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admiral-mason · 20 days ago

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Aquatic, Adorable, Adored by Kokomi

A user by the name of @floofeh-purpi made a post about a simple fishing game known as "Tap Tap Fish" or "Abyssrium" here

Another user under the name of @bl1pbl0p wrote a comment that I and another user under the name of @bunniotomia should make a fanfiction piece to crossover the two games

Did I seriously tag three users at once? Yes indeed I have lmfao

So, I played the game, and all I can say is

floofeh-purpi has introduced me to one of the most adorable games I have ever seen what the heck

You're gonna be paired up with Kokomi for obvious reasons. Fish, plus fish, equal affection on both sides.

Reader is Gender Neutral

You and Kokomi were running Usain-Bolt style out of Bourou Village from the mob attempting to murder you two.

Why? SAGAU Impostor AU. When you first got punted into Teyvat, you bothered exploring and tried talking to the people of Mondstadt...

Amber ratted your ass out. Now you're wanted worldwide for sacrilege against the Divine Creator, Holy Progenitor of All.

The funny part was that no one but the enemies helped you. The Knights of Favonius were after you, Millelith were after you, even the Fatui were after you and they usually helped you!

Eventually, the chasing came to a halt once you headed to Watatsumi Island, where Kokomi resided...

As you woke up and stared at the Divine Priestess herself, you merely flashed an exhausted and broken expression.

Kokomi stared at you with great concern and worry- she found you washed up on the shores of Watatsumi Island wearing clothes that visibly saw better days and golden scars that exhibited major struggles. She took a few days off her duties to personally attend to you.

Looking at her with a quaint little smile, you handed her a small knife you carried. "You... gonna kill me, Kokomi? I'd rather it be you than anyone else in this blinded world."

Kokomi's concerned expression shifted to that of a mortified one and her breathing stunted. "W-Why would I want to kill you your grace?! After all you've done for us, for my people?!"

And then she made the implications once she allowed herself to breathe again. "...No... is that why that Impostor hunt was decreed all across Teyvat??"

She then began angrily mumbling words and ranting about how Teyvat effectively committed the most unforgivable sin without actively realizing it. You, however, were simply taken aback. You may have utilized (insert your main character here) as your main character, but they were somehow as blind as the others. Yet Kokomi, coming in at a close second, recognized you.

Then, you silently wept.

"O-Oh dear-! Your Grace are you-" And then you slammed yourself into her chest, hugging her tightly like a child reuniting with a parent.

The rest is history. And now, it's time to-

"Pay for your sins, filthy impersonator! You're not getting away this time!" Said (insert your main character here)

Run. Like run the actual fuck outta here.

"GO FUCK YOURSELF AND DIE IN A DITCH, BITCH! AND TELL YOUR COMRADES THAT THEY'RE ALL SHITTY-ASS BOOTLICKERS FOR THAT PLASTIC SURGERY-ASS VERSION OF ME!" Yes, the roasts may not have been the best, but anything to piss your hunters off worked for you.

Unfortunately, the two of you reached the water rather quickly...

"Damn it...! Kokomi get in the rowboat we gotta get outta here!" You ended up stealing some random rowboat and Kokomi got in. This wasn't your first time rowing a rowboat- you did this once in Liyue in the dead of night to escape the nation of contracts.

Except, this time would be far different.

Upon rowing out into open waters, a water vortex began forming, slowly reeling your boat into its hold before swirling it and you two akin to a stirring pot of soup. Your assailants lowered their weapons at the sight and their expressions ranged from bewildered to angry to concerned.

As water sloshed into the boat and soaked the two of you, you held firmly onto the rowboat's sides while Kokomi latched onto your torso. "Hang on Kokomi, if we die then you were a great friend!" You swear you saw Kokomi's expression grow confused for a split second before you closed your eyes and waited for the end to come...

...

...It never came though.

You suddenly felt your lungs filled with an infinite air supply. You opened your eyes, and their vision cut through the ocean water's murkiness without any problems. Looking around a bit led you to find Kokomi, still sinking in the water. You floated up to her and shook her to bring her to her senses.

"Oh-! Your gra- ah!" Kokomi said before covering up her mouth, and slowly uncovering it. Taken aback by what she did, she spoke again. "I can speak??" She said again, and you tried the same.

"A. A. Kokomi. Oh holy shit I can too!"

As you two continued to sink, you looked downwards and saw your culprit.

It's an undersea volcano structure of sorts; and an unusual variety of fish were swimming around it such as squids, sea turtles, a few blue tangs, a narwhal, a great white shark, a supermassive blue whale-

Wait a minute.

This looked like the fish your Abyssrium account had while you played the game back on Earth! Which meant...

"OH MY GOD-" you swam downwards rapidly and erratically with Kokomi gracefully catching up to you. Soon the two of you were met with a face you recognized:

It was the not-so-lonely Corallite, who is effectively the entire catalyst for the aquatic organisms in Abyssrium.

"Hello!! You're just as beautiful as the day I lost you!!!!" You gushed, heading up to the sentient rock and hugging its side. The sentient life-breathing rock's smile grew wider in that response and its bubble-puffing doubled.

Meanwhile, Kokomi fawned over the diversity of nautical life present. Woooow! Such... diverse life! Wait- is that a shark?!" She shouted upon seeing a Hammerhead shark swimming up to her and the additional fish mingling with her, but it strangely didn't attack.

You swam on over to Kokomi, but not before giving the Corallite a little pat-pat. The Hammerhead suddenly swam over to you, awaiting head pats you gladly gave. Its face relaxed and soon a bunch of other fish navigated to you.

"They're not... attacking each other?" Kokomi curiously asked. "Mhm! I practically raised them all back on Earth."

"You raised all of these creatures together?!" Well, it's time for an explanation.

"So... you raised these fish from a different world akin to how you guided us?"

"Mhm! Come on Kokomi, I have so many new fish to introduce you to!"

General headcanons:

It seemed you could instantaneously and confidently identify whatever organism you focused on. This significantly helped Kokomi understand the different types of aquatic life here.

She had never seen organisms such as the narwhal, whale shark, or leafy sea dragons before! They're all so colorful and fascinating!

Her eyes are sparkling at the diversity of sea creatures! From turtles to sharks to sea stars to jellyfish, she's never bored at the silly little antics these adorable sea creatures get into.

And they love her too! It's not uncommon for Kokomi to have a few clownfish or tangs swim up to her as she gives them little pets. They wink, make motions akin to giggling, and nuzzle her in return; she has a lot of new friends here.

Then she sees the 1000-year-old Blue Whale and by god, she is in shock at its gargantuan size rendering even a regular blue whale a midget in comparison. However, you reassure her that it's a gentle giant like all the other organisms here. She manages to swim up to the whale's nose and boops it gently, and she sees its eyes gently close as it sings a soft little whalesong.

And the dolphins! Unlike their real-world counterparts, they gently nuzzle you before swimming off rapidly away and beckoning you to follow them. You taught them to play games such as tag or relay racing, and sometimes when they need to breathe at the surface they let you grab onto them and let you hear the brief sounds of their blowholes before diving back into the ocean.

(A/N: Dolphins are actually really scary in nature, look them up)

The hermit crab also exists and he likes waving his little baton. He's generally a chill dude- you and Kokomi like petting his shell.

Eventually though, Kokomi does get homesick after a few months or so. She loves her new life here, but her people need her. Thankfully, transportation has never been easier thanks to your ocean friends, some of them having fast speeds. With a slowly declining Impostor hunt decree, she discreetly snuck back into her position as Divine Priestess without any information leaking from the island.

From sleeping on the ocean floor with torpedo rays, gently stroking in the waters alongside sea turtles, dancing with groups of smaller fish, or just gushing about your day with the Corallite, there's never a dull moment for Kokomi and you.

Taglist: @floofeh-purpi, @bl1pbl0p, @bunniotomia, @valeriele3 (You're included anyways because I think you may enjoy this post)

#sagau #genshin impact #genshin sagau #crossover #genshin x reader #impostor au #impostor sagau #sagau impostor au #abyssrium #tap tap fish #sagau cult au

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etesienne · 4 months ago

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"Beauty seekers who aspire for a pair of “manga legs” or “chopstick legs”—thin, long, and white gams as straight as chopsticks, like a manga character—“calf-muscle blocking surgery” has become trendy. The procedure removes some nerves on gastrocnemius muscle in order to slow its growth, leading to slimmer calves.

Compared with procedures like Botox, which require regular shots, calf surgery is lauded by online influencers as a "simple" one-time process to get rid of several “unimportant” and “rarely used” nerves with lasting effect, and allegedly no side effects. A hashtag related to the procedure attracted over 260 million views and 24,000 comments on Weibo in a couple of days in late May.

However, health experts pointed out that after these nerves are removed, people cannot walk as fast, or run or do other active sports that requires the use of calf muscles, without falling; moreover, their lower legs will probably recover to original size or even become deformed because of compensatory growth in other parts of the calf.

The procedure originated in France in 1985 as a way to treat club foot caused by spinal cord or cerebral injury. It was first performed as a cosmetic procedure in China around 2005, but is no longer offered at legitimate plastic surgery hospitals because the removed nerves cannot be recovered and the impact is irreversible, according to the Beijing News. Despite those warnings, two Beijing hospitals that the newspaper visited had received a flood of reservations for this service during the Dragon Boat Festival holiday from June 12 to 14."

Horrifying. What happens to these women when they're chased, in danger, at the scene of an emergency, and can't fucking run ??

#cosmetic surgery

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memento-morianon · 5 months ago

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Elvish Ear Binding

(Image description: a sketchbook page showing elf ears in various shapes as a result of ear binding. At the top is a normal elf ear, below it is a narrower ear that looks rather folded inward due to ear binding. The next ear down is fully folded inward like a tube of ear, the result of over binding. The final ear has collapsed into a flopped over shape like a dog ear. On the side of the page there is a simple sketch of an elf wearing bindings on their ears, tied with a bow and having the strands hang down. End description.)

The written notes on the page will be described below:

Ear binding is a common practice amongst the wealthy and noble families in several elf cultures worldwide. It is believed that the narrower ear shape is more beautiful and more "pure" in some cases, distinguishing them further from the lower classes and other sylvanids like drow and stroi who have wider ears.

It is achieved by tying very tight bandages, often alongside bits of metal or wood for shaping, around each ear. It typically begins from infancy and continues into young adulthood. Much like real world body modifications, such as foot binding, extra tight laced corsetry, earlobe stretching, and many forms of plastic surgery, it comes with health risks.

Ear binding always causes permanent damage to the ear cartilage. It cannot be put back into a normal ear shape after the binding has done its work. Other less certain risks include impeded hearing, chronic ear aches and infections, and skin problems on or around the ear, such as an increase of acne or cysts, skin flaking, and built up dead skin that can smell quite bad. It also becomes more difficult to remove earwax, which can lead to its own set of problems.

Over binding can also cause enough damage to the cartilage that the ear shape collapses and it hangs down in a floppy way. But this also happens with age, as the ear cartilage of any sylvanid will eventually degrade the older they get. It is not uncommon to see an elderly drow with bent ears, for example. But the effect is much more severe for those who have had their ears bound.

Not every elf culture does this, but it also isn't limited to a specific region of the world. Ear binding has been around for a long time in many different cultures, coming and going according to current trends wherever it crops up. Lower class elves and even other sylvanids have also practiced it, just to keep up with the trends and emulate famous or powerful figures who have had their ears bound.

#mm world details #sketchbook

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dfortrafalgar · 7 months ago

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I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But now, it might as well be a dream come true.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Chapter 31

[Prev] [Next]

“I… I feel like I need to push,” you grunted out.

Your doctor ran to your bedside. “Okay, dear, okay, follow my lead, alright?” She assisted in turning you on your side, adjusting your various tubes to better accommodate your position. “Like we discussed, okay? This position will help reduce the pressure on your pelvis and make it much easier to push.”

You nodded, your expression contorting in a grimace as a much stronger contraction ran through you in waves, lingering in your muscles like radiation. Your hands were curled up by your head, lacking anything to hold on to, so you resorted to fisting the white cotton sheets covering the mattress below you. It felt mildly uncomfortable, but as soon as you were settled, you felt like your muscles were able to work much more effectively. You breathed out a pained sigh, the pressure in your lower abdomen increasing in waves.

“You’re starting to crown already,” another nurse spoke up. “Your body is already so primed for delivery! It’s like you’ve been practicing. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume this was your third or fourth baby!”

“I’m going to hold your hand, alright?” your doctor asked, confirming with you on what would make you the most comfortable. “How bad is your pain? We can get you started on an epidural.”

“It’s…” As soon as the contraction ceased, another one followed in its place. You were outrageously close. “It’s pretty bad,” you confirmed.

“I’m impressed, when I gave birth to my first, I almost passed out. The pain was so bad!” one of the nurses at the other side of your room called out. “You have quite the tolerance!”

You flashed a weak smile. If only these nurses knew.

Your doctor rubbed your head reassuringly. She really did feel like a mother in her own right. “We’ll start that epidural. Once that’s in place and you’re stable, we’ll begin pushing. Can I get you anything?”

Your eyes wearily glanced up at her calm, reassuring face. “I know it’s a long shot but… can you call my husband?”

—

The second lung was almost fully detached. Over halfway through the surgery now, it had been much faster and more successful than anyone thought it would be. Alongside a few breaks that were taken by the staff to relieve themselves and stretch their backs, sterile orange juice breaks sipped through plastic straws, and brief physical therapy for the unconscious patient to make sure his blood continued to circulate properly and his skin wasn’t damaged, the operation was going very, very smoothly.

And thank goodness. Law needed some good news right now.

Among the beeping sounds of the patient’s heart monitor, the wrrr of the bypass machine, and the soft chatter amongst the team as they worked, a new sound infiltrated the space. In the farthest corner of the room, Law’s hospital pager went off.

“What was that?” one of the nurses asked.

“My pager,” Law responded. His voice was laced with anxiety. He was barely keeping it together, and who knows why his pager might have been going off in the middle of an operation.

The circulating nurse took it upon herself to snatch up the small device, pressing the response button. The best, or arguably worst, thing about the pagers was how loud they were. Everyone could hear the voice that came through the other end.

[Dr. Trafalgar Law? Dr. Trafalgar?] It was a woman’s voice.

“I’m listening,” he shouted back. The nurse stepped slightly closer with the pager in her hand.

[This is Nurse Kaya from Labor & Delivery, your wife is crowning. Just wanted to let you know.]

Spoken far too casually for the news that made Law’s stomach drop like a brick. He was missing the birth.

“FUCK,” he suddenly shouted, his hands still carefully working at the lung’s connective tissue. It was as if his body and his mind were on completely different wavelengths. So much for operating room etiquette. The air in the room had gone completely cold as nervous glances among the team were shared.

“Doctor, I’m not opposed to relieving you with another on-call surgeon. I know this is a huge ordeal, but we’re almost done and… this is a special case,” one of the head nurses spoke up.

He was clearly deliberating heavily in his mind. He wanted to run, carry himself as fast as his feet could handle, and get to your side. He needed to be there with you. He was missing the birth of his first child. A lump developed in his throat. The protective husband side of him had the stoic, focused surgeon side pinned against the wall with a knife to his throat.

“Get the on-call surgeon here immediately and have him gowned and sterilized,” he finally barked, passing his tools off to his assistant and stepping away from the body. A few relieved gasps were shared amongst the team as the circulating nurse brought Law out from the theater and into the prep room where she assisted in frantically undressing him from his surgical scrubs and passing his phone and pager back into his possession. His operating room attire was quickly disposed of in a biohazard waste bin while he quickly washed his hands in the nearby basin.

“Doctor, good luck,” she said with a smile, her eyes crinkling under her mask.

Law could only pass her a faint grin as he shrugged on his white coat, stuffed his phone in the pocket of his slacks, and sprinted out of the prep room. On the way, the on-call surgeon passed by and planted a reassuring smack to Law’s shoulder before replacing him.

Law was breaking every hospital rule there was. Sprinting through the hallway, his feet hammering against the tiled ground as he fought his way through the hospital’s expansive campus, past patient rooms, nurses’ stations, and waiting areas. Why did L&D have to be so far away?! His eyes followed the signs on the walls pointing him in the right direction, his muscle memory leading the way. He scaled two flights of stairs two-at-a-time, the muscles in his legs screaming at him to stop. He was almost positive he would tear a muscle with how fast he was running. But that didn’t matter.

Finally, finally, he pushed through the doors into the maternity ward, flashing his badge frantically at the nurse behind the check-in desk. He was panting, barely able to catch his breath, one of his hands shaking as it supported his weight against the desk.

“My… Trafalgar… where… shit…” he panted, beads of sweat pilling on his forehead below his ragged bangs.

“Down the hall, take a left, then a right,” the nurse instructed, her voice pleasantly calm. She must have seen this a lot.

He barely uttered out a ‘thank you’ before he was off again, pounding down the tiled hallways past delivery and recovery rooms, past the expansive NICU and small groups of families and doctors. He had tunnel vision. He needed to get to you.

Take a left.

Then a right.

He almost sprinted past the door to the delivery room you were in, only backtracking when he caught the pained sound of your voice from within. He flung the door open, nurses surrounding you jumping from shock at the sight.

“Dr. Trafalgar?!” one of them exclaimed, her eyes wide.

Law ignored her.

Your eyes went wide, your hand being held by the doctor who had admitted you. Tears immediately brimmed in the corners of your vision as a pained smile broke out on your face. Law took the spot of your doctor instantly, almost throwing himself at you as he littered your face with kisses, grasping your hand and holding in his pain as you squeezed harshly against his bones, the force of another contraction gripping your body. You were laying on your side, one of your knees tucked upward toward your chest as far as you could manage to allow the baby more room to come out. You had an epidural tube sticking out of your spine, your upper body barely covered by blankets and the open-back hospital gown to accommodate for the birth.

“You made it…” you wheezed, torn between the attention on your husband and the baby coming out of you.

“I couldn’t miss it… I couldn’t…” he wheezed. He was still very winded, his lungs shuddering for breaths. Any longer and he would’ve been the one needing a dual pulmonary transplant.

“Ready for another push?” shouted one of the nurses at your bedside above the noise.

You nodded, biting your lower lip. Your face was glistening with sweat. Your body tensed up, gripping Law’s hand like a lifeline as you pushed, a pained groan emanating from deep within your throat as your eyes pinched shut.

“How is she doing?” demanded Law, gazing at the doctor who took her spot at the end of your bed where your legs were parted.

“She’s doing great, both babies are in cephalic position, her blood pressure is good and her heart rate is even better, it’s unlikely she’ll need emergency intervention. I’m incredibly pleased considering her medical history,” the older doctor explained. “Come over here.”

Law gazed at you, a fond smile on your lips as you released his hand so he could join his extended colleague at the foot of your bed.

“Delivering on her side helps lessen the pressure on her body as well as the baby’s,” the woman explained.

Law’s breath caught in his throat. Emerging from you was a head of fuzzy black hair, slicked with amniotic fluid. One of the nurses called for another push, and your lower body tensed up, your muscles clenching as hard as they could while you pushed the baby out more. Law quickly returned to your side, grasping your hand once more.

“Baby… how are you doing?” he asked, desperate for your personal opinion, his lungs finally settling as he took in your exhausted appearance.

You grimaced. “The epidural has been helping, but it hurt like a bitch going in,” you groaned. “I’ve been having contractions since 2 in the morning. I just want them to be out already.”

“Once the head is delivered, the rest will be easy!” one of the nurses called, a bright smile on her face.

Law felt himself smile as well. Being a delivery nurse must have been incredibly rewarding on the best days. He glanced at the clock on the far wall. It was almost 10 in the evening. His heart panged in his chest.

“You’re doing amazing, baby, you’re amazing,” he whispered in your ear, planting another kiss against the soft, sweat-soaked skin of your forehead.

“One more push, dear!” the doctor called.

Your eyes squeezed shut, your muscles contracting with all your might at the count of the nurses assisting you, your hand clamping down on Law’s. He held in his grimace of pain, supporting you as best he could. Some slight hand bruises were nothing compared to what you were experiencing. How chivalrous of him.

A sudden rushing feeling emanated from your body, a wet sensation prickling your skin through the numbness of the epidural. Your heart rate picked up, your eyes growing wide as you worriedly asked, “What was that?!”

“Your water broke, dear! Everything’s alright!” a nurse responded.

You moaned in pain. “It’s about damn time.” Your grip on Law’s hand released slightly, and you watched as a small smile appeared on his lips.

With one more push, the pressure in your groin finally dissipated somewhat as a nurse pulled your first baby out of you. With the collapse of the amniotic sacs, it was much easier to deliver the rest of its body, much to your relief. As soon as the contractions stopped, however, they began again.

“Keep going, darling, just one more to go!” the doctor called. “It’s right there!”

You barely had the energy to pick your head up to look, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as Law examined the nurses huddled around your baby at the foot of your bed. It was placed in a small portable incubator, being hooked up to machines to assess its condition. 35 weeks was still pretty early, so it made sense. Its umbilical cord was clamped about two minutes after emerging from your womb. Law tried to keep his anxiety repressed as your body shuddered with another contraction.

“The second baby is always easier, darling, you’re already fully dilated from the first,” explained your doctor, giving a reassuring pat to your ankle.

“First baby’s stable!” called one of the nurses. “It’s a girl!”

Law felt his chest clench at the news. His eyes lit up as he gazed at you, a smile pulling on his lips. A weary smile formed on your own face as you were instructed to push once again. Much to the room’s relief, the second baby did indeed come out much quicker than the first. The loss of the amniotic fluid from your uterus and the stretching that your pelvis had endured with the first made it worlds easier for your second baby to emerge into the world. The process repeated- a quick cleaning, a clamp after two minutes, and a quick check of vital signs.

“Another girl!” one of the nurses called, assessing the second in another small incubator. “Also stable!”

You were helped onto your back in somewhat of a hurry, the two boxes containing your babies pushed toward your bedside where they were quickly gathered in bundles of blankets and placed on your chest. It was all happening so fast, the world was practically blurring around you. As soon as your babies touched your skin, it was as if a deep-rooted instinct emerged from you. Law watched with pride as you nestled your newborns into your chest, your gentle hands holding their backs as they took in their first breaths as living humans.

Holy shit.

The room had quickly gone quiet around the four of you, a few of the nurses cleaning you up and reviewing your condition while additional nurses left the room to prepare suitable beds in the NICU for your newborns. Even though they were both healthy and stable, they needed some extra time to grow.

“Law…?” you asked weakly, turning your head to look at your husband.

Law’s golden eyes were wide, frozen, large, salty tears streaming silently down his cheeks. His chin was quivering as he gazed over you. His three girls.

His girls. He had two daughters.

Your husband huffed out a laugh that sounded more like a weary sob as he moved closer to you, stroking your head with his hand as he gazed warmly over the two tiny bodies on your chest, making their first contact with their mother. He wiped his eyes clumsily with the sleeve of his white coat, inhaling a gross-sounding sniffle through his nose.

“I’m sorry I’m crying…” he blubbered.

“Don’t be…” you replied, your own tears welling in your eyes. “You’re finally a daddy. I’m happy you’re crying.” You quietly laughed as Law reached forward with his hand, wiping your tears away from your cheeks, followed by another tender kiss against your jaw.

A nurse quickly stopped by your bedside, slipping small white cotton hats onto the tiny noggins of your daughters before leaving the four of you alone for a few more moments. The skin-to-skin time was crucial for their attachment to you, and once that was established, they’d be able to go into the NICU for their extra care.

Both of the girls, despite being only around 35 weeks, had near-full heads of hair. It made you wonder what they would have looked like being born at full-term. The one over your left breast had tiny black curls that still stuck to her head. The one over your right breast had thinner, straighter wisps of a lighter brown color. They’d come into their own in a few more months as they grew, but even just from first looks, they were both clearly their father’s daughters.

—

The minutes following the birth were quite nasty if one were to ask you. Law thought they were an interesting few moments, but you weren’t listening to him. He was biased. And frankly, you hated the way it felt when two placentas ejected themselves from your body. It was like having another two babies but slimier and worse.

Your epidural was removed and you were cleaned up and helped into a cotton gown to rest in. Your legs were weak from your long labor, but you were rewarded with some light food that didn’t taste like hospital sludge. The third best piece of news you received was that, by some miracle, you didn’t tear a bit, and your uterus had completely and successfully done its job.

Finally.

You passed out very soon after your placentas were delivered, exhausted and completely spent after delivering two babies.

Law took the opportunity to retreat to the NICU and oversee his daughters as they were hooked up to breathing tubes and heart monitors to ensure that their good conditions remained that way. They had their hand prints and foot prints taken by gentle nurses who were cooing over how cute they were, a sight that brought a smile to Law’s eyes.

“Dr. Trafalgar,” the voice of the doctor who oversaw your delivery shook him from his blissful state. “Congratulations.”

“Dr. Linlin,” he replied as he turned to face her, shaking her hand. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me, dear,” she hummed. “I’m a veteran of the motherhood game. It’s all in a day’s work for me. I’m so glad to see you happy and healthy, and with a wife even. I remember the first day I met you, that skinny, scared looking post-grad doctor forced to speak in front of a huge crowd.”

Law groaned, rolling his eyes as the memory. “One of the worst days of my life, for sure.”

The woman laughed, a hearty, bouncy chuckle. She hadn’t changed a bit in the 20-some-odd years, probably even longer, that she had been a doctor. “But look at you now. A huge, monumental surgery, and now twins. All in one day.”

“I’m going to sleep for centuries after all of this settles,” he added with a small smirk. “After helping my wife, obviously.”

Dr. Linlin gave Law a hearty smack on his back, right in between his shoulders, making him lurch forward slightly. “Your daughters will stay in the NICU for 24 hours for observation, and then they’ll be transferred to stay with the two of you in postpartum. Let me know if you need anything, alright? In a few hours, I’ll be back in your room to help you two sign the birth certificates.”

Law watched as the woman walked down the hall, her own bright pink doctor’s coat trailing behind her. One of the only things Law knew about Linlin was the amount of kids she had. It seemed like she popped out one every year, and yet she still had the time to be a labor and delivery doctor. He shook his head, trying to ignore the logistics of it, before walking back to the postpartum room you had been transferred to.

You were awake and staring at the ceiling above you, your hands clasped around your belly. You were still quite swollen, having been told that it would take a bit for your stomach to return to its pre-pregnant state, but you were already trying to come to terms with the fact that you would most likely never look exactly the same ever again. Not after carrying and shoving out two humans. When Law entered your quiet room, you smiled, all your anxieties melting away at the sight of your husband.

He wasted no time in crossing the space between you, leaning over you to plant a loving kiss against your lips. All the emotions he had been holding in throughout the day, all the tension that arose during his mad dash through the hospital, and all the worries that the two of you had shared during your pregnancy struggles flooded between your exchange. One of your hands traveled up to caress his cheek, your fingers trailing across his sideburns and into his slightly greasy black hair, pulling him ever closer to you.

“I’m happy you didn’t tear, or need anything else, really,” he whispered, pulling away from you. “After everything you went through, you needed an easy birth.”

You grinned. “I like to think our two other babies, somewhere out there in the universe, wanted it to be easy for us. For once.”

Law pulled up a chair and sat beside you, leaning against your bed and dropping his head onto your shoulder. You gently caressed your fingers through his hair in the way you knew he loved, watching with a fond smile as his eyes closed.

“What did they say about the NICU?” you asked, your voice tired and weary.

“24 hours. Then they’ll be transferred here to stay with us.” Law kissed your hand cheek. “They’ll be eligible for discharge after they’re able to eat, stay warm, and breathe efficiently.”

“Speaking of which,” you stated, slowly moving yourself to sit up despite the aches in your bones. “I pumped for the first time when you were looking at them.”

“How quick were you?” he asked with a joking tone. “I didn’t think I was gone for that long.”

“It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, but I also didn’t need to give that much milk. One of the nurses helped me, and they’ll be able to feed them in the NICU. At some point in another hour or so, though, she told me I’ll have to visit them there so we can make sure they can latch on their own.” One of your hands traveled up to painfully grab at one of your breasts. “I’m already feeling so achy in my chest. It’s gonna be a rough few months.”

Law grinned, dipping his head back down. “But you’ll have help. Don’t forget that.”

You hummed in response. “You’re right.”

After a few extra moments of silence, you added. “Names?”

“Hm?”

You chuckled. “Names. We have to name our girls.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Law muttered. He had completely forgotten one of the most important parts of being a new parent. “What were you thinking?”

“Cora and Rose,” you said, matter-of-factly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And now we know they’re both girls.”

Law smiled, a rare, genuine expression that reached his eyes. A smile he only ever showed you. “Cora and Rose… which one is which?”

“Rose is the one with those little black curls. Cora is the one with the lighter hair,” you confirmed.

Another tender kiss was planted on your forehead. “I couldn’t ask for anything better than that.”

—

You didn’t expect breastfeeding to be as euphoric as it was. In less of an immense pleasure way, and more of a ‘holy crap, it feels like my breasts are losing 25 pounds’ kind of way.

Your girls were already so good. Cora latched instantly, one of her tiny, weak hands curling slightly upward to grasp at your skin. Both of them were still curled in a fetal position, and it would take them a bit longer to finally stretch out and look more like usual babies, but right now, they were the perfect size to swaddle and nestle into your skin.

The neonatal intensive care unit was a surprisingly colorful place. You always imagined it would be rife with anxiety, desperation, and sadness, a bunch of little, sick babies fighting for their lives, but the second you and Law finally entered to see your daughters, all those expectations flew out the window. Their corner was bright and colorful, with rainbows painting the walls and a fairly large window with a view of the surrounding city below. It was pitch black out, just past midnight, but you imagined the daylight would flood the room with a warm, natural light.

Your daughters were already so warm, kept insulated by their little cotton swaddles they were bundled in, and their tiny beanie hats that covered their fragile heads. The sight warmed your heart.

A breastfeeding specialist (which was a job you had no idea existed until then), helped situate you in a chair, accommodating your sore and spent body. She assisted with adequately positioning your daughters, one for each nipple, and gave you tips on how to make sure they latch and stay on while nursing from you.

You had an additional blood test a few hours after the birth, when your girls were done with their first natural feed and were now sleeping calmly in their incubators. It was looking like you’d be able to go home within the next 24 hours, if everything continued as normal.

While you were taking a light nap in the chair beside your daughters’ beds, Law used your phone to snap some pictures of Cora and Rose in their tiny beds side by side, smiling as he pulled up your text messages and sent them off to Shachi, Penguin, and Ikkaku. He didn’t think they’d respond, with it being so late, but their messages rolled in almost instantly, bringing a fond smile to his face.

Ika-chan OMGOGMOGMGOMGOMGOGMOGMGOGMOMG

Ika-chan TWO LITTLE GIRLS

Ika-chan ARE THEY HEALTHY????????

Ika-chan ARE *YOU* HEALTHY?????????????

Shachiiii Still cant believe those things came out of you whatthefuck

Shachiiii Must have hurt like a mf

PenPen Shachi’s next to me sobbing his eyes out

PenPen I’m crying too. But I’m stronger than him

PenPen Fuck no im not. Im soaked over here.

It was then that his pager beeped. He forgot he still had it on him. Technically, he was still on the clock. He gently placed your phone on the small table beside you to not wake you up before reaching into his coat pocket and procuring his pager, stepping out into the hallway to not disturb his three sleeping beauties.

“This is Dr. Trafalgar,” he said into the small device.

Some slight static came through the speaker. [Hey, this is Operation Triple Organ Replacement calling in from the OR! How’s our best doctor doing?]

Law couldn’t fight the smile that formed on his lips. “Before I answer, how was the rest of the procedure?”

Some small chuckles and a few mildly annoyed groans were heard. [Patient did absolutely amazing. He’s in recovery, stable, and is slowly being woken from anesthesia. They’ll be able to take his intubation tube out in a few more hours, but that’s out of our hands. Soooo…?]

Law felt relief fill his lungs. A successful operation was everything he was hoping for, and now he felt he could finally rest easy. “I have two daughters, Cora and Rose. Everyone is happy, healthy, and resting.”

He needed to pull the pager away from his face as a cacophony of garbled cheering was heard. A distorted [FUCK YEAH] echoed through the speaker.

“Are you guys still in the pre-op room?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

[Yeah, we’re all cleaned up and everything, but we were waiting for the right time to page you. We’re abusing hospital equipment, we know, but this is CRUCIAL.]

Law couldn’t blame his team in the slightest. It was past midnight on May 13th, and they had just completed the biggest surgical procedure of their lives, probably the most daunting surgery their hospital would ever see. They deserved to rest and relax, and yet here they were, still in the pre-op theater, celebrating their lead doctor.

The black-haired surgeon smiled, pressing down on the transmission button with his thumb. “You guys go clean up, alright? Treat yourselves. Everyone did absolutely amazing today.”

[Copy that, Doctor. Tell your wife we said congrats!]

Law slipped the pager back into his pocket before reentering the NICU room. His stern, golden eyes softened instantly upon seeing you awake, leaning over the side of Rose’s bed and idly trailing your thumb softly over her chubby cheek. Beside Rose, Cora’s arms were already outstretched far enough that she was almost encroaching on her sister’s space. Soon enough, the small oxygen tubes taped to their fresh faces would be gently removed, and they’d be able to go home and sleep in their cribs, in your apartment. Law leaned over you and kissed the crown of your head, rubbing his inked hand between your shoulder blades.

“Hey, baby?” he whispered, gazing down at you.

You leaned into his side, melting at his touch. “Yeah?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #one piece x reader #law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #i'm losing you

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heliads · 5 months ago

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this city reeks of driving myself crazy

Jack Hughes misses his captain. Nico Hischier isn't acting like he misses Jack. Obviously, there are going to be problems.

masterlist

Nico is coming back from the mens’ world championships. Jack is trying not to act as if he has been waiting for this since the moment Nico left.

The thought occurs to him halfway through physical therapy. Jack is in the middle of fifteen reps of some bullshit exercise involving resistance bands and a great deal of relief that no one can see him like this when he realizes that, soon, a plane will touch down and a man will get off, and that man will be Nico, and maybe everything will be okay again after all.

Not everything, obviously. Nico coming back does not remove Jack’s shoulder surgery from this plane of existence, though, trusting his captain, it’ll probably make him feel a little better about it. Jack has already heard far too many whispers taking great delight in his absence— all it takes is one injury, and people are throwing words out there like career-ending and out for good. Nico would never say that. He would look at Jack thoughtfully, carefully, and tell him he expects to see Jack out on the ice again as soon as he can. Jack would do it, too. Anything if asked. He is a dog left at home too long, scratching at the door, waiting for the footsteps approaching down the hall to tell him he is not alone anymore. Someone will come for him, and then he will be alright.

Jack will not tolerate the idea of a career-ending anything. The idea makes him sick to his stomach. He could never do anything but play. Being a spectator just might make Jack lose it once and for all. Imagining his team, his Devils, shooting back and forth across the ice, hearing the clash of the puck against their sticks, and then being separated from it all on the other side of the plastic dividers— it would drive him mad. Watching them win or lose and being unable to do a thing. Knowing he was no better than any of the other fans in the audience. He could wear a cheap copy of Nico’s jersey and jump up in his seat whenever the Devils scored and it would kill him more decisively than a gun to the head.

So Jack does the stupid PT and he takes his pain meds and he goes to bed early, doesn’t drink, watches himself and his temper. And the door, mainly. Wondering if Nico will take him up on the offer he made a few days before the plane takes off: Congrats man! U can come by my place to catch up if u want btw.

He’d sent the text, bit back a scream, hurled his phone across the room to land on the sofa, immediately scurried over to check if Nico had responded (he had not), screamed for real this time, then taken more pills and stared at the ceiling for a while. All in a day’s work.

And, when he checked back in the next morning, there was no return message. Nor the next day, either. It pisses Jack off to no end. Everyone’s always on their phones. There’s no way Nico hasn’t seen the text, so he simply isn’t responding because he doesn’t feel like it, which is just mean to such a good team player as Jack Hughes.

Stewing in his own self-righteous irritation, Jack intentionally ignores Nico’s text when it comes three days late. He glares at the notification bitterly, hoping that Nico can somehow sense it on the other end. Jack goes on Instagram in the hopes of distracting himself, but ends up seeing a post on how Nico’s plane has landed back in the States.

He’s back, then. Against his best intentions, Jack checks the text. Nico, 3 AM, Yeah, for sure. No date, no time for a meet-up. A pacifying answer that has absolutely no pacifying effect. Jack rages and rambles for two hours before he caves and texts back, was the flight good?

Twenty minutes later, the phone dings. Jack dives for it, immediately cursing his bad shoulder when it starts to twinge, and holds up the phone in trembling fingers only to register that Nico has replied with a thumbs up.

He’s going to slaughter the captain. He’s going to slaughter the captain and become the new captain and never do this to anyone ever again, ever. This is so stupid. Nico is capable of texting. Jack is capable of responding normally to a friendship disrupted by frequent flights and international games and only one of them having a fucked up shoulder. Right now, though, neither of them are acting like it.

He is proud of Nico, of course. Glad for him to have that opportunity and all that. But the ice seems extra cold when it’s quiet, and Jack hasn’t been able to feel his fingers in weeks, too many days below zero. He wants Nico back. Of course he does. He just hadn’t expected the wanting to take over him like this, wrapping brittle bones and surgery scars in a dense web of hurt that not even the painkillers can dull.

Jack tries not to let the silence bother him, but, of course, it does. He goes to PT again. He calls his brothers one by one and hears them talk. He cleans up his apartment in case he gets a visitor, and maybe karma truly is real, because after several days of being a Good Person, Nico finally texts back and says, I can drop by Thurs evening if that’s cool?

Immediately, a jealous demon in his chest tells Jack that he should ignore Nico, just to get him back. Let Nico be the one waiting on the other line, wondering what he did to deserve the silence. Jack’s super good at being bitter if he wants it, and he feels mistreated enough to lash out.

Yeah. Sounds good.

He sends the text with his eyes closed, as if that makes it better. Like it isn’t Jack who caves but someone else, a doppelganger in Devils sweatpants slumped on the sofa in his apartment. Not his fault. Another thumbs up in response, which brings the anger back in force. Nico, of course, has the time to be casual in his responses. He’s the one who gets to swing by out of the blue. He can do anything he wants to, and Jack simply has to respect that.

When Thursday comes around, Jack finds himself mad enough to bite. It isn’t a good way to greet his captain. It isn’t a good way to meet with his friend. But Jack has been ignored for so long– calls unanswered, texts left on read– and he’s always devoured Nico’s attention far more greedily than anyone else. It’s not his fault that the crushing isolation left him sharp and smarting.

A knock on the door echoes around the problem, temporarily startling Jack out of the acidic monotony of his thoughts. He doesn’t need to check the door to know who it is. Only Nico would drop by like this, unannounced. Only Nico would assume Jack would be there to meet him with the bare minimum of text messages.

He could make Nico wait, and Jack certainly takes his time getting to the door, but then he’s hovering in front of the peephole and he can see a silhouette idling there for him, and it’s been so long since he saw Nico at all that Jack knows he doesn’t have it in him to keep Nico lingering any longer. Whatever happens, happens. But at least he’ll have a good face to look at in the meantime.

Jack’s hand jerks out, heavy on the knob, and then he swings the door open to reveal Nico standing there, hanging back from the threshold. His dark hair has crept out over his eyes, and it hides his face even more than the shadows of the poor high lighting. The contrast from the gasping fluorescents overhead paints dark hollows under his eyes, dramatic on his cheekbones.

It reminds Jack of the Baroque portraits from the art museum the Devils had visited a while back. The PR agents wanted the players to seem more well-rounded or something. Bullshit. Jack had hated the trip, bored almost to tears with the slow pace of their guide, and he hates it now. Jack doesn’t want perfect art. He wants something real for the first time in months, and seeing his flawlessly posed captain makes him want to dirty that good bone structure with blood or his knuckles. Or both.

Nico raises his tragically beautiful eyes to Jack, waiting for something. Still brimming with bitterness, Jack says roughly, “Good to see you again,” and jerks his chin towards the inside of his apartment.

Nico takes the hint and slides past Jack, somehow able to go without touching him even though Jack had barely left him a few inches of room. Smooth on and off the ice. It’s so fucking unfair.

“Nice place,” Nico says, tugging off his coat and depositing it on a nearby kitchen chair.

“You’ve been here before,” Jack mutters.

Nico glances back towards him, arching a thick brow. “Does that mean I should say it looks like shit, then? It’s still nice even if this isn’t my first time seeing it.”

Jack laughs before he can choke it out. Although Nico hadn’t given any indication of being worried, his face relaxes microscopically. There’s no change Jack can name, nothing obvious like falling brows or slackening cheeks, but he knows the shift in feeling like it happened to himself.

“How’s the injury?” Nico asks, walking back to him.

“How do you think?” Jack spits, looking at the ground.

Nico tsks under his breath. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Jack says out of impulse. “The guys at PT say I’ll be back on ice soon. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not just worried about what happens to you on the ice,” Nico says, voice low. “Off the ice matters too.”

Jack wants to laugh. He doesn’t, this time. Nothing’s funny. “You have some way of showing it.”

Nico does manage to look distinctly embarrassed this time. “I was busy,” he says simply.

It’s a bullshit excuse and Nico knows it too, so he covers for it by tugging impatiently at the thick material of Jack’s shirt. “Show me.”

“What?” Jack asks, tough demeanor seriously slipping for the first time all night.

“The shoulder,” Nico says, as if this is a normal thing to ask after being alone in Jack’s apartment with no one except Jack to ask what the fuck is going on. “Show me. I want to see how bad it looks.”

“It’s a shoulder,” Jack mumbles. “Imagine it.”

Nico fixes him with a look, one brow half cocked. Jack knows this look from practices, from games. It means, do you really want to fight me on this one? Jack usually does, but even this is too stupid a battle for him to pick, so he shuts up long enough to bat Nico’s hand off his shirt like a fleck of dust and do as told. He had meant to pull the top off in one smooth movement, but his shoulder disagrees midway through and the motion ends up being a little more awkward than he’d hoped.

Then he’s standing in front of Nico, shirt off, and under the overhead light of his kitchen, he feels far more on display than he likes. Jack has shown far more bruised and battered skin than this, of course, years’ worth of locker rooms have long since stripped him of any shame around teammates, but it’s different like this. Like this– with no other eyes than Nico’s, which swoop over him with such obvious care that hot embarrassment starts to churn deep in Jack’s stomach. He doesn’t like the feeling, but he doesn’t put the shirt back on, either. Or tell Nico to stop looking.

Nico’s hand darts out again, like he can’t stop himself. The fingers rise to Jack’s shoulder, ghosting over the skin. At first, Nico’s touch is gentle, and then he finds a slow-blossoming bruise and presses, not sharply enough to hurt but enough to make the dull ache bloom again in the precise shape of Nico’s thumb. Caught in the force of it, the air leaves Jack’s lungs in a low groan that seems to catch in his chest, deep in his throat.

He expects Nico to snatch his hand away and start making apologies like everyone else when they find out what a broken little thing he really is, but instead, Nico leans forward, into the sound. He doesn’t press any harder, but he looks like he wants to. And Jack– Jack might want that, too.

Nico’s tongue appears at the corner of his mouth, licking his lips before he continues. Jack watches with the hunger of a famine. “You should be careful,” Nico says huskily.

“Why?” Jack asks, fighting to keep his voice casual. “Going to bench me, cap?”

Nico’s hand spasms slightly, thumb curling further into the dark flower of the bruise before he stops himself. Jack can’t remember if he’s ever seen Nico react to the title like that, but Nico hasn’t had his hands on Jack like this before, either.

“I could do anything,” Nico whispers. Jack isn’t sure if they’re talking about hockey anymore. He isn’t sure that they ever were.

He snickers. “You can’t keep me off forever.”

Nico drags his gaze from the bruise to Jack’s eyes. “You always were the troublemaker, weren’t you? Not even Dawson’s as bad. Not even Luke. Always mouthing off.”

Something shifts indignantly in the pit of Jack’s stomach at the mention of his brother. He’d do anything to get Nico’s focus off Luke and back on him, where it belongs, so he says, “What’re you going to do? Shut me up?”

“Maybe,” Nico hesitates over the word, drawing out the syllables as he trails his hand away from the bruise and onto the thin, puckered line of a scar along Jack’s shoulder. He grazes his nails over the hardened skin, making Jack hiss, not from hurt but something else, something worse and better at the same time.

With Nico focused on the scar and not Jack anymore, he’s free to say something stupid again, no longer pinned under the weight of two dark eyes. So he grins, wide and bold and goddamn brainless, and says, “Make me.”

Nico’s eyes snap up to his again. There is an unwritten rule in hockey, practically a mandate, that the captain is the captain for a reason, and if anyone tries to fight that, it is the captain’s moral obligation to prove why he’s wearing the C and not anyone else. Even if the one causing trouble is an alternate. Even if it’s Jack.

Nico’s mouth is hot and assertive when it collides with Jack’s. Jack was ready for something but not for this, and he stumbles back from the force of the kiss. Nico’s arm whips behind him, catching Jack by the hip and bringing him back in, stopping him from a fall. Jack is reminded vividly of all the times they’re on the ice, one of them crashing into the other; the natural, instinctive urge to latch on and never let go.

Nico’s eyes are closed and then Jack’s are, too. He lets the kiss swallow him whole, blocking out the shoulder and the games and everything else. Jack thinks he could stay there forever, hooked on Nico like his first drink, but then the older boy breaks away, even when Jack tries to chase his lips, needy as ever. Nico leans his forehead on Jack’s, both of them breathing hard like they’ve run a mile.

“See? I like you quiet,” Nico says, breath gusting onto Jack’s face with every word.

“Shut up,” Jack says, and kisses him again, biting Nico’s lip petulantly to get him back.

Nico just chuckles, curling his free hand into the back of Jack’s head. Jack actually gasps when Nico tugs his hair, giving Nico more of his mouth, letting the kiss take him apart again and again.

This time, Jack is the one to pull away first, and in the sliver of space between their lips Nico whispers, “I missed you.”

“You haven’t been acting like it,” Jack mutters, and squirms when Nico knots his fingers in Jack’s hair again.

“That’s what the attitude is about? I forgot to respond to a few texts and you get all stubborn?” Nico asks incredulously.

“It wasn’t just a few texts,” Jack pouts, “You keep ditching me. Thought you didn’t want to talk to me at all.”

Nico pulls away for real this time, leans back far enough that Jack can see his entire face instead of snatches of lips and eyes and red cheeks. The look on his face, it isn’t angry or annoyed– it’s fond. Satisfied. “I always want to talk to you, Jack. Don’t you know that?”

“I didn’t when you were ignoring me,” Jack murmurs.

The hand in his hair relaxes, combing gently through the locks instead of twisting them. “Alright,” Nico says, still painfully enamored, “That’s my mistake, then. Let me apologize.”

Jack lets him. Happily. The offseason is long. If he tries, he can drag this out for a long time, make Nico make it up to him for months. Jack isn’t ashamed to admit that he’ll do it as long as he can. Better yet, Nico will let him, and know what he’s up to the whole time anyway.

That’s the best part about them, Jack supposes. They know each other. On and off the ice. On and off each other. Maybe it’ll be a long summer, but God, it’s going to be a good one.

hockey tag list: empty for now!

talked about this to @faerieroyal ily

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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exeggcute · 11 months ago

Text

well it's been almost six months which I think is long enough to break my posting embargo, so, uh: guess what! I got liposuction lol. specifically hip/thigh lipo to quell some pretty wicked dysphoria that stemmed from having such a feminine silhouette… and I have to say I'm really, really pleased with the results.

tbh my initial plan was to keep things under wraps for good which is why I haven't said anything about it yet (and even as I'm typing this up I keep debating whether to post it or trash it)—partly because I was/am worried people might Act Weird about it and partly because I get a little embarrassed talking about bodygendershit in general. but here we are. one reason I do feel compelled to finally share, other than being super happy about how everything went, is that I haven't encountered a lot of discussions about body sculpting as a possible avenue of gender-affirming care (although, to be fair, maybe I just haven't been looking in the right places) and I figured at least one person out there would be interested to learn about what I did and where I've ended up so far.

anyway. pics/details under the cut—nothing even remotely risqué (or yucky), I just know that body image stuff is fraught + not everyone is eager to hear surgery talk.

to be precise: I got tumescent liposuction of the inner and outer thigh, plus this ultrasound thing to help the skin shrink. a different surgeon who I consulted (but ultimately did not go with for a number of reasons) said that even if I got the results I wanted from lipo, which he claimed was unlikely, the affected skin would look loose/baggy/weird forever... and that surgeon was wrong on both counts lol. my elasticity was great bitch!!!!

they didn't take out that much fat overall, only eight pounds or so, but it's way more about the Where than the How Much. my actual surgeon (who kicks ass btw) said lipo isn't that great for weight loss per se, and what it's really good for is sculpting targeted areas—so basically exactly what I did. six months post-op I actually weigh about the same as what I did pre-op, but the distribution has held steady; more weight goes to my stomach now and less, proportionally, goes to my hips since there are fewer fat cells in that area now. so my silhouette retains its new shape!

the overall change is admittedly on the subtle side, since I'm pretty short and have wide hip bones (and you can't change your literal skeleton) but it's still gone a looooooong way. the main thing I requested from my surgeon was "I want to fit in men's pants" and boy did he deliver.

also a good place to note that if you're in the las vegas area looking for a plastic and/or cosmetic surgeon—this guy is board-certified in both btw—then I absolutely have the guy for you. feel free to DM me for details. lipo is clearly his specialty (and it shows!) but he also does a lot of breast revisions/mastopexy (i.e., fixing implants that other surgeons did a bad job putting in), regular implants, and face work (particularly facial feminization surgery). one thing that sold me on this guy was an enthusiastic yelp review from a local stripper who said he hid the incisions for her breast lift in her armpits so none of her clients would notice that she'd had work done... a true master of his craft

okay you've scrolled enough so I'll give you what you're here for lol. I don't have many pre-op pics because I was obviously unhappy with how I looked and was not taking full-body selfies on a regular basis, but here's a few I took ~2 weeks beforehand:

these super thin men's joggers were my go-to dysphoria pants, to the point where I bought five pairs in different colors, but now they're so baggy on me that they have the opposite effect and make it look like I have wider hips than I do. so I retired them from my wardrobe...

...except not immediately because I had to wear compression garments 24/7 for the first three months post-op and these joggers were just loose enough to comfortably wear a medical girdle underneath them at all times, 110° degree temperatures be damned. (not that I was going out much for the first month since I was soooooooooooo fucking bruised and sore lol.) here's a few post-op pics in the same style pants:

(first pic is less than 24 hours post-op, about to go to my follow-up appointment, looking greasy as fuck because I wasn't allowed to shower yet; second pic two days post-op and also post-shower, thankfully; third pic is about a month post-op.)

so, like, CLEAR improvement already. I will not be posting pictures of my black-and-blue-and-swollen-all-over legs but considering how puffy I was from getting internally pummeled with a cannula it's wild that I still saw improvement literally as soon as I came home.

recovery was obviously not a blast in the moment but I got off easy, all things considered. I was supposed to get drains put in and was Not looking forward to that at all lol. the first thing I asked when I woke up after surgery was "how many drains?" because they weren't sure if I'd end up needing two or four, but it turned out the answer was zero. no drains!!!

I did have to lie with my feet elevated for the first two weeks straight, and had major bruising that receded over the first month (you could barely see my regular skin underneath all the mottled spots), but little to no nerve pain, no weird complications, and I was more or less back to normal after six weeks. also noelle took very very good care of me and was brave about injecting me with blood thinners so I wouldn't get clots and die :)

when I went into it I was fully expecting to get huge vertical scars up and down the sides of my legs (and had made peace with it!) but instead I wound up with four tiny incisions like this, each less than two inches long:

what's totally crazy is that the scars are basically Gone now. like even when I'm trying to find them I struggle to locate the ones in the front. I joked to noelle that if someone did an autopsy on me they might not figure out that I'd had cosmetic surgery, especially since the skin on my thighs is back to its normal color and texture. (in this scenario I like to imagine that it's dana scully giving me the autopsy and I'm in an x-files plot where instead of regular lipo I got alien lipo and mulder figures it out purely by accident.)

with lipo it can take up to a year to see the full results but I already feel so much fucking better in my body that seeing old pre-op pics throws me for a loop. and I can absolutely wear men's pants now—pants for short and stocky men, to be fair, but actual regular men's pants and not exclusively Pants For Men With Huge Butts And Legs. which is the only style I could even hope to fit in before. and even then it was a stretch.

big pic dump of shitty mirror selfies taken over the last few months:

(also I really debated sharing this one but I already included it in the yelp review I left my surgeon so fuck it: here's a tasteful before-and-after in my undies where you can see my bare legs for easier comparison. left pic is one week pre-op, right pic is about five months post-op. including it as a link instead of embedding it in the post in case your boss happens to be reading over your shoulder at this very moment. also this is the one and only time you will ever see me stripped down on tumblr dot com so don't get used to it lol.)

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korea-medical-news · 2 years ago

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If You're Considering Facial Contour Surgery, You Must Read This

The patient experienced the disappearance of their jawline and noticeable fat under the chin due to excessive orthognathic and contour surgeries. Additionally, the jawbone behind the ear receded too far inward, causing the jawline to be completely invisible.

Although I recommended elasticum lifting, chin fat liposuction, and salivary gland Botox, the hospital responsible for the revision surgery insisted that liposuction was not necessary. Below, I will explain why elasticum lifting and liposuction should be performed together.

Elasticum lifting is a procedure that restores skin elasticity and uses highly durable threads to provide natural results in areas with a lot of movement. Chin fat removal is often performed alongside elasticum lifting. By removing fat and then securing the muscles and surrounding tissues, the procedure becomes more effective. The difference between pulling the jawline toward the ear with a lot of fat and removing the chin fat before lifting is easy to understand, even for those unfamiliar with plastic surgery. Salivary gland Botox is a treatment for the muscles that protrude when swallowing saliva. In this patient's case, the salivary gland muscles have fallen even further after orthognathic surgery, so the effect is expected to be greater than in the average person.

The priority is to observe how the jawline changes after these three procedures. Although immediately resorting to liposuction is not a fundamental solution for the lack of a jawline, the patient followed my advice and declined the hospital's recommendation. The hospital eventually decided not to perform liposuction, and I recommended the patient undergo elasticum lifting followed by V-olet injection at another hospital at her own expense.

In the next article, I will explain the patient's surgical results and satisfaction level.

Please note that we cannot disclose patient and hospital information due to legal issues.

#side effects #plastic surgery info #plastic surgery

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alienssstufff · 1 year ago

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If we’re going off of the “All genloss deaths were real and shot through a silly filter”:

-CHARLIE: Survives DAY1. The death as the Slime Demon was staged and he was taken away offscreen through special effects. His real death however happens on DAY2 when Ranboo performs surgery on him in the Second Puzzle Room (Surgeon Simulator) this is also the first time we see the red camera (the set without the silly) for the first time. The ‘Charlie’ Ranboo was talking to in the second room was his dead body with the SFX put in. I also think his voice was pre-recorded (like the cutaways on DAY1) before that -which makes everything even more fucked up knowing he was recording lines to replace himself in case he died. This ALSO also implies that Snowfall made Charlie eat ?? A bunch of micro plastics back when he was made the protagonist which I think is very funny cuz why??? He got a whole mouse trap and hotwheels car in him dude 😭

-SNEEG: Survives DAY1. Like Charlie we see him get taken away offscreen for DAY2. We see that red camera again as he tries to get away during the second room through a bathroom break but Snowfall brainwashes him. The original plan was supposed to be one person would survive the second room but by what happened. A second person (Sneeg) would be picked to survive and essentially act as an enforcer to make sure the other actors stay in line. He ultimately dies keeping himself and Austin at the other side of the wall, crushing them to death in Seventh Puzzle Room (Hole in the Wall).

-NIKI: Is shot twice offscreen by Jerma in the Fourth Puzzle Room (Candy Crush) DAY2. Theorise the game masters (Charlie DAY1, Jerma DAY2) like Sneeg were there to supervise the actors. Theorise the first shot at Niki was a deliberate mercy shot to keep her quiet but alive. It’s implied through watching Sneeg get brainwashed that Jerma was terrified that the same would happen to him if he failed - the second shot was reluctant but fatal.

-VINNY: Burnt by lasers and blunt head trauma in the Fifth Puzzle Room (Oceans 11 Heist) DAY2. Kinda a weird one I think they actually did try to throw Vinny over the lasers but it both wasn’t far enough and too high. He’s burnt by lasers but we also see him hit his head on the ceiling which might have been the final blow rather than a comically small anvil.

-ETHAN: murdered offscreen in the Sixth Puzzle Room (Top Model) DAY2. Similar case to Niki he went backstage where he wasn’t supposed to go (the blacklight signs just extra warning to the actors NOT to use that way in)

-AUSTIN: Crushed to death by a wall in the Seventh Puzzle Room (Hole in the Wall) while being held back by Sneeg on DAY2.

-JERMA: Murdered offscreen in the final room (Mall of America entrance) DAY2. Snowfall found out about the recording Jerma was going to use to help Ranboo find the truth after witnessing the deaths and they killed him.

-FRANK (bonus): Unknown if he was an actual person or a prop (hard to tell atp). If he was he’d be long dead before DAY1. He could have been Sneeg’s friend, he could have been a staff member at Snowfall who rebelled and tried to escape. Those ‘slime’ parts on Charlie’s set on DAY1 might have even been Frank’s body parts.

#stufff rambles #genloss spoilers #generation loss #tw graphic description #long post #idk why I did this - I wanted to put pieces together

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 26 days ago

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my favorite scully moments from s4

in episode 1, she cracks encrypted messages, commenting that “you say ‘a twenty letter code’ to any scientist and they immediately think ‘protein amino acid sequence code’, which is what this turned out to be” <- and that is genius at work right there!!

skinner pulling her aside to ask “do you realize what you are promoting?” when she puts together there's a whole international smallpox conspiracy, and she cuts him off with a clear “i am a SCIENTIST, sir” <- that is right!! you tell him!!!

trying and failing to come up with a theory for how the photos in episode 4 became terrifying: “plus, the film is two years out of date” “oh” “the-the photographic chemistry could have changed” “uh-huh” “the-the dyes fade… they… alright, that’s your theory?” (had me absolutely giggling)

we also learn in episode 4 that she took german in college <3

in episode 6, she spends a great deal of time explaining the science behind sleeping pills and their controversial effects

(and i also loved her fury that such an advanced facility was being used for plastic surgery rather than life-saving care)

tearing into the culture of lawlessness while testifying in episode 9; talking about how she left the medical field to protect the innocent and punish the guilty- such an excellent moment, more of that good old fashioned scully righteous rage combined with inherent optimism- and her continuing to read her statement despite the council repeatedly cutting her off (as she should!)

choosing to be jailed rather than reveal where mulder was located, because she will do the right thing no matter the consequences (and is also just a really great friend)

((and bonus points for skinner checking up on her: “you holding up alright?” “i’ve got plenty to read”, she says, as she flips through medical texts))

“it is my natural inclination to believe they are acting in the best interest of the truth… but i am not inclined to follow my own judgment in this case” (casting aside her own optimism in the face of such corruption, understanding her personal bias and objectively putting it to the side… i admire her ability to do so)

((but still. after all she has been through, it is natural for her to believe that the government means well. it's incredible))

this exchange from episode 12: “where could he hide an adult body where it wouldn’t be found?” “i’ll show you” (cut to them sorting through the medical waste, mulder looking horrified as she casually says she needs his longer arms to sift through the body parts)

((but isn't it just great that she knew the answer to that question instantly?))

in episode 12, when she realizes that leonard betts trying to kill her means she has cancer, she responds to mulder saying she should be proud of stopping him with a quiet “i just want to go home”

(we get another "i'm going home" moment in episode 22, after their confrontation in the hallway about her fears, and the exhaustion contained in those few words could make me weep)

in episode 14, she writes letters saying goodbye to mulder, trying to convince him her inevitable death was not his fault: “and if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was the possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done”, she wrote, knowing how he would blame himself, trying to spare his feelings of guilt even as she knew she had so little time left

later on, her nose starts bleeding while they're making an arrest; “quit staring at me, i’m fine!”, she says in the voice of someone who is deeply not fine, her helplessness inspiring a fury that thrashes about and digs its claws into everything inch of her

how she told mulder she was going to die, but insisted to her mother that she was fine- her mother is furious she didn’t tell her she was sick, shaking in fear, giving her a kiss and a hug, and saying that she is her only daughter now as they hold each other. while she can tell mulder the truth, she can't find the words to tell her mom how bad things really are

writing in her journal that she needs to draw strength from mulder, needs someone to lean on, even though she works so hard to be entirely self-sufficient; “i need to know you’re out there if i’m ever to see through this”

(contrast this with her earlier attempts to do absolutely every single thing by herself and bask in the character growth)

((but then she REJECTS what she wrote in the journal, saying that she isn’t giving up, and she has so much to prove to herself and her family- they have the conversation in the hallway that made me cry and cheer and yell and experience every emotion in between as she realizes that she is something worth fighting for))

in episode 18, she tries her best to save pendrell, telling him that “we still haven’t celebrated my birthday, pendrell; i’m not gonna let you off the hook like this” - it's the way she spent his last moments on earth trying to make him smile that gets me so emotional

later, she's having this very tense face off with skinner until he notices she was trying to hide her nosebleed; he grabs her hand and says “i have a responsibility for the safety of the agents under my supervision, agent scully. i’m not going to put another agent’s life in jeopardy just to keep her out in the field”, and she assures him she’s okay with tears in her eyes (the way he pierced through her best attempts at a stony exterior… i'm emotional)

they visit max fenig’s trailer again and she still HATED it lmao, she says “i remember being amazed at what some people will call a home”

(and then she disses the very bare hotel room they visit in the next episode, saying “i’m not sure if ‘living’ is the word i would use to describe this space” - give her all of the blankets and throw pillows, she wants a cozy house)

((this, combined with her saying "i want to go home" when she is experiencing moments of earth-shattering grief, made me realize how important to her it is that she have a nice, comfortable, safe space for herself))

smirking at her own stupid joke in episode 19; “what was he wearing, a long black robe and carrying a scythe?”

she knows the lowest temperature a human body has ever reached and survived (70 degrees) and also uses the phrase “nuclear magnetic resident spectra”, both of which made my heart skip a few beats

“okay, so this photo that was never taken, when was it never taken?” <- SEVERELY underappreciated line!!!!

in the opening of episode 20, she starts reciting facts about babies born with extra appendages in incredible detail, and i want to know so badly why she is educated on the subject. scully, please give us the story time video

she also mentions her plans to write an article on “diminished acetylcholine production in recidivist offenders” when she goes home from work. because that is how she spends her evenings, very casual. no big deal (said with great sarcasm)

her realization in episode 22 that the killer had been switching around the rings on each victim’s fingers, based on some blurry photos (it was a very good catch!)

talking to her therapist, admitting she struggles to talk about her fears, and that mulder’s passion has been a source of strength during her sickness

(we then, very briefly, see her praying in her nightgown in her apartment, before mulder knocks on the door to ask for her medical opinion. i find that shot so compelling, especially when you contrast it with her saying in the finale that she is not ready to return to the church- it must be too personal to talk about, god must be something she wants to experience on her own at this point in her life)

((and she grapples with the revelation that everyone else who had seen the spirits had been dying, knowing what it means for herself))

the way she shoots the evil nurse in the shoulder not to kill her, but to incapacitate her… scully, your aim is legendary

fun facts with scully, episode 23 edition: dostoyevsky had waxman-geschwind syndrome!

VERY FIRMLY telling mulder that he NEEDS to get to the hospital, and when he continually refuses, instead asking to go on a road trip, she agrees... ONLY on the condition that she drives!!!!

and when his terrible trauma ketamine trip culminates in him almost shooting her and himself, she manages to talk sense into him, before she rests her entire body on him, shielding him, not letting him move, weighing him down like an anchor back to reality

(her being the one taking charge in this episode even while she feels she is losing so much of her agency in her life makes me so emotional)

when mulder interrupts her family dinner in episode 24 to go on a quest for alien answers, she reminds him that this is his goal, and not hers. when he tries to convince her, she refuses to budge- it was frustrating to watch him put her in that situation, but amazing to watch her stand her ground

(and the fact that she wasn’t able to tell him her cancer was getting much worse is also so fascinating to me- why couldn't she bear to break it to him? would saying it aloud make it real?)

and of course, her tracking down the dude that shoved her down the stairs and nearly hitting him with her car (it was deeply satisfying)

#so many good moments. she is my girl!!!#the x files #txf #dana scully

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peachy-panic · 8 months ago

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A prompt: Myles has Elijah strung up and is doing something unpleasant to him

This is a good excuse to insert a piece of canon I've been meaning to write.

WARNINGS: Captivity whump, scars, branding, knives, referenced noncon, self harm

When the shower shut off, the first thing Elijah reached for—the first thing he always reached for—was the tube of scar gel on the bathroom counter.

He stuck his hand out from behind the curtain, groping blindly in the dark. No matter how much time passed, he still couldn’t bring himself to take a shower with the lights on, leaving him dependent on the sliver of sunlight that came through the small frosted window above the toilet. It was enough to get by, and just enough to leave his body a shadowed blur in his vision.

When his fingers found the familiar plastic, he grabbed it and flipped the cap with his thumb. He dispensed a dime-sized circle onto his palm, careful not to use too much at once. This shit was expensive, and definitely more than he and his mom should be spending with limited funds, but she knew how important it was to Elijah, so she never mentioned it. But every few weeks, a new tube would appear on the bathroom counter like clockwork.

She just didn’t know the real reason why he needed it so badly. Not entirely.

There was no shortage of physical reminders of Elijah’s captivity etched into his body, and none of them were easy to cope with. Some of them were easier to cover, and some of them never saw the light of day. But only one instilled such a burning revulsion, one that went beyond skin deep, to the point that on several occasions, Elijah found himself on the bathroom floor next to a shattered razor, fighting the urge to filet the entire ugly fucking patch of skin from his body. Instead, he settled for thin, violent slashes across the existing scar, like he was crossing out words on a page. Just to alter it in some way. To take ownership of something that so inherently robbed it from him.

Today, he bypassed the superficial scars altogether, ignoring the sharp lines of raised skin that had split apart under Myles Voss’s blades and belts, on his arms and shoulders and chest and stomach. Instead, he took the full amount of gel and smeared it across his inner thigh, rubbing until it covered every inch of scar tissue.

It was overkill to close his eyes so tight, but he did it on instinct, keeping his chin tilted up so there was no chance of seeing the lines on his thigh. He wished there was a way to detach his brain from his nerve endings, so he didn’t have to feel the ridges of lettering under his fingertips like braille, reading it out over and over and over and—

The handcuffs were nothing new, but Elijah knew something was off when Myles didn’t unlock them immediately after he rolled off of him.

Myles stood from the bed, stretching his arms over his head, and walked to the dresser on the far side of the room. Elijah stared after him blankly, slowly coming back to himself. He blinked hard a couple of times before Myles turned back to him. A golden knife gleaming in his hands.

He was pretty sure this fucking scar cream didn’t work. He had spent countless hours online looking up his options: creams, lotions, surgeries. Most of which were too expensive to even consider, and none of which would be one hundred percent effective. No matter which route he went, even in a fantasy world where he could afford a real procedure, there would always, always be evidence of the marks Myles left on his skin.

Elijah’s wrists tugged against the restraints before he could even fully process what he was seeing. “W-what are you…?” He couldn’t even form the whole thought. This was normally the part where Myles would force him into some sick semblance of an embrace, followed by a hellish shared bath that always led to the probability of another round. He almost never brought out the knives after they had sex.

Myles’s expression gave no leniency when he said, “We’ll keep the cuffs on for this, baby. You don’t want to fight me.”

He yanked his sweatpants up to his hips before the towel even hit the ground, like leaving the scar exposed for one more second would reveal him to the world. He could still feel it, though. There were days where the scar tissue was bad, and days where it was worse, but he could almost always feel it; if he stretched just the wrong way, if the jeans he wore were tight enough for the seam to rub just the wrong way against his inner thigh.

Half of his wardrobe was eliminated when Elijah returned home, and not just because all of his clothes hung loose on his malnourished frame. Any pair of pants that had rips along the thighs—which, given Elijah’s fashion choices through high school, were most of them—posed the risk of showing it.

Elijah would never be able to forget it was there. Myles had made sure of that.

He heated the knife first, dipping the blade into the burning fireplace for a few long seconds. Elijah’s first panicked, incoherent thought was that maybe he was sterilizing it. Maybe creating a way to cauterize as he cut. In hindsight, he wondered if it had more to do with making sure the it scarred.

The moments between seeing the blade glowing in the fire and the knife making contact with his skin were chopped into a motion blur. He recalled pieces: Myles’s weight dipping the mattress. Hands prying his legs apart. He remembered screaming, and even if he didn’t, he would have remembered the dry ache in his throat rendering him unable to talk for the entire next day, leaving Grayson to a silent cellar and a nearly catatonic companion for company.

The heat itself, the slice of the blade through the delicate skin of his inner thigh, was a blare of white, hot pain that blew out any conscious thought. He passed out. Several times, he knew, because he recalled waking up over and over to the realization that it was still happening.

It could have lasted seconds or hours.

When he woke up, he was on the floor of the empty bathtub, alone. The excess blood had been washed away, a bandage fastened over the wound. Through the white of the gauze, he had already begun to bleed through; patches of red in the neat shape of two letters.

MV.

He never told anyone about the brand on his thigh, but that didn’t mean it was a secret. There were the agents and paramedics who found them, naked and terrified in the master bedroom, leaving nothing to the imagination. Then there were the people at the hospital, both doctors and police, who poked and prodded and splayed him open for photos and inspections and bandage changes and—

And of course, there was Grayson. There was very little Elijah could ever hide from him. This was only one more thing they never spoke about.

Elijah shut off his bedroom light and crawled under the blankets. When he stretched out onto his stomach, the position tugged at the scar tissue unevenly, like a thread pulled too tightly under his skin. He flipped onto his back and scrubbed both hands over his face and into his hair, pulling tightly enough on the damp curls to sting.

“Now you won’t forget, baby,” Myles crooned, running a calloused finger over his initials. “You won’t ever forget who you belong to.”

***

TAG LIST: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @distinctlywhumpthing @diyalogues @finder-of-rings @dont-touch-my-soup @wicked-whump @scp-1296 @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @melancholy-in-the-morning @whumpcereal @reflected-pain @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @flowersarefreetherapy @there-will-always-be-blood @whatwhumpcomments

#fifty-eight days: grayson & elijah #captivity whump #whumplr #whump writing

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forwhump · 4 months ago

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Worry

a/n; im posting again im so sorry !!!!!!!!! lmfao somebody stop me

tw/cw: self harm, mentions of grievous bodily harm, traumatic brain injuries, medical torture

human weapon whumpee

With a snarl, Silas crushes the pen in his hand into sharp bits of plastic shrapnel that bite right through his palm.

He makes to throw the wreckage at the wall, but Wren is quick to catch him by the fist. He uncurls his fingers to carefully pick the chunks of plastic out of his shredded palm. He places them onto a bloody cloth he has spread across his bed beside him, keeping collected the other bloody pieces of plastic from the other pens Silas has so far destroyed.

He just can’t fuckin’ do it.

Wren gently wipes down his palm with a damp washcloth and isopropyl alcohol, whatever the hell that is. It stings, but a stinging pain is one of the more preferable kinds. He prefers a stinging pain to this whole thing, in fact. “It’s okay,” Wren tells him softly.

It isn’t.

“I can’t fuckin’ do it,” Silas snaps. His hand shakes in Wren’s. His hands are always shaking, and nothing helps, nothing stops it. Tremors, the unit’s doctor, Medic, had called them. A lingering effect from a traumatic brain injury that he might never recover from.

“You’re learning,” Wren reminds him softly. “It’s okay.”

It’s pathetic.

Silas the machine, Silas the weapon, and he can’t even hold a fuckin’ pen. He can’t write his own fuckin’ name. He can’t fuckin’ read, even, not anymore.

“I’m too fuckin’ stupid,” he spits.

Wren looks up quickly. “Silas,” he chastises. “You are not stupid.”

Silas grunts and cracks his other palm against the side of his head. He drives the heel of his hand against the layers of bandages, against the spot where his skull had been crushed most significantly, pieces of bone picked from his brain to be puzzled back together. The pain makes him nauseous, but it distracts him, for a second, from that writhing helplessness under his skin that makes him want to rip his hair out by the handful.

“Hey!” Wren snaps at him.

Silas is going to crack his own skull again but Wren is quick. Wren’s a lot quicker than Silas. He pushes himself to his feet and catches Silas’ hand before he can do any more damage to the side of his head.

And Silas —

In the same way his hands shake, his brain now fires wrong. His temper is unrestrained, and it fires up and out of control quicker than it ever has, too quick for him to stop it. He doesn’t mean to snarl at Wren, at patient, kind Wren, who’s sitting on the floor of his room trying to teach Silas how to write his own name, but he just wants to hit his head so he doesn’t have to feel this fuckin’ stupid anymore and —

And he snarls at Wren, pulling his hand free, but Wren is just as quick to grab it again and he leans in closer to Silas, unintimidated. “Stop it,” he says.

Belatedly, Silas thinks it might be one of the things he likes best about Wren. He’s Silas’ opposite in a lot of ways, in almost every way, this silvery, holy thing to Silas’ red misted violence. He’s the smallest in the unit, the most breakable, the most helpless. And he’s never been afraid of Silas, not once.

Not when he was first dragged into the unit, scared and confused, after weeks of introductory surgeries and mutilation. He didn’t know exactly what he was, but he knew he was some kind of monster. He could see it in the way the soldiers, the surgeons had looked at him. He could see it in the distance between them, in how far below he had to look at them. He could see it in the unit, the way those people, not human, either, but super soldiers, had each flinched away from him the first time they had bared witness to his horror.

Except Wren. Wren has never been afraid of him.

Generally kind, soft spoken Wren is the only one of them that isn’t afraid to stand up to him. To raise his voice at him. To tell him no.

Silas bares his teeth and Wren raises his eyebrows. “Stop it.” He pulls his hand free again and Wren catches him quickly around the wrist. “Silas.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Silas seethes through his teeth.

Wren snorts and tips Silas’ face up by his chin. He’s taller than Silas like this. He blows air really hard into his face.

It’s so far from anything Silas was expecting to happen that he recoils, startled. “What —“ he starts, but Wren just does it again. His breath always smells like something Hal calls bubblemint, and it isn’t unpleasant but it’s absolutely weird.

Silas blinks up at him. “What?” He repeats.

Wren raises an eyebrow. “Are you done?”

“What?” Silas says. His hand still shakes in Wren’s grasp but his hands might always shake. The heat had subsided, his temper fleeing, apparently, from Wren’s cool, sweet breath.

“Hands in your lap,” he tells him.

“I —“

“Hands in your lap,” Wren repeats, releasing Silas’ wrist.

Obediently, Silas lowers his hands into his lap.

Gently, Wren angles his head, and the touch of his fingertips is featherlight as he inspects the side of Silas’ skull for any severe damage.

“I’m sorry,” Silas says finally.

“Good,” Wren agrees, which isn’t the answer Silas wanted or expected.

He frowns. His hands twitch in his lap, unrelated to the tremors. He rubs his chest with one hand, trying to quell it, and Wren says, stern, “still.”

Silas drops his hand back into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Wren clicks his tongue. The side of Silas’ head starts to sting as he dabs at it with isopropyl alcohol.

“I’m trying, Wren,” Silas tells him softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Silas,” Wren says, almost flat. “Do you remember when your skull was crushed?”

“No,” Silas says, because he doesn’t. His skull was crushed. He doesn’t remember a lot before the incident or a long time after, as a matter of fact.

“I know,” Wren agrees. “I do.”

Silas stops. He hadn’t, for a second, considered that. Maybe he just doesn’t have the disposable brainpower for critical thinking anymore, but he hadn’t ever stopped to consider that, yeah, of course Wren would remember. He didn’t have the fortune of having that memory wiped with a brain injury. “Oh,” he says.

“Mm,” Wren agrees.

“Sorry,” he says.

Wren snorts, but his voice is kind of distant, a little less prickly when he says, “it was bad, Silas, and they told us you had died. They didn’t think they were going to be able to fix you.”

He frowns again. “I wouldn’t die, Wren,” he says, “not while you’re still here. I wouldn’t leave you.”

“No?” Wren asks, and the thorns are back in his voice. “You’re not going to try to crush your own skull in front of me because you’re frustrated?”

It chastises Silas so thoroughly that he thinks he actually might blush. It also makes him feel even more stupid, but this time he doesn’t fight it. He’s earned it. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“Good,” Wren says again. He gently smooths his hand across the side of Silas’ head, sealing his bandages, before he tips Silas’ face up again so he can look at him properly. “Knock it off.”

Silas turns his face to press his cheek into Wren’s palm. “I’m sorry,” he tells him softly.

Sighing softly, Wren thumbs over his cheek.

“But you don’t have to worry about me, Wren,” he continues, just as soft. “I won’t die. I’ll crawl out of the ground if I have to and I’ll find my way back here to you. I’d never leave you,” he murmurs, and he knows it’s true, he’d thought it to himself a million times, but it almost knocks the wind out of him as he says it, how much he means it.

Sometimes, at his worst, Silas doesn’t think there’s anything human left in him. He doesn’t think he’s capable of anything more than violence. He doesn’t think himself capable of feeling.

Wren makes him feel, and everything Wren makes him feel is human. It’s kind of warm, the way he feels now, head in Wren’s hand, but he also feels like he might drown it. He doesn’t think he’d mind.

“There is nothing in the world this place could do to me that would keep me from you,” Silas says, and he doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything more. “Ever. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Slowly, Wren shakes his head. “I worry about you every day.”

Silas turns his head again to kiss his palm. “You don’t need to.”

He leans down to kiss his hairline in turn. “Stop giving me reason to.”

Silas hums softly, pleased. “I’ll be good.”

Wren laughs quietly. He kisses Silas’ hair again before he pulls away, settling onto the floor across from him again, settled next to Wren’s bed. He holds another pen out to Silas, this one unbroken. “Good,” he agrees. “Then let’s try again.”

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