#morphine rule

[regaliasonata]

Tommy Grid Gala 2025 reference page💚✨💚✨

Going for a suit with a…revealing aspect, gold and other shiny accessories

@ajgrey9647 time to have fun with this👀😈💚👌🏾

[augment-techs]

[stick-by-me]

The good guys are here!

More like this from my collection: Trini | Billy | Jason | Kimberly

[storiesoflilies]

warnings: descriptions of smoking, injuries, and war. sfw.

when you first saw soldier!toji he looked far too out of place.

he’d come in with the other wounded that had been dragged in from the front lines. tall and broad, a god made of dark smoke that filled the washed out grey of the hospital tent. he was deathly quiet as he sat at the edge of a cot, stained shirt clinging to the expanse of his chest, his boots caked in mud and blood. you’d heard him refuse to lie down, seen him wave his hand for the fussing medic to just leave him alone.

you were confused why someone like him was in here.

he looked invincible.

“i don’t need all this,” you heard him snap again, his green eyes flashing as he stood up. “just quickly fix me so i can go.”

toji plonked himself down in front of you, heavy and crass, a dark brow quirked at you expectedly. his eyes swept over your nurse in training uniform, at your fraying sleeves that used to be a crisp white. he met your gaze without blinking, and you tried hard not to stare at the dried blood embedded into the scar on his lip.

“can you stitch me up?” he grunted.

you swallowed thickly and nodded, biting the inside of your cheek, already reaching for a needle.

“good,” he said, and he was already pulling off his shirt before you could ask him to.

your eyes widened at the gash running all the way up his side, and you instinctively reached over for the morphine.

a large, impossibly warm hand enveloped your wrist firmly.

“no,” was all toji murmured. “i don’t need it.”

and just like that, you found yourself patching up a god sitting in your cot. he never flinched once, not even a hiss of pain. only an all consuming silence. like his nerves had long since stopped bothering him at all.

-•-

you weren’t supposed to let him in.

there was a golden rule you were often warned to never break. never get attached to anybody, least of all the soldiers you treated. never get drawn into their eyes or their pain, never let them charm you, and never be stupid enough to go and fall in love with them.

but toji, he had a certain gravity to him.

you couldn’t stop yourself.

at first, he never bothered to learn your name. it was if he had that same golden rule to never get attached to anybody. he just called you doc, and you weren’t sure if he was mocking you or not, especially after you’d told him that you were still a nurse in training and to stop calling you that.

you also don’t know why he kept showing up to your cot.

he’d breeze through the infirmary, skipping past the other more senior nurses and medics to come straight to you. his fingers would pull away at his bandages, a sort of formality, his way of saying hello to you, maybe. a way to let you know that he needed help and that you were the only person he wanted touching him.

you had to stop yourself from smiling at that.

“you really shouldn’t be here,” toji said one night, his eyes fixed on the floor as you cleaned out a shallow wound on his arm. “you should be somewhere safer than here.”

you furrowed your brows. “what?”

“this isn’t the kind of place for someone who jumps every time they hear a gun go off.”

you didn’t think you still did, you’ve been here for months.

you didn’t think anybody had noticed.

“doesn’t matter,” you shrugged your shoulders. “the silence is worse, sometimes.”

he looked up at you. “oh?”

you met his gaze, fresh gauze in your hand, fingers grazing his bicep. “because every time it gets quiet, it means whatever has happened out there is over, and anything left is mine to fix.”

that made him pause.

he watched you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“fair enough,” he muttered.

-•-

you started to notice things about toji too.

the way he never sat with the rest of his unit, a shadow in the corner as he ate his rations. the way he cleaned his pocket knife with the heel of his left boot. the way he always kept his gun pristine. the way he walked out of the infirmary with a new scar and not a word of complaint, seemingly ignoring every time you told him to be more careful.

he never thanked you for helping him.

not out loud, anyway.

but one day, you found a tin of dried peaches in your pack. it was a rare ration, not one you were privy to often. a day later, a crumbling chocolate bar was tucked away neatly underneath your pillow.

you knew it was toji.

and you definitely knew not to say a word about it.

another night, he was standing outside the infirmary. you were one of the last to leave, your shift having ended quite a few hours ago, but you just couldn’t go. your mind was racing, back aching from being hunched over one too many bodies, fingers stained with the scent of iodine.

it had been… a rough day, to say the least.

you’d spent a few hours just restocking shelves, checking over all the soldiers in their cots. you changed dressings and cleaned things that you knew would only be dirty again in a few hours.

you didn’t care.

going to sleep didn’t feel right.

but there was toji just outside, waiting for you.

at least, you thought he was. he was leaning against the side of a supply truck, one foot braced against the wheel, his sleeves tucked up to his elbows. a cigarette dangled between his lips, his skin honeyed with the glow of his lit match. he didn’t look up at you, not right away, just took a slow drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke that he was made of drift away from him.

“you always finish up this late?” he asked, voice gravely.

his voice sounded familiar to you, you thought. it was the sound of someone who’d seen too much and didn’t sleep enough. you knew it because it was like yours too.

you crossed your arms tightly together, breath fogging in the cold night air. “the others need the rest.”

he turned to look at you, his face half shrouded in pale moonlight.

your breath hitched.

“you don’t sleep much, do you?”

you hesitated. “not really.”

toji exhaled, pursing his lips. he reached into his back pocket, pulled something out, and held it towards you.

a cigarette, half-crushed, but still dry.

“i don’t smoke,” you mumbled quickly.

toji shrugged nonchalantly, but the small smile playing on his face told you he didn’t mind. “didn’t ask you to.”

you smiled, and took it anyway.

-•-

the worst came at dusk.

when the sky split open like a skull and the ground shuddered beneath your feet as the shells came screaming down around you. the alarms were blaring, people scrambling around for shelter, ducking behind crates, clutching helmets with their hands.

a roar of noise, a rush of air whistled in your ears.

and then, black.

you woke to dust coating your throat, settling into your lungs like an old friend. there was blood filling your mouth too, warm and bitter. there was someone screaming, you think, maybe they next to you. you couldn’t tell. everything was muffled, and god, why was there this crushing weight on your chest?

“hey!” a voice shouted through the ringing in your ears. rough, familiar. “you with me?”

your eyes adjusted, and you blinked twice, three times.

toji.

he was on his knees beside you, uniform riddled with burn holes, a rivulet of blood trickling down his temple.

“stay awake,” he ordered sharply. “you hear me?”

you couldn’t answer. you just watched him as he curled his hands around the beam that was squeezing the life out of you, his muscles straining as he lifted it off you and threw it far away like it was poison.

“i had to come back,” he hissed, a strange tightness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “you’re so stubborn, i told you to get outta he–”

you were far too dazed to listen to him chastise you.

you couldn’t even move.

but when toji just hoisted you up and into his arms, you felt like you’d finally found your way home again.

-•-

when you came to again, it was probably around midnight.

the tent you were in was barely holding up. the canvas was torn, corners sagging under the weight of the rain and ash. a single oil lamp burned in the corner, a golden glow filling the space, but it didn’t make you feel warm.

and at your side was toji.

he was seated on an overturned crate, bloodied and impossibly still. cigarette ash dusted the ground beneath him in little pile.

“you’re awake.”

you tried to speak, but nothing came out properly.

“you got lucky,” toji added, smoke curling from his nose. “you could’ve been crushed.”

your hand moved before you could stop it, reaching for him.

he froze.

just for a moment.

and then he was pressing something cold and hard into your palm.

his dog tags.

you looked up at him in alarm.

“i have to go,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes, his hands still wrapped around yours. “i just...”

he didn’t finish, he didn’t have to. it was an unspoken thing in the air, but it was as real as the warmth in his hands.

if toji fushiguro wasn’t going to come back, he didn’t want you to know about it.

“i know,” was all you could manage.

toji held your gaze for a moment longer, then he stood.

and just like that, he turned and left without another word.

-•-

for three weeks there was nothing.

no letters.

no news.

no body.

you didn’t ask around. it was easier not to know. every day bled slowly into the next. as you fiddled with the dog tags around your neck. you cleaned his tags all the time to take your mind off everything when it was quiet.

and when nobody was looking, you pressed them to your lips.

you realized toji had been sparing you. you don’t know what you’d do if you heard his name called and knew that he was really gone. it was better to pretend he was still alive out there somewhere, smoking in the dark. every day you watched the trucks roll in. every day you checked the faces of the soldiers in those trucks, silently hoping that toji was in one of them, alive. you didn’t realize how hard your hands were shaking, didn’t realize how hollow your chest felt each time a canvas sheet was pulled back from another face.

not until your senior held them in hers and told you to sit there and just breath.

it was another grey day, bitter and cold, when you heard the familiar rumble of more supply trucks pulling into the camp. a convoy of men were slumped over in the back of the truck, uniforms dusty and torn, their faces blank and eyes sunken. there was a heavy fog hanging low like smoke, and the ground was still soft from the rain the night before. you were wrapping up a soldier’s wrist when the last truck pulled in. there was a loud call for stretchers and hands, and a flurry of motion erupted around you.

you looked up, and there he was.

toji.

alive.

you stared, hard. there was a choking sound clawing its way up from behind your throat and out of your mouth. the clean roll of bandage slipped from your fingers and into the mud.

his eyes lifted and found yours amidst the chaos.

toji didn’t wave at you. he stood there like he was a ghost. like he couldn’t quite believe he was here and that this was all real and you were real. you were running before you could think straight. your boots splashed through puddles as you shoved past medics and the throng of soldiers unloading the truck, the cold wind biting at your cheeks.

he didn’t move until you were right in front of him.

and then, slowly, carefully, he reached up with a bandaged hand to touch your face.

your voice cracked, your heart in your throat. “what took you so long?”

toji huffed something that you thought might be a laugh, weak and raw, as he pulled you into him.

he didn’t kiss you right away. he just held you close for a while. one of his arms was in a sling, pressed gently between the two of you, and the other rested on the small of your back. his lips were on your neck as he buried his face into you, breathing deeply. you held onto him tight, feeling the way his ribs moved beneath your fingers with every shaky breath he took.

then his lips were on yours.

it wasn’t hungry or urgent. it was deliberate, patient. toji fushiguro was a god, and yet, he kissed you like a man who wanted to savor you slowly. to learn the way your lips moved against his. to feel the way you melted into him, soft and yielding, molding yourself around him like a warm blanket against the cold.

toji fushiguro kissed you like it was the only thing he knew anymore.

in a way, it was the same you.

-•-

he couldn’t stay for long, you knew that.

three days later, toji’s unit was deployed again. the sky was still pale with the light of the dawn, and the air smelt like wet earth and gunpowder. you tried to give him back his dog tags, but he only shook his head.

“hold onto them for me,” he murmured with a small smile. “that way i have to come back to you.”

you smiled back, but it was tight, thin around the edges. you never liked to see him go.

“come back anyway.”

and he did.

again and again.

each time more bruised. more battered and aching. but he always found you. like his soul knew where yours was. you never asked what he’d seen, or what he’d done out there. you wondered how much longer the war would drag on. how many more times you had to watch toji come and go like a god of war, called to a battle nobody else could fight except for him. how many more nights you’d sleep with your hands pressed your ears to drown out the noise.

then, the war finally ended.

and still, toji found you.

you were waiting for him at the train station, because you already knew toji fushiguro would be the last one to come home. there he was, uniform all cleaned up and boots shining in the morning sun, a duffle bag strung over his shoulder. and you were there in your nurse’s uniform, fingers still smelling faintly of iodine.

toji walked straight to you, no hesitation, no time wasted.

“well, doll,” he started, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “guess i owe you a drink.”

you only laughed, standing on your toes and throwing your arms around his neck.

“you owe me your life, fushiguro,” you smiled, your lips brushing his.

toji kissed you then, slow and grounding, a god tasting real peace for the first time.

it made you feel full.

of promise, of peace.

of home.

“take it,” he murmured against your mouth. “it’s always been yours.”

-•-

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[threadsoflacee]

post fall hannibal and will dont bond by poetics and eroticism and aesthetics the few days and weeks after the fall. they bond by throwing up in the same bucket and cleaning each others infected wounds. sorry thats just the rule. sorry !!!!!!!!!! will tripping balls hallucinating on 4 different painkillers trying to clean and stitch hannibals oozing bleeding abdomen wound quietly telling him to stop moving around or he’ll stick his scissors in. hannibal shushing a crying and screaming will as he stitches his face closed bc theyre out of painkillers. sleeping in the same bed but unable to shake off the fever tremors !!!!!!!! showering together so they make sure 1 doesnt faint and die !!!!! guys there is so much vulnerability in being ugly with someone. give me hannibal with greasy hair bc he broke his shoulder and doesnt want to rip his bandages and will with bad breath bc hes too afraid to brush his teeth and irritate his cheek. give me them lying on the floor whispering will i dont think im gonna make it and will almost missing the target and killing him as he injects him morphine so hannibal stays conscious for a few more hours GUYYSYYYYYYYYSTSTYSYS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[dev-solovey]

SEEKING TRANSMASC VOICE ACTOR

Hi, I'm an author and I wrote a horror novella about a trans guy main character who gets caught in a cycle of nightmares. I need a narrator for an audiobook version of it.

PLEASE REBLOG, even if you're not a VA - I want to give a creative job to a trans person and in order to do that I need a boost.

Here are the details:

Story synopsis:

Thaddeus Morozov's sister tries to sacrifice him to a dark god, but she doesn't quite finish the job. As he fights for his life in a medically induced coma, the dark god puts him through a gauntlet of nightmares, each more horrific than the last. If he loses, the sacrifice will be complete.

Violent, edgy, and unabashedly queer, Fever Dreams is a biting commentary on the Trans Moral Panic, explored through the eyes of a transgender boy who will fight tooth and nail to survive - with plenty of blood and gore spilled along the way.

Characters you will have to voice:

- Thaddeus (main character), a 19-year-old trans man from Chicago. His voice would be the primary one you use for narration.

- Masha, his older sister.

- The Antler Man, or Chernobog, Russian god of darkness, who has a deep and very creepy voice.

- the Sparrow, or Belobog, Russian god of light, who will primarily be whispering. Should be somewhat raspy and not high pitched.

- a few characters with British accents, specifically John Oliver and Tom Scott. These nightmares get weird. I'm sorry about that.

- Thaddeus's grandma, a very old Russian woman who immigrated to the US during WWII. The accent doesn't have to be too heavy

- Thaddeus's parents. His dad is abusive and transphobic, his mom is addicted to morphine to cope with her husband.

Things you will need:

- an ACX account, since my publisher goes through ACX for narrators.

- good studio equipment. Readers always notice background noise.

- audio distortion may be required for segments where the dialog takes place over the phone or in chat logs. Might also be worthwhile to add some distortion on the Antler Man's voice, to make it sound really deep and creepy. If you are unable to do this, I can find an audio producer to help (or if you know one, you can refer them to me)

Content warnings:

I have to include these since it is pretty extreme horror.

Transphobia, Gore, child abuse, animal cruelty, animal death, substance abuse, vomit, mental illness, mental hospital

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

Again, you will have to audition through ACX - sorry about that, I don't make the rules. If you're interested, you can search for Fever Dreams, published by Baynam Books Press. And if you'd like a sample of the writing, I can provide one as well.

[words-4u]

second chance - y.g

pairing: yolanda garcia x surgeon!ex!f!reader

wc: 1.6k

a/n: i love all of the fics for robby and abbott as much as the next girl but where is the love for my ladies?? need more wlw imagines pls and thank youuu

you know how they say 'don't shit where you eat', turns out it's not a bunch of random words strung together, it's a saying for a reason and pretty sound advise. but when you first laid eyes on dr. yolanda garcia every single thing your best friend cassie mckay advised you went out the window and you dove head first into your whirlwind relationship with garcia.

it was picture perfect at first, she made you breakfast in bed whenever you had days off together, walks in the park, you even owned a dog together (which she kept since she was more emotionally invested in sammy anyway) almost a year and a half in the cracks started to appear, long nights with no calls or text, shortened answers, it just didn't seem like she wanted to be with you any longer so you did what she clearly couldn't do and broke it off.

you were devastated of course but 5 months later and you're starting to get back on your feet. the one hard rule you both agreed on was to keep it professional at work and you tried to... sometimes.

"and what do we have today?" you say walking into the buzzing trauma room.

"high power machine degloved his arm almost crushing it completely. his buddy wasn't looking and fell onto a button. freak accident," perlah says.

the new interns and med students gather around waiting to be instructed.

you walk up to the patient. "wow, i know you guys don't get paid enough for shit like this,"

he almost laughs but it's too painful. "no kidding," he grunts instead, clearly trying to mask the pain.

"sir, my name is y/n y/l/n. you feel pain anywhere else on your body?"

it was at the moment your ex walks in.

"what's up party people?" she asks before her eyes lock on you. "why are you here? this is my consult."

"the page went to all surgeons. i got here first," you shrug.

"god, i wish i had popcorn for this," langdon says as he asses the patient.

"shut up langdon," you and garcia say in unison. if you weren't in a constant state of botherment with her, you would've smiled at that.

"okay, i'll just stand here and watch," garcia says making her way to the back, eyes still trained on you.

"fine by me. it's your time wasted," you retort. "you," you say pointing to one of the newbies.

startled, she points at herself.

"yes, you. name?"

"uh, santos. trinity santos."

"okay, santos. i need you over on this side. you're gonna carefully dress this arm before we take him up for a head ct,"

"how do you know he needs a head ct. his arm is a straightforward repair," garcia pipes up.

you make it a point to look at your ex and then at the patient, "sir, when you hurt your arm, did you fall? hit your head?"

"yeah, pretty hard," he says through clenched teeth.

you give an 'i told you so' smile to garcia causing her to roll her eyes.

"i think i'm done here," garcia says walking out annoyed, which you feel pretty content with.

"nooo, it was getting so good," langdon says.

"langdon, for the love of god, get a hobby. santos, on my right," you say.

santos makes her way around. you hand her gauze. "perlah, push some morphine,"

you cover his exposed arm with the skin dangling off. screams erupt from him.

"i know, sir. we're almost done here. okay santos, wrap 'er up,"

"can't we get a nurse to do this?"

you look at her, kind of shocked, very disrespected. "excuse you?"

"garcia's probably on some gnarly case right now and i just-"

you take the gauze from her. "you're free to go, dr. santos"

"oh i- no i just meant-" "i said you can go," you turn away from her. you point to another one of the interns/med students. "dr..."

"whitaker. just whitaker. i'm ms4."

you hold out the gauze to whitaker. "is wrapping gauze on this patient a task you feel is beneath you, whitaker?"

"no, dr. y/n," he shakes his head.

"great, it's all yours," you say moving out of the way as he comes around and starts wrapping.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

bar hangouts after long shifts got you through most of your days. you get to have your hair down, literally, and decompress from the day with your colleagues. it's essential to your survival.

mckay rants about her day. "and he was such a weirdo, like 'sir, your daughter is about to have surgery. stop trying to get my number'... god, i can't stand men,"

"amen," you say clinking your glass with hers.

"hey, as the only man here, i take offence for all of us, okay? some of us are good guys," langdon interjects.

"no, i'm not having this conversation with you again, frank, i'm just not," you chuckle.

"what? i'm just saying..." his joyful voice trails off as he stares at something, rather someone, behind you.

you look at him confused, "what are y-"

you turn around, now face to face with santos. she looks solemn and nervous and behind her... garcia.

"what the fuck is going on?" langdon whisper to mckay.

"i don't know but i feel like we shouldn't be here for this," mckay whispers back.

"we'll be at the bar," she announces to the table, dragging langdon by the hand who so clearly wanted to stay.

it was like you were in a staring competition with garcia. even after all this time, you couldn't help it, you can't take your eyes off her.

"santos, garcia... what's up?" you say stretching our words. why were they together and what did this have to with you?

"go on, santos, tell her," garcia says sternly, hands in her leather jacket. oh, she means business.

"y/l/n, i mean dr. y/l/n, i wanted to... apologize for my behaviour this morning. every case is important and every patient deserve our upmost care. i should've known better. i'm sorry," santos fiddles with her jacket zipper, avoiding eye contact.

you were just as shocked as this morning. "oh... okay, well, it's much appreciated. and you're right, you should've known better but... it's your first week and we are at a bar right now and i don't wanna talk about work, so if it's okay with you, it's water under the bridge,"

santos finally looks up, a smile adorns her face, "yeah, water under the bridge, i'd like that. thank you dr. y/l/n,"

"okay, that's all, santos. you can go now," garcia says.

santos scurries away to the other side of the bar with her age-mate colleagues leaving you with garcia.

tilting your head a bit, you give her a look, "okay, cut the bullshit, what was that about?"

"she kept bragging about getting off your case and needing a bigger challenge than wrapping gauze so i gently put her in her place," garcia shrugs like it's no big deal.

"and then brought her to do... that," you add.

"yeah, well, she was disrespecting you and i couldn't have that," garcia says with a seriousness, a protective seriousness, that you haven't seen in a while.

"i don't need you protecting me, yolanda, i'm a grown ass woman,"

"oh trust me i know you are," she says in a flirtatious manner but reigns it in quickly when she sees your deadpanned face. "i'm more than aware that you don't need my protection, but that doesn't mean i won't give it. i always will... even if you hate the sight of me."

you're silent for a moment, playing with the empty beer pint in front of you.

"i don't." you finally say. garcia looks at you, trying to decipher your words. "i don't hate the sight of you."

"you don't?" she asks, hope ever so present in her voice.

you shake your head. the next words bubbled to the surface and out of your mouth before you could stop it. "i miss you actually,"

"b-but you broke up with me? and i still don't know why."

"here's why, yolanda," you shifted in your seat to face the standing woman. "i broke up with you because you forgot about me. i don't know what was going on with you at the time and maybe i should've asked but i do know that i faded into the background. it was like... like you didn't see me anymore. so i did us both a favour."

garcia hangs her head in shame. "i-i had no idea you felt that way,"

"i'm not without fault i should've tried harder to communicate, i don't know," you shrug defeatedly .

"for what it's worth, i miss you too," she says taking one step closer to you. "and i really wanna fucking kiss you right now,"

"oh and there it is," you shake your head amused at her honesty.

"what, too soon?" she smirks.

you stare into her eyes and you know she means every word she's saying right now.

"okay, you can kiss me..." you say. garcia is quick to move in between your legs and cup your face. you put a hand on her forearm, "... on one condition,"

"name it. i'll do anything," she strokes your cheek with her thumb.

"i... want us to prioritize each other. but not like before. i mean intentionally. i... can't go through this again,"

"you won't. i promise," she says softly before drawing your face up to her hers closing the gap. a warm and comfortable feeling ran through your body as your lips touched. the kiss was soft and passionate. it would've gone on longer if your well-intentioned friends didn't ruin.

"let's goooooo!" langdon yells from the other side of the bar.

"get it girl," mckay joins in.

you pulled away from garcia laughing and slightly embarrassed. she strokes your hair. "so... does this mean i get a second chance?"

"yes... but you’re on probation so tread carefully," you say, kissing her once more, signing a new lease on your relationship.

[darkbluekies]

The OCs search history <3

Silas:

"How to take care of ptsd in partner"

"How to make someone stop crying"

"How to make your partner forgive you"

"Best restaurant"

"Dark web"

"Diamond ring/neckace/earrings/bracelet"

"Best steak"

"How to stop people from gawking at my partner"

"Protein powder"

"Best soap to wash away blood from skin"

"Best detergent to wash away blood from clothes"

"Best cleaning supplies to wash away blood from walls"

"Best spray to keep blood smell away"

"Five star restaurant booking"

"Why are my clothes thrown out the window?"

Dr Kry:

"Morphine"

"Book series without explicit scenes"

"Healthy recipes"

"How to frame someone for murder"

"Am I secretely perverted"

"Forged signatures without watermark"

"Protein shakes"

"What happens if you mix poision with alcohol"

"Puzzles"

"PG-13 rated movies without angst or horror"

"Plushies"

"Needles"

"How to become an author?"

"How to know if your strict childhood has had any impact on your mental health"

"How to get over your phobia for germs?"

"Strong caffeine drinks"

King Edmund (let's pretend he has internet for a hot minute):

"Is it really dictatorship if I let people complain"

"Ptsd test"

"Why doesn't my wife talk to me?"

"Nightmare analysis"

"How to cheer up an angry wife"

"Can a queen rule over a king?"

"How much alcohol can you drink before you get knocked out?"

"Beatiful dresses for a queen"

"Jewelry for a queen"

"Are public executions a good fear tactic?"

"How do women's anatomy work?"

"Can you punish theft by death?"

"Can you cook rats?"

"Why are little kids scared of me?"

Jerry:

"Is drinkable bleach a thing????"

"What to do if your s/o is a fucking loser"

"Is saying 'you're an idiot' synonyms for 'i love you'?"

"Guns"

"Knives"

"Sexy outfits that doesn't make me look like a fucking clown"

"How to ask someone out on a date without sounding like a loser"

"Impressive date ideas"

"Alcohol that will make me forget today, yesterday, tomorrow and a week forward"

"Spare parts to motorcycle"

"Why am I so fucking cool?????"

"Why am I so fucking miserable?????"

"How to hug your s/o without it being cringe"

"How to make your motorcycle go much faster?"

"Boxing gloves"

"40 boxes of *your favorite snack*"

Hedwig:

"Aestethic wedding ideas"

"Is baby trapping illegal?"

"Is nepotism really that bad?"

"How to guilt trip someone"

"Utterly obsessed with my partner"

"How to be a good kisser"

"Dark web"

"Buy hitmen"

"How to bankruptcy someone"

"How to impress your partners parents"

"Best flowers for dates"

"Best hotel resorts for couples"

"Can you become a super model without school grades"

"Love poems"

"Poison"

"*your adress*"

"Best perfumes to seduce someone"

"*your instagram*"

"*your name*"

"How do I know if I'm blocked on social media"

[spicymancer]

Just out of curiosity, there any particular reason you chose table tennis for Yellow after choosing a stick or stick-adjacent sport for everyone else?

My main goal was that I wanted every Ranger to have a "Power Weapon" that wasn't just their sport's ball, which left MOSTLY stick sports, but it wasn't a core rule for the team design. So long as the sport had some kind of implement, I considered them viable. (There's a fan character who's X-Games themed and has a skateboard that I super dig) Yellow's paddle was sort of a send-up to the Daggers Mighty Morphin Yellow had. I like them because they offer some visual variety to the longer tools the other Rangers have, and as a bonus they can be held in various distinctive grips and also could even conceivably be dual-wielded!

[bullet-prooflove]

Stitches: John Nolan x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @ravennaortiz @lovebookheart @youlooklikeasixtiesqueen

Companion piece to:

First Case - For John it's love at first sight.

Cake - John's surprised when you remember his birthday.

Culpability - John tries to reach out after he finds out about Robert Ortiz.

Bad Timing - You and John have always had bad timing.

Forget About It - You and John share a heated moment in the breakroom. - Companion piece to Bad Timing

The Deepest Cut - Rosalind forces John to make a confession.

Prequel to:

More Than Life It's Self (NSFW) - John reminds you of his feelings for you at a crucial moment.

Scars - John loves you and all your scars.

Out of Your League - John has always thought you were beautiful.

Rainy Days - John wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain... and you.

Vest - You're there for John when he's shot in the chest.

Disco Ball - An undercover operation causes John and you to start a conversation.

The days after Rosalind’s attack are a haze for you, a mixture of pain and morphine induced nightmares including red haired psycho path cutting into your skin. You can still feel your flesh splitting under the blade, hear her voice as she taunts you with that breathy, melodic voice of hers.

“You’ll bleed out before anyone finds us.” She had told you as she had leaned back against the table supporting the phone and ring light, livestreaming your trauma. “And John, he’ll get to experience every moment of it.”

In your dreams you don’t turn the tables. You don’t manage to dislocate your thumb to get yourself out of those handcuffs. You don’t wrestle the knife from Rosalind. You don’t stab her seven times in the chest until she stops moving. You just sit there and take it. Every slice, every cut, every horrific word she says. You absorb each and every one.  

 The only constant throughout is John. The light pressure of his hand holding yours, the gentle cadence of his voice as he reads out stories from the newspaper or tells you about his shift.

It’s on day three you finally ask him the question that’s been burning in your mind.

“How bad is it?”

Pretty fucking bad is what you deduce from the expression on his face. You haven’t looked in the mirror since you were admitted to the hospital, truth be told you’ve been too afraid because the rest of your body, it’s a terrible mess.

“You have to remember that it’s healing.” John tells you as you hold out your hand for his phone. “There’s still stitches and…”

“Just give me the damn thing.” You say impatiently.

You can tell he’s holding his breath when your thumb presses the camera button, you can see it in the way his jaw sets and his gaze focuses on your reaction as you look at yourself for the first time since the attack.

“Shit.” You whisper because Rosalind she did an excellent job of disfiguring you.

The scar she’s left, it winds from the corner of your left eye socket, over your cheek bone and down towards the dimple at the edge of your mouth. Thick black stitches hold your face together, each thread a violent contrast against your skin. That slice, it’s deep, you’re lucky you still have the use of the muscles underneath.

“Ok.” You say quietly, tilting the camera to examine the damage from a different angle as the left side of your mouth tips up. “I can still smile, that’s something right?”

“Yea.” John says because the sight of that smile, it still lights up a room for him even with the disfigurement. “It’s certainly something.”

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[lostinlovingrevery]

He's Definitely Obsessed With You (Series)

Origins! Logan X Fem!Reader

Plot: You're an army nurse, deep in the trenches of the Vietnam jungles, doing everything you can to keep yourself together, and the infantry that come into your tent. One day a soldier you aren't familiar with is brought in, and you find out something about him that leads to the start of an important relationship between you both that changes the course of your lives together...

A/N: This is basically the plot of Origins, but with my own spin on it with a Fem!Reader! This is my first time EVER writing an X reader, so comments appreciate! I plan to make this a series, but I wanted to put out a prologue first. Okay, it's not really a prologue and more like a chapter, and ended up being super long because I started writing and then didn't stop, and prologues are short- but IT'S MY STORY AND I'LL CREATE MY OWN RULES. The prologue is just how reader and Logan meet! (PS, there's eventual smut...Soon as I figure out how write it without getting embarrassed) Also, I'm still figuring out how to format on Tumblr, so please don't mind any funky design choices. Probably spelling and grammar mistakes somewhere in there

Warnings: Reader POV only (for now) Reader is female, also an army nurse, also a mutant- but powers aren't specified, blood mention, medical stuff talked about (like amputations), injury descriptions, Vietnam war and slight politics mention, probably a lot of historical inaccuracies i just googled things but I tried! implied reader could be religious but honestly there's nothing concrete to that. The only description of reader is her clothes and that she has hair, and wears makeup (lipstick). Reader has a hard on over Logan (she has a cruuuush), let me know if there's anything I missed!

Word Count: 4753

Series Masterlist

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Prologue:

Rain rapped lightly along the top of the large tent, creating a soothing sound throughout. A radio, playing an american music station, played a rock song, of some new band slowly making a name for itself, sat nearby on a metal cabinet. Stacks of manila folders and papers were disorganized and spread, almost completely covering a desk. A clock ticks rhythmically. The tent was lined with cots, tables, ratty mattresses, IV stands, and small tables covered with empty food trays, water canisters, and paper cups filled pills. Some of the beds were taken up by injured men, snoring and groaning as they attempted to sleep, only slightly more comfortable here in the medical tent than out in the muddy, rainy trenches. It was monsoon season in Vietnam, and you were at your wits end with paperwork in the middle of a small but-not-that-small camp, set up not far from an American fire support base.

You were sitting at the desk, half asleep as you attempted to fill out another request form for medical supplies. Halothane, Methoxyflurane, Morphine, Penicillin - are common medicines that you find yourself constantly having to restock. Of course bandages, gloves, needles, saline, tubing, multiple surgical supplies, other things you find yourself low on often too, considering the amount of amputations, large and minor, that happen around here. The medical tent that you currently reside in was a revolving door of soldiers, both American and Vietnamese, as well as nearby villagers who come for aid after the American presence near their homes led to viruses they can’t combat on their own, or other unfortunate injuries if war breaks out in their village. 

You were simply an army nurse, this was not your usual duty to perform, it was normally left to the assigned doctor of the camp. Your job was to assist the doctor, take care of the patients, administer medicine, IVs, change bandages, wet baths, feed them, and hold their hands as they cry for their momma and to God. You were busy enough, and the doctor, Doctor Frank Jones, who you were assisting had got shot by a stray bullet when out in the jungle, and had to be taken back to the main base, and back to the States. Due to a communication failure, his replacement ended up somewhere else, and transportation wasn’t an option due to the fighting happening.

 Fortunately, Doctor Jones had seen potential in you and believed you would be an excellent doctor one day - something you wanted to pursue after your service was fulfilled. He became a mentor, helping you study and learn medicine, and giving you skills that an average nurse- even an army nurse- wouldn’t usually have. Now, it was just up to you, and a few young army medics - teenage boys who were given no choice in going to war, and their skills were found best in assisting injuries on the battlefield, but they were eager to help, and their light-hearted jokes and company helped relieve some stress for you, especially with the pain you watch day in and out. You didn’t always have the luxury of their help though, as when patrols went out, they required at least one of them to join. It leads you to have to order around other grunts who have no idea how to even measure the proper dosage of cough syrup for themselves whenever a serious injury comes in, having to give detailed orders on what to do- usually just getting you the supplies and medicine you need, as the grunts are typically too distracted and upset over their fallen brother to assist you in anything medical and complicated. 

With being the only medical authority in the camp- as well as the only woman- you were well respected and popular. Your compassionate personality, and comforting presence, as well as your “Take-no-shit” attitude, led to soldiers of this camp visiting you all the time, usually making up excuses like having a cough, or a splinter in their finger, just so they could have the pleasure of your smile and encouraging words. The CO here made sure that they all treated you with respect, as a woman- and a nurse, so you never once felt unsafe- or unappreciated. Besides, a good section of this camp is young boys, too nervous about their situation to worry about trying to flirt with a woman like you. You're more of a comfort figure in these parts than anything else. Despite the stress and worry you face in day to day life, in the middle of the war, you were just happy to be doing something. You weren’t exactly a supporter of this war, but the moment you saw young boys lining up to go to war, something in you made you fiercely determined to follow, and do whatever you can to make sure those boys can go back home to their mothers and fathers.

The Rolling Stones was now playing on the radio, this was a band you were more familiar with - one of your favorites. Your foot tapped to the beat of the song, as you checked off another item you needed to be stocked up on- and hoped the supply chain doesn’t hold out on you again. For some reason, they seemed convinced that you must surely be lying about the supplies and will not send you the full amount of what you requested, leading you to storm into the CO’s tent on more than one occasion and rant to him with a few unsavory words about the supply lines commander.  He always listens though, and does his best to get you what you can- which you can appreciate. 

“Hey turn that up-” You heard one of the patients call out, and she smiles, reaching to the radio and turning the volume higher. She looked up from the desk to see one patient in bed moving his foot with the beat of the song, and the other, who asked her to turn it up, raised his arm in the air, hand in a fist as he rocked with the song. “This is a good one, hadn’t heard this one yet.”

“It came out in 65’ dumbass.” the other called out. “How’d you not know it?”

“I’ve been here since 64’ asshole! Think we always had access to a radio?”

They all chided each other, making you laugh as you shake your head, turning back towards your paperwork, determined to finish it today so you can send it out. It was rare you get these moments of quiet, so you appreciated it when you could. Things could turn on a dime in a second, especially since the fighting was getting closer to where this camp was set, and you’re hoping that you would get some help before anything serious came. You were just starting to get absorbed in the letter you were writing to the CO of the supply line, something slightly passive aggressive, when one of the soldiers yelled to you from outside. 

“Hey! Nurse! There’s some guys coming this way! They got someone injured-” 

You looked up, dropping your pencil, and turning the radio down as you readied yourself, brushing the pants of your army fatigues to straighten it out, and rolling your sleeves farther up your arms. You watched as the flaps of the tent get pulled open, as two men carry someone resting on a cot. You didn’t like how quiet the man was being.

“In here-” You lead them to another section of the medical tent, ment solely for treating wounded, in an attempt to keep something sterile and clean- well, as clean as you can get it. The soldiers set the man onto the table that sat in the center of the room, small trays and medical supplies, as well as a large overhead lamp that provided lighting to give you a better view at what you’re working on, surrounded the table. 

“We got ambushed on patrol, fortunately he’s the only one that got hit, a VC jumped out of the grass and stabbed him. We got pressure on the wound, and he’s still alive- for now.” 

You nodded as you went to a basin to pull on some sterile gloves, and walked over to examine the soldier. He was handsome- you couldn’t help but noticed but quickly put that out of your mind. A full head of deep beautiful brown hair, and a thick beard framed his face. He looked older, possibly in his mid 30’s. A sheen of sweat covered his skin, as his teeth were gritted and eyes cinched shut in pain. A wave of sorrow hit you, as you never liked seeing people in pain, it hits you bad enough to wonder why you chose to go into the medical profession of all things. Nevertheless, you push through, and began working on removing the uniform so you can see if you can save this one. At least he wasn’t screaming.

“Whats his name?”

“Logan ma’am. He’s Private First Class.”  The private responds, voice professional, but quickly drops into something softer. “He’s a good guy, and smart, usually quick on his feet, its surprising someone ambushed him…” 

“Need any help ma’am?” The other private who brought him in ask.

“No, I got it, thank you.” You tell them as you grab some sheers and began cutting through Logan's army garments. “Just make sure others are alright. See if any of the boys out there need water.”

They nodded, saluting- leading you to roll your eyes- and left your section of the tent, just as you manage to cut off the white wife beater he was sporting underneath his army garments, giving you a complete view of where he had been stabbed. You breathed a small sigh of relief, the wound appeared in the part of the torso where nothing vital was located and you managed to roll him to his side- seeing the stabbing didn’t go straight through, meaning this guy had a good chance of surviving, assuming he doesn’t succumb to infection…

“Alright Logan,” You turned you head to look at the man, who was still tense, eyes squeezed shut. He was somewhat awake, with his breathing and the way his muscles contracted, but he didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on, you still felt it important to talk to whoever you were treating though. You had to hold the hands of many scared soldiers, and quickly have learned the right things to say when comforting. “I’m going to take care of you, and in return, you’re going to need to be strong for me here.” You say softly but firmly to him, hoping that he’s hearing you through the pain, as you went and quickly grabbed a wet cloth out of a basin nearby, squeezing out the excess water, and gently placing it over his forehead, in order to soak up some sweat, and provide some more comfort to cool his skin that seemed to be burning hot. You couldn’t help but note that you don’t recognize him- you wouldn’t have forgotten his face that’s for damn sure, if he’d ever came to visit you, which most privates in this camp has at one time or another. You shook the curiosity out of your head, you had to move quickly, fighting the urge to wanting to take in the details of his face- his very handsome face, and moved to focus back onto the wound on his torso. 

You started by slowly removing the packed bandages, examining the blood flow to make sure nothing gushed, but he really wasn’t bleeding much anymore- actually, it didn’t look like he was bleeding at all now. Confused, you began cleaning the area of the stab wound so you could get a clear view of what you were looking at. At first, you thought you were losing your mind, you had to been because what you were seeing…

It was as if the skin was growing back, the wound, going inwards seemed to almost pop out, before the skin stitched together, going through what the bodys usual healing process would look like- except doing it within a matter of seconds. Turning from a bright red inflamed wound, into a baby pink scar bump that slowly faded off, you couldn’t even tell anything had happen there- except from the blood stained around it. You were blinking in disbelief, mouth slightly agape, before it suddenly occurred to you what you were just seeing.

Oh

Oh shit-

He’s a mutant.

You looked at the man, who’s muscles seemed to be relaxing now, as he took deeper breaths, the sweat on his face began to dry and disappear. You weren’t sure what to do at this point, you’re so used to every minute counting to fix someone, and this guy just healed himself in seconds!

And by god, he was so handsome. You thought that already, got to stop thinking about that. Turning away from his face, you went to examine where the stab wound used to be, gloved fingers gently pressing on the area- before the soldier- Logan, practically yelped- and sat up rushed on the table, startling you even more so than him, as you jumped back, hands in the air in surrender- as if you did anything wrong.

He was panting, the cold wet cloth you had placed on his forehead fell into his lap, as he looked around with wide eyes, pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring, he almost looked animal-like in this state. He turned to look at you. His eyes took you in, and suddenly you felt embarrassed by your army clothes you were sporting, green cargo pants, and a green collared button up shirt, tucked into your pants, making you feel less than girlish in them, despite their comfortability, your forehead was covered in sweat, and your hair pulled back in a bun neat bun with baby hairs sticking out everywhere. At least you had lipstick on to give yourself a little bit of a pop in your plain looking outfit. That should be the last thing you should be worried about. 

“You’re okay-” You finally found your voice, holding your hands out to him, “You got ambushed, but you’re okay now.” 

He blinked, then let out a small sigh, his whole self seeming to relax, his expression turned more human-like, as he faced forward, then looked down at himself. His hand went over where he had been hurt- seeing that there was no longer any injury there, although something in his expression told you he could still feel it. He swallowed, jaw tensing, before realization struck him, and his head snapped to look at you. 

“You saw- You know, don’t you?” He asks, his voice was deep, but sounded a little dry and scratchy. Still, it was enough to make your knees weak. 

You turned, going to a cabinet that held medicines and various other supplies, but on the counter was a pitcher of water and a few glass cups. Pulling off your gloves, you poured a cup from the pitcher, turning back and handing it to him. 

“Yeah. I saw.” You say cooly, holding it out for him to take. He looked at you, his deep and should you think gorgeous hazel eyes felt like they were piercing your soul; as if he was trying to decipher what was going on in your head, which you wish you knew as well because his stare was making your brain fuzzy; then glanced at the cup and finally took it from your hand, your fingers brushing together, making your heartbeat just a little faster, and you could feel a small heat blooming in your cheeks.

Jesus christ, pull yourself together 

You thought to yourself. You cleared your throat while he took several swigs of water, dropping his hand with the cup to his side as he took a moment to breathe once more. 

“Got anything stronger?” He asks, his low and smoother now, quirking a brow at you. You smiled, 

“Sorry, anything alcoholic you may want to drink in here, I gotta save for the guys who can’t heal themselves within minutes.” You say teasingly. “Supplies are low enough already.” 

You could see a small quirk of his lips, in something resembling a smile. He was still tense though, his eyes seemed to be somewhere else. He looked at you again,

“Does it…scare you? Me being a mutant?” He asks, his voice low

“Um….No?” You responded, confusion on your face, a small shake of your head, “Why would it?” 

He seemed relieved- and surprised by that answer, his shoulders finally relaxing, and he took another drink of water, eyes closing as he finished the cup, and handed it back to you, where you set it back on the counter. Wiping his mouth with his arm, he sat up more confidently, bending his leg as he brought his knee up to his chest, and propped his forearm over it, and leaned back on his other hand, taking a few deep breaths as he lowered his head down, then looked back up at you, his expression suddenly stern.

“You gonna tell them?” He asks. You knew he was referring to the army. Mutants weren’t well accepted in the world- much less the US army. The American government is actually sitting comfortably in the capital and writing out bullshit laws on mutant regulations, rather than trying to figure out a solution for the war here in Vietnam. You, a mutant yourself, albeit your powers were easy to hide and conceal, you still feared of a day that someone somehow discovers your secret. You’ve heard stories of American soldiers revealed to be mutants being killed, due to some bullshit excuse that they “lied” about who they were, and couldn’t be trusted. Whether those stories were true or fearmongering to keep mutants hiding their true identities, you didn’t know, but you certainly weren’t gonna find out yourself. You definitely wouldn’t put another fellow mutant, just trying to survive like you, in any sort of danger like that, even if he could probably just heal if he got put in front of a firing squad.

You pursed your lips together. Then smiled. “No. I’ll keep your secret.” You say. “All it means to me is that I have one less person to worry about around here. I was actually wondering why I hadn’t seen your face in this tent yet before, and now I know why.” 

He softened at that, but his face quickly fell back into something more serious and stern once more, which you’re starting to think might be his baseline. 

“You okay?” You asked, your voice was soft, and sweet, and borderline angelic for a man like him, who’s been in wars almost his entire life- which you don’t know about that. “That probably didn’t feel good, what happened.” He nodded. 

“M’ fine….Thank you.” He grumbles lowly, looking down at his hands. “I heard about you- actually I-I seen you around. You’re the only nurse on camp?” He asked, looking back up at you, there seemed to be a bit of curiosity in his voice. 

“Yeah. I’m pretty popular.” You say, in a teasing voice, blushing at the thought that he’s noticed you. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, you are quite literally the only woman around, save for the women in the village not far from here.  

“Must be busy.”

“Oh… Nah-” You playfully wave him off. “Some days are so slow, I’m actually bored.” You say matter-of-factly, but you both knew you were kidding. Another quirk of his lips. You smiled softly at him, but there was a voice in your head telling you, that since he doesn’t need your help, you should probably get back to helping the ones who do. Not that you want to leave, he was so damn handsome, you could stare at him all day. It wasn’t just his good looks though, his whole self drew you in with just a few words, and you find yourself wanting to get to know Logan, because the look in his eyes told you that he was someone worth knowing. Or maybe that was just your hormones talking. There was just this energy between you both, some type of unseen connection. His eyes trailed down you again, this time fully taking you in, stopping at your chest, and for a moment you were about to be completely turned off by this man being a pervert, but he nodded towards it. 

“Your necklace?” He asked. You looked down, oh, you thought to yourself. You pulled the string of your necklace, lifting the small coin that it held, string carefully wrapped around it so it doesn’t fall off.

“It’s a prayer coin. A priest gave it to me.” You explained. “It’s the archangel Raphael. A protector, patron saint of medical workers, like doctors, nurses.”

“Like you?” 

You nodded. He examined it, before you tucked it back under your shirt. You usually keep it hidden, but it must have fallen out while you were rushing. Now it was silent again, and you both weren’t sure what to do or say. 

“Well….” You took a breath, you glanced down at his abdomen, and suddenly your brows creased in concentration. 

“What?” He asked, by your sudden change in demeanor. 

“You can’t exactly walk out with no injury. Those two privates were pretty worried about you.” You say, putting your hands on your hips and pursing your lips together. You clicked your tongue.

“I can figure something out-”

“No no-” You held your hand up and looking around the room. “Those privates brought you in, there’s probably an incident report written right now, not to mention I have to write a report on your injuries too-” you explained. “I mean, how are you gonna explain it if you walk out, completely A-okay?”

Logan shrugged simply. “I can think of something, it isn’t the first time this happened.” You rolled your eyes. Men. 

You rather not waste bandages on a pretend injury, but you need someway to get his injury to look believeable, thats when you spotted your answer. His white tank top that you had drop to the floor, it was good enough to wrap around him, making him look as if he’s been all fixed up from his stab wound. The shirts cotton texture looked similar to the pattern of a bandage, and was good enough, especially considering no one would be looking hard enough at his wound anyway.

After a few minutes of “fixing him up” with your solution to keep his regenerative abilities a secret, you stood back examining the fake bandage/shirt that you tore up and wrapped around his torso, using bandage pins to hold it in place. Then shrugged. 

“It’s good enough.” You say. “You’re not going anywhere anyway, so it’s not like you’ll raise a bunch of questions. It looks like you have an injury, it’ll match the incident and medical report. You won’t get found out.”

“I’m not going anywhere?” He raised a brow. 

“Nope. You were injured, which means I gotta keep an eye on you. So you’ll be sleeping here, and you’ll have to pretend you’re in pain, whining and moaning and all that. Give it your best performance.” You encourage. “Take it, not many around here get a chance to get a break like that.” 

He looked at you, pondering what you were offering him- well, you weren’t offering, he was going to have do it because you weren’t gonna risk him revealing himself as a mutant, which for some reason you were now more concerned about than he was. A small smirk appeared on his face, “That mean you’ll be waiting on me then, hand and foot?”

You smiled, “Don’t get ahead of yourself soldier.” You say teasingly. “You can stay in here a little longer, rest up, maybe shed some tears to make it look like you’re suffering tremendously.” You added a little flair as you brought your hand up to your forehead, pretending to faint, before turning and walking away to leave the room, now knowing you really needed to get back to work.

“I don’t think I need to shed any tears.” He mutters, but there was amusement in his tone though. “Hey bub” He called after you as you were about to leave the room, lifting the tent flap, but you stopped to look at him. “Why are you seen keen on helping me out? Making a plan to make sure people don’t find out what I am…Seems like too much trouble to go through for you.” He frowned. 

“Well…” You dropped the flap of the tent, “Us mutants gotta stick together, right?” Logan looked surprised at first, eyes widening a bit, and jaw slacking, but then a soft, genuine smile stretched across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling, leaving you thinking that was a smile you never wanted to go without again. Smiling back at him, you winked, and turned back before stopping and looking at him again, “Plus, you seem worth the trouble.” You add, before finally leaving him to himself.

Maybe it was too much trouble. You could leave Logan to figure it out himself. You two didn’t know each other, you weren’t friends. Yet you, the compassionate self you are, and also slightly bull-headed, was not going to leave Logan hanging alone. Maybe it was the fact that you were both mutants that urged you to help him, let him know that someone like him out there has his back, even if he had many brothers at his side watching his back too. Or maybe it was because you felt an undeniable pull towards him- and him towards you. 

While he stayed in the medical tent with you for about a week, the standard time for stitches to stay in. While staying, you both got to know each other better. You found a deep friendship with Logan quickly, both of you having an understanding of each other, not just as mutants but as individuals as well. You were able to laugh, usually at his snarky remarks to the other privates and even his comments to the higher-ups, surprising you in how he likes to occasionally challenge authority despite how quiet and reflective he can be some moments. You saw him as brave, smart, and he was protective, always going first in patrols, and keeping an eye on the younger privates. He’d hid it well, rarely making it seen, but he had a compassion that made your heart swell, especially when you came across him comforting a young private who was homesick and scared. He had a good instinct that seems to attest to his mutation- which he later revealed the full aspects of it to you later on, claws and everything- which did nothing but fascinate you, leading to a full acceptance of him he hadn’t felt or seen in a long time. He’d visit you in late nights when he wasn’t assigned guard patrol, bringing you something to eat or drink, and you’d both quietly talk about your lives, and how’d you ended up there. He listened to you complain about the lack of supplies, and how you got into medicine in the first place. You’d learn of his brother Victor- another Private First Class there at the camp, who you quickly learned a distaste for after meeting him, and how old they both really were- leading you to bombard him with history questions, that he simply answered “I wasn’t there bub.” There was an unspoken yet mutual physical and spiritual attraction between you both, but before anything could have gone further in your relationship, down in the thick muddy jungles of Vietnam, you suffered a similar fate as your mentor Doctor Jones. A stray bullet having shot through your shoulder while you were out, attempting to help a young private who’s leg unfortunately got caught in a dirt trap. You were okay, but orders sent you home on a medical discharge, saying you fulfilled your duty to the States. 

You missed Logan, and you also found yourself struggling to find your place back in civilian life again, the stress and the trauma of the things you saw weighed heavy in your mind, not to mention the worry you felt over Logan's safety while he was still over there. The only thing easing your worries was the letters you wrote to each other, until one day his letters stopped coming, and your own got returned back to you with no explanation, leaving you in fear of the worst….

[selkiesstories]

As promised all the antisemitic tropes associated with the Greens in House of the Dragon because I guess when you double down on the divinely ordained Aryan as heroes you need Jewish coded villains. Please note that I am not accusing anyone including Condal or other producers of secretly sympathizing with Nazis or antisemitism if for no other reason that I suspect they are simply too ill informed to realize what their playing with. (for a better understanding about the metaphysical role Jews played in Nazism see Alon Confino's A World Without Jews: The Nazi Imagination from Persecution to Genocide)

Let's start with casting:

And Alicent is the embodiement of the Beautiful Jewess- curly dark reddish hair, and big beautiful eyes ( It's over a year since I read Höss's complaining about how his officers were susceptible to Jewish women and their "beautiful eyes" and I am still not over it.)

Moving on-

1) Alicent and by extension the Greens are portrayed as religious. This religion is implied or certainly interpreted by fans to be oppressive towards the Targaryens (Valeryians) notably by setting rules and thus bringing them to the level of mortals. Hitler considered Christianity to be a Jewish invention that was a “scar” on the German race by imposing a conscience.

2) The Hightowers and the Citadel/maesters are implied in the fandom to be running a conspiracy to bring down the Targaryens. Some fans have them poisoning Viserys and/or responsible for all the Targaryen stillbirths, and dismal maternal and infant mortality rates. The Protocols of Zion are an old debunked many times conspiracy theory about how Jews secretly work to run the world. Jewish doctors were accused of damaging Aryan women. The Doctor’s Plot is actually Soviet where Jewish doctors were accused of poisoning Stalin.

3) Heleana who coincidentally fits the Targaryen aesthetic is considered the only redeemable one so long as she supports Rhaenyra (and marries Jace- who according to Rhaenyra and therefore the show/fans is a Targaryen- and raises her children to be loyal to the true Targs). Nazis would sometimes accept a half Jewish woman if she was married to a full German and had his children whom she raised with no connection to her family/faith (sometime a man but a woman was more likely since they were seen as more passive and therefore less of a threat to the all sacred race)

4) the Greens are portrayed as both overly sexual and sexually repressed. The Nazis were obsessed with sex and variously accused Jews of being sexual predators or of being unnaturally restrained which tied in with (1).

5) Aegon is an alcoholic and Aemond is implied to have an opioid addiction. Jews were associated with drugs especially morphine (for a summary of the Nazis relationship with drugs see Norman Ohler’s Blitzed: Drugs in the Third Reich)

5) The men on the Greens are either dangerous predators or emasculated "simps" or "mama's boys". Jewish men were variously dangerous predators or unmanly men who were dominated by their women.

6) Alicent is either sexually repressed or a slut who sexually entices good Valyrian men to their doom. (1) and (4)

7) Alicent is an overbearing mother. She occasionally seems to overstep her designated feminine boundaries to assert her opinions over men's.

8) the Greens are either too close knit or they betray each other. Höss described Jews as both extremely attached to their families to the point where news of their death had a fatal effect and as eager to betray their families even at no benefit to themselves.

9) Alicent schemes to betray the righteous Valyrian princess and supplant her with her own sons. She is considered redeemable only when she serves Rhaenyra and places her on a pedestal even at the expense of her and her children's well being. This is the basis of many Jewish female characters in literature

10) Alicent's children are never considered to be real Targaryens. In F&B Aegon and Helaena are described as plumper and less striking than most Targaryens, Jaehaerys has extra fingers/ toes and Jaehaera as neurodivergent. Jaehaera dies and is replaced by the perfect Valyrian girl.

I'm open for asks and DMs. For context my MA was set in Nazi Germany and I took several courses on the subject.

[gotxpenny]

Stolen Hearts

Easy Company’s medic, and George Luz navigate a bond that’s always hovered on the edge of something more. Though forbidden by Colonel Sink’s orders, George can’t help falling for her—and she’s spent every moment trying not to fall back.

Pairing: George Luz x Reader

Prompt: "You've stolen my heart." / "And you've had mine from the start."

Word Count: ~2,300

Genre: Fluff with maybe a tinge of angst idek

Setting: Carentan, France

Note || Heyyyyy I absolutely loved writing this Luz one shot so I hope you love it as much as I do!!! If you have any request on what you want me to write feel free to send in a request <3

gotxpenny's masterlist band of brothers masterlist

Carentan smelled like smoke and blood—two things I was getting far too used to. My hands were sore, stained with dirt and dried blood, but I kept working. The guys needed patching up, and if I stopped for too long, I'd start to think about what we’d lost today. What we’d almost lost.

George Luz had been hanging around more than usual. Not that I minded—he made the air a little easier to breathe. Somehow, between the chaos and the shelling, he'd found a way to make me laugh when I didn’t even feel like I could breathe.

He knew how to make people laugh. It was what he did—comic relief between gunfire, morale booster in foxholes, the kind of guy who could do a dead-on impression of Winters or Nixon that even Lipton didn’t bother to scold anymore. But lately, he found himself tongue-tied around one person: Y/N.

She wasn't part of Easy Company exactly—not in the way the others were. But as the company’s medic, she was as much a fixture as any of them, just with less of the rough edges and more of the gauze and morphine. George had taken to shadowing her like a puppy with a crush, all jokes and charm, always one step behind and never quite brave enough to say what he really meant.

“There she is,” he said as he slid into view, casual as ever, “Back at it again with the magic hands.”

I didn’t look up from the gash I was wrapping on my own wrist, “Shouldn’t you be off doing your famous Winters impression for someone else?”

He held a hand to his chest, “I’m offended. I came all this way to check on you, and you give me attitude?”

I finally glanced up, biting back a smile. He always did this—this whole act of being too cool, too charming. But I saw through it. I saw the way his eyes lingered too long when he thought I wasn’t looking. The way his voice softened when he said my name.

But George was off-limits.

Colonel Sink had made that painfully clear early on: the company medic was not to get involved with anyone. Too many complications. Too much to risk. And George…George Luz was nothing but complications and risks bundled up in sarcasm and charm.

It didn’t stop him, though. It never had.

He sat next to me on the overturned crate, so close I could feel the warmth of him through my sleeves, “That your wrist?” he asked, nodding to the gauze.

“Just a scrape. I’ll live.”

“You let me get away with murder when I stub my toe, and now you’re ignoring your own wounds? That’s not very fair, Doc," he said, nudging your arm, “I’m just saying, you could pretend to care.”

“I care,” I said before I could stop myself, “Maybe too much.”

George blinked.

That cocky little smirk he always wore—his shield, his armor—faltered. It slipped away like it had never really belonged there in the first place, and what replaced it completely undid me.

His eyes—God, those damn eyes. Wide, soft, full of that quiet kind of affection that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt. He looked at me like I’d just cracked open his chest and laid my hand on his heart. No jokes. No grin. Just raw, unfiltered George.

Puppy dog eyes. That’s what Babe always called them when George looked at someone like that. I used to laugh when the guys teased him about it. I wasn’t laughing now.

Because under that gaze, I felt hopeless. Utterly defenceless. Like all the walls I’d carefully built between us—the rules, the rank, the stupid promise I’d made to myself not to fall for someone I could lose—meant nothing. They were nothing.

His silence said more than words ever could. That look… it told me I wasn’t alone in this mess of feelings. That maybe, just maybe, he’d been carrying it too.

And in that moment, I knew I was screwed.

Because George Luz was looking at me like I was the only steady thing left in a world on fire. And I wasn’t strong enough to keep pretending I didn’t feel the same.

Not anymore.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

I looked at him fully for the first time that day. George Luz—goofball, radio operator, pain in my ass. And maybe… the one person I was terrified of caring about.

But I did. I had for a while.

I swallowed hard, the words already forming in my throat like they’d been waiting there, rehearsed and loaded. I had to say them. I had to be the one to keep this from becoming something it shouldn’t.

“George,” I started, my voice tighter than I meant it to be, “We can’t do this," his brows furrowed slightly, the softness in his face dipping into something more cautious, “I mean it,” I pushed, “You know what Sink said. What the rules are. You and me? This isn’t—this can’t be anything.”

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. Just sat there, hands still lightly brushing mine, as calm and infuriatingly steady as ever, “You think I don’t know that?” he asked, quiet, “You think I haven’t told myself the same thing a hundred times?”

I shook my head, trying to hold on to reason like it could save either of us, “George, I’m not saying this to be cruel. I’m saying it because I care about you—because I can’t watch you get pulled into something that could cost you. Your reputation, your place in the company, everything.”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t move, “You’re not the one pulling me in, Y/N. I walked straight into this with my eyes wide open.”

And he had.

George Luz wasn’t stupid—despite the jokes, the impressions, the endless need to keep people laughing so they didn’t focus on the noise of war or the ache in their bones. He knew the rules. Knew exactly what Colonel Sink had said about getting involved with her.

Off-limits. Untouchable.

And yet, here he was. Sitting beside her, heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to break free, and every part of him screaming to hold on—to not let this moment pass without being real for once.

He’d fallen long before this. Slowly, then all at once. Maybe it was the way she moved in chaos with calm hands and clear eyes, or the way she called him out on his bullshit without ever being cruel. Maybe it was how she patched him up like he mattered—not just as a soldier, but as George.

Whatever it was, it was too late to stop.

He saw her eyes flick away, the panic written all over her face, and it nearly broke him. Because he knew she wasn’t trying to reject him—she was trying to protect him. That was the kind of person she was. Always putting others first. Always bracing herself to do the right thing, even if it hurt like hell.

But he didn’t need protecting. Not from her.

He’d already made peace with it—the risk, the complications, the inevitable fallout if anyone found out. He didn’t care. Not anymore. Because she was the one thing that made this war bearable. The one thing that felt like it had meaning.

And George Luz, for all his jokes, wasn’t afraid of consequences.

But he was afraid of losing her.

So when he said it—“I walked straight into this with my eyes wide open”—he wasn’t just trying to convince her. He was trying to let her see it, the full, unguarded truth of what he felt.

That this wasn’t a crush. This wasn’t a joke.

This was him, standing in front of her without the shield of laughter.

And he was terrified she'd walk away.

My chest clenched, “You shouldn’t have.”

“But I did," his voice was firmer now, the teasing long gone, “And I’m not sorry.”

I felt myself crumbling, piece by piece, “I’ve tried so hard not to let this happen. To stay focused. Professional. I’m supposed to keep you all alive, not—”

“Not fall for one of us?” he finished, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Too late, sweetheart," I looked away, but he gently reached for my hand again, grounding me, “I’m not asking for a declaration,” he said, “I’m not asking you to break rules or pick a fight with Sink. I’m just asking you not to lie to yourself. Or to me.”

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly like it might take the ache with it. But it didn’t. Because the truth was, I had fallen. And George Luz was the only person who made this hell feel human.

And no matter how hard I tried to protect him from it—he kept pushing. Not recklessly. Not selfishly.

But because he knew. He saw what I was too scared to admit.

That in a world filled with things we couldn’t control, this—whatever was growing between us—felt like the one thing worth risking.

“I know what Sink said,” he murmured, “I know this can’t be anything," George rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away, “But that doesn’t change the fact that you've stolen my heart.”

I swear, my chest ached at those words. Honest. Undeniable. George, for all his joking, wasn’t kidding now.

And suddenly, it felt like the air had been knocked out of me.

He said it so softly, like it was a secret he’d been carrying too long—one that had started to burn through him from the inside. No punchline, no smirk, no fallback to hide behind. Just George. Raw and real.

You’ve stolen my heart.

God.

It would’ve been easier if he had joked. If he’d said it with a wink or that dumb grin I pretended not to love. But he didn’t. His voice had cracked, just slightly, and when he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, I could see it—he was scared. Not of me. Of this. Of what we were stepping into.

And I—I couldn’t breathe for a second.

Because hearing him say that, knowing he meant it? It unraveled everything I’d been trying to hold together.

The rules. The warnings. The carefully measured distance I’d tried to keep between us. I’d told myself it wasn’t worth it, that I couldn’t let my guard down—not in a war zone, not with someone like him.

But he’d made it impossible not to fall.

George Luz, the loudmouth with the kindest eyes I’d ever seen, had somehow carved a place in my chest without asking. And now he was standing there, offering me his own heart like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing he could possibly do.

And I wanted it. I wanted him.

More than I wanted to be careful. More than I wanted to follow orders. More than I could admit out loud.

My throat tightened, and all I could think was, You idiot. You beautiful, stupid, brave idiot. Why’d you have to say it like that?

Because now I couldn’t pretend anymore.

“And you’ve had mine from the start,” I said, before I could stop myself.

There it was. Laid bare between us like a wound too deep for bandages.

And God, I felt it all at once—the fear, the relief, the terrifying weight of saying the thing I’d buried for so long. The thing I’d tried to smother every time he smiled at me a little too long, every time he said my name in that voice like it meant something.

His eyes snapped back to mine, and for a second, I thought I might cry. Because he looked at me like I’d just handed him the world—shocked, stunned, like he didn’t think I’d ever say it out loud.

And maybe I hadn’t planned to. Maybe I thought I’d carry it in silence, let it fade like everything else we were losing.

But the second I said it, I knew it was true. Knew it had always been true.

It wasn’t some slow-burn realization. It had always been him. From the first time he sat next to me, cracking jokes with dirt on his face and that ridiculous grin, to every quiet moment in between when the war faded and it was just us, trying to pretend we weren’t falling apart.

We were falling for each other instead.

And now he knew. Now we both did.

And there was no taking it back.

George felt like the ground had dropped out from under him.

“And you’ve had mine from the start.”

Her words hit him like a round to the chest—not violent, but staggering. He hadn’t expected her to say it. Not out loud. Not after all the times she’d pulled away, all the careful walls she’d built between them. He’d made peace with loving her from a distance if that’s all she could give. But now? Now she’d just handed him everything.

He stared at her, wide-eyed and unblinking, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to claw its way out. His breath caught in his throat as he watched her, as if she might vanish the second he moved. She looked so real and vulnerable and his that it physically hurt.

George wasn’t the kind of guy who froze in the face of emotion—he joked through it, deflected, found ways to lighten it. But not now. Not with this. He couldn’t laugh this off. He didn’t want to.

Before he could second-guess it, before she could take the words back, his hand moved—gentle but sure—rising to cradle the back of her neck. His thumb brushed just beneath her ear, reverent, like he was touching something sacred. Her skin was warm, pulse fluttering against his fingertips.

And then he kissed her.

Not fast. Not frantic. But like she was something fragile and precious and about to disappear. Like he’d been waiting forever for this moment and couldn’t risk letting it slip through his fingers.

He kissed her like it might be the last time—like war could steal this too if he wasn’t careful.

And for the first time in too long, he didn’t feel like he had to hide. Not behind the jokes, not behind the rules. Just him and her, breathing the same air, finally letting it all fall apart in the best way.

Because she had his heart. And now—finally—he had hers.

[sleepberries]

Have you thought about writing Spideyhood in an apocalyptic world? Or one of them (or both) being a cryptid?

I think it would be interesting if you put them in dangerous or intense situations idk that's what I can think of for now

went with an apocalyptic au for this one!! funny enough i used to rp apocalypse settings all the time in middle school. good times

The web caught Jason twenty feet above Fifth Avenue's corpse. Steel-strong strands bit into his wrists as he dangled between gutted skyscrapers, his rifle clattering to the asphalt below.

Fucking tripwire. He'd gotten careless tracking that smoke trail.

The bonds tightened with every struggle. Panic clawed at his throat—he'd seen what happened to scavengers caught in the web zones. Found their bones picked clean, suspended like grotesque wind chimes.

A shadow dropped from above. Silent. Predatory.

Jason's blood turned to ice water.

The figure perched on twisted metal, watching through cracked red lenses. Patchwork armor gleamed dully—riot gear, motorcycle leathers, sports padding. A survivor's second skin. The mask was crude but terrifying in its simplicity: faded fabric stretched over unknown features, eye holes that revealed nothing.

"You're bleeding into Kingpin territory," the figure said. Young voice. Male. Calm as a blade.

"Just—" Jason's throat closed. He forced the words out. "Just scavenging."

"Alone?"

That single word carried weight. In the ruins, alone meant vulnerable. Expendable.

"Do I have a choice?"

Something shifted in the figure's posture. Amusement? Hunger? Jason couldn't tell, and that terrified him more than the web.

The stranger dropped to street level with inhuman grace. Each step deliberate, calculated. A knife appeared in his hand—when had he drawn it?

"Smart people avoid the webs," the figure said, circling Jason like a wolf. "But you're here anyway."

Jason's heart hammered against his ribs. "Maybe I'm desperate."

"Maybe you're dead."

The knife moved. Jason tensed, waiting for the killing stroke—

But the blade cut web strands instead. Specific ones. Strategic. The trap loosened gradually, lowering Jason with mechanical precision.

His boots hit asphalt. The stranger stepped back immediately, knife vanishing into shadow.

"Medical supplies," the figure said. Statement, not question.

How had he—? "Yeah."

"Three blocks north. Pharmacy. Back office has a false panel." The red lenses fixed on Jason's face. "Stay on main streets or the next web won't be so forgiving."

"What do I call you?"

"Spider."

The name was recognizeable. Jason had heard whispers in the trading posts—a ghost who ruled the ruins, who strung up trespassers like party decorations. But this close, Spider seemed almost... human. Small. Vulnerable beneth the armor.

"Thanks," Jason managed.

Spider was already fading into shadow. "Don't thank me yet."

Then he was gone.

The pharmacy yielded a fortune—antibiotics, morphine, enough to buy passage out of this hellscape. Jason worked fast, hyperaware of eyes that might be watching. Every shadow could hide death.

Gunshots erupted three blocks away.

Jason ran toward the sound before conscious thought kicked in. Stupid. Suicidal. But his legs kept moving.

He found Spider pinned behind a car, blood painting his left shoulder crimson. Three mercenaries with military hardware were closing in, covering each other with professional discipline.

Jason had seconds before they flanked Spider's position.

His first shot dropped the pointman. The second spun the leader sideways, armor sparking. The third merc broke for cover—Jason's bullet caught him mid-stride.

Sudden silence. Gun smoke and the stench of blood.

Spider stared at him through cracked lenses. "Thought you were leaving."

"Changed my mind." Jason approached slowly, hands visible. "You're hit."

"I've survived worse."

"Not if that goes septic." Jason knelt beside him. Spider tensed but didn't pull away—interesting. "Let me see."

Clean through-and-through. Lucky. Jason worked quickly, hyperaware of Spider's scrutiny. Those hidden eyes never left his face.

"Why?" Spider asked finally.

"Why what?"

"Why come back?"

Jason paused, hands still on the bloody bandage. In the ruins, altruism was a fatal weakness. But something about Spider—the careful way he'd freed Jason from the web, the sheer organization of his trap network—suggested a mind worth talking to.

"Maybe I'm tired of being alone," Jason said.

Spider went very still. "Dangerous thinking."

"Dangerous times."

When Jason finished, Spider flexed his shoulder experimentally. Pain flickered across his posture, quickly suppressed.

"Thanks."

Jason shouldered his pack. "Don't mention it."

"Jason."

He froze. "How—?"

Spider held up a salvaged ID card. "Dropped when you were playing medic."

Their fingers brushed as Jason took it back. Even through gloves, Spider's hands were surprisingly warm. Human.

"See you around," Jason said.

"Maybe."

Walking away felt like exposing his back to a sniper. Jason forced himself not to look back until he reached the next intersection. When he finally turned, Spider had vanished.

But the feeling of being watched never left.

That night, Jason found a package outside his camp. Inside: premium morphine and a note in careful script: Payment for services rendered. —S

Jason smiled grimly. In the ruins of New York, interesting people were the most dangerous of all.

And Spider was very, very interesting.

[speirslore]

when you get hurt hcs [officers + roe]

a/n: requested <3 usually in my writing the reader is implied to be a part of easy company in a vague way bc i know ppl have different preferences but some of these include getting shot (not graphic or anything) so ig that implies they're on the front lines

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist! @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck

[dick winters]

you hit your head prettyyyy hard, and you're out of it, probably definitely concussed

it happens right in front of dick and he tries really hard to keep calm

he wants to be strong and level-headed for you

shows more obvious affection then any of the men have ever seen from him; pets your hair, holds your hand, is always by your side

he immediately gets you a medic and transported to an aid station and doesn’t want to leave you

but when dick's back with easy, he gets uncharacteristically easily angry and frustrated...

he gets quiet and withdrawn and a little snappy with zelensky and nix... and they both immediately know why

whenever he can go see you, he's there.. he even gets behind on all his paperwork (but nix offers to help)

which dick is hesitant to accept for many reasons, he feels guilty, like he's not focusing on his duties but lew is always good at keeping the reports concise lol

very fragile with you, he isn't underestimating you but he just absolutely does not want to push you or hurt you

is a stickler for the rules, follows absolutely everything the doctor says

he has to wake you up every few hours and you keep insisting it’s unnecessary and dick is absolutely not having it

you try to get up and move around and all dick has to hear is the sheets moving and he just gives you that stare, a little bit like a disappointed mom, and you're right back laying down

he’s way more clingy than usual, wants to be by your side, subtly holding your hand

in that moment it definitely hits him how much he loves and cares about you... he hasn't really had time or space to process those feelings until now <3

[lewis nixon]

it does not look good at first

it's really scary for everyone there, you loose a lot of blood and lose consciousness

lew is not there when you're first shot in the leg and everyone is very glad that he didn't have to see it

but when he finds out... oh he is not keeping cool, is not pretending even a little bit to be okay

starts lashing out and snaps at the driver who's taking him to the hospital to drive faster, mad that they didn't tell him sooner, mad that you were injured, mad at the war, furious at absolutely everything

lew has to be monitored by dick not to go full self destruction mode and get incredibly drunk

he hates just sitting with the constant uncomfortable feeling and reminder that you're hurting

he will not leave your side at first when you’re sleeping a lot, on a lot of medicine, and out of it

one nurse does approach him when he's the only vistor in the hospital left, "sir, the visiting hours-"

he just looks up, obviously devastated, voice cracking, "i'm can't leave. you can drag me out but i'm not going, thanks."

they back off after that

does go through a phase where he hates going once you're more conscious because he kills him to see you like that and face this feels irrational guilt he feels for not being there

because he definitely has the tendency to avoid his problems and things that hurt him

but it hurts you too and you don't fully understand

you look up at dick and harry, slightly delirious from the morphine, tearing up, "does he not want to see me anymore?"

after that they do drag lew to see you and you just straight up tell him feeling guilty is pointless and not fair to himself (or you)

and then it's right back to not leaving your side and always trying to make you laugh or smile

[ron speirs]

okay so i love the angel of the company x speirs trope

by now he's the co of easy and your relationship is a widely known secret...

he assigns you and the group of other men to a patrol... it wasn't an overly risky or bad order, a standard order from sink

but you guys make contact and you're shot in the arm

it just absolutely wrecks him

the guys feel like he's just going to go across enemy lines and find the soldier that shot you himself

the rest of the guys are furious too because everyone just absolutely loves you

for a short time, he's mad at the other soldiers on the patrol and you have to reminder him they didn't do anything wrong

but ron is really just irrationally mad at himself for not being there, for not being psychic, he's just angry he somehow didn't stop this

ron is not controlling and not possessive and he knows you can hold your own but he feels responsible for taking care of you and making sure you're safe

even if he can't quite articulate all of those feelings yet

he doesn't understand all the emotions he feels and doesn't even have time to try to understand them

he listens so attentively to the doctors, he can recite everything they've said word for word

like with chuck, he demands the absolute best from the doctors

this incident shows his more compassionate side and the guys start to see how much he really cares about you... bc they're protective of you too!

you have to comfort him and his voice breaks

and he feels weak and he feels bad that you're comforting him and not the other way around

"i'm messing everything up, doing everything wrong," he says more to himself but you frown, eyebrows furrowed and everything

"you're so hard on yourself, ron. when it's not your fault, it was routine, you didn't shoot me. then i'd be really pissed." you smile and he smiles weakly... but he's on edge for a longgg time after this

[carwood lipton]

unfortunately you and lip just cannot catch a break

your leg gets injured while he has pneumonia

it's not a major injury but a bullet ricocheted off of a wall and slightly grazed you and you need a few days of staying off of it

lip really tries to be comforting

and wants to be there for you and he is!

but it's very hard for him, he just wants you to be okay so badly, even when he himself isn't okay

trying to lecture you about staying off of your leg and asking others for help but breaking out into a coughing fit and then you're trying to help him sit up and to go get some hot water for him

and then he's back to telling you to stop and starts hoarsely calling for luz

it's a MESS

but carwood is a natural caretaker and has been one for most of his life

it makes him hover sooo badly especially because since he's sick too he doesn't have a lot of work to keep him busy

but you're not complaining honestly, it's nice to have more private time and something of a break, even if you're both miserable

you get the special privilege of an actual private back bed room with a mattress and blankets

kind of a bonding experience

you just laugh because what the fuck

it's kind of romantic, first time in a longgg time in an actual bed together

you just go back and forth talking about your future and the life you want after the war

"i don't like this wallpaper," you murmur into his chest

he laughs and that turns into coughing again and you're just rubbing his back trying not to bend your leg... domestic bliss <3

[buck compton]

buck... does not take it well

he takes it extremely hard

like his reaction to joe and bill...

you have pneumonia and the peniciln you need isn't available in bastogne

and it's even worse that he finds out you're sick only a few hours after that and that you've been sick and struggling for the past few days

maybe his reaction would've been different earlier on in the war

but now, it just feels like a destructive domino effect that's sparing no one

it's obvious after all of his friends injuries and your pneumonia that he couldn't stay on the front line... his red bleary eyes and slightly trembling hands said enough

when he gets taken off the line, you're both in an aid station together for a few hours before you're both transferred to different hospital

so his presence is silent reassurance

you want so badly to comfort him but you're so sick and he doesn't want you to, he feels so guilty leaving you

but you hoarsely tell him he needs a break and to process what happened

you're feeling slightly better this day so that makes it a little better... but not that much

both of you have been through hell

but there is a light in the tunnel... or at least you feel that way

buck isn't on the front lines anymore and you both have a chance at a life together post-war

he does not want to leave you, it has to take a lot of malarkey's coaxing him and promising to update buck

[eugene roe]

gene can't decide if having medical knowledge makes it better or worse

and if being the medic and being the one to have their hands covered in the your blood, was better than leaving it in the hands of someone else

he decides it's awful... definitely worse

the very few hours he slept, it was just dreaming of your terrified face

and he wakes with a jolt and is completely miserable

and life just goes on...

a lot of pacing and murmuring

gene closes in on himself when he's upset and stressed, so he becomes even quieter than normal

and the other guys are worried like ??? do we need to intervene and lip just stops them, "leave him alone, he'll be okay."

prays for you a lot, gripping his rosary so tightly and the photo that he has of the two of you when you were still in england

when you both felt some semblance of normalcy

he can't abandon the company to stay with you full time at the aid station to his incredible frustration and disappointment

it's just hard for him to go on like everything's fine, it shatters whatever illusion he has of fairness and hope and safety

whenever someone else gets injured or they need supplies, he'll take any excuse to ride back to the aid station to see you

and if anyone else goes, they always see you and give gene an update

winters definitely notices and tries to give him opportunities to see you

likes watching you rest and sleep (because you definitely needed it, even before you got injured) in the sweetest, non-creepy way

gene loves to just sit with you, see you with his own eyes, and know for certain that you're okay

[grimsonandclover]

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Sympathy is a knife.2

or; Wake up, I'm sorry.

Stanford!Tashi x tennis player!reader

Song of the post 'when you sleep - my bloody valentine'

Tashi Duncan visits you at the hospital. It could have been her.

SFW

2.4k words

you know the drill. injury, medical shit to the best of my ability which isnt a lot, tashi duncan being kinda gay??? homosexuality? in front of my salad? if you squint, reader being emo but like come on, hospitals, nurses, knee splints, DRUGS (the medical kind and morphine), reader is generally unwell but she also just came out of surgery, suicidal thoughts, more mentions of vicera, its the hospital episode (again) (like beach episodes but less horny and sexy and fanservicey more painful and ugly and intimate so nothing like a beach episode), enemies to idk what this is! I'm a native english speaker but i play fast and hard with the rules of the language (meaning i fuck up tenses a lot and don't catch it all in editing, but i know they're there so i think that makes it better), minimal use of Y/N but there are some points where I had to.

The steady rhythm of the heart rate monitor was the only indication that you were alive.

Tubes in your arm. Tubes in your throat. Hues of purple and yellow peaked from under the immobilizer brace and pins covering your leg and drainage tubes, matching with the same shades of color under your eyes.

Despite it all, she couldn't help but think you looked peaceful. You looked dead. The nurse said you were still knocked out from surgery and would be for a while. Tashi wondered if you were dreaming.

Tashi wondered if you always looked so lifeless in your sleep.

Her sepia eyes couldn't move from that leg. The bandaging, the knowing what's right under. She saw your soul, and then she saw your bones and blood. Tashi had cried in her mother's arms when it had fully hit her.

Tashi Duncan won the match. Your injury meant your forfeit. It didn't taste as sweet at she wanted, more bitter and even vexatious. She wanted to win through skill, not... this. It almost felt like you did this on purpose. You pitied her.

No, she knew that wasn't it. It was easier to blame you than accept the fate of an athlete. These things just... happen, sometimes. It could've been her, instead. But it wasn't. It was your bones that reached for the sunlight filtering down on the court amongst the blooming crimson, not hers. Tashi was here, standing before your resting form, with two perfectly functional knees.

When the nurse came and told her it was time to leave, and Tashi gathered her things from the small armchair in the corner of the room where she watched you from, she felt... strange. Changed.

The fan of your eyelashes on the tops of your cheeks, your pallor, the halo of hair framing your face and resting head. Those tubes. The IV. The heart rate monitor. The surgical steel pins securing your knee in place. Her eyes land on the small tattoo on your inner wrist, one she'd never noticed before. Tashi recognized them as your father's initials.

There was the girl she hated, softly asleep despite her surroundings. You almost looked beautiful, and then she got this feeling in her chest, and it startled her.

She pitied you.

Waking up was miserable. Your throat was dry like never before, the lights hurt your eyes worse than any hangover you've experienced, and the feeling of the scratchy hospital gown made you want to claw your skin off. You could hear your heart rate monitor, and in that moment you wished it would just flatline.

The sob that broke out, despite how dry you felt, when you saw the state of your knee, was ugly. Your nurse, Nurse Amanda, was a useless piece of shit. You had major respect for healthcare workers and everything that they have to go through on a daily basis, but Amanda could go fuck herself to hell. She's the one that had asked you for an autograph when you requested your brother's music to be played.

"Oh, your knee." She'd say casually while writing things down on a chart as disgusting, fat, blobs of salt ran down your face and chin and you tried to remember how to breathe properly. "Some physio and you'll be right back on the court or in the club. I'm sure."

"How," hiccup, "How much physio?" You try to wipe the tears, but more keep coming. It's like your eyes were sucking any moisture from your mouth and lips just to supply a fresh batch of them. Wasn't Amanda supposed to bring you water?

Fucking Amanda looks down at her chart, tapping a pen to her chin. You were on drugs, but no amount of them could completely rid the feeling of your knee and it freaked you out. Every time the corner of your eye caught on the metal pins that poked from it, you felt a shiver run through you. "About a year, possibly more, possibly less. It was a brutal break."

She covered her mouth sheepishly like she just told you the secret ingredient in a family recipe. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that."

No, she shouldn't have. It just makes you stare at your fucked leg even harder. It just makes the tears fall even more. The collar of your hospital gown, one a powder blue, now soaked a darker cornflower.

When Tashi returns, you've calmed down considerably-- mostly thanks to the increased dosage of morphine. It's been two days since, and it's actually hard to remember anything that happened that day. Or the day before, or when you first woke up this morning. God bless morphine.

Though you can't tell, Tashi hasn't changed from what she wore when she visited you yesterday. Nobody even told you that she came earlier, and she preferred it that way. She didn't know why she came back, or why her heart fluttered when the nurse told her that you'd woken up.

Tashi stood still at the door, and you lay exactly where you would stay for the foreseeable future on that damn hospital bed staring back at her. She noticed how you had such pained eyes. The harsh hospital light cast shadows from your browbones to your cheeks, draining color from your pupils. How'd she never seen it before? Words dried in her chest like withered flowers before they got the chance to bloom, and she could feel them sit there. Tashi honestly had no clue what she wanted to say. She could say "I'm sorry" or "Are you okay?" but those were useless words. She didn't like useless things.

When you spoke, and you spoke first after a long stretch of awkward silence and staring, your voice was clearer than it was earlier-- because Fucking Amanda finally remembered you might need hydrating after sobbing for three hours straight and major surgery. Despite that, you still spoke low and broken.

"What are you doing in New York?" She's meant to be back in France.

A pull between her eyebrows, like an invisible string being yanked. "What?"

You look aside at the circles of cleared dust. She heard you, you weren't that quiet.

"Fuck you." She slowly shakes her head. What she means is fuck you for questioning her, because she doesn't have a good answer. You can read between the lines.

You laugh at the suddenness of it, and then your head spins a little more. In a nice way, even though you're meant to be scared of her. "It's a reasonable question. You're meant to be playing against..."

"La Lourie."

"Right. Her. So, what are you doing in New York?" What are you doing here.

Tashi doesn't move from the door, arms crossed as her fingers pick at a loose string of her zip-up hoodie. She doesn't answer for a bit, eyes moving down to a spot on the floor. "I pulled out."

Your breath halts, looking up at her when her words pierce you like an arrow. You don't say anything, because really, you can't. What is there to say?

She finally steps in, leaning against the wall next to the door. An easy way out, and escape hatch. Tashi swallows thickly as the thread on the hoodie is pulled more and more. "I couldn't, uh," she blinks hard, shaking her head, "I couldn't go back out there. Not after that."

What an un-Tashi-like thing to say. She could've been in your place right now and she'd still get up and hobble to the courts, demanding someone play her. Yet, somehow, you ruined it for her. At least for now. She was meant to hate you.

"Your blood is... like, they cleaned it, but I swear I can still see it there. I had to leave."

"It's the French Open, Tashi--"

"And I'll win it next year. But, fuck, I can't play it now." she shakes her head with finality. "I tried, I went on the practice court but I could only picture you on the floor like that, crying and bloody and calling for your dad--"

Your eyes widen and your head snaps up to her. "What?"

The medical team rush from their tent onto the court, surrounding you almost the minute you crash and fall. You can't hear the scared murmurs of the croud, or the shaking breath of your opponent, or your own sobs. Just the blood rushing to your ears and out your knee.

Everyone saw how you clung to your leg, rocking back and forth on the clay. There's someone asking if you can move, someone calling for a stretcher. You just rock and cry.

"D-daddy," you whimper, eyes on the clear blue sky and swirling clouds as your vision blurs and doubles. "Dad, daddy where are you? I want my dad, I need my dad,"

The pain got so bad you stopped feeling it.

Those in the crowd who knew about your dad gasped. Amber stood frozen, watching, not knowing what the hell there was to do. Tashi couldn't feel her legs and her stomach turned. She ran off the court into the player's tunnel, spilling out into the first trashcan she could find. When they finally got you onto the stretcher and off the court, you'd passed out.

Naturally, it was all over the news. Players get injured all the time, but it wasn't often that players like you crashed and burned so brutally. News sites discussed and speculated in detail about the match, everything before, and everything after. TMZ reached out to Amber, who declined to give them any information, and even Tashi got called by a few publishers.

Amber came to your room an hour after Tashi left, rushing to your bedside as bombarding you with questions.

"Oh, fuck," She mumbled, looking over at the mess you were in. "Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry I didn't-- couldn't come sooner. I- I don't," words failed her. Sure, Amber was hard on you, and maybe she considered leaving your career in the hands of someone more emotionally capable very often, but she did care for you. Like a sick, twisted mother-daughter relationship despite the fact she was only a couple years older.

You could tell how hard she tried to not look at your leg, to keep her eyes focused on your top half. You could almost hear the anxiety going on inside that head of hers. The job insecurity must be wild. Where'd she get her check now?

Patrick was next. He almost threw up from a mix of the jet lag and seeing you. "Jesus fuck, Y/N."

He couldn't walk all the way in at first, staying by the door like Tashi had earlier. It was so much. "I got on a plane the second I could. God, this is sick."

It took him a while to come in and not feel faint, sitting by your bedside and not letting his eyes zero in on The Knee. Patrick wasn't a religious man, not by far, but he felt like praying for you.

Your mother was last. Nothing much to note there, it was a silent visit only interrupted by a call she 'had to take'. She didn't return. Seline sent a card which now lies facedown and unopened on the bedside table.

A hand on her shoulder startles Tashi from her vacant staring at her knee, a soft "We're here, Tash." from the driver's seat telling her they're home. It's been a week, now, since your fall. Looking up at the passenger's seat mirror, Tashi can see soft circles darkening under bloodshot eyes, a testament to the night terrors she's been greeted with every time she closes her eyes.

She was meant to move out ages ago from her childhood home but never quite got there. Art said it was because she was secretly sentimental, but Tashi just assumed it was cause her bed only felt right in that room. Nothing felt right, now.

Tashi helps her mother carry in the groceries, Nat and Renee bickering at the table about one thing or the other instead of helping. The older sister doesn't really hear, the words just pass through her as one bag, then another is set on the counters. She's asked to pick a side, the answer is a dismissive hand wave, their mother tells the twins to leave Tashi to breathe.

They've been tiptoeing around her all week but she's too zoned out to bother to tell them to stop. The truth is, Tashi doesn't feel like Tashi. She feels replaced, swapped out. A part of her kicks and screams at her for withdrawing from the Open, and everyone around her can tell.

Every time she sees her knees, she thinks about how it could've been her on the ground screaming, crying out for her mom or dad. Tennis was her fucking lifeline, thinking of it being ripped away like that in a blink of an eye... something in her head throbs and Tashi flops back onto her bed, staring at her blank ceiling.

She feels like she's swimming through life in a pool of shock. Nothing sounds full, everything feels slightly blurry against her skin. Art keeps calling and texting, asking if she's alright, if he should come over. She dismisses him every time. Her mother knows she needs her space to process everything, but now it feels like everything is giving her space. Too much space. She's suffocating.

Tashi forgot to ask for your number. She really wants to talk to you, despite it all. God, she can't even remember why she decided she hated you. Was there a reason at all? Did she hate you cause she felt like she had to, because everyone else did? It was like with Britney or Amy, watching them go through shit and instead of sympathizing, criticizing. Is that what Tashi was doing? Wasn't she better than that? Losing to you hurt, that was for sure, and she didn't exactly respect the DUI, but everything else... why did it matter so much to her?

All the shit-talking, all the tabloids about you she read, all the gossip she'd listen to intently from other players. It made her sick to think about, because now, and only now, she saw you as the person you were. It only took you losing it all for her to see.

Didn't her mother raise her better than that?

She grabs a pillow, pulling it over her face to block out the world. Downstairs she can hear the argument between Nat and Renee heat up, her father in the next room on a work call, her mother making fresh juice in the kitchen. The neighbor's dog, Lucky, is barking outside. Someone's starting a car. Art's new text buzzes her phone.

Tashi thinks about how the whole world moves on while you're stuck in that bed, and how it could have been her.

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