#nowhere is open that does surgeries today

[grantihare]

merry christmas mordred broke his hip and needs surgery 🫠 sorry in advance for how obnoxious im going to be abt e-begging but i do Not have thousands on hand for this and im kinda freaking out

[depressopax]

Before it's too late

Nacho Varga x gn!reader

Fandom - Better call Saul

Yoo! I haven't posted in ages, been feeling down and mentally exhausted 😭 Also been writing on my very own novel for a school project AHHH Basically been writing, procrastinating, writing, etc etc... But so far so good!

Now then... ✨Angst time✨

Pairing: Nacho Varga x gender neutral reader Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Warning(s): BCS SPOILERS! Based on s4e3 “Something Beautiful”. Major character injury. Mentions of death and violence. Blood. Guns and bullet wounds. Cuss words. Mentions of surgery. Reader is gender-neutral and has they/them pronouns Words: 1.6K Summary: Based on s4e3, in which Nacho gets shot by Victor and is left in the desert. After being saved by the Cousins, reader rushes to the vet office to see him.  English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 || AO3 link || Masterlist || Request ||

The sun is burning in Albuquerque today, making the concrete and highways threateningly warm. It’s an early morning and will only get hotter. The streets are empty and people are either sleeping safely in their beds or avoiding the burning morning-light. It’s a perfect day to stay in the shadows or - for those who have the option - close to the fresh breeze from the AC. 

Not everyone has that option. 

But bleeding to death in the desert is a rare case, too. 

This is how I die. 

Nacho thinks. He’s lost track of time. The man is lying on his side, facing away from the sun and hoping it will protect him from a sunburn. It’s the last thing he needs right now. 

The wounded shoulder is enough. His hands are bloody and so is the warm sand he is facing. 

Dehydration and blood loss. - That was not the way he thought he’d go down.

If it weren’t for the sharp pain in his shoulder - that’s slowly spreading throughout every inch of his body - he’d feel angry and humiliated.

Gus and his men left him to bleed out in the middle of nowhere. The damn Chicken Man. 

Arturo is dead. 

Nacho? About to join Arturo in the afterlife. 

His mind is bitter and he’s losing the battle of patience. 

“Do it quick, before you pass out” - That was the words of Gus’ lap dog, Victor. He was quick. Directly after he was left bleeding, he dialed the number to them. The Cousins. 

Where are they? 

He’s lost count if it's been days, hours or minutes since he got shot. All he knows is that he is slowly going insane. The sun burns his neck and he lets out a grunt, opening and closing his dry mouth. There's a taste of iron on his tongue due to his dry, chapped lips. 

Water. His vision gets blurry and with gloomy eyes he looks at the wet, red sand under him. 

They’re not coming. Those fuckers aren’t on their way. 

I’m dead. 

The realization hits Nacho, fueling the pain he’s already feeling. 

Dad. 

Guilt washes over him. What will happen to his dad if he dies? That, and…

He whispers your name hoarsely. 

You. His beautiful partner. The one who’s always been by his side, the only one that knows about and doesn’t judge him for his fucked up choices and his chaotic life. The person he’s been so distant and cold towards lately. Worst part is… 

They have no idea how much I love them. 

“I love you” - A sentence yet to be said. So many emotions are left unspoken, so many things left unsaid. 

Without thinking or caring about the consequences, Nacho reaches for his phone. With shaky, bloody hands, he dials your number and listens to the waiting tone. 

“Ignacio?” A soft voice filled with concern says. Nacho smiles. 

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yea… But don’t worry. What’s up, Nacho?”

The silence lingers. What the hell is he supposed to reply? 

“I gotta tell you something.”

“Nacho… What is going on? Are you ok?”

“No… But listen, mi amor.”

“Ignacio…-”

“I love you.” Silence again. His voice cracks from the emotions “...I love you so fucking much.”

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

“...Because I am.” His voice is barely a whisper anymore. “Take care of my father for me, will you?” 

Your voice breaks on the other line. 

“Where are you?”

No reply. You realize it’ll stay that way. He is too stubborn to let you help him. As if accepting defeat, you break apart.

“Don’t cry, mi vida…” He whispers.

“Please don’t die. Please.” 

I promise. Nacho wants to reply. But the last thing he wants to do right now is give you false hope. So he stays quiet. His ears are ringing and he wonders how he still has blood left in his body. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Ignacio. I love you…”

He smiles in relief. That was all he needed to hear. 

It’s all said and done and now he can at least die with some peace.

“And I love you.” 

He hangs up.

When a character faces death in movies, they see their life flash before their eyes. 

A cliche. Nacho thought up until now.

He envisions the few happy and peaceful moments he’s had in life. Most of them involve his dad Manuel, and you. The first date, first kiss, first time… 

Maybe it’s the sun or maybe he’s actually walking into the light, when suddenly a shadow covers it. He grunts. 

In the distance, he can hear two men talking to each other in Spanish. Someone lifts him from the ground. 

Exhaustion catches up with Nacho and everything fades to black. 

You almost kick open the door to the Veterinary Office. 

How you even got the address is a miracle.

Maybe because you’ve called Nacho’s phone at least twenty times within the last hour, or maybe because they know Nacho has a partner? That seems unlikely. Nacho has made sure to keep the relationship secret from everyone, to protect you. Only people that know that he is your boyfriend are Manuel Varga and your family. 

The last explanation… Maybe, somehow, Nacho’s Cartel colleagues are humane enough to let family and friends say farewell to their dying loved ones… 

Apart from an elderly lady and her cat, the waiting room is empty at this time in the morning. The receptionist looks startled when she sees you. But then again you can’t judge her. With puffy and red eyes and the almost wild expression on your face it’s no wonder people are concerned. Without waiting for her to greet you, you rush to the office whilst the woman shouts after you. 

Nothing can prepare you for what you see. 

It’s your boyfriend - lying down half-naked on a metal table whilst the vet, Caldera, performs surgery. Two men in suits stand next to the tense vet, watching over his every move with caution. As the door shuts behind you, the three men turn to look at you. One of the twins raises their guns. 

“What happened to him?!” A voice barely noticeable. The man lowers his gun as his brother mumbles something to him. The vet goes back to work and Nacho squirms on the table. They’re killing him. 

You know that's not true and makes zero sense. 

But what makes sense about this situation either way? 

You don’t realise that you’re shouting allegations until someone grips you and drags you out of the room. Before you get kicked out of the office, a weak voice calls your name. 

Nacho. 

Minutes turn into hours, morning turns to day and then afternoon. You remain seated on the cold tile floor hugging your knees against your chest. The anxiety grows stronger and it feels like you’re about to drown in worry. When the door to the office finally opens, you can barely stand up. 

It’s impossible to read the expression on his face. The scrubs he’s wearing are stained red. You can feel your stomach twist. 

“He’s alive.” 

Nacho wakes up from his feverish dreams. His mind is foggy and his eyes feel heavy. The sedatives are wearing off and his whole body aches, especially the place where the bullets penetrated his shoulder. 

He is in a cold room with his bare back resting against an even colder metal table. He feels like shit. With a raspy voice, he repeats the only word he’s been able to say lately. Your name. When a warm hand intertwines fingers with him, he finally breathes out. 

Your sobbing wakes him from his trance. He opens his brown eyes and looks at you through heavy eyelids and black eyelashes. He manages to give you a weak smile and in a raspy voice, he greets you.

“Hey, mi vida.”

“Hey, my love.” You reply and manage to smile through the tears. “You’re alive…” 

With those words said, you burst into tears again. The cousins and Caldera look uncomfortable with the emotional outbursts and the scene between the two lovebirds.

“...Let’s give Varga and his partner some time to talk.” the vet says. He’s quick to leave and the twin men don't protest. 

Once finally alone, Nacho brings a weak, trembling hand to your cheek. He feels the soft skin against his palm and feels a sense of relief. When you lean forward he doesn’t think twice before pulling you into a kiss, and then another one. 

He’s alive. 

“I love you. I should’ve told you earlier, I… I’m sorry.” 

Your boyfriend tries sitting up and winces in pain. 

“You don’t need to apologize.” 

He can no longer hold back the wave of emotions. The shock of watching Arturo die, the stress Hector and his nephews have caused him, for years. The worries for his own life, but mostly for his dad, and you. It all comes crashing down. And now… Gus is a threat.

Nacho knows his life just got more complicated and a lot more dangerous. 

He’ll have to tell you everything. 

But for now… 

He cries. He lets you hold onto him. 

Nacho squeezes you close to him, to make sure you can’t slip away. 

Once he’s healed, he’ll go back to duty. He’ll protect you.

But for now… He lets you protect him. 

When you whisper “I love you”, he feels at peace. 

You’re his shelter and his home.

Did my mentally unstable a- cry when writing this because I love Nacho so damn much?? Yes. 2am emotional damage

[ghoultrifle]

Phantom's Top Surgery

@autumnblooms made a post asking about top surgery ghouls and I couldn't resist. So here is 1.8k words of they/them non-binary Phantom having top surgery and the pack loving them so much (like SO MUCH). If you couldn't tell, I have never had surgery, let alone top surgery (I wish!) so any medical inaccuracies are on me! Minor mentions of scars (medical) and dysphoria, nothing heavy though, this is a fluffy fic :) Enjoy!

They opened their eyes, the halo of the ward’s fluorescent bulb assaulting them before their eyes fluttered shut again, straining. They could feel their right hand had a warmth to it, almost burning. It was Dewdrop, his hand enveloping Phantom’s as he sat at their bedside.

Dew had been waiting nervously for the young ghoul to wake. Their summoning went awry, they were given the wrong vessel and today was the day Phantom would finally know peace, even if just a little.

“Hey sweetheart, you’re safe, it was all a success. Can you open your eyes for me now?” Dewdrop whispered, shielding their eyes from the light with his hand, careful not to startle the groggy ghoul.

Their eyes twitched open, bracing for the light that never came. “You stayed, Dew?” They asked in awe. “Of course I did, honey. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here with you.” He replied, “In fact I’m honoured to be able to share this story with you.” Dew brought Phantom’s hand to his chest as he traced his own scars, faded now, but still textured.

Phantom smiled, their lips parting to reveal their fangs, an action unconsciously reserved for those they trusted most. “Are they really gone?” They questioned. Dewdrop didn’t reply, only moved their hands over the quintessence ghoul’s bandaged chest. The wraps were thick and the drains were in the way but even so it was clear to Phantom that they really were gone, once and for all.

No more back pain from binders and sports bras. No more slouching and rolling in their shoulders. No more refusing to go swimming with Rain on account of their vessel. They were free.

Well, not quite yet. The next two weeks were going to be tough, confined to a bed and relying on their packmates for everything. They weren’t looking forward to it. Being a relatively new summon they felt bad that all attention had been on them since they were summoned, all because Secondo never properly taught Copia Latin.

It made no sense for them to be worried, the pack loved to dote on them at any chance they got. Pampering them with spa days and Swiss even created a countdown calendar for Phantom’s surgery date, bringing out a cake with ‘Take ‘em away, boys!’ written in icing on the morning of. Even Aurora, who was summoned with them, had no qualms about the attention they received; she preferred to stay out of the limelight as she assimilated.

There was a knock at the door, more of an announcement than a question, as Aether entered. “Hey Bud, how you feeling? Thought I’d pop along in case you needed a little quinty help!” The older ghoul asked, making jazz hands as his fingertips leaked magick into the room.

Now they thought about it, it did ache. It wasn’t painful, they were on so many meds it couldn’t have been, but there was a pressure to it, a dull ache around their chest. It wasn’t quite what they’d been expecting, to feel worse than they did with their tightest binder but it was worth it, they reckoned.

Phantom turned their head towards the door, eyes unable to focus, “Aches, Aeth.” Was all they could manage, head still swirling from the anaesthesia; it takes significantly more to knock out a quintessence ghoul. They willed their hands to make a grabbing motion at Aether. They’re not sure if it worked but either way Aether was soon approaching the bed, hands tingling with quintessence.

“I bet it does, Baby. This feel better?” Aether hummed as he held his palms to Phantom’s collar bones, the closest exposed skin to the fresh scars. Phantom murmured an affirmative response that no one could quite make out, they were too blissed out at the relief their packmate was offering.

Aether moved his hands to affectionately mess Phantom’s hair before returning them to his lap, now sitting opposite Dewdrop. “That should be enough for a few hours, Bug.”

“‘m sleepy, Dewy. Cuddles?” Phantom asked, successfully grabbing in Dew’s direction this time. The young ghoul attempted to roll on their side, ready for Dewdrop to spoon them. Aether placed a firm but loving hand on their shoulder, “Oh honey you can’t be rolling over, your chest will come out lop-sided!” He joked, chuckling as Phantom whined before giggling.

“Alright, Ant. How about I use some magick to keep you warm now and I’ll give you all the cuddles once the bandages are off, huh?” Dewdrop propositioned, stretching out his hand to the ghoul’s bare arm. They closed their eyes just as Aether sparked some quintessence to give Phantom the feeling of a warm, embracing hug.

They awoke once again, hours later, for the nurses to do their final fit-for-home tests: blood pressure, check they’ve pissed, and check their bandages. Phantom was barely awake for this, the surgery having destroyed their energy. They just about made out a kind man talking to them, “Alright Tom, looks like you’re good to go. The doctor will be in touch about your follow up appointments shortly!” 

Who’s Tom?, they thought, forgetting their human name. It didn’t matter though as Aurora and Dewdrop helped dress them in joggers and a button-up shirt, Aether at the abbey cooking a ‘welcome back’ lasagne with Swiss.

The short ghouls plopped their subject into a wheelchair before racing them down the hallway, seeing which of them could propel Phantom the furthest on a single push. Phantom was having a great time until they were accelerated toes-first into a wall as the chair decided it wasn’t going to play ball, “Ow! I thought you were meant to be taking care of me!” They whined, not really minding, Aether’s magick still in effect.

Dew and Aurora exchanged a smirk before apologising and wheeling Phantom to the car at a reasonable pace. Mountain was parked outside, ready for the special delivery. The front seat was pushed right back so Phantom could easily slide in, already wearing their neck pillow. Their bandages provided just enough padding that the seatbelt was bearable, it was only a short ride anyway.

On getting out of the car, Phantom was carried bridal style by the earth ghoul straight to their bed where Swiss was waiting with a trolley full of food. The young ghoul was starving after being nil by mouth and only snacking post-surgery. Mountain settled them on their wedge pillow, a soft tubular cushion placed under their arms like a pool noodle, and an in-bed tray placed over their waist.

Mountain turned to leave as he was accosted by Phantom weakly pulling him back, “Mwah” they exaggerated as they kissed him on the cheek, miming a hug they couldn’t quite give with their t-rex arms. Mountain smiled and blew a kiss back as he left the multi ghoul to serve their dinner.

“Made your favourite, Ant, lasagne!” Swiss exclaimed trying to keep Phantom awake enough to eat without falling asleep face first in the pasta. He placed the food on the quintessence ghoul’s tray and handed them their favourite fork, it had plastic casing with bats on it. Phantom took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the freshly cooked meal, “Mmm thanks Swissy, smells good!” They replied. 

They scoffed the lasagne in no time, asking Swiss for seconds, and then a dessert. Swiss had come prepared, with a quick text on his phone Cumulus was entering the room, apple pie in hand with a spoon to match the set. “Lussy! You came! With pie too?!” They were getting excited now, Cumulus often took a back seat when it came to Phantom’s transition, struggling to reconcile with her own. But she couldn’t resist coming to see the freshly flat-chested ghoul before her, she remembered what her first gender affirming surgery was like. It was cold and lonely, before she was a band ghoul, there was no one there for her. She couldn’t bear to think Phantom would have the same experience. So she turned up, she was present, and she did what she does best: baked.

Phantom slept well that night, but the following evenings proved more difficult. Sleeping upright, unable to move and stretch was difficult for the young ghoul. They were often found curled up in a ball of a morning, so staying still was a challenge. The post-op binder was so tight, their back hurt and their chest ached. Cirrus caught wind of a hrmmph coming from Phantom’s room, gently opening the door to check the ghoul hadn’t injured themself.

“You OK, Bug?” She asked, fresh concern in her voice as she saw the discomfort they were in. Phantom just shook their head with a disapproving chirp. “Oh I know, it’s hard isn’t it? Dewdrop really struggled with this bit too.” She replied, “I can always try what I tried with him if you want?” She offered tentatively.

The quintessence ghoul nodded, trying not to rouse themself anymore than Cirrus had already. She nodded before she started singing a lullaby, soft and sweet in that tender voice of hers. Phantom felt sleep pulling over them, drifting from consciousness with every line she sang. They could get used to this.

It became a routine, Cirrus’ charming voice accompanying them on their journey to sleep. As days turned into weeks they found it easier, the wedge pillow’s angle decreasing as they became more horizontal at night. Being able to lift their arms enough to shower and make their own cereal in the morning. It was the little things that made everything that little bit more bearable.

Of course they brought the whole pack to their chest reveal, excited chirps and trills from the crowd as the nurse removed the bandages to reveal fresh red scars outlining their pecs and small suture lines around their nipples. Many tears were shed that afternoon, not least from Phantom themself. 

That summer, the pack were down at the lake, cooling off by the shore. Phantom and Dewdrop were sporting their scar strips as they sat shirtless on the wooden dock, feet swinging idly in the water, swimming shorts on. Suddenly a rush of air passed them as Rain ran behind them shouting “Last one in the water’s a rotten egg!” as he broke the surface of the peaceful water.

For the first time, they wanted to join Rain. Phantom looked at Dewdrop before scrambling to their feet, desperate not to be the rotten egg, before jumping in. The water hit their scars, cool and fresh, just like the realisation that they were finally free.

This is what life was meant to be.

[fractualized]

Today in TMWSL #10, we get half our answer and also Joker in a skirt again! Look how happy he is.

Spoilers and violence, yadda yadda…

We open with Black Mask interrogating a police officer about what the Commissioner did with his men, but it quickly becomes clear something is wrong!

Joker (our favorite Sewer Rat one) comes over the speaker in Roman's office (?) in the fashion of a flight crew, as Roman manages to get a gas mask.

And our boy makes his entrance as grandly as always.

With the henchmen dispatched, Joker starts to tell Roman about his complaints.

And here's where I bring up Gotham War, and how I guess this is happening at the beginning of Bruce's 2-month unconsciousness after Knight Terrors, right as Selina is starting to steal all the henchmen and train them to be Good Nonviolent Thieves. Because here it's alleged that all the Gotham bosses are still doing fine getting their underlings and it's just Joker who isn't. I have to assume that because otherwise the inconsistency would be another reason to dunk on Gotham War and who would do that!

Anyway, we cut to Wesker who is collecting clues from the men Joker did manage to round up about where the other Joker came from.

C'mon, Scarface! They're probably doing their best! Besides, you've got other things to worry about. 

Jason, noooooooooo! He's just a lil murderous conniving puppet! He can reform! He can do a YouTube series about mob history!

As for Joker, we know where he is. I mean, one of them.

It looks like, for some reason, Joker is giving this cop Lazarus resin, assuming @clownprince's theory about where Joker #2 came from is where all this is going. Though it doesn't explain why Joker is reviving this cop. Not yet….

Also lookit them heels!

Anyway, Joker is looking for clues about his doppelganger with Roman personally, which implies he has a strong feeling Roman of all people has key info?

Oh right, Joker doesn't know the other guy is back in town. But unfortunately Joker #2 knows his twin has wrangled up some friends and is having his own friends, er, de-wrangle them.

In a way, they're just making room for Mr. Waffles' defection!

At least Joker gets to feel himself in this outfit before he figures out his scrappy crew is already being dispatched.

Look, I don't know what Wesker is alleged to be up to but I don't think Joker has a leg to stand on calling him a pervert.

Anyway, Jason brings down Joker's mood. 🙁

Ooh, I love when Di Giandomenico gets him all dark like that.

Joker does manage to get in touch with Shocky back at the warehouse and tells him to get everyone back there.

SHOCKY ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW. … Also who are you and how did you of all people manage to find out??

Sadly AND PREDICTABLY, we cut to the warehouse and Shocky has also been attacked by persons unknown. Jason, Steph, and Ravager are already on the scene. And then Manhunter shows up and nobody has any chill so they all get into a fight. Steph manages to calm everything down.

They compare notes and realize they're tracking the activities of two different Jokers. More importantly, they realize Shocky is alive! And we see Joker watching from the rafters.

At first I wondered if Joker didn't like what Shocky told him and tried to kill him, but nah, it looks like the warehouse got hit by Joker #2's crew. And I think they took Fake Jackanapes because he's nowhere to be seen, but per #12's cover he does appear to be back with Joker. Hmmm...

All four heroes are conspicuously absent when Shocky gets taken to the hospital, but Joker hitches a ride on the roof of the ambulance. From flight attendant mode to gremlin mode!

In a completely impractical way of figuring out what Shocky knows, Joker decides to interrupt his surgery in a new costume. I'm not sure if he had time to change into the cops' clothes outside or if he was wearing the first cop's uniform under his Sewer Rat outfit. I am sure that Mimi does not care!

Joker shoots the doctor because he has not learned any lessons about why he has no friends, and gets to the big question.

GODDAMMIT, SHOCKY– but actually I think the trope here is clear. Shocky did answer Joker's question in one word. DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNN but that's confirmed shortly, after this hilarious page:

It's Albert, the Knight Terrors son! Reading a Wonder Woman comic. It doesn't look like he took Joker's suggestion to ask for better toys to heart. 

Inexplicably, Joker stops in the middle of everything to steal the kid's drugs.

The implication may be that Shocky's words have jogged something in Joker's memory, and he's trying to ease the rest of it out. And that certainly seems to be happening, because we abruptly jump into the surreal "backer," which has a stronger tie to the main story than the others.

Joker is poisoning civilians when it turns out something's wrong with a henchman's mask.

Joker takes this opportunity to create his twin himself (dun dun DUNNNN) with the assistance of Professor Pyg.

Pyg successfully transforms the henchman into a Joker look-alike, and the fun begins, with Joker using his double to seem like he can be in two places at once, and to explain sudden changes of heart or ability. And all that goes fine until:

Original Joker does not appreciate anyone killing his men but him! (For once.) He confronts his creation when he's sitting on a park bench feeding critters. (A Joker enjoying himself at night on a bench? If only a bat doppelganger was there to join him.)

And we end on panels very reminiscent of what happened back in TMWSL #1.

Is this dunking on Three Jokers? I'm choosing to take it that way (even though TMWSL itself could still go the same direction).

Unlike other issues, we return to the main story for a page.

I had to include both these panels because 1) I enjoy the clown balloon exploding perfectly positioned in the cop's face and 2) like the last time Joker was in the hospital, he's reading a comic and replacing the story that's in there with something in his head.

But here it is! Half the mystery solved: Joker himself made his doppelganger! Which raises questions like "why?" and "how?" and "when?" but look there's only another couple issues to go.

And we can keep speculating in the meantime. Again I point to clownprince's theory linked above that some clone or plastic-surgeried reanimated corpse was mindwiped into thinking he's Joker. If that holds true, which it seems like it will because the Lazarus resin came up again, now we have Joker saying that he is the person who did it. Of course, if we go by how it went in the backer, then it's Sewer Rat Joker who is the fake, but since the backers are surreal and strange, the story Joker "read" in the comic may just be inspired by the actual goings-on and he really is the original as he says. It's also possible that we'll find both Joker's are so mixed up that they simply can't agree on who the original is, and we never get confirmation.

Regardless, we can further extrapolate that after seeing the clones at the end of Joker 2021, even though Joker was pissed about that, he may have been inspired too. It wouldn't be the first time that he thought a joke was only funny if he was the one who told it. So after he left Texas, he came across the mindwipe tech Bloom used in Task Force Z, and decided to give it a try? Except the person he brainwashed would be as vain as him and want to be the one-and-only Clown Prince of Crime, and it would never occur to him that he's the copy.

I'm hoping that's what it is, and not that the double was created earlier and it really is like Three Jokers where there's been more than one Joker tHe WhOle TiMe. I mean, Joker's last line could be taken to mean, "I was the one behind our best shenanigans and am responsible for our fearsome reputation." At least it's definitely not some multiverse shit as implied by that Batman #135 page.

We've got a couple issues left to get more answers. My understanding is that TMWSL stops at #12, which is a bummer. I've had a great time reading it, which only makes me grumble more about what's going on in Batman and Gotham War. "I Am A Gun" was delightful, but ever since Batman's storyline hit the alternate universe, the writing has gone… not great, IMO. So I'm not sure what Zdarsky is gonna do with Joker for the reunion. :|

[loganhowlet4t]

Heya, fellow trans masc American here. I’m younger and I’m just so genuinely horrified that we willingly chose an open and proud facing, and now we’re just saying the quiet parts out loud. I’m not on hurt, won’t be able to get top surgery for years, a nod alegal name change is still over a year away. I’m so scared, and so are my friends.

I guess I’m also pissed, but it’s so frustrating seeing just how apathetic people are. I had a brief conversation today with another trans person, and I sorta jokingly asked them, “how does it feel to only have a few months of rights left”, and he was like, “oh, no I don’t like trump but I think my rights are safe.”. I mentioned how the senate, house, and majority of legislation is already controlled by the right, and project 2025. “Oh, that can’t happen. And it’s not, like, all of them.”.

Just….hoy shit. How can you not see that NOONE IS SAFE.

Luckily I have people that support me and also want to fight. But I’m so, so sad and scared for all my trans youth and especially transfers, or anyone pre-op/HRT. My takeaway is, ‘If they want me dead, they can do it themselves.’

Stay fighting and stay alive.

Hey! And yeah some people have no idea the harm trump can bring to us, it really aggravates me when people say "oh he won't take away our rights it's fine", we are the farthest away from fine lmao

Legally I'm not safe, but physically I'd say I'm pretty safe. I'm armed and I live in the middle of nowhere, so I doubt any sort of physical harm could come to me. I'm just worried about losing access to testosterone, but I'm hoping my Endo can find a way around stuff for me since she's my cousin

The people in the cities tho? Shit, they're in danger. If I lived in a big population rn I wouldn't go out without looking over my shoulder constantly, too many crazy violent hateful people in this world, and they've only been spurred on by trump winning

[comfort-zone-magic-zone]

Imagining My Ideal Self

So, for the past 3 nights, I have been unable to stay asleep. I go to bed at a decent hour and then wake up between 2:30AM and 3:30AM. I do end up back asleep eventually but today is taking longer so I thought I would do some reflection.

As I stated in a previous post, I have turned 30 and am trying to live more for myself and set better boundaries. I started the former in a small way yesterday by taking myself out for lunch. The latter I am working on with my therapist.

Today, I want to do some imaging. I reblogged this post the other day and I want to go through the questions for myself. See what I can answer and what I can’t. Anything I can’t answer is where I need to focus on as I plan 2025.

What does your ideal self look like? This one I have worked a lot on over the years and I am slowly becoming her. Since losing 100 pounds, how I dress and carry myself has shifted. My ideal self looks effortless and put together no matter what she has on. Outfits come together seamlessly; matching sets, clean shoes, microlocs neat, carefully placed accessories, and light makeup. Due to budget constraints, I have slowly eased into this. My gym clothes typically match as often as I can. I try not to wear sweats too often outside the house, and if I do, I elevate it with clean sneakers and accessories. I am keeping the weight off and it will stay that way. I do have a goal for skin removal surgery for an even more trimmed look.

What does your ideal self smell like? Well clean obviously. I haven’t found my signature scent yet. The bottle perfumes I have don’t last as long as I like and these oils my mother gave me (the New York style roll-ons that you can’t ever find again) are a bit too strong at times. I would like a floral/fruity scent I think. Something that reminds me of femininity, easy life, and sunshine. Goal 1: Find a signature scent.

How does she laugh? I like my laugh when I do it. I have been told that my smile and laugh are genuine and make people feel good. I don’t want to reduce myself to faking a laugh or acting coy. When I laugh, I want to feel good and others to feel good.

What is her energy like? Oh, this is a tough one and one that I am working on. I have been told that the vibe I have is soothing. The person who told me this has typically seen me in environments where it takes me a long time to get comfortable. I try not to bring negative energy even if I feel it. I rather sit alone and go nowhere than bring bad energy  to an area. I have been told that I bring sunshine and light into spaces. I like that energy. However, when people ask me how I am, I usually respond that I am tired. Lately I really have been, however, that is not the energy I want to give off. Goal 2: Bring the energy I want to feel into the space I am in. No more “I am tired” answers.

What type of house does she live in? My dream home is so expensive right now. Currently, I rent a town home with my mom because life is happening. I don’t know how long we will live together, but I will always make sure my mother is okay. I have been thinking in the last few weeks when I would like to buy a home. The answer is I don’t know, but when I do, it will be amazing. I want a wrap around porch that looks out into a yard. There is a perfectly placed sunroom to be warm (not hot) in the middle of the day. The sunroom will have an exit to the backyard where there will be a firepit/grill area. Did I say this is a two story home with a finished basement? Entering the from the front door is a mudroom to one side and a small library to the other. Mudroom is for coats and dirty shoes. I haven’t decided if shoes will be allowed in my home yet.  The library will double as an office but it will have a bay window and comfy seating. Walls will be shade of burgundy or purple or green to allow it to be dark when I want it to be but bright the minute the window currents are open. The living room will be comfortable for hosting but most family time and game nights will be spent in the basement. A guest room will be on the first floor for older family members or my mom if she is still with me. The kitchen is special. An island, double oven, gas stove, and plenty of space. Sometimes I don’t mind people being in the kitchen with me. I want enough space in the kitchen to allow that. A walk-in pantry will be there. Now the debate is whether the laundry room should be on the first or second floor. I am a fan of the second for ease but first so I don’t hear it. If it is on the first, I want a laundry chute and the room has to be off the mudroom. The second floor is for bedrooms obviously. Master has its own bathroom with an amazing shower set up. The total number of rooms depends on how many kids I have. Ideally, I also want a garage with a gym attachment as well. Goal 3: Decide if I want to buy a house and when.

How does your ideal self react when things don’t go the right way? This is something else I am working on. Lately, the stress of work has been making me react harsher than I want to. On Thursday, I had to get up and go to my car to cry in anger. My therapist tells me I need to feel instead of rationalizing. Sometimes, in the moment, you can’t feel. I don’t want to raise my voice or use poor vocabulary. I don’t like yelling at bad drivers but I do it. I want to react with grace until I am able to feel. Walk away and let no one take pleasure in how I react. They don’t need to know. Goal 4: Learn to react with grace.

Now that I have this image in my head of my ideal self, I am going to work on habits and activities that could lead me to being her. That is a post for another morning…I think I can fall back to sleep now.

[la-squadra1234]

Imagine a folding mission. Spiders guys are tired and ate walking. And nowhere can they find their Y / N, and when they all went around. They only know a small, cute, fluffy penguin who runs towards them as if they were his mother. It turned out that Y / N became a little penguin (yes, I don’t know what kind of weed to smoke my fantasy) What would their reaction be? What would they do? (I can't help but send you a video of how to walk a little penguin: https://twitter.com/shouldhaveaduck/status/1642150827740606464?t=6q8Rl4p9yVzr1PYMGqTA-g&s=35 I hope the link opens lol)

I’m not joking I had to read this at least 15 times finally understand it because my brain was not braining today lmao😭

Thank you so much for the request!

Full credit to la-squadra1234

Feitan-

He would definitely try to act as uncomfortable and weirded out as possible but he is actually dying inside. He is going to constantly grab y/n to “direct them” but in reality, he just wants to pet them

Phinks-

This man would be weird it out but in the same time in hysterics, he would not be able to control his laughter. He would definitely ask how you got into that situation though

Chrollo-

He would stand there and be Hella confused until he realizes that it’s y/n and then he would constantly be asking if he can pet them and he would love it so much

Hisoka-

He would start getting very emotional, saying “I need my little y/n back” but as soon as he sees that the penguin is clearly y/n then all of that will change for him. He will forget about everything that he just said.

Nobunaga-

He would be absolutely flabbergasted jaw dropped. He would ask a ton of questions like how did that happen to you? What does it feel like to be a penguin if he can pet you all sorts of things

Uvogin-

He wouldn’t ask questions or anything he would just be sitting there laughing no questions asked just laughing

Shalnark-

he would definitely say something along the lines of “oh wow! I have never seen something like this before” or “wow how did this happen to you” he would be confused, shocked happy a bunch of things

Franklin-

He would be super confused he would definitely say something along the lines of “there is no way that that is y/n that is clearly a penguin is it even possible for a human to turn into a penguin without surgery or something like that. This is the most idiotic situation we have ever faced” he would not be very impressed at all

That’s it for today everybody I hope everybody enjoyed. This was pretty fun making when I first seen the request I opened it up and went like oh my God why do I not understand this, so I just put my phone down and went back to sleep and now I finally understand it lol

I will see everybody in the next Post bye now!

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Just wrote a little pacific rim au and it didn't end well 😬 (not surprised, but still...)

Chris ,the one time maybe after that very very bad fire where Ron just take off and runs inside, when Chris's captain is so very sure he just found someone worse than both chros and Dave together. Chris can't contact tom. Be it in the threesome au or not, he tries to call him in every way he can think of, tom must know what happened, and better if its from him rather than whoever. But tom never answer.

He ends up calling mav.he panics, Ron is not doing well, jake is home, and Tom is just nowhere to be found, chris can't do it alone.

Mav didn't expect to get a phone call like that, he half think that chris is exaggerating things a bit, before showing up and uh..he was not exaggerating--

(Oh my god I love pacific rim au’s please write more.)

Threesome au brain rot is still strong in my head soo.

Chris has been at the hospital for most of the morning. He can’t get ahold of Tom. He’s supposed to be in his office all day. Jake is home with his sister.

He’s pacing back and forth. Ron is still unconscious. Has burns on his hands and left leg. A broken rib and three fingers.

Chris desperately needs Tom there with him. Tommy who still doesn’t know what happened. Who always thought stressing about Chris getting burned was bad but now? Ron too? Jesus.

He’s running back through all the places Tom could be when he thinks of Mav.

Wonderful Mav.

He punches in the numbers, it rings. Please god pick up.

“Hello this is Pete?”

Chris sobs he can’t help it, “Mav Ron is in the hospital I can’t get ahold of Tom. Where the hell is he?”

Theres a beat, “he’s in the air. I’ll get him back down don’t worry about it. How’s Ron?”

Chris shakes his head before remembering Mav can’t see him. “Bad. Had worse. But this is bad. Jake’s at home.”

“We can probably be there in two hours?” “Great thank you.”

Chris hangs up. He goes back over to the chair and collapses next to David. He’s instantly pulled under his arm. “You doin okay? Able to call Tom?” Chris shakes his head, he scrubs at his face. God he can’t keep crying. “No and no, had to call Mav. Said they’ll be here in two hours.”

David nods. “Wanna go home and see Jake? It’s only a twenty minute drive?” Chris shudders. “If I see Jake right now I won’t be able to keep it together. Oh Christ does that make me a horrible dad?”

David laughs. He kisses the side of Chris’s head, “doll if you were a horrible dad you wouldn’t of thought of that. You’re fine. It’ll be okay.”

———

Tom comes running down the hallway. Mav is a few steps behind him because he’s shorter. He sees Chris curled asleep in David’s lap, “how bad?” David shakes his head “bad. But no surgeries.” Mav lets out a sigh. “Can I see him.” “Room 210.”

Tom slowly walks over to that room. He opens the door prepared for the worst. He’s met with a leg wrapped in wound care. Theres a hand in a cast as far as he can see. Ron looks peaceful.

It’s unnatural.

Tom collapses into the chair next to the bed, “Christ Ron. You can’t do that when I’m not here. Can’t do that to us.”

He takes Rons unburned hand, he sighs. “Ron Ron Ron. Our darling fool. Let our firefighter handle the flames next time.”

There’s a laugh from the doorway. It’s Chris.

Chris walks over and slides into Tom’s lap. They both hold onto Ron’s hand. “He’ll be okay. They pretty much said he’s sleeping off the drugs.”

Tom nods. He kisses the back of Chris’s neck. “I’m sorry. Didn’t expect to go up today didn’t think to have anyone listen for calls.”

Chris shudders. “Just don’t do it again. It was like my worst nightmare coming true. Not being able to reach you Ron here. Jake at home. God Tom.”

At some point during Chris talking Ron opened his eyes. “Hey honey, hey pretty boy.”

“Ron!” “Oh Christ baby.”

Ron smiles at them. “I know I’m sorry I didn’t think.”

Tom runs his thumb over Ron’s knuckles. “It’s okay. But also we are all getting pagers.”

Chris laughs. “That would work.”

Ron blinks down at his leg. “Damn. That hurts.” Chris jumps up, “getting a nurse I’ll be back.”

They watch him leave. Tom leans over and kisses Ron quickly. “Gonna have to make up to Chris for a while. He couldn’t reach me for almost four hours. Took two more for me to actually get here. Would’ve been longer but Mav drove.”

Ron laughs. “He is a speedy little thing.”

“I’m sorry I scared you both so much.”

Tom looks at him. He squeezes his hand, “I’d say don’t do it again but we both know it wouldn’t be fair.” Ron grins at him.

Chris walks back in with a nurse, “if you’re feeling good Mr. Kerner then we could discharge you today. I trust Chris to know how to take care of burns and broken ribs.”

Chris goes a bit pink. “Yes ma’am.” His boyfriends smile at him. “Great. I feel fabulous please send me home.” She laughs at him. “It’ll take a few more hours for me to be convinced.”

Ron sighs and plops back into the pillows. Chris brushes a hand over his hair. “Thanks Peggy.”

Mag sticks his head into the room. “Hey Sli how we doin?” Ron waves at him. “Been better but also been worse?” Mav blinks at all the bandages on his leg. “That looks bad.” Tom nods before Ron can disagree, “they are.”

Mav nods. “Sorry again Chris. I would’ve rushed more if I knew.” Chris smiles at him, “it’s okay Mav, you didn’t know because I didn’t say. Just thank you for getting Tommy here.”

Mav nods. He slips back out of the room and looks at them one final time before going back to David.

They look happy. A little messed up. But happy.

——————

(as a fun extra I thought of- Ron’s pinky finger ends up crooked it pisses him off)

[softlyapocalytpic]

So like, @pchberrytea tagged me forever ago now, but I actually got some writing done today SO I THOUGHT I'D SHARE. IT'S TID BIT TUESDAY/WIP WEDNESDAY.

Does anyone want me to tag them? Please give me people tag. I hath no one! Let me give you an excuse to spotlight your writing. I'll so happily read everything and give it love. Let me love you, random stranger.

Anyway, here's Deacon being my excuse to ramble on for two pages about Leo's clinic. Characterization through how someone effects their setting. My buddy nicknamed me tolkien on discord for this.

Most people thought that you had to meet a person to get to know them, but Deacon had learned long ago that there was a lot you could tell about someone from the place they lived.

On the corner of Nowhere Avenue & Shank Alley, tucked away from the hubbub of Goodneighbor’s street market, was a small two-story clinic that stood out from the rest of the anarchist settlement. Sure, it was built with the same New England brickwork as the rest of the neighborhood sporting the same centuries-old weathering, a small neon sign hanging daintily in the window that said Open in big red letters, and a radio tuned lovingly to one of the two preferred stations of Goodneighbor residents that could be heard nostalgically muffled through the walls, but that was where the similarities ended. 

You could tell at first glance that someone had put in the elbow grease to restore large parts of the building both inside and out. Where there used to be crumbling brick were children’s murals painted over the patchwork cement, and every window had been blessed with a proper pane of glass. The storefront itself was painted, trim and all, in a rich blue that had only just begun to chip in the places that people touched and leaned in against it. Painted on a wooden sign that fitted into the front door was a message that made its owner’s intent very clear: “All are welcome, free of charge.”

A peak in the window revealed a waiting room with walls painted a cheery yellow. Hanging on them were posters from movies, tourist destinations, and even the rare cute animal by the corner with children’s toys and a rug. Lining the walls were the best-scavenged chairs one could buy and a desk with a pen and paper to put your name on a waiting list. 

From experience, he’d come to know the backroom where the good doctor met with each patient and served as a surgery room if necessary. It was tiled with mismatching sets made to create a new pattern out of the scraps and properly grouted to boot. It was also clean. The stainless steel was scratched but shiny and the room always smelled like antiseptic and abraxo. The whole place would smell like it if it wasn’t for the fact that the doctor had flowers and candles (when he could find them) out in the waiting room. Most of Goodneighbor didn’t have the noses to smell it, but it certainly added to the ambiance. 

From his peaking around when the doctor was out Deacon had learned that the upstairs was where the doctor lived. The bedroom, kitchen, dining, and workshop were all stuffed together in the same cozy room with only the bathroom being closed behind a door. 

There was always a bag packed with non-perishable foods, a set of clean clothes, a tarp, rope, and a handful of other survival essentials. In a framed picture by the bedside was a family of three; a father, an older sister, and a younger brother with a melted candle beside it.

[the-firebird69]

And my Max are nutcases but these Max in the bunkers that are not gifted are complete lunatics I had to talk with him about what they're saying about the monsters and they said they grow they grow they think they're sending people off and they just plow right into the bunker you open that door and inch and they're in I mean I can't stand these people anymore they're lunatics they come by I think they're running the show it's like a thorazine shuffle in the mall hardly anybody is doing anything except being massively annoying he said these people all from the mental hospitals your max cuz that's what it looks like they think they're succeeding cuz everybody is a mental f****** nut and I looked into it and it seems to be true these mental hospitals need to go and they have the most gold as a matter of fact it stated that they have most of all of it and they've been doing the most brain surgeries it's a cross-section of everyone and they're just a bunch of lunatics and we're going nowhere at all and it's due to them you know this is the answer he's stuck in the mental health thing hates it and wants people to stop them and you too lunatics just keep killing yourself you're not doing any good what does it take anyways to get this room to do anything that's right about something these mental health people need to all die today who cares for this s*** you got to go take your medicine you little sissies and Mom almost started doing it again and you want to help them is your brain surgery was done by them I couldn't believe what I was hearing after I can't stop myself he sounds sick I said why don't you just leave go north and get out of here we don't need this kind of help you s*** head it's just a sour freaking taste man he turned into ballistic man started ripping everything apart again believe you me he did not need to be put in there he's going to take the things down the whole round because of mental hospitals you people did not do us a service in any way and for Christ's sake nobody can figure out their huge basis of his you're not going to even have any hospitals he's taking over the hospitals and you don't seem to care they say it too we're going to go rogue and it's going to work better is he going to go rogue and poor people going to take you down all day long until there's none of you because you go around annoying people in space and we're not helping you. And he said that and it's true you can always stupid f****** noises bothering people being temperamental nobody cares you're f****** fired

Mac

We're going to fire you too and we're putting it in writing you finally are getting attacked and yeah you have the most gold he said it too out of the whole city area they have like a hundred times more if not a lot more than that and people say it's a lot more you said the city is like 10 million tons of valuable metals and they have 9 million of it and I'm going to get out of this racket these hospital things it's going it's going around and around it's a waste of time everybody gets things started messing around with them with it and the whole world is upside down they're going to take over none of them can stand it you're saying my thinking it's not right and you're running around eating people you're f****** nuts for doing this stupid s*** you mental hospital queers we're going to take all your stuff and money you have to go in there but s*** you're a bunch of weak little flailing around f***** a lot of your retards some of you apart retard some of your max some of your foreigners and that's the thing is it there's a bunch of you that are close you thought you could use it and you're a nightmare you're running around like fairies saying s*** to people that they need to know your disaster these mental hospitals ruin your plan you'd rather be sitting in a mental hospital playing blabbing and blabbing and blabbing and plabbing and changing words on the little phone makes you happy versus taking over Saturn so screw you

Macs

[hyah-lian]

The world wanted to fight me on the art side of it, so a little write-y write maybe works?

______________

"Hey, guys," Four spoke barely louder than the door clicking shut behind him.

"Oh, hey-" Twilight twisted around on Time's couch to greet him, "fancy seeing you here. You never make it to these!"

"Wait, Four is here?" Wars popped his head out from behind the kitchen doorframe. "What happened that you're here? Is everything okay?"

"You're like, always busy!" Wind shot up seemingly out of nowhere and Four nearly dropped the gift bag he was holding.

"Usually yeah, um-"

"Did the hospital finally burn down? The FBI caught the lab-tech gambling ring? Oh- did you finally snap and tell someone to stuff it where the sun don't shine? Ow!" Time elbowed Legend on his way past.

"Come in, sit. Malon is just finishing pulling the other weenie wraps out of the oven"

"They are 'pigs-in-a-blanket', calling them weenie wraps is weird!"

"Okay, shush, Four is being seen outside the ICU something big is- oh. Oh, Four-" Sky's voice almost broke as a realization hit him.

The whole group either tensed up or their shoulders sagged upon catching the brainwave Sky was riding.

"Oh, oh my Gosh," Wind covered his mouth, "I'm so sorry-"

"What? Oh no! No, no nothing like that!" Four frantically waved a freed hand, "No, actually Doe number 4 took the NG tube fine and is actually sustaining levels now, and um- this."

Four lifted the gift bag a little higher so everyone, including Malon now bringing out the dough-wrapped-hot-dogs-of-indeterminate-name.

"Remember, um," he cleared his throat and moved to the space made for him on the couch. "The guy from last year. Really bad wreck, and the MRSA that kicked off into sepsis and... yeah. T-that whole... that one."

Sky nodded. He remembered having to fly that patient to another hospital after Four spent two months nearly glued to his pager and spent more than a few nights sleeping in a chair in the corner of the room.

Time remembered the multiple surgeries, the short and longterm outlooks, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face stoic for Four. He had a feeling, after the transfer, they wouldn't likely hear much back if anything at all.

"His wife came by today. And brought these," Four slid out a photo album and small box of cookies.

Legend's heart dropped to his stomach and he thought Wild and Wind's fidgeting and intense staring at the floor were a good approximation for how he felt.

Then, Four flipped open the book.

The first page was a photo of her and the patient holding hands and giving thumbs up through tearful smiles and at least a mile worth of tubing and leads.

The second page was, as Four explained, the first day he had been able to sit up and had a conversation for more than 5 minutes. Sky, the soft soul he is, was already swiping at his eyes once he saw the photo of her holding his hand to her stomach.

"She was just about a month along when it all happened and had no idea, so when he woke up she had just started to really show it. And she told me that, two days later, he brought the conversation up himself. He remembered it, and that was, that was a big fear for her. And he could remember."

They kept flipping through the book, someone shoved a toasted sandwich half into Four's shaking hands and took over turning the pages.

"He said he wanted her to put in some of the letters he was writing with the therapists, when he was working through coming to terms with everything. What he remembered or the dreams he thought were when he was at ours. You can see how his motor skills kept improving- she said he writes neater now than ever and she can actually read the grocery list!"

Legend barked out a laugh at that. Upon flipping the next page and seeing the new grocery list and the old one they had included, he ended up spraying a mouthful of soda onto Time's back.

"Oh wow! She wasn't kidding!" Wind marveled.

The next page had him holding his new baby. A few pages later, there was one of him on a physio mat working on sitting unassisted with their baby working on the same skill.

"This was the photo right after his first attempt at a self-transfer to his chair at home. She said their kid was babbling like being the head cheer coach for dad was the most important thing on the planet.

"They're moving back to their old house in a few weeks, and he is going to transfer his physical therapy care back to our hospital. Thats actually why they were there today, setting up the new schedule and talking about the timeline.

"They were hoping to see you guys too, actually, he remembered Hyrule and Mo even, from the ambulance ride."

"Oh wow! Is that why there's the marmalade thumbprint cookies? He seriously remembered that?"

"Apparently. That was the first thing he asked for at the other hospital. He said he had to 'show the big guy and his buddy how to really bake'"

"HA! I'll make sure to tell Mo that," Hyrule snorted.

"He does hope to see you guys around. I have no idea how he knows about Wild and Wind, since any time you all were in he would have been sedated, so maybe his wife was mentioning you. But, they really want to say hi sometime."

Twilight pulled Four into a bone-crushing, one-armed hug. Then Sky let himself fall into Four's side. And someone jumped over the back of the couch, to Malon's scolding about treating her chesterfield with care.

"I hate to break the cuddle pile, but the game started about ten minutes ago, and we definitely missed the first kick-off unless you paid for the fancy package where you get the recording."

Speaking of prompts, lofty if u have any doodle or ficlet prompts for today that u can think of I'd love something distracting/to do. It has been A Weird Day lmao

Hmmmm

Healthcare doodle? Of whatever healthcare scene you like the most, or make one up?

Draw your favorite blorbo knitting?

Writing prompt: one of the boys gets a freaking break.

[ageofevermore]

Eighteen | T. Holland

Summary → you’re tired of feeling like the world silences you, but after an interview with sebastian and anthony, you start to wonder if maybe it’s your fault.

Warning(s) → mentions of anxiety, mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of inequality in gender roles, use of the word slut, fluff if you squint 

Word Count → 1.9k

Note → this is a heavier topic, one that might be personal to some. if you don’t think you can handle the subject matter, please don’t force yourself to. this is relatively watered down, but it doesn’t take a genius to see what’s not being said. the ending features boyfriend!tom consoling the reader, so it does end on a fluffy note, but don’t hold out for those few ending paragraphs. 

add yourself to my taglist 

It’s getting hotter in the interviews. A thin layer of sweat sparkles on your skin, and even though the air conditioning has been turned down multiple times, there are too many people in the room to feel any drastic differences. It’s unfortunate for you. Hot flashes are a lovely addition to your anxiety disorder, and press always sets your nerves ablaze. It doesn't matter what project you’re promoting, who you're partnered with, or what you're wearing-- you’re always hot. 

Your cheeks are flushed dangerously when the last interview before lunch is called for yourself, Sebastian, and Anthony. This is your first press tour as an adult. You joined the marvel franchise years ago, when being eighteen felt like the equivalent of turning thirty, and you weren’t blind to the changes of tone. People were harsher to you, more forward. If they weren’t shutting you up, they were hinting at something less then appropriate, usually something sexual. 

The next interview started with a short introduction to the media outlet, and your interviewer. He was middle aged, kind smile, salt and pepper hair. He asked for your names, then he told you his, and one by one he shook your hands. His grip on you was criminal, lasting longer than was comfortable. Sebastian and Anthony we’re oblivious to the few extra seconds of contact between you and him, but it made your skin crawl in a familiar discomfort. 

Your fingers curled into fists, heart high in your throat. The questions started out easy. They were mostly directed towards the boys, like always, but this time you couldn’t find yourself to be annoyed. You had dealt with handsy and sexually charged men before, but he set a fire beneath you. It wasn’t behavior you should tolerate, but being a woman in the industry, inappropriate touches and glances we’re easier ignored then dealt with. When you spoke up you caused drama, made headlines, attracted nasty social media comments that called you a whore. It was easier to just internalize. 

“Y/N.” 

You hummed, looking towards the call of your name. He was smiling sweetly at you again, a predatory glint in his eyes that put you on edge. You shifted your weight closer to Anothony unconsciously giving the hungry man your professional attention and a nod. 

He shuffles through his index cards, but his eyes don’t read the scripted questions his employers have supplied him with. It’s not often male interviews do their own research, usually they’re briefed by a colleague and handed a set of questions and topic point by a higher level employee, but this man doesn’t even read the card before he’s staring you down and opening his mouth. 

“You finally got the Stark suit update,” He says, motioning towards the promo poster that shows off your CGI suit in all of its edited glory. Although the actual costume is breathtaking, the computer effects give it an entirely different, more technologically charged, feel. 

“Yeah,” You nod, a forced smile on your lips as you try to ease the uncomfortable tension from your tone. “She’s finally--” 

He cuts you off before you can give him any explanation for the upgrade. He isn’t the first one to address your new wardrobe, but he’s the first one to leave you antsy and uncomfortable. Sebastian frowns when you’re cut off, but he doesn’t think much of it. He lets the man continue, though a professional sharpness pulls his grin into a scowl. 

“Were you able to wear undergarments underneath it? It’s tight, doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Was there ever a moment where you reflected how much your wardrobe has changed through the years?” He asks, a dirty grin on his lips. 

Sebastian and Anthony are shocked at the blunt, inappropriate construction of his question. The public eye knew nothing of your battles with body image, or health concerns that lead to surgery. Your mind was plagued with doubts and self-criticism, and his invasive, pervy question both infuriated you and broke you apart. 

You stutter to find an answer, heat overwhelming you. Your hand grips onto Anthony’s arm, and you can’t decide whether anger is what burns your skin or anxiety. Are you making a big deal of this? You don’t know. You feel like you have every right to feel violated and uncomfortable, but you’re a young woman in the entertainment industry, isn’t this the kind of ignorant commentary you signed up for? You don’t know anymore. You grew up with people always having an opinion on your appearance, sexualizing you as early as twelve. You’ve carried around pepper spray and  self-defense keychains long before you even had an understanding towards predatory men and sexual assault. You’ve been conditioned by the world and the media to carry on with your day, no matter the broken boundaries or disrespect. You’re tired of remaining silent, feeling like your less than your male counterparts. Women and men should hold no differing values in society, and yet you walk to your apartment with keys between your fingers and Tom doesn’t even lock his front door. 

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question.” You choke out, voice hard and nowhere near the soft and frilly pitch it usually obtains. You’re livid, absolutely pissed to the point of a quivering cupids bow. You’re humiliated, and horrified. Your feelings are everywhere, but you remain as professional as you can. If you yell, try to defend yourself at all, you’ll be painted as a diva in every media outlet for the next week, subliminally inviting backlash and slut-shaming comments into your social media messages. If Sebastian and Anthony come to your defense, they’ll be sung high-praises. 

The double standards men and women are held to, especially in the industry, is infuriating. 

He stumbles out a response, but his time is already up. For the first time today, you’re thankful these interviews are only ten minutes. He leaves the room, shown out by security, and even then he still sends you a wink over his shoulder as if your glimmering eyes meant nothing. 

“Hey,” Sebastian's voice is soft, his hand on the small of your back. You flinch away from his contact, head heavy in memories you’d rather forget. 

“Sorry,” You mumble, voice trembling with tears that you refuse to let fall. You’ve already been humiliated, you don’t need to further paint yourself as some helpless teenage girl. “I’m sorry. I’m going to go find Tom.” 

Anthony and Sebastian nod tightly. They watch as you quiver in your heels, hands clenched into fists at your sides. They’re proud of the way you handled yourself, though still absolutely enraged that any adult would find it appropriate to address you like that, especially in a professional setting. 

You stumble into the dressing rooms, right into your boyfriend's chest. Your mind is racing, but the minute you attach yourself to him, you break down. Shy sobs break Tom’s heart. He holds the back of your head to his chest, other hand on the small of your back and wrapped around your waist as you cry. You’re trying to stay quiet, but the attention is already on you. Chris and Robert are worried, and Zoe’s trying to act like she hasn’t noticed, but they don’t all watch as you try to console yourself with your boyfriend's warmth. 

“What happened?” Tom’s voice is soft, trying to keep this a private moment. He tries to move the both of you back into a corner, but you panic and squeeze around his waist tighter. “Baby,” 

You and Tom have been dating for six months, and although you’ve shared with him stories of your traumatic experiences as a woman living in LA, he’s never seen anything upset you like this. 

“I’m such a slut.” Your words come out so shy and small, you aren’t even sure you can hear yourself. No matter how  many times you tell yourself that your makeup and clothes don’t give men permission to make passes or feel you up, it’s getting harder to believe that your verbal consent is as strong as your clothes. Maybe you are asking for it, and in a wave of nausea, disgusted with yourself, your arms leave Tom’s waist to pull at the bottom of your borrowed dress. 

You’ve been hit on in sweats before. In ball gowns and crop tops. Somebody’s even pushed themselves against you while you wore Tom’s hoodie, but you still convince yourself that it’s your fault. That you we’re asking for it. 

Tom’s jaw sets harshly into place, and he tilts your chin upwards to meet his eye. His brown stare is hard, only adding to your distress. Maybe he agrees. Maybe he’ll blame you for what just happened. He’s probably going to break up with you. Other guys just can’t keep their hands and eyes off of you. He doesn’t want a slut for a girlfriend. 

“What the fuck did you just say, Y/N?” His tone causes you to flinch, words bouncing off of the dressing room walls. Everyone flinches, hearing only his heavy response. You try to divert your attention, but Tom squeezes your jaw, forcing your eyes back on his. “Say it again.” 

“I’m such a slut.” You sniffle, submitting beneath his fiery glare. Tensions are high as you try not to break down again. Apart from Tom, everyone in the room has watched you grow up, never losing that shy and sweet sense of yourself. You’re an exuberant light, a brilliant scene partner, a rising star who has big things in store for the future. You are many things, but a slut, isn’t one of them. 

Tom looks behind you, glaring straight at Anthony and Sebastion who are both stone eyed and still. They’ve not calmed down any since leaving the production room, instead, it seems their anger has only risen. The sight of you so distraught churns their stomachs. 

“Some asshole tried to make a pass.” Sebastion said in short, words angry and delivered as such. 

Tom’s breath hitched, his arms tightening around you and pulling you closer to his chest. His chin digs into your crown, eyes pinches shut as his hot exhale feels heavy. 

“You aren’t a slut, Y/N.” He doesn’t leave any room for argument, but you try anyways. Tom has no patience for it, and so he tilts your head back and plants his lips against yours harshly and eagerly, desperate to show you love and intimacy. “You. Aren’t. A. Slut.”

You nod, ducking your head back down into his chest as you try to believe him-- try to remember that you never asked for hands around your waist, or cupping your boobs. Wolf whistles, or handshakes that turn into forced frontal hugs. You didn’t ask for any of the harassment, no matter the outfits you wore and what they revealed.  

Tom lowers his voice, whispers melting into your hair, “This isn’t your fault, baby. Please believe me. None of this, is your fault. It’s disgusting and inappropriate, and you don’t deserve to deal with any of it.” 

You sniffle. You can’t tell him you believe him, not yet. Not when your heart is so heavy. Maybe one day you’ll believe him, but that’s just not now. 

taglist (urls with a strike through won’t let my tag) →

@deionswannabegirl @killingbxys @mauvesdior @mischiefandi @dmonchld @waddlenut @tanakaslastbraincell @hollandsxheart @quacksonhehe @tothemoonandbackx3000 @stiles-o-dylan24 @tikapollak @tomthetease @spookybooisa @geminiparkers @teen--marvel @rogersparkerbarnes @sarcasticallywitty15

[morganaspendragonss]

hiya. could you write a fic where tk has a panic attack from carlos’s pov? 😘🧡

i can indeed! this is combined with an idea jamie ( @silvarafael ) had and very kindly allowed me to write - i hope you both enjoy! the first section is also based on a vague idea i had after watching the ep.

ao3 | 1.9k | 2.10 spoilers

TK is silent the entire drive home, choosing instead to stare out the window with his jaw firmly clenched, his hands making fists in his lap. The silence extends all the way into the house, right up until the point when he flops down on the couch with a loud, frustrated sigh, burying his head in his hands. 

At this point, Carlos knows not to push when TK is like this; he’ll talk when he wants to, and not a moment before. So he simply walks over, sitting next to him and placing a hand on TK’s back, rubbing gentle circles. TK slowly relaxes under his touch, unfurling his body, and Carlos is all too happy to let him shift into his arms, holding on and pressing kisses on the top of his head.

I’m here, he’s saying - not with words, but he knows the message gets across regardless. It may have only been less than a year since they started dating, but already they don’t always need words to communicate.

“I’m sorry if you were uncomfortable back there,” TK says suddenly. “I know my dad kind of dragged you into it all, and that must have been awkward for you.”

“It wasn’t my favourite interaction with your dad ever,” he admits.

TK snorts. “Understatement,” he mutters, and Carlos laughs, tilting his head in agreement. “I am sorry, though, really,” TK continues. “It was amazing of you to even be there; you didn’t have to be. I’m sure there are hundreds of places you’d rather be than an intervention session for my dad.”

“You mean supporting my boyfriend through something difficult and important?” Carlos corrects gently, shifting to catch TK’s eyes. “Because there’s nowhere I’d rather be than there.”

TK blinks at him, managing to hold his gaze for all of two seconds before he blushes and looks away. He takes Carlos’s hand, tapping restlessly on the back of it - a sure-fire sign he’s still worked up about something, so Carlos leaves him be, waiting for it to come out.

“Is it bad that I’m pissed at him?” TK’s voice is quiet, small, and it’s mirrored in his body language when he turns to Carlos, drawing his legs up and hunching his shoulders. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to connect with him, and it just feels like he’s constantly throwing it all right back in my face. And he’s… He’s such a fucking hypocrite. Ever since my first overdose, he’s been going on and on about how good it is to talk about my feelings and how I shouldn’t keep things bottled up, yet he insists on hiding this shit from me.”

TK laughs, short, sharp, bordering on hysterical. “He didn’t even tell me when he was fucking dying; I had to find that out by myself. And I’ve tried. I haven’t stopped trying.” He deflates, sinking back into Carlos with a defeated sigh. “But there’s only so much I can take, you know? I can’t… I can’t keep doing this, Carlos.”

Carlos’s heart breaks for his boyfriend. He wishes he could take the pain away; as it is, all he can do is hold him, and hope that he has enough words to at least dull the ache somewhat.

“It’s not bad to feel what you feel, TK.”

TK looks up at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think so?”

He shakes his head, kissing him again. “No. I think… I think your dad has treated you pretty unfairly, actually, and you’re well within your rights to be mad at him right now. But, I also think that you said it yourself; there’s only so much you can do. Before you can take care of your dad, you have to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that if you’re worrying over him.”

If TK’s eyes were any wider, it’d be comical. “But -”

“No buts.” Carlos smiles tightly, keeping his tone gentle. “TK, babe, you just led an intervention into your dad’s mental health, which I know was hard for you, yet you did it anyway because you love him. You tried, but if he doesn’t want to engage, then there’s nothing you can do.”

TK is silent for a long time, staring down at his lap. He’s still holding Carlos’s hand in one of his own, but his free hand is rubbing the material of Carlos’s shirt between his fingers; Carlos doubts he’s even fully aware he’s doing it.

“I know that,” he says eventually, voice little more than a whisper. “I do. I just wish he wasn’t so goddamn stubborn all the time.”

Carlos’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he speaks before he can stop himself. “Guess it runs in the family.”

TK stares at him, open-mouthed, and Carlos immediately regrets his words. He’s halfway through an apology when it’s like a dam breaks, and TK breaks out in giggles, his head thumping against Carlos’s chest.

“You’re lucky I love you, Reyes.”

Carlos grins and pulls TK as close to him as physically possible. “I really am.”

*

The call comes early the next morning, waking both of them up. TK grumbles as he smacks his hand against the nightstand in a blind search for his phone; the sight would be adorable if Carlos weren’t so tired himself. After the exhaustion of the past few days, he’d been desperately hoping to have a peaceful morning for once, maybe even - god forbid - to spend some quality time with his boyfriend without the threat of parents or work or sudden emergencies hanging over them. 

Clearly, though, it’s not to be, as TK suddenly sits bolt upright in bed, all traces of sleep gone.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he promises to whoever’s on the other end, before lowering the phone and turning to stare at Carlos, terror obvious in his eyes. 

“TK?” Carlos asks when he doesn’t speak, sitting up and slowly reaching out for him. TK startles at the contact, but quickly leans into it, covering Carlos’s hand with his own.

He swallows once, twice. “Buttercup’s sick,” he whispers. “Dad had to rush him to the vet’s. Carlos, what if… What if…”

He trails off, shaking his head viciously, as though he can erase the thought from his mind. Carlos quickly moves to steady him, stroking his thumbs across his cheekbones to calm him down.

“Let’s get dressed, okay?” he says, knowing reassurances won’t mean a thing right now. “Then we’ll go, and we’ll know more.”

TK just nods, quiet as they go through the motions of getting ready. Carlos makes sure to press an apple into his hand before they head out; he knows it will likely go uneaten, but it’s the only choice he has, given he knows that TK will refuse to stop for breakfast without finding out about Buttercup first.

If the drive back from Owen’s yesterday was silent, today’s is far worse. TK’s hands are constantly moving in Carlos’s periphery, alternating between fiddling with his apple, tugging on his clothes and hair, and rubbing at his face. On the rare occasion he does try to stay still, his hands end up twitching in his lap, followed by a sudden burst of anxious movement before falling back into some semblance of a pattern.

Carlos presses his lips into a firm line, accelerating more than is technically legal; at any other time he’d make a joke about how TK’s turning him into a criminal.

They’re forced to stop at a traffic light, and Carlos curses under his breath, getting jittery himself as the drive extends. He turns to check on TK, then curses again at the sight of his boyfriend’s pale face, his wide eyes and trembling body. TK gasps, then again and again, a hand going to his chest, and Carlos knows what this is. 

A panic attack, but the second he reaches to help, the lights change and he’s forced to keep driving. He keeps one eye on TK the whole time, heart beating faster as he seems to get worse, and he’s thankful when he spots an opportunity to pull over, taking it immediately.

TK stares, shaking his head frantically and gesturing in a motion that Carlos takes to mean keep driving. His mouth opens and closes but he can’t form words, breaths coming short and fast. He folds in on himself when they stop, eyes closed and forehead almost touching his knees as his body heaves and shakes.

Carlos unbuckles himself and shifts as close as he can, placing one hand on TK’s back and taking his hand in the other, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. He’s had to do this a few times over the course of their relationship, shootings and kidnappings and disasters taking their toll on his boyfriend.

But that doesn’t make it any less difficult.

“You’re going to be okay,” Carlos says, pushing his own fears aside. “Just breathe slowly, in and out, that’s it; it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

He keeps it up, murmuring assurances he barely registers himself until the shaking lessens and TK’s breath slowly but surely begins to even out. He straightens in his seat, eyes still closed, and leans his head against the headrest. 

Carlos pulls back, giving him a moment before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

TK shakes his head, then immediately changes his mind and nods. Still, it takes him a few seconds to speak. “What if it’s the cancer, Carlos?” he asks, peeling his eyes open, despair written all over his features. “He could - He could die, he could be dying right this second, and I don’t know if I can handle that, not after everything else.”

“I know,” Carlos says. “You just have to remember that we don’t know anything yet, and you have to believe that Buttercup will be fine until we do know more. We’ll take it from there, and if it is the cancer - which, yes, it might be - then we’ll all be around to support each other. Buttercup’s strong, though, I’m sure he’ll fight whatever this is with everything he has. He’ll be fine.”

Carlos smiles, noticing how TK is pretty much hanging onto every word he says. He takes a deep breath, briefly looking away before continuing, “As will your dad.”

TK frowns. “Who said anything about my dad?”

“TK.”

He sighs, hanging his head. “You’re right,” he admits, “this is a little bit about my dad. The longer he puts off this surgery, the more scared I get that the cancer will come back and we won’t get as lucky this time. I know it’s stupid, and I know I should be focused on Buttercup right now, but…”

“But,” Carlos agrees, reaching out and squeezing TK’s hand. “It’s okay, and it’s not stupid at all, I promise you. Let’s just take this one thing at a time, okay? First, we’ll get to the vet’s and find out how Buttercup is, and then we’ll see about having another conversation with your dad - maybe telling him what you’ve told me?”

TK exhales shakily, then nods. “Okay. Okay.”

Carlos gives him a small smile, squeezing his hand once more before shifting back in his seat to keep driving. “I’ll be right by your side,” he can’t help but say. He’s sure TK already knows, but the reminder can’t hurt, especially after what just happened.

TK stays quiet, but Carlos doesn’t miss the mumbled, “I don’t deserve you,” from the passenger seat. 

“Wrong,” he replies, eyes on the road. “You deserve the world.”

And, in his periphery, TK smiles.

[lcksndkys]

Title: Here for you 

Pairing: PJM x reader

Rating: SFW

Genre: fwb au meets hospital au

Word count: 1,475

Summary: after an especially hard day at work, Jimin tries to comfort you, except you don't seem to respond to his usual tactics. 

Warnings: imposter syndrome, a penis wiggle, discussions of medical complications but no death, implied smut

A/N: Hi, all!! There’s a bit of medical lingo. Resident= a physician who practices under the supervision of an attending physician. Attendings= doctors who have completed a residency, and supervise residents. Med surg= medical surgical unit/floor of the hospital where patients are generally, but not limited to, those recovering from some type of surgery. PE/pulmonary embolism= an emergent medical condition where there is a blood clot in the arteries that supply the lungs.

Also, this was written as part of the ghostie drabble marathon with the prompt: Character A gets emotional easily. Character B does not. A catches B crying alone and realizes that they never learned how to comfort B since they were usually the one getting comforted. Please drop a line, anything you want, to let me know what you think!!

You feel like an idiot. 

Head in your hands with your eyes squeezed shut, you inhale slow and deep to calm your stuttering breaths. 

Inhale, pause, exhale. Repeat.

You refuse to break down while at work. Doctors didn’t have that kind of luxury and you can’t sit here forever (even if a small part of you wants to).

Hands braced on the cold, hard concrete of the hospital's dingy stairwell, you're ready to continue with morning rounds when the door suddenly opens.

Fluorescent light floods the dimly lit stairwell.

“Dr. Lee’s lookin for you,” comes Jimin’s concerned voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper at being caught crying like a scared first year intern. You swipe under your eyes, erasing any trace of wetness and avoiding Jimin’s worried gaze. 

“Yeah, I was just- just going down for coffee. I’ll come right back up to med surg” you sputter. You’re nowhere near the cafeteria.

His dark eyes meet yours briefly. Two years of friendship and casual hooking up has him believing he knows you better than most. He knows when you’re lying.

 You make a quick exit, pushing past Jimin, refusing to make eye contact. Heading down towards the cafeteria to keep up pretenses, you decide maybe you do need the extra caffeine. 

Coffee in hand and hearing the death march ringing in your head, you dread meeting with your attending. 

Dr. Lee is a stern, but fair, mentor. She scolds you harshly for your mistake and then gently reminds you that this case will stay with you for the duration of your medical career. She promises you won’t let yourself make the same mistake twice. You hope she’s right.

By the end of the day, you’re feeling wretched. Having worked 80+ hours this week has exhausted you mentally, emotionally, and physically. 

You head to the staff changing rooms not noticing the figure following you. Angrily pulling off your scrub top, you pause at the soft knock at the door.

“It’s me,” comes the quiet of Jimin’s soothing lilt.

In your bra and scrub pants, you crack open the door and peer around him confirming that he’s alone. Opening the door wide enough to slip his lithe body between the cracks, you sigh.  “What do you want, Jimin”

“You had a rough day. I wanted to make you feel better” he rasps, winding his arms around you and pressing his body into yours. 

He easily crowds you against the door, one hand slithering around your waist, the other discreetly locking it.

Mouth slotting against yours, you part your lips wider to allow him to press his tongue to yours. You moan into his kiss, letting him tilt your head, deepening the angle. His hands wander the expanse of your exposed back, down your hips, and landing on the swell of your ass where he palms at the soft flesh.

He kisses you like it’s the last time every time. Ardently and enthusiastically, like he can’t get enough of you. It takes your breath away. 

You give yourself a moment to enjoy his affection, sliding your hands under his scrubs to scratch lightly against the soft skin of his abdominals before pushing him back with a firm hand against his chest. You pretend you don’t feel the rapid thrumming of his heart under your palm. 

“Not tonight, Jimin” you pant. 

You can’t get fully out of your head and into Jimin. Not right now. He lets you withdraw from him with worried eyes. 

The past two years have been hard, but your unforeseen friendship (turned fwb status in the last year) with Jimin has been a nice bonus. He made you laugh, he talked you up to the other nurses and your superiors, he made you cum, (he made your heart race, but you’d never tell him that). You were focused on completing your orthopedic residency and Jimin had hesitantly agreed that there were to be no strings. 

You hastily finish changing, stuffing your scrubs into your bag and making for the door.

Before you can hustle down the hallway and away from the sterile white of the hospital, you’re stopped by a firm, yet gentle, hand around your wrist. With a light tug you’re falling right back into his arms.

“It’s not your fault. You’re a great doctor” he insists, holding you close and pressing his forehead against yours.

Word gets around fast.

You scoff, tearing out of Jimin’s hold. 

Great doctor? A second year resident and you still feel like you’re flying by the seat of your pants. You don’t belong here.

“Shortness of breath, coughing, fatigue, recent surgical procedure, chest pain, lightheadedness when ambulating with physical therapy” you tick each off on your fingers. “Classic signs of a PE, Jimin, and I missed them all” you spit. 

The nurse shrinks back at your harsh words. After two years of friendship- and in Jimin’s opinion, more- he’s never seen you like this. Jimin has always been the emotional one; tenderhearted and in need of comfort after rough days. He’s always turned to you for that. 

“We caught it in time though. He’s gonna be fine” Jimin tries, trying to hold you closer.

Your brow furrows in frustration. He doesn’t get it.

“He could have died!” you burst. A patient could have died because you didn’t catch it when he threw a pulmonary embolism. “Stop trying to pretend you know what I’m thinking!”

At your venomous words, Jimin backs away. “I-I didn’t. I’m sorry. I only wanted to comfort you.” 

Eyes tight and biting his lip, he takes one last look at you before retreating back to his unit. 

You sigh, disappointed in yourself. But you have the next two blessed days off. Hopefully by then, you’ll have grown the nerve to apologize to Jimin for blowing up at him. 

Washing up and throwing your dirty scrubs in the laundry, you curl into your bed, finally allowing yourself to cry.

On day two, your phone pings with a notification. You see that Jimin has sent you a snapchat. 

Intrigued, you tap open the icon and-

Jimin is standing in front of his bathroom mirror- cheeks rosy, hair pushed back to expose his neatly trimmed undercut, ends dripping wet- covered only by a towel hanging from the base of his very erect penis. 

He must’ve just finished showering as you clearly see the beads of water running down his exposed neck and chest in rivers to undoubtedly pool on his bright orange bath mat. 

One hand is holding his phone, the other is waving into the mirror as he repeatedly clenches his pelvic floor muscles to make his rigid cock wiggle in greeting.

“Miss you,” comes his angelic voice.

He continues slowly waving, towel-covered cock bobbing in time with his hand as if purposely synchronized. 

“I hope you’re feeling better today” he says earnestly with a goofy smile.

You cackle at his antics, feeling your mood boost instantaneously. 

Eyes trained on his figure, you try to imprint this short video to the backs of your eyelids. It’s over as quickly as it began, video disappearing. 

Reciprocating, you snap back a shot of your body covered in nothing but his oversized shirt. Then, you open your texts and arrange for Jimin to meet you in an hour at your apartment. 

Waiting for his arrival, you pull out your favorite lube and some condoms in preparation. 

When your doorbell rings, you’re already worked up and ready for him to pound you into your mattress. 

Fixing your lips to his with a soft groan in greeting, you pull him towards your bedroom and pin him down onto the bed. 

You’re both panting when you break away from his plush lips to kiss down the column of his throat.

Jimin purrs beneath you, unable to resist the soft pull of your lips against his sensitive flesh.

“Shit, I wasn’t planning on-” he pulls back from you, eyes glazed with desire. “I just wanted to be here for you and make sure you- that we- were ok.”

You stare down at him. “Jimin. I’m sitting on your half hard cock, trying to apologize, and you’re talking right through it” you chuckle. 

He stops you as you lean in again. He’s serious.

“I mean… I also wanted to tell you," he looks shyly up at you. "You’re the only person I’ve been hooking up with,” he quietly admits. “I don’t want anyone else”

You gulp. Have you been stupidly exclusive this whole time? 

“Same,” you whisper, meeting his excited eyes with your confession. 

“So, then, this- you and me- it’s real?” he asks again with an endearing rouge to his cheeks. 

You look into his hopeful gaze and can’t resist him. 

“Ask me again after you take me out on a real date,” you agree easily as his eyes crinkle with happiness, beaming up at you.

[winterscaptain]

caught out.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader 

a/n: i am SO excited to share this installment with you! There are a few key developments in this chapter, so get excited! we fly through route 66 and in the blood in this part, and we might get a ring..... :)

an ajf fic that requires little to no context!

words: 5.3k warnings: canon-typical injury, medical setting, some really soft stuff

summary: foyet’s scars leave more than trauma in their wake, but aaron finds he has more to live for - a future, a life, a family. (au!october 2013)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

Before this moment, you’d never fully considered what it would be like for Aaron to die in front of you. You’d certainly come close before - between close calls with unsubs and a fair few stupid decisions, close calls weren’t unheard of by any means. But even in those moments, as scared as you were, there was always part of you that knew he’d be okay. A part of you that knew he’d come home to you. 

Right now, that knowledge is universally absent as he collapses out of nowhere in the conference room. 

“Aaron!” You shoot out of your chair and drop to the floor beside him, immediately reaching for his wrist. You’re relieved to find a pulse, albeit a weak one. You know you’re already crying, absolutely terrified. 

Somehow, you manage to look up at JJ, meeting her wide, scared blue eyes. “Call EMS. They’re in the building and faster than an ambulance.”

She snaps to, running to Aaron’s office for the direct line. 

“Hang in there, baby.” You wrap his hand in yours, and Derek helps you turn him over. Aaron’s halfway in your lap now, your body bowed over him. 

He stirs a little, and you shush him, brushing the hair off his forehead. His breath rattles in his chest, struggling, as he reaches for you. 

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.” You don’t realize you’re talking until Derek lays a hand on your shoulder. 

EMS arrives, and you’re not sure how much time has passed by the time they get him onto the gurney and down the stairs. You keep up with them for as long as you can before Anderson and Derek snag your arms, holding you back. 

Derek tugs you once, gently, by the wrist, and you fall into him. He’s already moving, guiding you to the elevators and down to the car. He repeats the same things, over and over, every minute or so, as you make the long journey to the hospital. 

“It’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s tough. Hotch isn’t going anywhere.”

+++

A doctor opens the doors, a clipboard in her hand. “Hotchner?”

You rise, approaching the doctor. “Yes?”

“Are you his next of kin?”

You nod, reaching for your wallet. 

The doctor smiles at your obvious agitation. “No need to show your credentials. Agent Hotchner is out of surgery and resting comfortably.”

“What happened?”

She sighs. “The scar tissue from his previous wounds tore, causing slow, but significant internal bleeding. It was touch and go on the table, but he’s a fighter. Something kept him here. Your attending will have more information for you once you’re settled with him.”

You swallow, trying to keep your throat clear as your eyes well up again. 

She presses a hand to your arm. “You can see him now. He was asking for you before we put him under.”

“Thank you.” 

When she disappears behind the doors again, you return to the chair you’d been glued to for the previous six hours. 

Dave stands with you as you gather your things. You look at him and he leans forward to kiss your cheek. “Take your time. We’ll be reachable. Let us know when he’s awake.” 

You nod. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you mentally draft a text message to Jessica before sending it off. JJ let her know what happened after she called EMS, and she’s been standing by ever since. 

As a pair, you decided to keep things from Jack until you were certain of an outcome. No need to make him worry longer than necessary. 

4:27pm Aaron’s out of surgery. Not sure how long they’re keeping him. I’ll let you know when it’s a good time to bring Jack over. 

She replies right away. 

4:27pm. It never ends, does it? 4:28pm I’ll have my phone on me. Thank you. 4:28pm Love you. 

With a little tug at your lips, you reply. 

4:28pm Love you too. Kiss our boy for me. 

A little whoosh sounds as she replies. 

4:28pm Of course xx

You’re finally able to breathe when you see Aaron. Though he looks shockingly small in that big bed, hooked up to intimidating machinery, he is alive. 

Bar’s on the floor, today. 

He’s still out, like the doctor said, and probably would be for another few hours. You cross to his side - the one without the IV - and sit beside him. When you get there, you take his hand and press his palm to your forehead, leaning into him. Even among the sharp, antiseptic smell of the hospital, he smells like himself. 

His touch, as it always does, heals you from the inside out. You can feel your blood pressure drop, your heart rate slow. The warmth of his hand sinks into your head, your chest, letting you take deeper breaths that are far more satisfying. 

After you're sure he’s well and truly alive, you wrap his hand in both of your own and scoot your chair so you can drop your head against his pillow. Uncomfortable in the extreme, you close your eyes, happy for the weight of his hand in yours. 

+++

When Aaron wakes, he’s confronted with a few things that confuse him (the ache in his ribs and the pounding in his head, to name two) and a few that don’t (the smell of your skin, the familiar feeling of your fingers laced through his). He decides to address the less confusing elements first. 

He turns his head, a shockingly difficult maneuver, and finds you out like a light - your head on his pillow, your arm tucked under your face. Even in sleep, your brow pinches and your mouth draws a tense line. 

There’s an attempt to move his hand so he can touch your face, but you wake and startle before he even makes it a quarter inch. 

Your eyes meet his and you heave a sigh of relief. “Aaron.”

His lips pull at the corners. “Hi.” There’s a scrape in his voice, raw from disuse. 

You haul yourself up, bringing one of your hands to his face, mindful of his nasal cannula. “You scared the fuck out of me, you know that?”

“I’m sorry.” His sincerity breaks your heart, and he tries to sit up, but you shake your head, reaching for the remote. 

You prop him up a little and he reaches for you again. You meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his. 

He whispers against your lips. “I’m so sorry.” He leans back, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Did they tell you what happened?”

You nod, your eyes still roaming over his face. “Well first of all, they lost you twice on the table, but before that, the scar tissue from your stab wounds tore and caused significant internal bleeding. They’re sure it was a slow bleed - over the course of hours, maybe days.” 

You swallow, and a fresh set of tears fall down your cheeks. It’s frustrating. 

“If you didn’t go down when you did, when you were awake, it’s possible you could have bled out in your sleep without even realizing it.”

You’re proud of yourself for getting through your thought, even if you were shaking toward the end. It’s close to unbearable to consider the possibility of waking beside him, finding him cold and unmoving beside you. The horror of it pushes at your eyes and a sob rips through your chest. 

For some reason, you apologize. 

He shakes his head, his brow crumpling. “Come here, honey. Come here.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I -“

He shushes you and moves over, leaving space for you to shuffle onto the bed beside him. “You’re not gonna hurt me. Come here. I’m alright.” You tuck your face into his neck as his other arm wraps around you the best while attached to his IV. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

You kiss the skin you can reach, placing a hand over his heart. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much.” 

One of his hands traces up and down your back, dancing in patterns you don’t have the brain space to follow, while the other covers yours on his chest. Soon enough, you’re asleep again. 

+++

When Dave comes back to check on you both, he finds you curled together - as much as you can be - in the hospital bed. Aaron’s cheek is smooshed against your head, his cannula knocked out of place, your leg hooked over one of his on top of the covers. Your hands are still clasped together over his chest, his IV easily accessible to the nurses that flutter in and out as the day passes. 

The tear tracks are still visible on your face, the exhaustion still pulling at your eyes. 

In all his years of knowing you, Dave had never seen you as distraught as you were when Aaron went down in the conference room. Up to that point, he thought you both somewhat invincible, even at your weakest. 

Though you both had your fair share of hospital stays over the years, none of them ever broke through that ceaseless calm that arced between you and Aaron. When you’re in the room together, there’s a pervasive comfort, almost moving as two halves of the same person at any given time, hardly capable of the wild panic he saw in your eyes this morning. 

Satisfied you’re both alright, he takes his leave. There is a case to solve, of course. 

+++

Jessica brings Jack over the next morning, and he’s quick to gingerly crawl into his father's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. 

Jack says something you can’t hear, but Aaron’s response carries across the room in his low, murmuring baritone. 

“I’m okay, buddy. We’re alright. I’ll be home soon, and off work for a little while, so we’ll get to spend some time together.”

You meet Aaron’s eyes over Jack’s head before his flicker to Jess’s. He nods once, and holds Jack tight to him. 

When they part, Jack trots back to you and you rake your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. 

He looks up at you, and something passes between you. 

I’ll take care of him. He’ll come home safe to you, bud. 

Jack sighs and tucks into you, wrapping his arms around you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, baby.” 

+++

“I saw Haley.” 

You look up at him, your chin propped on his shoulder. “What?”

“I saw Haley. We -” he laughs a little, with only the barest hint of a wince. “We were dressed like old Hollywood movie stars and we were in this...theatre.” He shakes his head a little and you know he thinks it’s absurd. 

“Don’t do that. Tell me. What did you see?”

He throws you a grateful look and continues. “She found me in the lobby and we went inside. Foyet was there too, but she wasn’t scared. They were almost friendly. It was...strange.” He squints, remembering. You gingerly place your hand on his chest, feeling the heat from his healing wounds. He places his hand over yours again, his thumb tracking back over the back of your knuckles. “There was this massive screen and she had popcorn...and then a bunch of little scenes from our,” his arm flexes around you, “life since she died started rolling. We talked - about Jack, about you, the way you are with him.”

He’s holding something back. “What did she say?”

“She said,” he swallows thickly, “that you’re good with him. She looked really happy watching you two together.”

You smile, but there’s an edge to it, something long-suffering and raw. “I’ll never be her, though.” You know he misses her and you know it’ll never be the same. But even then, you know you aren’t a replacement, either.  

Aaron closes his eyes and presses a desperate kiss to the top of your head. “You’re just what we need, sweetheart. You’re everything.”

You look at him and he looks at you. There’s something at work behind his eyes. You blink once, slowly. “What are you thinking about, over there?”

The thing playing in his eyes sneaks down to his mouth, dancing at the corners. “Marry me.”

A hysterical laugh leaves you, but there’s no anxiety in it, just disbelief. “What?”

“Marry me.”

He’s dead serious. Weirdly, that observation doesn’t send your heart racing like you thought it would. Nevertheless, you find yourself without speech. You open and close your mouth a couple times, struggling. 

Of course you’d talked about this before. You already lived together, already co-parented Jack with teamwork and consistency - almost every step accomplished completely out of the traditional order of things. There were moments where you brought him a beer or cashed in some favor or another in the bedroom and Aaron would say, “I could marry you, just for that,” but there was always a playfulness to it. You always told him you’d meet him in Vegas by way of response, only half-kidding. 

Marriage was always on the table, always the implication, but you always figured you’d get around to it later. It never seemed to be the right time and you’re happy right where you are, so it never mattered much. 

But here you are, suddenly sitting at the proverbial table, staring engagement in the face. 

Aaron Hotchner just asked me to marry him. 

Well, actually he told you to marry him.

True. I mean it’s not like he has to ask. He already knows the answer. 

So answer him, stupid!

He waits for you with an endless patience. There’s not a hint of concern or anxiety in his gaze - just a soft adoration you’ve seen thousands of times before. He knows what your answer will be. He always has. 

“Okay.”

Aaron snorts. “Okay?”

Your face breaks out into a grin. “Okay, Hotchner. I’ll marry you.” You shrug while he gingerly lets out another laugh. “I’m more than happy to be more than your quasi-spouse and Jack’s quasi-parent.” It’s obviously a joke and he mirrors your grin. “So...okay. Final answer.”

He shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Go into the back pocket of my go-bag and bring me what you find in there.”

You frown at him, but follow instructions, clambering off the bed. 

There’s a little, flatish box with the smallest of code-locks securing the lid in the pocket. It’s made of something reinforced, and it’s heavier than you anticipated. 

Returning to the bed, you sit on the edge, handing him the box. He adjusted while you were shuffling about, now sitting up almost all the way in the cocoon of pillows you built for him. 

With a sly smile, he rolls the code into the lock, and the box springs open. He turns it around toward you, and you’re confronted by a simple, gorgeous ring. 

You blink rapidly, your eyes shifting from the ring to Aaron, and back to the ring. 

“I bought this after I installed Derek as unit chief, four years ago. You rightfully tore into me after I pulled that stunt with that unsub, and I…” he trails off, thinking. 

You can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, picking around years and years of feelings. 

“I don’t know. I knew something I didn’t know, if that makes any sense at all. I knew it was yours, too, when I got it, but I didn’t acknowledge it even after I tucked it in my old go-bag for safe keeping and kept it there, ever since. The only time I didn’t have it with me was in Pakistan. I left it in a locked box in the office at home.” 

He laughs at himself, looking down at the cable-knit blanket over his legs. 

“I’m an idiot, and of course you set me to rights after Pakistan, and Haley told me I was still an idiot not fifteen hours ago. She said you’re the best thing that’s happened to our family, she misses you, and I’ll only be four years late if I ask you to marry me now.” He looks back at you with a little smile. “I love you. It’s not enough, but I love you.”

There’s nothing to say, so you just let him take the ring from the box and slip it in your finger. The silver shines against your skin, the tiny diamonds casting rainbows against the wall in the morning sunlight. 

It’s gorgeous. 

When it’s in place, you scoot closer to him. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you, smiling against your mouth. 

“Your flair for the dramatic never ceases to amaze me,” you say against his lips. You lean back, carding your fingers through the hair at his temples. “You couldn’t have proposed to me in the absence of a near death experience, could you?”

He shakes his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

+++

Wearing your ring around the house feels right. Jack was, of course, in on the whole operation and was absolutely stoked when he saw the ring on your finger as you helped his father through the door. 

You take a few days off together before the next case. Much to your surprise, Aaron lets you help him as he recovers, taking it easy until all of his wounds close back up and his whole regimen of pain meds are almost completed. 

He’s home for a few more days while you return to the field. The team asks after him when you return, and you keep them abreast of his recovery without mentioning your change in status. 

“They’re gonna figure it out eventually,” Aaron said, putting his toothbrush back into his toiletry bag. 

You roll your eyes, throwing your pajama shirt over your head. It’ll likely be removed once you actually get into bed, but it’s the thought that counts. “Yeah, but I’d rather handle that when we’re not actively solving a murder without you, don’t you think?”

His brow quirks and his head tips the slightest bit - a concession. “Fair point.”

When you lean over to grab your jeans off the floor, the ring and chain slip out of your collar and hang down, swinging a little. It falls back against the center of your chest as you straighten, bouncing against your shirt with the lightest of clinking sounds. You find Aaron’s eyes on it when you look over at him and offer him a small smile. “Hey.”

He startles and his eyes jump to yours. 

“I love you.” 

A wide smile and an eye roll return your sentiment.

Wearing your ring on a chain seems like the best way to keep it safe in the field. Aaron doesn’t mind, and you like to have it close to your heart anyways. The indent it leaves in your skin when you remove your vest brings a smile to your face. 

“What’s with you?” JJ asks. “You’re all smiley.” 

You shrug. “I just feel good. It’s nice to have Aaron home and safe, you know?”

She nods, squeezing your shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

+++

When you get to the door with Aaron and Jack in tow, Penelope opens the door with a wide grin. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!” 

She wraps Aaron in a tight, but careful hug, presses a kiss to your cheek, and ruffles Jack’s hair. Her all-intents-and-purposes nephew jets past her, finding Henry and Spencer in the dining room playing cards together. 

“We were feeling up to it, and Jack’s friend offered to pick him up here for a last-minute sleepover, so we figured we’d come crash the party,” you tell her. 

She snags Aaron’s sleeve as she steps back into the house. “Oh, happy almost-birthday, sir.” You glance at Aaron with a suppressed smile, and he presses a finger to his lips. “I’ll keep it on the DL, don’t worry.” With another wide smile at the both of you, she ushers you into the house. “Alright everyone .” 

Emily rounds the corner to get Spencer, leaving the boys to play. You have your photo ready, as does Aaron (but he cheats - he always has his photo with him), when you all step up to the beautiful altar Penelope has set up in the middle of the living room. 

Penelope grabs a glass of wine with a fake eyeball in it for Aaron, and one with a fake ear floating in it for you. 

“Uh... I want to thank everybody for doing this with me,” Penelope smiles at you all, “and our altar's burning, and I just feel so blessed to have you all here. I will start. Uh…” She pulls a photo out of her dress. “This is my mom and dad. I miss them.” 

She places another photo, this time of a cat. “And this is my cat Simba with his usual bowl of soda pop. He's a weird cat.” Everyone laughs, and she passes it to JJ.

“Uh, ok. Well, uh, this is my sister Roslyn.” She sets a photo of her sister on the altar. The resemblance between them is uncanny. “Ros. She always dreamt that someday she'd live in Paris, so, um...it didn't happen, but I thought this would bring her some happiness.” Careful fingers drop an Eiffel Tower trinket beside the photo and it draws a little smile to your face. 

Dave steps up, pinning a photo of two smiling young men in Vietnam and two tickets on one of Penelope’s tiny easels. You recognize one of the men as a very young Dave. 

A much older Dave tells you the other man is, “Private First Class Darryl Jenson. We lost him during the Tet offensive.” 

Derek looks around, trying to get a better view. “What are the tickets?” 

“Opening day next season, Wrigley, right behind the home dugout. Jenson was a die hard Cubs fan.” 

“Sweet.” Derek claps Dave on the shoulder and you all direct your attention to Alex. 

“Um... My mom.” Alex places a photo of a smiling older woman next to Roslyn, propped up with a fountain pen. “She was the one who got me into crossword puzzles-- no erasing allowed-- which got me into linguistics.” She looks over at Spencer, who pulls two photos out of his pocket. 

“You said we could bring more than one, right?” 

Garcia nods vigorously. “Oh, yes. This is a come one, come all altar.” 

Aaron pulls you close, and you loop your pinkie through the belt loop at his hip. 

Spencer places a picture of Maeve near a red rose, and your heart breaks for him. He doesn’t say anything until he’s got the second of his photos ready in his hands. “Nikola Tesla. I figured he's probably been inventing things on the other side, so hopefully he'll bring something to us.” You smile as Spencer meets your eyes. 

I love you. 

He smiles a little back. Love you. 

Derek’s next. “I guess that's me. Ok. I brought... My pops.” He props a photo of his dad against a candle, keeping him secured with a cigar. “He was a cigar aficionado, big time.” He laughs a little, as do the rest of you. “And, actually, Rossi, he was also a huge Cubbies fan, so I was thinking maybe he and Private Jenson over there, maybe they could go to the game together.” 

Rossi smiles, and tips his glass to Mr. Morgan. “They can sort that out when they get here.” 

They look at you, and you slip the photo out of your back pocket with your right hand, keeping the other tucked against Aaron. “This is Jenny. Some of you know her as the late Director of NCIS, but she was a mentor of mine for the entire time I knew her. She was killed in the line of duty back in ‘08, protecting a friend.” You laugh a little. “Once, over lunch, she told me to chase what I wanted, to push hard, and advocate for myself.” You throw a glance at Hotch and he catches it with warm eyes. “The next day, I asked the SSA in charge of my NAT class to consider me for a unit placement to complete my case hours.” 

A little smile pulls at your lips. “I wouldn’t be at the BAU, I wouldn't have my life,” My Aaron, you add to yourself, “if it wasn’t for her.” You place her photo next to a candle on the other side of Roslyn. Jenny’s red hair and bright smile match the flame. 

Wordlessly, Aaron pulls the photo of Haley out of his wallet and places her beside Jenny while the team looks on with quiet eyes. He carefully places an opalescent barrette beside her. You recognize it from her box of jewelry - the same one that holds her engagement and wedding rings - that lives in his bedside drawer. 

He tucks you under his arm and kisses your temple. You rest your head against him, wrapping an arm around his waist under his sport coat, winding your fingers in his shirt. You’re wearing your ring, but nobody’s noticed it yet. 

Dave takes the proverbial stage again as he raises his glass. “Well, I guess this is proof positive that ancestry ain't all bad.” 

Garcia follows suit, raising her glass as you all share fond looks. “How about a toast to the... 30 or 40 of us?”

You all cheers, and drink to those in the room and out of it. Haley and Jenny smile back at you. You look at them both, for a moment, before meeting Aaron’s pensive gaze. The same thought floats through your head. 

These are the women that lead you to each other. These women built your future, your present. One to guide you to Aaron and the other to guide Aaron to you. 

It’s only when you absent-mindedly reach over JJ for a snack, after Aaron abandons you for Dave, that the levee breaks. 

“Oh my god.” 

Finally caught out. 

Instead of looking at you, her head whips up toward Aaron, who’s watching her with a smug smile on his face. Her mouth drops open and she grabs your hand, looking at the ring in the low light. It’s all happened within a split second, but Penelope is the next to catch on. 

“‘Oh my God’ what? What’s going on? What did I miss?” She turns, trotting over in her heels to see what JJ’s going on about. 

Her squeal almost deafens you, and you crane your neck to look over at Aaron, who’s taken refuge by the fireplace. 

With a squint, Asshole. 

What? His brows say. I’m just standing here. I didn’t do anything. He takes a sip of his wine and you roll your eyes. 

Help me!

You can see him snort. Not a chance. 

“I can’t believe you got engaged and nobody told me!” Penelope’s indignant shout carries across the room, and Derek’s the next to whip his head toward you. 

“What?” 

She turns toward him, her hands on her hips. “Hotch proposed and nobody said anything.” 

You bite back a smile as the rest of the team advances on you. Your hand seems to fall into everyone’s palm once or twice as they look at the ring. They all coo over it in one way or another before the information actually sinks in. 

“Wait, hold on.” As usual, JJ is the first to bring everyone back down to the ground. “When did this happen?” 

Two hands land on your waist, and you tilt your head, giving Aaron space as he slides his arms around you. “There’s nothing like a near-death experience to straighten your priorities, don’t you think?” 

Alex laughs. “Don’t tell me you proposed in the hospital.” 

You give her a yikes expression, and she huffs.

“C’mon Hotch. Really?”

He chuffs good-naturedly. “Like I said, I experienced a certain...clarity regarding the direction of our lives.” He squeezes you, and you laugh. “Don’t just jump on me for this, though. This one,” you know he’s gesturing to you with his chin, “just said ‘okay’ when I asked.” 

You twist around to glare at him. Traitor bastard. 

He looks way too smug. 

“No you didn’t,” JJ insists. “No you didn’t!” 

“Oh come on, Jayje. You left Will hanging for three years. You don’t have a single leg to stand on.” 

She rolls her eyes, but you know you’ve got her when Will steps up beside her and kisses her cheek. “Got you there, darlin’”

Rossi, of course, takes your face in his hands and plants two kisses on your cheeks and then does the same to Aaron while Derek pulls you to his chest. 

“I’m so happy for you,” he says. He looks over your shoulder at Aaron, still holding onto you. “Hotch, if you fuck this up, I’ll make your death look like an accident and cry at your funeral.” 

Aaron laughs, and you duck out from under Derek’s arm while they embrace with some manly back smacks. 

Alex gives you a hug, followed by Spencer, who offers you a quiet congratulations. Jack and Henry wander out after a few minutes, drawn by the commotion. Henry goes straight to his mom, while Jack runs to you. 

“Did you tell them?” He asks. 

You nod, running your fingers through his hair. Both Hotchner boys have the best hair - thick and soft - and it's nearly impossible to keep your hands out of it whenever one of them makes themselves available for head scratches. It also helps that they’ll do anything for head scratches. 

Win-win, by your standards. 

Dave taps a fork against his glass, getting the attention of everyone in the room. “We have much to celebrate tonight. Not only do we celebrate the lives of people no longer with us, we celebrate the love between two people who are.” He raises his glass. “To our past, to our present, to our future.” 

The rest of you toast, clinking your glasses together. A sense of something you can only describe as normal winds around you all as you drink and chat and laugh in Penelope’s living room. 

Aaron steps up beside you and kisses your temple. “Having a good time?”

“Mhmm.” You lean into him as he wraps his arms around you, pressing his chest to your back. “Really good time.” 

There’s music playing - one of Dave’s playlists - and you sway back and forth, only loosely connected to the beat. You tip your head back, letting your weight rest in his arms for just a moment before remembering he’s still healing, pulling away from him all at on

You can feel him pull you back toward him. “I’m fine, honey. Relax.” After a moment, you do, melting back into him. You almost feel silly for pulling away from him. If you’ve learned anything in the years you’ve known Aaron, he’s anything but fragile. 

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[artzychic27]

The Artist Family? (new movie)

A month has passed since Marc and Nathaniel met and fell in love at age fourteen, now they’re dating

To celebrate their one month anniversary, they decide to visit one of the most romantic spots ever- The burned-down forest they met in- Only to run into some trouble

The mobs from their previous homes have still been looking for them since the incidents and were finally able to track them down

The couple manage to escape the angry mob with the help of Marc’s spiders and a friendly severed hand who cause a distraction

So they can get away quicker, That drives them in an old hearse he found in a graveyard

Marc: Mi querido, why must hoards of angry villagers follow us everywhere?

Nathaniel: *Kissing Marc’s hand* Meyn ziskeyt, I swear to you, we will find someplace so dark, so sinister, so dastardly that no one in their right mind would be caught dead in!

*They arrive in Paris*

Nathaniel: Huh. I see it’s changed over the last few centuries. And I’m noticing a lack of guillotines.

As they lament about how they can’t keep running for the rest of their lives, That, who was recklessly driving, runs over something in the middle of the road, right near an old funeral home shrouded by fog and cut off from the rest of the city

Marc/Nathaniel: *Excitedly* We hit something!

They rush to see who or what they’ve hit, and see that the figure is a blonde, pale young man who seems to have most of his organs missing

They realize that the person they ran over is Félix Culpa, a young man who died centuries ago, but was never given a funeral because the mortician prepping him got the plague. He regains consciousness and goes to attack the two, but Nathaniel just hands him their bags

Nathaniel: Thanks, man. Hey, you mind showing us around the place?

And that’s how Félix became their butler

When they arrive at the old funeral home, they’re given a very warm welcome.

Spirit of the House: GET OUT!

Marc: ... It’s hideous.

Nathaniel: It’s horrible...

Marc/Nathaniel: It’s home.

Weeks goes by, and more people begin to occupy the home, making amazing first impressions

Marinette and Alix actually snuck in and have been living in the walls for a short period of time until Félix found them

Marc found Rose resting in one of the open graves in the backyard

And Juleka Samara-crawled out of the swamp with her hair covering her face

The six of them share their backgrounds, sympathize with each other about how they were run out of their homes, and make the decision to change their last names to Artist

Now they’re sixteen while Alix is still fifteen

Meanwhile, down in Paris, Gabriel Agreste is taking the fashion world by storm, and his clothing (All basic and dull) is a big hit in Paris (For reasons no one understands but they won’t say anything for fear of not fitting in)

His son, Adrien Agreste goes for a bike ride through the woods with his two friends, Nino and Alya, where they come across the gate that separates outsiders from the Artists’ home

They’re immediately scared away when Marinette opens the creaking gate that sounds like the end of the world when opened

Also, Alix’s sinister sixteen is coming up in a few weeks, and part of the celebration is a swordfight, which she is nowhere near ready for

Nathaniel: Alix, you need to practice. It’s the day your family and friends judge you and pass judgement on your worth as a human being!... It reminds me of Hanukkah.

During one dinner, Marinette asks a question that shocks everyone

Marinette: Do you guys think things beyond the gate have changed?

Juleka: ... What?

Marinette: It’s been years, surely things must be different now. Earlier today, I swore I heard people.

Marc: Outside is forbidden.

Marinette: But-

Marc: Forbidden!

Back in the city, Gabriel is anticipating the arrival of tourists to buy his new line of clothing which he calls, Conformist

While filming a commercial, a red balloon floats astray and makes its way towards the Artists’ home, which Marinette finds as she’s “helping” Alix prepare for the Swordfight

Alix: Why are you helping me?

Marinette: Because. You are like my sister... And... I... Love... You...

Alix: ... You seem trustworthy.

Big mistake

Marinette: *Walks inside with the balloon* Good news, Alix is gone.

Marc: *Holding a sword to Nathaniel’s neck* Mari, go dig up Alix.

Marinette: You and Nathaniel are once again weakening this generation.

Nathaniel: *Points to balloon* Mari, where did you get that?

Marinette: I’m not sure.

Marc: Strange. There’s usually a murderous clown attached to the other end of these.

Juleka: *Gasp!* And what is this?! *Plucks a piece of pink confetti off of Marinette’s shoulder*

Nathaniel: Smells like cotton candy. *Off their confused looks* I was young and stupid, alright?

The Artists go outside where they find rainbow confetti raining down, and the fog that covers their home is lifting up, revealing to them the town

Much to Marc’s protests, Nathaniel suggests they go see the place for themselves

Marinette: This day is becoming most miraculously disruptive.

While filming another commercial, the Artist Family’s house is in the camera’s shot, and Gabriel passes out the second he sees it

*Somewhere else* Nino: ... I feel an overwhelming sense of... Joy.

The Artists arrive in their hearse, and immediately capture the attention of the other Parisians. They’re given strange looks wherever they go, and sometimes people run away screaming

No one has run them out with pitchforks yet. Yay!

Alix: Guys! *Pulls a tire off of a police car* They’re just giving these away!

Juleka: Alix, mind your manners, people might want tires, too.

After getting coffee grounds, the Artists come across Adrien, Alya, Nino, Chloé, and Lila in the park, prancing around in pink and blue outfits and singing about being conformists

Rose: Wow... That is absolutely horrible!

Marinette: ... *Dumps coffee grounds* I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. However, that blonde boy... Intrigues me

And it seems the feeling is mutual when Adrien steals glances at the gothic girl with braids

Rose: ... Yeah, I’m done with this song. *She hikes up the hem of her robe, releasing hundreds of bats that scare off the crowd* Done and done!

Done with these people, Marc wants to leave, Nathaniel insists that things have changed, but his boyfriend is still reluctant... Cue Gabriel

He insists on hiring interior decorators to fix up the Artists home (So tourists aren’t scared off) Marc, with some urging from Nathaniel allows him to do so.

Marinette: That man seems deranged. His face reminds me of a death mask.

*Somewhere else* Nino: In the future... I will have a new friend. Blue hair. Braids.

Back at the Artists Home, Nathaniel, Juleka, and Rose help Alix prepare for her Swordfight

Rose: Of all the Sinister Sixteens I’ve seen, Nathaniel’s was the stuff of legends.

Juleka: So no pressure!

Gabriel, Adrien, the design crew, and the news crew arrive, ready to remove the gloom and macabre form the Artists’ home

Félix: *Answers the door* Youuuuuu raaaaaanng?

Adrien: *Calling Alya and Nino* Hey, so I’m going into the creepy mansion. If I don’t come back, I’m dead... I love you too, Nino... Yes, Alya, I know he’s your boyfriend.

Much to his relief, Adrien is left outside and goes around back to explore

Gabriel: I do hope this isn’t a bad time.

Nathaniel: The worst!... Do come in.

Gabriel spends most of the time making light criticisms and jabs at the decor, the Artists themselves, their clothes, and Marc’s spiders (Which he considers the greatest insult)

Meanwhile in the backyard, Adrien is nearly killed by a crossbow. To his horror and awe, he finds the shooter: Marinette in all of her dark glory

Immediately, he develops a small crush on her. She’s not like the other girls at school who constantly cling to and flirt with him because of his father’s wealth

He tries his hand at impressing her by shooting an arrow, but accidentally shoots Rose, which actually does impress Marinette

Adrien: So, why haven’t I seen you and your siblings at school?

Marinette: We’re coven-schooled. But, blondie, do tell... *Leans in close so she can hear Adrien’s rapid heartbeat* Can anyone attend your school?

Gabriel and his crew leave, having made no renovations to the Artists’ home. And when Nathaniel explains that family and friends will be coming over for Alix’s Sinister Sixteen, that just motivates the designer even more

Down in Gabriel’s secret lair, he spies on the Parisians through a social media app where he fills the comments section with rumors about the Artists, saying they’re anarchists and breed spiders... Okay, so they’re not all rumors

*The Next Day* Nathaniel: Monochrome, I know the man is an eccentric, but- *Marinette appears behind him* Aah!

Marc: Mari, you know Nathaniel scares easily. Practice your lurking on someone else. *Marinette appears behind him* Better. Now what’s on your mind?

Marinette explains that she wants to atener school, much to Marc’s horror and Nathaniel’s excitement. She needs to torment more kids her own age.

Marc doesn’t want her to go, worried she might fall under the influence of the... Conformists, but Nathaniel somehow convinced him

Marinette walking into school: Ah, so these are the gates of hell.

Adrien, while being crowded by girls he doesn’t even like (Especially Lila and Chloé) becomes awestruck when he sees Marinette walking in. She looks like a beautiful demon queen

Lila and Chloé see this and try to intimidate her, but this is what Marinette says,

Marinette: Listen you future plastic surgery disasters, I’m not locked in here with either of you. You and your outdated, distasteful “outfits” are locked in here with me. And don’t you forget it.

Alya just might dump Nino so she can ask this girl out. Polyamory works too. / Adrien: Back of the line.

Mendelive’s biology class: They’re dissecting frogs.

Adrien: Aw, I feel bad for doing this.

Marinette: Relax. Rose showed me how to do this hundreds of times. *Cue Frankenstein equipment* FLIP THE SWITCH! *Adrien flips the switch and electrocutes all of the frogs* LIVE! LIVE MY CREATURE!

The frogs come to life and attack Lila and Chloé. Karma at its finest. Alya and Nino are impressed by her more than ever

Alya: It is an honor and a privilege to watch you work, spooky girl.

Back at the Artists’ Home, it’s game night! They’re playing the game of Death, but Marc isn’t focused. It’s late and he’s wondering where Marinette is

Finally, she arrives, but much to Marc’s horror, she has a Ladybug hair clip! He’s in so much shock that his face flushes red and a bat has to drink his blood

Marc: What. Is. That?

Marinette: Adrien calls it a “Pop of color” says it brings out my... Smile.

Marc: You don’t have a smile.

In order to see what’s going on with his sister/friend, Marc suggests they do ‘Tea & Seance’ like old times... Only she bails to hang out with Adrien, and they give each other makeovers as acts of rebellion

Meanwhile, Alix is upset because she still can’t get the hang of sword fighting and Nathaniel has been working so hard to help her

Marinette returns from her hangout with Adrien, almost making Marc faint when she shows up wearing pink and her hair in pigtails.

Marc: Okay, this is where I sever the line! You are not going back to that school!

Marinette: *Gives him the evil eye before leaving* You can’t tell me what to do.

Juleka: Dear Hades, that is some evil eye.

Horrified by Adrien’s new gothic look and attitude, Gabriel spreads more rumors about the Artists

Frustrated by the lack of support from her family/friends, Marinette runs away and goes to stay with Adrien

Alix: I always knew it would end up like this. Just didn’t know when.

Marinette: Farewell, Alix! I will never forget you, but I’ll try.

The next morning, Marinette, Alya, and Nino are helping Adrien look for his phone, which Gabriel his hidden punishment for his new look

While looking, they stumble across Gabriel’s lair and discover he’s been spying on everyone in Paris. Gabriel discovers them snooping and locks them in Adrien’s room while he goes to greet the tourists... And some unexpected guests

Nathalie: *Dials Gabriel* Gabriel, it’s an emergency. They’re here! The Artist Family!

The Artists more... Eccentric family members (Gina Dupain, Uncle Wang, Master Fu, Luka, Fei, Jagged, Penny, and the art teacher for example) have arrived to attend Alix’s sinister sixteen.

Things are going well so far. Juleka reunites with Luka, Fei battles Gina to the death, but Marinette still hasn’t arrived, so they do the sword fight without her... Which Alix fails.

As Nathaniel consoles her, a cannonball shoots through the wall. Gabriel somehow got a catapult for the mob to use

Marc: It’s Gabriel. He’s turned the town into a mob.

Juleka: I oddly admire his determination.

While the mob fires more cannonballs and destroy the house, Alix tosses her sword and grabs her explosives, successfully protecting her family... Until a cannonball blocks their only exit and she runs out of ammo

Just as the ceiling begins to fall and it seems like the end, Marinette, Adrien, Alya, and Nino come in just in time and save them all thanks to the possessed tree

She and Marc reconcile

Marc: I’m so glad you came back.

Marinette: Of course. There was no way you all could survive without me. You’re like weak kittens.

The Parisians begin having regrets about attacking the Artists (Mainly cuz they almost killed a bunch of kids), but this is interrupted by Gabriel

Gabriel: I will relish hounding you all until that nuclear waste dump you call is house is destroyed with you all in it!

Juleka: Oh, you are just begging to be dragged down to hell, aren’t you, Gabriel?

Marinette: And this family will never run from the likes of you again. *Her death glare stuns Gabriel*

Nino: Damn, I gotta learn how to do that.

Adrien finally stands up to his father and exposes how he’s been spying on everyone in the city while Alya live streams everything. Gabriel is now ruined

Months later, the Artists’ Home has been rebuilt by the guilty Parisians who learn to accept their new, weird neighbors. Also, the Spirit of the House has returned

Adrien and Marinette start dating while Alya and Nino share a mutual pining for the girl