tired for that XD

Nabu

Learning about his hyper fixation magic. Listen this man will DEMOLISH a library in a week to learn about the intricacies of runic magic, he is vibrating in his shoes

Okay I know Timmy is the one who you'd assume would like this the most, but I think if you put a ttrpg in front of Nabu he'd fucking love it??? He would either spend 2 million hours world building as the DM or get way into role playing

I think Nabu spends a lot more time fucking around and having fun with his magic than most magic users. Like learning how to make small intricate beautiful things with his magic. I definitely think there would be an art form based around magic that Nabu would be super into that

Nabu absolutely is a history buff too. Like knows about ancient techniques for making things off the top of his head can list most major developments in each century when prompted history buff and I love him

He probably also has a rock collection, this man is autistic and we have rock collections. Sometimes the rocks are magically and that's always exciting

Nabu and Flora spending hours researching a random ass specific phenomenon and having the time of their lives