#medication tango

[stick-arms]

Hey folks, our Beloved Professor Science, my last remaining son, has just been diagnosed with lymphoma and given a very bad prognosis. He's doing okay right now, but there's a big doomsday clock hovering over my family now that none of us can ignore.

We're looking at chemotherapy for as long as we can get away with it, then palliative care. It's gonna be gritty and it's gonna get expensive, but everyone is on the same page of "keep him as comfortable as we can for as long as we can."

My grandmother is also undergoing chemo, but with a significantly less grim outlook (no timer on her, if she cops it we'll all be shocked.) But it should be noted that my family is quite small, so getting hit with the Big C twice in the span of a month or two is rough.

So if I vanish from here, or get really weird and moody, this is why. Losing Dangerclaw suddenly back in 2021 fucked me up real bad, so we're doing what we can to ease into this new situation while we still have our heads on straight. The clock is ticking.

If anyone has candid experience with lymphoma in cats to share, I'd be interested to know.

Otherwise, idk. I don't share a lot on here anymore, so can't commit to any conversations, but I know enough of you are cat people and a lot of you have loved him over the years, and might want to know.

Here's our boy, looking bitchy in a sun beam, radiating gay energy.

[typosandtea]

Nobody including me posts about their ocs enough so please please please reblog reply or whatever with some oc tidbits!

[cosmicstoner]

Is that really that purple in person? Yes… blue tango is fricken amazing 🥹 a great sativa from curaleaf 💜

[wabblebees]

i feel fucking CRAZY. if yall could send some good vibes out into the universe for me thatd be great bc i think im gonna really need it the next few days lmfao

[the-wayside]

[givemegifs]

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

550 words / 25 / more ghost + gaz with free use medic reader

...

"Come here, medic."

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Ain't a request." Ghost takes you firmly by the back of the neck before you can flee. He squeezes tight enough to make it clear he's not asking.

You feel his and Gaz’s eyes on you--on the bleeding laceration sliced through the outer cartilage of your ear and on the bruise forming on your cheekbone. You got tangled up briefly with an enemy tango and almost became a hostage. Or a statistic. But you're fine now.

"You're making a big deal over nothing,” you tell them.

Ghost pulls you forward and angles your face this way and that, trying to get a better look at you.

Gaz crosses his arms and stares you down. "Fine is when you burn yourself on a shell casing. You're not fine." He's barely holding back the edge in his voice. He can't pull rank on you--none of them can, technically--and he's supposed to be polite and respectful. But seeing that happen to you, and the adrenaline running through him, is making him thoughtless.

"He only grabbed me. Didn't hurt me."

Ghost hisses at you, his voice just as rough as the squeeze he has on the back of your neck. "What happened isn't important. What's important is that he thought he could touch you." His grip tightens. "You're in our squad. You're under our watch. No one messes with you."

Your gut twists. That's not fair--acting protective. It's part of their job to keep you safe, but they don't have to talk like this. You glance at Gaz for help, but the look on his face tells you he doesn’t disagree with Ghost. You swallow the protests on the tip of your tongue and close your eyes, silently letting them examine you.

Ghost finds another few nicks and fresh bruises. You’re a medic—you’re not as armored as they are because it’s a goddamn war crime to kill medical personnel. "Jesus,” he mutters. “Bastard snuck up on us.”

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"For what?" Ghost snaps back. As usual, he's not expecting gratitude from you. You're supposed to take the insults, the berating, the harshness. And the protection, because you belong to them. At least, that's how they see it.

Gaz speaks up. "No one treats you like that again, alright?"

"It's not like I asked him if he needed a hostage."

"Doesn't matter," Gaz retorts. "If someone puts a finger on you like that again--"

Soap ducks back into the room, his rifle’s muzzle on his shoulder.

"Take care of it?" Ghost asks.

"Aye," Soap says. "Bastard won't be layin' his hands on anyone anymore. Not enough fingers left, for starters." He turns to you with a look of sympathy, but you recognize the wild edge of adrenaline still present. "You alright, hen?"

"I'm fine." You use the opportunity to worm yourself out of Ghost's grasp. "We going?"

"Affirmative," Gaz says. “We should move.”

Ghost turns away, forcing his attention back on the mission even though he carries himself with cold anger. Soap looks you up and down once more, his eyes lingering on your cheekbone a little longer this time. He seems about to say something, but thinks better of it. His blue eyes soften just a bit before he turns to follow Gaz and Ghost.

...

more Gaz / more Ghost / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[abtrusion]

Tranny Tango

There's a man on the sidewalk, looking over, then up to see me walking past. He stops in his tracks and stutters back and forth, his read || reaction to me flickering between upstart woman // taller man || hold ground // make space, glitching him in place. When I step off the sidewalk and into the grass, he sheepishly passes me by without a word.

I'm interested in the everyday glitches, the double-takes, the way "everybody is just a little bit disgusted by you," what Susan Stryker calls 'monstrosity' and more than that, the casual experience of being a gaping hole in the gendered world. Stryker attributes this monstrosity to the idea that medical transsexuality, more than any other form of transgenderism, "represents the prospect of destabilizing the foundational presupposition of fixed genders." She takes anti-trans feminists at their word, assuming that their hate stems from some abstract gender trouble that transsexuals pose to female spaces, and her solution is a near-complete identification with that trouble. We can do better. This monstrosity, this glitching, is not just a downstream consequence of spectacular interruptions to some abstract 'fixed genders.' It is certainly not dependent on some unique threat posed by medicalization. It exists through instinctive disgust and constant little glitches in the social infrastructure that is gender, an uneasy response to an uncanny bricolage of the building blocks of gendered life.

Escaping the Cisgender Gaze

The classic trans encounter is to see a visibly transfeminine person out on the street, or as an escort, or in some carefully-curated performance piece, and to realize that gender is a lie. This is part of the utility of transmisogyny, which renders people both constantly accessible and utterly exemplary, and in turn this casts transmisogyny itself as spectacular exclusion instead of a slow social and economic death that sometimes spikes, particularly with multiply marginalized subjects, into horrific violence.

This singularization of transfeminine life and oppression (particularly with trans women of color) through suicide and murder statistics renders both trans life and pain spectacular and implicitly places one as a 'natural' consequence of the other. We need to seriously inspect the many interactions between non-passing transfem people and cis people which do not end with one of them dead. One way to start is Sandra Lee Bartky's understanding of hegemonic femininity as a disciplinary practice.

Femininity as Disciplinary Practice

As the lesbian separatists of the 1970s and 80s intensified the work of rooting out patriarchy from their spaces, they began to discover that nothing was sacred: nearly all everyday social activities were shaped by gender. As Bartky argues, the 'imposition of such discipline on female identity' influences every second of every day:

Iris Young observes that a space seems to surround women in imagination that they are hesitant to move beyond: this manifests itself both in a reluctance to reach, stretch, and extend the body to meet resistances of matter in motion—as in sport or in the performance of physical tasks—and in a typically constricted posture and general style of movement. In an extraordinary series of over two thousand photographs, many candid shots taken in the street, the German photographer Marianne Wex has documented differences in typical masculine and feminine body posture. Women sit waiting for trains with arms close to the body, hands folded together in their laps, toes pointing straight ahead or turned inward, and legs pressed together. The women in these photographs make themselves small and narrow, harmless; they seem tense; they take up little space. Men, on the other hand, expand into the available space; they sit with legs far apart and arms flung out at some distance from the body. Most common in these sitting male figures is what Wex calls the “proffering position”: the men sit with legs thrown wide apart, crotch visible, feet pointing outward, often with an arm and a casually dangling hand resting comfortably on an open, spread thigh. …in a way that normally goes unnoticed, males in couples may literally steer a woman everywhere she goes: down the street, around corners, into elevators, through doorways, into her chair at the dinner table, around the dance floor. The man’s movement “is not necessarily heavy and pushy or physical in an ugly way; it is light and gentle but firm in the way of the most confident equestrians with the best trained horses.”

Bartky concludes that, between behavior and makeup and skin-care, these disciplinary practices "produce a 'practiced and subjected' body, that is, a body on which an inferior status has been inscribed,” and that "the practices that construct this body have an overt aim and character far removed, indeed, radically distinct, from their covert function;" that is, she claims that gender is everywhere, that it is power, and that cisgender women are structurally made unaware of this connection.

What does this mean for transfeminine experience? First, as seen in the sidewalk example we started with (so chosen precisely because of how fucking boring it is), the abstract 'genderfuck' of transfeminine existence congeals into actual examples in the context of gender-as-infrastructure. Gender is a crossing-guard, a gatekeeper, a reviewer -- it performs social functions, all the time, which glitch and shake in our presence. Transmisogyny is not necessarily vitriolic rage at 'boundary-breakers,' it can also just be the passive exclusion of a person whose existence causes a few too many little frictions.

As we've noted, the singularization of transfeminine life makes non-spectacular trans life impossible for cis people to understand, leading to a constant current of disgust/disdain that accompanies their more exciting bouts of transmisogyny. One major inlet to this current is social friction, the way that non-passing transfems are structurally prevented from using social/visual gender infrastructures to do everyday things. The second inlet, which I will discuss in the next section, is the unease provoked by the negotiations transfems take to navigate gendered systems despite this breakage, making small corrections which are ignored, must be ignored, leaving only the horrible lingering fear that they're better at this gender thing than you.

Gender work

Because transfemininity makes no sense from a vulgar gender-power perspective, cis people generally view transfeminine people as either unwitting 'dupes' of gender or as spectacular hyper-aware gender predators, as seen across the HSTS/AGP split, the dead tranny/serial killer media split, the 'scheming eunuch' archetype, and the binarization of transfem identity in queer spaces. But because cis people also generally want to assume that they're talking to someone that isn't an evil serial manipulator, personal interactions encourage and enforce the good tranny archetype, which demands absolute suppression of any sort of informed gender negotiation. This archetype is impossible to fulfill because of the systematic failure of social gender-power infrastructure to account for transfeminine people, which demands some degree of semi-intentional gender work to fill in the gaps.

Fortunately, this work will basically never be understood as such by well-meaning cis people because of transmisogyny, so you don't have to be /super/ subtle about it. Unfortunately, ignoring this transfeminine gender work takes a lot of effort on the part of cis people, particularly if they also have had to perform reparative gender work because of trans-adjacent conditions (divorce, infertility, lesbianism, PCOS). The invisible work cis people must make to keep themselves separate from transfeminine people is then associated with our presence, most clearly articulated in Janice Raymond's lament that transsexual lesbians are feeding "off woman’s true energy source, i.e., her woman-identified self" -- our proximity alone demands intense effort to keep cis gender negotiations distinct from trans ones, growing frustrations that feed the slow current of transmisogyny.

Even if a cis person successfully suppresses their understanding of transfeminine gender work, for folks within queer & women's spaces, this itself leads to a horrible looming anxiety because people in these spaces usually pride themselves on having a full consciousness of gender, and we're a pretty notable exception to that. These anxieties are then channeled into a constant fear of the bad tranny, manifested in the horrible trans woman that your cis queer initiators will tell you to stay far away from. But there is really not much of a difference between the shadowy machinations of the bad tranny and the gender work transfeminine people have to constantly perform to even exist within queer spaces, so transfeminine people are rendered constantly precarious.

What's so deliciously ironic about all this is that this is just a shallow repetition of the cis man // cis woman dyad! Archetypes like 'the poisoner witch' or 'the gossip' or 'the slut' have always been used as a reaction to negotiating power gained via the kitchen, or cloistered social activity, or sex, all routes that men could never understand as a direct consequence of their own gendered power -- so in response to this fear, these roles pilloried exemplary women to structurally terrify the population, but just as importantly to exonerate the rest of the female population, to let men pretend that these weren't tools that everyone was using, to pretend that heterosexual relationships were pure! Just as transfems serve the role of gay best friend^2 in gay mens' films, they serve the role of women^2 in queer spaces, constantly performing gender work which is simultaneously unknowable and terrifying to the cis majority, forcing periodic purges to pick out 'the bad ones' which temporarily exonerate the rest, letting the majority believe that the 'good tranny' actually exists: that mythical trans woman who is not semi-intentionally managing their gender presentation around you, the one you can fuck without worrying if she's just faking it, the one who is good and pure and radical and really, really boring. I have never met a non-passing trans woman like this, but I'm sure plenty of queer people have.

Conclusion

So there are two main forms of everyday experience that express and constitute transmisogyny. The first is the social friction inherent in being freak-gendered in a world that relies on gender to make people move and talk and shit correctly. The second is the friction between the gender awareness demanded of transfeminine people (none) and the practical result of transgendered living in the world. If you want to take some of this back to cis womanhood, I've been trying to reframe the marginalized position of womanhood in terms of articulation work -- that while women have always worked, that work has generally been rendered unreal, always carried out with a dream of not existing, turned into stage-setting for the real boys to grow up and come in and be breadwinners. In this context, our components look like 1) do gender work and 2) don't let it show, and the framing of transfeminine people as socially useless outcasts despite their constitutive role in social life via flexible labor starts to sound a lot like the making of a super-woman, like the mujerísima sometimes invoked in Latin American travesti activism. That sounds just about right. I will become a witch of witches, the lurking terror that eats astrologers, always and ever a little bit too real.

[stoutguts]

Ghoap 💀🧼 relationship dynamic HC (shall we?)

Simon "Ghost" Riley is no scaredy-cat.

The man has been through hell on Earth, survived torture, abuse,—and being buried alive for fuck’s sake. They managed,—even after everyone he loved was taken from him. Has been through countless tense and anxiety inducing situations throughout their military career.

But Ghost has nerves of steel, excellent control over his emotions, and naturally that’s why it’s so damn good at its job.

Though…there is one thing that scares the shit out of them. Soap.

Simon thought he was all big and bad,—intimidating,—until he met John “Soap” MacTavish.

Johnny is only around half its size, yet he manages to be even scarier than Ghost somehow. Which is wild, considering one of them looks like the damn grim reaper with that skull mask of theirs.

Simon may have a reputation for “the guy you don’t wanna mess with”, to the point where people won’t even bother with them.—But Soap’s got more than a few screws loose himself.

New recruits and others will at least approach him,—but with serious caution, and are careful to watch their mouths around him.

His anger is explosive, fitting, for a demolitions expert. A total loose cannon when he wants to to be. Some recruits even refer to him as “the psycho Scot” or "Ghost's guard dog". Titles he takes to with pride.

Johnny’s known for putting people in their place, and with every fight he’s ever gotten into,—he’s always won. Often sending his opponents to medical.

Most of the time though, he just has to look at someone and it scares them shitless. He’s mastered his death glare, and it even sends shivers up Ghost’s spine.

The man’s a total gym rat and health nut, nothing but muscle, and he trains the most of anyone Simon has ever seen. Works out constantly, and loves to get his body moving. He can never simply sit still, and being active actually helps him to clear his head and blow off steam. Always keeping track of his calories, weighing out his portions, and whatnot,—with a pescatarian and vegetarian lifestyle. He’s also a nature lover and tree hugger,—loves to go on hikes or go camping in his spare time. He’s naturally a reigning champ when it comes to hand to hand combat, and is a highly skilled fighter, in fact, he specializes in it. He’s capable of taking out tangos with nothing but his fists alone. He even beats Simon to a pulp on the sparring mats most of the time. (Ghost may like him beating the snot out of him more than they than would like to admit…)

Soap is used for interrogations, (as he also just so happens to be an interrogation expert). He’s morally bankrupt just enough,—to where he’ll do just about anything to get answers out of someone. Whether it involves violence or not.

Simon has seen the sheer extent of the injuries sustained by the poor bastards that were stupid enough to challenge him, that pissed him off, or that he’s extracted information out of—and that was enough for Ghost.

He recalls that one time he directly witnessed Johnny, feigning calmness, take a recruit’s hand in his, then proceed to snap the guy’s thumb clean in half in one fluid motion. (The recruit had decided to wolf whistle at him when he was walking over to Ghost,—after their duties had wrapped up regarding training the newbies).

Simon is a smart man, and knows when to pick his battles. Soap being the battle he most certainly knows NOT to pick.

Although Johnny is more lenient with Ghost than other people, and lets them get away more,—Simon’ll be damned if it ends up on the receiving end of Soap’s wrath.

I really like the idea of Soap being the dominating one in the relationship, but Ghost not being entirely submissive either.

Like Simon can and will be the one to put him in HIS place, and snap him back to reality. Though still allows him his fun.

While Johnny relies on Ghost to let him know when he’s “too much” or taking things too far,—allows himself to be muzzled. Making a point to let Simon have the control, at least every now and then. Of course, while challenging Ghost’s authority a healthy amount and protesting the whole time.

Both try to be as respectful as possible of the other’s needs and desires, while also "maintaining their roles". But both are effectively switches, whether it's in the bedroom or not, and mainly put up this dom and sub act for other people and for their own amusement. They have no fixed roles, truly.

SOAP BEING JUST AS MENTALLY FUCKED AS GHOST MY BELOVED

thanks for coming to my Ted talk

(Also, the tidbit about Soap snapping a recruit’s thumb in half is actually based on a family member of mine’s story. Basically, my older sister had this guy pour water down the back of her shirt in high school, and in response, she straight up broke his thumb/snapped it in half lmao).

[hybbart]

Do you have any close ups of Tangos arm prothesis? 👀 Love all your designs so much

I presume you mean the one he has in raau. It's based off his steampunk skin. The design isn't, like, super jotted down to the fine details but these are their general designs. His second one is made of much more reflective material so its colours change with the environment more. It's definitely the most fantastical piece of medical equipment in the au, but I wanted to have some fun with it.

The first one couldn't really be worn without an undershirt, and though the second one really shouldn't be it's not as bad if he has to go without. They also had less say int he materials they got to work with for the second.

[imshymorph]

It’s soft!Price once more, because i have issues.

So, talking about the possibility of you being the injured one…

John Price is a hypocrite and a liar, so much talking about how his last medical leave wasn’t anything, how he was fine. How much he’d insist he wouldn’t be all over you if you were the one with those injuries, because he knew it wasn't that worrying. All bullshit.

Here you are, a bunch of months later, being the one on medical leave. It had been one of those “it happened so quickly” situations. You and Gaz were entering a building in the lookout for some intel, thought the floor was clear, but a tango saw you from the connecting staircase and threw a grenade to the room you were entering.

- - - - -

You managed to grab one of the many straps on Gaz’s combat vest and pulled him with you to take cover. As you two landed on some ruble you felt a sickening crack on your side, one of your ribs giving in and breaking. You had been lucky enough, no organs punctured or injured. Even then, it meant at least six weeks of deskwork and limited movement, and an incredibly annoying and constant pain.

At least your new routine was easy to follow, alternating pain meds every five hours and avoiding putting extra strain on the hurt side. The worst part though? The damned breathing exercises and the fact that Price would walk in your office every two hours because “love, that’s how often the doctor said you had to do them.”

That was an overstatement really, because he’d walk in every two hours to specifically demand that you do the exercises. Always helping by holding a soft pillow to your side to avoid letting the cracked bone shift too much.

But in reality he was checking on you every ten or so minutes with whatever excuse he could think of. He’d bring you water, tea and biscuits… and the tray from the mess hall at lunch and dinner time, “so you don’t have to walk to the other side of the building, love”. He’d also make up excuses about reports, pointing out the dumbest typos or asking you to explain something (despite perfectly knowing what had happened because he was also there).

It wasn’t even a week in when you let out a sigh, the tenth time this morning he had come in with whatever excuse to check on you. He had made it, his objective accomplished. He knew had finally given in when your eyes moved from your computer screen to him. “John, you know what I was thinking? Why don’t I make space on my desk so you can work here with me. In case I need anything.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, a big smile was pulling at his. He left the room with a murmur of “anything for you, love”. That sneaky bastard, you thought as he walked in less than five minutes later. His laptop and a neat pile of reports on his hands, completely ready to make the move to your space.

[stick-arms]

This is your reminder to take something* for the pain you're feeling.

When was your last dose? Are you on schedule?

Don't tough it out if you don't have to.

*something also includes but is not limited to: having a glass of water, warming up your heating pad, asking a friend for a hand with your tasks or reminders to keep you on your schedule, taking a nap, getting a breath of fresh air, having a snack, taking a bathroom break, relaxing your shoulders, etc etc.

[katz-chow]

deranged!reader & her task force (katz's version)

me & ur mother @moongreenlight are genuinely insane. this is basically us if it even care 😞

a/n: fem!reader all military names fake, processes fake; mostly it'd be classified, not just not done...well we wouldn't know for sure. medical shit also real. i’m in both of those fields irl. no i am not a swifty

clinically insane reader doesn’t rampage kill. art has many mediums; regular people choose acrylics, watercolor, culinary, pottery…reader chooses murder. it’s a meticulous process that depends on the person, it’s slow, drawn out. which makes her a great torturer. thing is, she was part of SEAL team tango-8 but focused more on SARC stuff (search and rescue). she knows her way around a suture kit—and, fortunately, surgical instruments.

laswell knew reader for two reasons: odd separation orders and her confirmed kill count. there was barely anything documented about her medical discharge which was weird because 98% of the military is just paperwork (a fucking pain btw). only thing noted was “medically discharged” and “0% disability”. her confirmed kill count? 43. happy to be back in uniform, she skips around the hallways to price, giving him a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering threats in his ear. “if you ever discharge me, i’ll dip you in concrete to be my custom statue.” a sickeningly sweet smile follows. as he furrows his brows in confusion and bit of horror.

soap tries really hard to like her and he really does. she's so sweet and always tries to include him in things and bakes him cakes and always somehow includes almonds, joking how it's actually just cyanide. soap laughs until he sees her have actual cyanide in the kitchen, carefully dropping it into the batter with an eyedropper. then a tsp of almond extract. it wasn't enough to hurt or kill anyone, but it scared him

he told ghost and ghost goes and investigates. then he sees reader one night, cleaning her instruments, different mallets, scissors, blades and knife handles etc. and they are pristine...not surgically pristine but definitely floor grade. he continues to watch her at 2100, without fail, and cleans her surgical instruments. until he sees her missing from her barracks from her open curtains. he goes and finds her carefully dressing a man like a buck. she sees him and smiles at him beckoning him closer. after he puts an end to that, with cuts and bruises, he goes and tattles to price. reader crying in the prison about how much she'll "miss her uniform" price and laswell speak about it and they finally know what the fuck us going on. they send her out on the field.

its just gaz, a few recruits, and reader in a safehouse. they've captured one prisoner, a soldier of the pmc against them. he's tied to a chair and after gaz runs over his psychological warfare in him. gaz fails and tiredly beckons for reader to come in. he finds her staring dead straight ahead, looking like she was falling asleep with her eyes wide open. he slowly calls out her name, no response. he calls again, same outcome. he taps her on her shoulder and her eyes fall into a "normal" state and smiles brightly at him, "my turns?!" gaz films it, the blood, the slow agony-per laswell and price's request reader starts to skin the soldier. starting with just a silly little joke about cuticles and then it goes higher and higher, the piece of skin never tearing. it's superficial, it barely draws blood. "does that hurt? don't worry, i'll help!" she blows cold air onto the exposed skin, drying out his flesh slowly while the blood keeps it from fully drying. gaz gulps, the camcorder on a tripod next to him. "it's okay, you're not going to die. and if you do...i'll make use of you, no waste! promise! gaz, can you pass me the kerrison rongeur, please?" gaz scrambles around in her kit, metal and metal clinking together in the heavy duty box. "the fucking hole puncher, gaz." she screams at him, causing him to jump. he finds the long, gun-like instrument, its blade pokes and punches together. he hands it to her, the work end first. she yanks it from him, nails scratching his hand in frustration, but that same smile on her face. she takes small chunks of flesh from the man, blood gushing and pools. she digs dipper until she hits an artery, blood splattering over them all. "the mosquito! give the fucking mosquito." she screams as the man in front of them bleeds out. she launches for it in her box and clamps down. the man half awake. gaz's chest heaves up and down, his face in shock and fearful freeze. reader storms out, face falls flat, no more smile, no brows furrowed, just a dead stare in front of her. "pieces of shit, human bodies are."

laswell pulls out any psych eval documents she can find. she finds exactly one set of documents: your medical discharge. price shows ghost and they stare at the replaying video on his monitor. the image of a wide, blank-eyed reader, hair and face dripping with crimson blood, a small clamp clicked to close an artery. they keep her. soap is the one who finds your bloody kit left in your barracks. chunks of flesh, blood, bone... and other bioburden seemingly never there at all. the shiny chromium finish looking as if they were never used at all. reader who failed out of medical school because of the lack of moral and ethics her professors and physcians saw in her. they banned her from residency.

"can i...have him..? please?" "why would you want an execution order? aren't you an interrogator?" "i want to see the peristalsis!" "the fucking what?" "how his intestines move in his body and squirm around like snakes!!!" she dissects the man in a way only a careful surgeon could. doyen clamps closed off certain sections as she sits and animates the movement on her ipad. the man inhales and exhales evenly, a bandage over his throat, eyes wide and dry from the lack of tears.

soap, as empathetic as he is, sees reader in chow, sitting by herself as she stares dead ahead, mind clouded in thoughts. her arms moves a bit, twiddling her thumbs under the table. he sits down across from her, her gaze staring pass him, face unreadable and almost bored looking. "you alright bonnie?" reader's face smiles, her eyes still dead and still as they lag behind the smile she puts on. her eyes squint. "yeah! why?" "twiddling your thumbs there, anxious about your second mission?" she puts her cupped together hands onto the tabletop. her hands unclasp. she twirls the severed thumbs around. "just a lot on my mind, yeah..."

"can i have it?" reader asks when she sees gaz's shiny teeth.

reader takes interrogations very seriously, taking souvenirs for herself. a finger carefully dried out, teeth, an ear, hair, vital organs in formaldehyde, eyes into earrings, tendons as rings and bracelets.

she gave price a birthday present which included a human heart, dried and shrunk in a glass displayed case. "made it myself", she says. "...on your own time, my love?" "yes, never company time!" his birthday is not public imformation.

ghost was missing a pow. he asks reader. "where is he?" "who?" "the prisoner..." "i let him go." "why the fuck would you do that?" "i'm going hunting, do you want to join? we can dress him in the field!"

"i got you flowers, ghost, for your mother's grave." "how the fuck do you know about that?" "you told me!" "i fucking didn't! now tell me who the fuck told you that shit?!" "you did, don't be silly. you told me over a glass of scotch...or many glasses actually!" she giggles as he slams her against the wall.

price wakes up one night, the spine-chilling feeling of a pair of eyes stalking him. he picks up the gun from his nightstand, clicking off the safety. he blinks a bit, vision clearing and seeing a figure in the shadowy corner. "go back to sle-" her body is slammed against the wall, gun to her head. "go to bed, price." "what...are you doing here?" price breathes out, trying to steady his racing heart, popping the gun back to safety. "wanted a piece of your hair."

gaz finds reader in his room after work one day, reader sweeping his house. he changed the locks within a week, locking all external doors and windows. reader leaves him breakfast every morning still. he trashes it after the cyanide incident. he wakes up to reader with a plate of eggs and toast over his bed. "please eat it and don't waste food :("

the task force lives their day to day lives with the feeling of impending doom, paranoia, and a feeling of dread washing over them all at once whenever they catch a glimpse of you. they beg price to remove you, but price would rather not be covered in cement while still alive.

[queers-gambit]

FX’s The Bear masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

requests are OPEN where to watch: FX, Hulu, and Disney+

God's Plan

your boyfriend carries the worst parts of his job home, bringing to life one of your deepest-seeded insecurities. or when Carmy calls you clingy.

word count: 3.3k+

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

🎭 drama 🥺 hurt 🚫 no REAL comfort 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship 🍑 reader with given nickname 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

part two: Two to Tango

the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

word count: 5.4k+

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💔 small angst 🧸 small fluff ☠️ discussion of deceased family member 🙊 general language and content warning 💣 relationship angst 🍑 reader with given nickname 🔏 barely edited 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

Dinner At The Homesick Restaurant

-> a highly-recommended 303-page novel by Anne Tyler

behind closed doors, many families have secret turmoil. you experience your boyfriend's with him one fateful Christmas. -> or how Carmy finally made the decision to get away.

word count: 10.4k+

🍒 author's favorite 🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and small comfort ⚠️ spoilers 🐝 stand-alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🐍 toxic family / family angst 🥊 depiction of canon-typical physical violence and / or aggression 💛 requires maturity and caution ✝️ Lord's name in vain 🍑 reader with given nickname 🔏 barely edited 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

Opening Night and Open Hearts

opening night - a mother's fear, a locked walk-in freezer, confessions through a thick metal door, questioning what's deserved, and a proposal at The Bear after hours.

word count: 9.8k+

🍑 reader with given nickname 💍 established relationship 🙊 general language and content warning ⚠️ spoilers 🤮 depiction of physical illness 🧸 fluff 💔 angst 💣 relationship angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🐍 depiction of toxic family 🔏 not edited 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

Neon Sticky Notes

reminding your boyfriend you love him one sticky note at a time.

word count: 2.4k+

🧸 fluff 🥰 romance 🙊 probably general language warning 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

Affirmation King

attending university as a full-time student is hard, but your boyfriend makes some of the stress worth it.

word count: 3.1k+

🧸 fluff 🙊 general language warning 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

Campus Breakdown

after a hard day, at least you can come home to him.

word count: 1.6k+

🧸 fluff ❤️‍🩹 small hurt and comfort 💔 teeny tiny angst 🙊 general language warning 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

Silence

anxiety plays tricks on your mind, making you mistake your boyfriend's stress for anger - at you.

word count: 2.5k+

🎭 little drama (mostly tension) 💔 small angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🧸 small fluff 💣 small relationship angst 💍 established relationship 🐝 stand-alone / oneshot 🙊 general language warning 🥂 alcohol consumption 🫠 small depiction of self-destructing / deprecating thoughts 🧠 discussion of mental health (anxiety) 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

The Business That Pays You

not all disabilities are visible. being accosted for something out of your control angers the watchdog - your boyfriend, Carmy. plus a protective Carmy request.

word count: 4.5k+

note this is a disabled female reader! INVISIBLE disability!

🎭 drama 💔 little angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💍 established relationship 🐝 stand-alone / oneshot 🙊 general language warning 🩺 depiction of medical phenomenon / disability ✝️ Lord's name in vain 2️⃣ written after season two

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

[fanaticsnail]

Snail’s Fic Rec List

Masterlist Here

Hi everyone! I haven't done one of these before, but I thought I should! I love these fics, and find myself revisiting them often because I adore them. 

I add to them as I go

One-Shots:

Did I Miss It? by @writingmysanity.

Roronoa Zoro

Themes: birthday, drinking, fluffy, soft Zoro

Not A Chance by @willowbelle.

Themes: NSFW, jealousy, flirting, possessive!Zoro x afab!reader. 

Guilded by @eelnoise.

Themes: NSFW, drinking, smug!Zoro x afab!reader

Blackleg Sanji

Parted Lips by @turtletaubwrites.

Themes: eating disorder, soft Sanji, understanding Sanji, sweet domesticity. 

Confidence by @gingernut1314.

Themes: NSFW, age gap (older reader), confident!afab!reader, small angst, alcohol use

Koby

Safehouse by @discordantwritings.

Themes: NSFW, subordinate!afab!reader x captain!Koby, unrequited love - requited love, one bed trope. 

Dracule Mihawk 

Fixing What Ifs by @sordidmusings.

Themes: old friends, friends to lovers, soft Mihawk, kissing, flashbacks. 

A Dark and Stormy Night by @thus-spoke-lo.

Themes: suggestive, flirty Mihawk, rain, gothic castle 

The Hat Stays On by @sordidmusings.

Themes: NSFW, desperate!Mihawk x afab!reader, pure smut 

Let Go and Grip Me Tighter by @sordidmusings.

Themes: NSFW, Mihawk’s strength, sub!afab!reader, Dom!Mihawk

Buggy

Switching up Roles: part 1 & part 2 by @sordidmusings.

Themes: NSFW, sub!Buggy x Dom!afab!reader, relief, comfort 

Donquixote Rosinante

The Things That Go Unheard by @indydonuts.

Themes: white day, Valentine's Day, mutual pining, date day

Masochism Tango by @cinnbar-bun.

Themes: NSFW, afab!reader, the love of corazon, intensity.

More Than Enough by @standfucker

Themes: NSFW, soft-dom!Corazon x afab!reader, established relationship

Benn Beckman 

Two Days by @jintaka-hane.

Themes: existing relationship, longing, kissing, flashbacks, suggestive themes, pretty. 

Unspoken Affections by @icy-spicy.

Themes: idiots in love, refusing to label it, mutual pining. 

Together by @cinnbar-bun.

Themes: dad!Beckman x mom!reader, they're parents to the Red-Hair crew, pure fluff, pining, longing. 

Distractions by @discordantwritings.

Themes: NSFW, mutual pining, flirting, kissing, afab!reader

Give (in) & Take (me) by @sordidmusings.

Themes: NSFW, flirting, drinking, pining, longing, Dom!Beckman X brat!afab!reader 

Eustass Kid

Cherry Girl part 1, part 2, part 3 by @macbethsymphony

Themes: NSFW, drinking, flirting, longing, amazing descriptions, overstimulation, Dom!Kid X f!reader.

Heat

Shared Smiles by @a-killer-obsession

Themes: NSFW, mutilation, cathartic crying, missing limb, injury, hurt, comfort, one bed trope.

Multiples x reader:

Rotation by @standfucker

Themes: NSFW afab!reader, Eustass Kid, Massacre Soldier Killer, Heat, Wire, drug use, acts of revenge, slaughter, brutality, flirtatious dialogue

Series: 

Songbird by @gingernut1314.

Themes: buggy x f!reader, enemies to lovers, strawhat!reader, singer!reader, NSFW.

The Heartless Giant by @cinnbar-bun.

Themes: Sir Crocodile x gn!reader, prisoner!crocodile x royal!reader, villain!crocodile, storyteller au

The Luck Child by @gingernut1314.

Themes: Buggy x f!reader, storyteller au, fairytale au, buggy is lucky, fantasy themes.

We’ve All Got Needs by @turtletaubwrites.

Themes: Zoro x afab!reader x Sanji x Robin, NSFW, strawhat!afab!reader.

Pain Management by @thus-spoke-lo

Themes: doctor!Law x afab!reader, medical impairment, semi-malpractice, NSFW

Masterlist Recommendations

DiscordantWritings

WillowBelle

EelNoise

Gingernut1314 

Thus-spoke-lo 

[2-dsimp]

—————————————

How the hitman react when you throw it back

—————/—————/——

The Sniper:

Ossian damn near almost died from the excessive amount of nosebleeds and was overflowing with joy pouring from every office of his body. When he had his beautiful crush throwing it back on him of all people. He didn’t know wether to frame the pants you grinded back on in his cherished trophy shrine of you. Or to just keep wearing the same jeans every single day for the rest of his life without washing it so he could still smell your scent.

The Medic:

Koji could only purr the most filthiest things into your ear taking the utmost pleasure into making you into flustered hot mess. As he confidently took the lead dancing the tango with you never failing to make you swoon with his sadistic charm. That quickly escalated to the both of you getting hot and bothered.

The Strategist:

Bjorn was gonna be fine! He calculated this it was going exactly according to plan. Well everything except the prominent boner he had from you merely brushing up against his crotch. Nevertheless he maintained his composure despite his cheeks burning with a fervent blush and made sure that you had the best night of your life with him by your side.

The Hacker:

Devious was Yujin’s middle name and since you decided to throw it back. He decided that he would return the favor since two can play at that game. He even hijacked the DJs booth to play the songs that would give him the upper hand against your skill. Although it was evident he lost the fight clearly he won the war. Since his antics made you compelled to dominate him with your irresistible ass throwing it back even more violently which only made him lean back enjoying the ride while he bared a cattish grin of pure satisfaction.

The Torturer:

Lord have mercy on this soft giants soul. Moros malfunctioned at the mere faintest touch from you and automatically covered his face like an embarrassed schoolgirl. Just having no choice but to let you do as you pleased as he was frozen stiff to the the spot. He couldn’t even move if he wanted too because he couldn’t bear to tear himself away from you to begin with. Especially after he peeked through his scared fingers and saw how much fun you were having at his expense. He’d gladly sacrifice his dignity in order to see his sunshine smile.

The Enforcer:

He beat you to it first he would never pass up the chance to make you laugh from how he threw it back on you with such finesse and sass. All in all he wanted the both of y’all to have a night full of fun and laughter. He was just happy to be there with you although he wouldn’t lie and say that his little friend also was happy with the way you reciprocated his gestures.