#the scar was from my surgery last year

[represent-asian]

I finally feel confident enough to show you all my belly. It took a while for me to accept this scar, but I feel too hot to care now ✨️

[themeeplord]

TW for broken bones, surgery and cuts!

Put in the tags how many scars you have and how you got them

[pepperyduck]

growing old with kento nanami

word count: 2.8k

warnings: post-shibuya arc, descriptions of: surgery, recovery processes, depression, insomnia, trauma, therapy, coping mechanisms; pregnancy, marriage, crying. (18+ mdni!)

notes: this WILL have a part 2 and maybe 3! it will be very long so i'm splitting it up. even though the warnings seem kind of sad i promise it's a happy story :)

part 2 | masterlist

“marry me.”

proposing to you was nanami’s first conscious thought after being in a coma for 5 days after shibuya. you were reading a book, peacefully keeping him company in his hospital room, not even noticing he was awake. your eyes fluttered up from your book, back down, and then up again.

“marry me, please,” he repeated. you stayed silent for a moment, eyes widening and mouth dropping. he wasn’t supposed to wake up.

“kento, oh my god,” you yelped, dropping your book and rushing to the hospital bed to look at him. his eyes were open, only slightly, and the weakest smile he could bear rested on his lips. you gently settled your hands on each side of his face, barely hovering over the charred skin. he looked so tired, and yet, he was asking you to marry him.

kento groaned when you hugged him, but you couldn’t stop yourself, you squeezed him gently and with care. a weak hand rested on your back, in between your shoulder blades. he was too weak to repeat his question again. but the only thing on his mind was if you would be his wife.

“yes, yes, i’ll marry you,” you cried into his chest, wetting the fabric of the hospital clothing.

neither you nor nanami himself understood why he proposed to you in that moment. after waking up, his journey to recovery began with slow but steady progress. it took several months of intense rehabilitation and support from both sorcerers and doctors for him to regain his mobility. with their help, he was able to walk and move with a surprising degree of agility, nearly returning to how he was before shibuya. he also had a few cosmetic surgeries, in an attempt to minimize the scarring from all he had been through. within a few months, he was able to see his skin smooth out and hair grow from the side of his head. he wouldn’t look the same, ever; but you didn’t care. you loved kento, as he did you, the fact you were able to celebrate his recovery made you feel like the luckiest woman on the earth.

the loss of his previous strength and abilities weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his spirits. yet, amidst the struggles, he found solace in small victories and the support of those around him, your support meaning the most to him. although kento was deeply troubled by the realization that he could no longer pursue his life as a sorcerer, he came to accept it as the best possible outcome given the circumstances. this acceptance marked a pivotal shift in his perspective, allowing him to focus on rebuilding his life in new ways. before he turned in his resignation, he had made sure to recommend ino for a promotion. it was his last wish as a sorcerer.

after the almost year-long recovery process, kento surprised you with a beautiful ring, one of the ones you had talked about before he went on his trip. he proposed again, in the place you first met, this time without weak hands and barely audible words. he was able to find a job, one not nearly as draining as his job from before he returned to jujutsu – and began making plans for your wedding. the planning process didn’t take long, he wanted the wedding to make you happy.

your and kento’s wedding was outright beautiful. it was a stunning venue on a beach, hundreds of guests attended, friends and family alike. kento shed a few tears when he saw you walking down the aisle, clad in the most gorgeous attire he’d ever seen you wear, as his bride. his voice shook as he said his vows – vows that he wrote, almost a good 1,000 words – and he made you a million promises. promises he wouldn’t dare to break, promises to grow old together and live the life you both deserve.

at the reception, you told kento you had a surprise for him, and ran off to go get something from one of your bridesmaids. he was confused at first, because he didn’t need any more surprises, he was the happiest he’d ever been. a newlywed, married to you. but when you came back to the table, two small pieces of paper in your hands, he didn’t think it would be possible to be more joyous.

“we’re going to malaysia, for our honeymoon, kento,” you excitedly told him, showing off the two plane tickets scheduled in a week.

nanami was speechless, a huge smile with teeth plastered across his face, and he gave you the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.

when the two of you traveled to malaysia, kento was at peace. he had never seen a place so charming and breathtaking, he remained entranced by the culture and landscapes. the two of you spent your time hiking in nature, watching waterfalls and having lovely picnics wherever felt right. kento was so ecstatic, a smile constant on his face as he watched his surroundings with never-ending wonder. he thanked you a million times over.

you had never seen him be so alive. he promised you that one day, he was going to build a house, right on the beach, just for the two of you.

once you were back at your shared apartment, the reality of the past year and a half hit kento like a train. so much time had been spent recovering, constantly in and out of the hospital, planning for your wedding and improving both of your lives, he never had a chance to reflect on the genuine trauma he went through.

you didn’t notice for a while, but kento grew depressed, and restless at the same time. he began to spend his nights awake, insomnia brewing like piping hot tea, staying conscious until the early hours of the morning, doing any exercise or meditation to calm himself down and go to sleep. yet the visuals replayed over, and over, and over. the blood, the curses, the flames, the death. it hadn’t bothered him before, he thought, but he just never gave himself the time to soak it all in. and the depression – the depression was an all-new low for him. when kento wasn’t working, he was at his house, in the bed, while you were working or off running errands. you only noticed his new behavior when you woke up in an empty bed at 4 a.m. one night, 3 months after your honeymoon.

“mm…kento?” you called, footsteps heavily plopping down the hallway towards the bright lights of your kitchen. when you entered the room, you saw kento sprawled out on the floor, knees bent, with sweat rolling down his forehead. stepping over towards him, you kneeled down to look at him, and his head rolled to the side to look at you, too.

kento’s eyes looked so tired, the eyebags you hadn’t seen in years were full-fledged, his eyelids were droopy and exhausted. just by the emotion his eyes conveyed, you could see he was silently suffering, and he had been that way for a while.

“kento, what’s wrong?” you asked, bringing a hand to the side of his face to rub a thumb over his sweat-glistened cheek.

“i don’t…know,” he replied, defeat in his voice, “i can’t sleep. i haven’t slept. i don’t know.”

your husband always had a plan. he always knew everything; he always took care of the unknown and intimidating parts of life. for kento nanami to say “i don’t know” meant something was wrong, seriously wrong.

“sit up,” you softly demanded, gently pulling his shoulders off the floor. you sat on the ground, crossing your legs, and kento mirrored your actions, slumping when he finally sat up. “kento, honey,” you began, taking his hand in yours and resting it on his knee, “what’s going on?”

he was never one to talk about feelings, to talk about emotions felt deep down, because he wasn’t sure how to convey anything that would make him vulnerable. but as he sat in front of you, chest slightly heaving, such a burnt-out expression on his face, you knew there was something he wasn’t saying, but that something needed to be said.

“i can’t…” kento muttered, stopping himself for a second, “i can’t stop thinking.” he finally admitted, causing you to furrow your eyebrows with concern.

“about what, honey?” you sweetly asked, thumb caressing the back of his hand, tenderly rubbing back and forth.

“everything.” he stated, eyes flashing away from you to look at the floor next to him. you knew what he meant, though, but you had never seen him so pained from his work, especially from something that happened so long ago.

“tell me, baby,” you soothed him. you grabbed his other hand, causing him to look back at you pitifully. kento stayed silent for numerous moments, unsure as to what you could handle. but you were his wife, someone he was supposed to be able to confide in.

“so many people…died…” he mumbled, “i almost died. i saw what it looked like, i faced death.” his words began to come out quicker, “i’ve never seen that many people die, not even in shinjuku, and there was so much blood, and gojo almost, he almost-,” kento’s voice began to get shaky and uneven, a crack in his words as tears stung his eyes. “gojo almost died, too, and…i almost died, i saw it,” he repeated, “and yuuji – looked so upset, and takuma got hurt,” he clenched his eyes shut, words still coming out as a single string.

you moved closer, shifting onto your knees and wrapping kento in a comforting embrace. he clung to you immediately, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if trying to anchor himself in reality. his body shook with the intensity of his sobs, each breath coming in ragged gasps. the rawness of his anguish was palpable; his cries were filled with a pain that seemed almost too immense to bear. the image of the carnage replayed in his mind, a relentless cycle that he couldn’t escape. kento’s tears soaked through your shirt, repeating with his incoherent murmurs of horror. his face, once so composed, now twisted in an expression of deep, unrelenting despair.

kento wailed into your chest for hours that night, unable to stop his shuttering and repetition of the same phrases. he only calmed down when the sun began to rise, slowly illuminating the insides of your home. once kento parted his head from your chest, he looked you in the eyes, asking for help without saying a word. you wiped away his tears and grabbed the sides of his face, promising him you will get him anything he needs. kento fell asleep around 7 a.m. that morning, with the help of you running your fingers through his hair, shushing him and telling him it will all be okay.

he believed you. kento nanami put all his faith in you, his wife, to help him fix his problem he hadn’t an idea on how to mend. and so, you did everything in your power to help him. you spent countless hours on research, finding therapists that specialized in helping people like him, and you came across different mechanisms to help him cope. most of all, you continued your duties as a supportive wife, constantly telling him to get up and go to the supermarket, or out to the library. little by little, these smaller things combined together to work out, and kento began to get better. it was a breath of fresh air, as well as a weight lifted off both your and his shoulders, when he began to smile again, and shifted his view of life to a more positive outlook. he was alive, he began to feel alive again.

kento nanami was finally beginning to live the life he desired and deserved, all with you by his side.

a couple of weeks after kento’s 30th birthday, you came rushing into his office, tears of joy — and anxiety — pricked in your eyes. soon as his eyes landed on your seemingly upset expression, he was concerned.

“what’s wrong, dear?” he asked, pushing his chair away from the desk to stand up. you quickly closed the door behind you, leaning against it, and you dug around in your purse to pull out a small plastic baggie. when you tossed them to kento, it only took him a few seconds to realize what you were there to tell him.

“…you’re pregnant?” kento beamed, rushing over to you to wrap his arms around your waist. he quickly lifted you up in the air, grip so tight as if he never wanted to let go, your feet kicked happily.

kento always wanted to have kids, but being a sorcerer, he always thought it was too dangerous. you had some conversations about it after shibuya, and the both of you agreed that if it happened, it happened. and your children would have the best life possible, of course; but the glimmer of hope you had for having kids slowly burnt out over time with both of you increasing in age. in that moment, though, kento had so much hope and pure happiness, just at the thought of growing a little family with you.

the first few months of your pregnancy were hectic. between doctor’s appointments, mixed with morning sickness and fatigue, you thought it would never end. although you were happy to start a family, negative emotions easily overcame you, and kento noticed. he tried his best to be there for you, but his work schedule conflicted with your lives, and he soon realized he needed a change in his life. he needed to change your life and his, because he would be damned if he was going to return to the same boring life as he had before.

using his savings and bonus money from his job, he bought you a house. a real house, with acres of land and space for your family to grow, so much bigger than the previous apartment you shared with him. a house that he owned, a house that would contain all the joy for your future. he made sure it was grand, with a huge kitchen, and multiple bedrooms – not caring if only two of them were filled, or if all of them housed someone. before kento showed you the house, he set up a nursery.

“where are we going?” you inquired for about the 50th time that day. you had been in the car for hours, and all kento would say in return is, “you’ll find out.” nonetheless, you were excited, kento had always given you the best surprises, but you had never driven so far with him.

“we’re here.” kento stated, pulling into an empty concrete driveway big enough to fit 6 cars.

“where are we? did satoru move?” you asked, the huge display of a home proving to be a bit intimidating for you. kento didn’t reply this time, he only scurried out of the car to come and open your door, helping you get out with a kind hand.

you didn’t even understand what was going on until you walked up the front steps, and a few keys jingled in kento’s hands until he found the right one to unlock the door. the door to your new home.

“wait...wait. kento,” you said, standing still as your husband strode inside, “what is this?” the familiar tears of joy rushed to your eyes, and you just stood there with a shocked expression plastered on your face.

“this is our new home, honey,” kento chimed, reaching a hand out again to welcome you inside. you took his hand, albeit a little hesitantly, and stepped inside your house.

“oh, kento,” you blubbered, throwing your arms around his neck, tears beginning to trickle down your face.

you and kento explored the house for hours, marveling at all the space and beauty he bought for you. you thanked him a million times over, crying at each new space you discovered in the house, you felt sheer gratefulness for your husband and all he did for you. and kento, well, he did all of it to thank you, to thank you for never losing hope in him, and to thank you for the joy you’d made him experience. he was so undeniably in love with you, just as he had always been, and he promised himself he was going to do everything in his power to live the life he deserved with you. he was going to live up to every word he made in his vows, every promise he made with you, each and every word he had spoken to you was going to show in your lives.

even from the moment he met you, he knew he was going to spend his life with you.

taglist: @kundere20000000 @missakward123 @cherriee-ee @starlightanyaaa @lagataprrr @hazzelle-kento

let me know if you'd like to be added!

[doctorbeth]

Rabbit -- one of your cherished stuffed companions

Rabbit belongs to one of you dear people, and she gave me permission to share his story with you.:-) He was in the hospital about a year ago.

She initially wrote:

I live in South Florida and I am a big fan of your hospital! I have a stuffed rabbit plush animal, I believe he may have once been a Bugs Bunny plush, but to me he has always been "Rabbit" and I cannot find any leads online as to his "origins". Rabbit has been with me since I was 6 months old-- he's almost 24 years old! He's been my constant companion, and I still sleep with him and love him to this day. As you might imagine, this has led to many surgeries... 

Lately, Rabbit has had very thin fabric fur, and you can see through to the stuffing (mostly on his tummy). He's also in need of some new stuffing, as his current has gotten pretty clumpy over the years. My mom and I have talked about possibly giving him a  complete fur transplant on his tummy as we have applied patches before, but we aren't experts and don't want to cause him harm! He gets holes in his fabric very easily as he has become very delicate from love over the years... We are almost afraid to touch him with anything other than a hug! 

Now there were many photos attached to this note, and just fyi, for diagnosis the more photos the better, but you all don't need quite so many close ups... here are three critical photos from his diagnosis:

You can really see in the last two photos how thin his fabric was getting.... but he has such a cute face, and it's mostly embroidered, and I thought they may want to keep that, so.... there were many (actually 7!) options for his care. Keep in mind, he's over 2 feet long, too. Here were the treatment options (a spa could be added to any):

1) Given his style of fabric, and his artistic belly patches, and the fact that he has embroidered facial features, we could line his body with new fabric.  This reinforces his body and limbs while keeping his current appearance.  He would get all new body stuffing as part of this treatment, as the stuffing would need to come out for lining and it can't go back in.  But, a small amount of original stuffing would be preserved in a heart in his chest.  With this treatment, he could still wear, but you would see lining before stuffing.  Also, for future repairs, the lining could take the pressure of stitches away from his skin.  I would also minimize the older scarring on his side. 

2) I can do everything in option 1, plus line his head. 

3) I can do everything in option 1, plus line his head and ears. 

4) Instead of lining, we could recover just his belly and lower sides of limbs. His original skin (and old patches) would remain underneath, reinforcing the new fabric.  I would get as close as possible to his current fabric color and texture.  Perfect fabric matches are rarely possible, but if that is the case, I will send photos of him with transplant options so you can choose what you like best. I would also minimize his scars. 

5) I can recover his entire torso and limbs (leaving his head and ears as is). I would also minimize his scars.

6) I can recover his belly and lower side of limbs around his patches (keeping his artistic appearance). I would also minimize his scars.

7) I can recover his belly around his patches and recover the rest of his body and limbs. I would also minimize his scars.

His person thought about it, discussed it with her family, and ultimately decided on option 5: recover his entire torso and limbs but leave his head and ears as is. They also added a spa for Rabbit, which would treat the lumpiness of his stuffing as well as clean him.

So Rabbit flew to the hospital and began treatment with his bubble bath:

He got restuffed before recovering, so here is his heart being made and installed with a bit of his original stuffing:

I started by recovering his gray areas, leaving the white of his pawpads and tail original. At this point, I sent chubbiness approval photos and let his person decide whether she still wanted to recover the white (which was in better shape than the gray):

His person wrote: "Wow, he looks amazing!! His chubbiness looks perfect, I can't wait to hold him! I would like to recover his white patches of fur"

So Rabbit got closed up, and the white got recovered, and then he was ready to fly home!

Approved, Rabbit flew home to Florida. When he arrived back cross country, his person wrote:

Rabbit is home!! Thank you so, so much!! He looks amazing, he's soooo soft and cuddly, I can't wait to spend many many more years with my darling angel rabbit! I cannot thank you enough Doctor, you're truly an angel!! I'm so blessed to have found you and your lovely hospital!! My mom and I can't stop gushing over how soft and cuddly Rabbit is, he's like brand new! I'll continue to treasure him for the rest of my life with your help!

[alessiasfreckles]

Could you do kiss roulette number 33 with Alessia

soft and sweet - alessia russo x reader

kiss roulette 33: a kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

———

sometimes, when alessia was in a particularly soft mood, she liked to take her time, trying to kiss every mark, every freckle, every scar on your body.

she‘d work her way up, starting at your calves. she would press a kiss to the few freckles you had there, then move to your knees, kissing the scars there. the first time she did it she brushed a finger over them, tracing their outlines.

“what are these from?” she asked, looking up at you.

“that one is from falling off my bike and scraping my knee, and the other one is from a bad tackle when i was playing on the school playground as a kid.” you explained.

she paused at the one from when you fell off a bike, which was pinker, fresher than the other. “when’s it from?”

“last year,” you admitted, blushing when she rolled her eyes fondly and kissed the scar gently.

she kept going up your thighs and your stomach, taking the time to trace the entirety of a large scar on your hip, making you shiver.

“what about this one?”

“oh, i fell out of a tree when i was 8. i was hanging from a branch by my legs and arms upside down and fell onto a rock.”

“ouch,” she murmured, and kissed it multiple times, working her way up until she’d kissed all of it.

your cheeks pinkened as she pressed more kisses to your torso, on little moles and freckles you had, especially when she got to the ones on your chest. she took her time, making sure to kiss each and every one, and you squirmed as she kissed the freckle on the edge of your nipple.

when she kissed the freckle on the curve where your neck met your shoulder, you hummed in pleasure. she made her way down each shoulder, stopping at each scar to kiss it gently.

“what’s this one from?” she asked after kissing a thicker scar on your forearm.

“i broke my arm when i was 10, they ended up doing surgery on it.”

“ouch,” she said, and kissed it again.

you started explaining the ones on the palm of your hand before she even asked, knowing, when she looked up at you, your palm in her hand, what she wanted to know.

“that one near the bottom is from when i tried skateboarding when i was like, 16. the board stopped moving but i didn’t, i scraped my hand when i fell. the one further up is from a surgery i had on my hand. i was very accident-prone as a child.”

“just as a child?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“i think you’ll find you’re the one with a reputation for being clumsy, not me,” you teased.

she chuckled and kissed the scars on your hand.

she did the same on your other arm, making sure to kiss any freckles there as well, and when she got to your hand you flipped it, so you were cradling her cheek.

“hey,” you said, making her look up at you. “don’t get me wrong, this is very sweet, but why are you doing this? i mean, i’m not complaining, i’m just curious.”

“because every part of you deserves to feel loved,” alessia said. “every scar, every freckle, all of you.”

you could have melted into a puddle there and then.

“i love you, lessi,” you told her, unable to put how you were feeling into any other words.

she kissed you on the lips, just once, softly. “i love you, y/n.”

[medusapelagia]

Wiggly Wednesday 🧠🪱

I've been being tagged in wiggly Wednesdays last week but Wednesdays are hell and time zones are a mess so... thank you to @penny00dreadful and @pearynice for the tags and sorry for the delay! And thank you to @just-my-latest-hyperfixation who tagged me this week!

This is a brain worm I'm a bit scared of sharing but I like it a lot so I hope everything will be fine XD

TW: gender dysphoria, FtM Steve Harrington and Seahorse dad

Stevie Harrington, after years of diets and sports imposed on her by her mom (who always told her that she was too big and not feminine enough) starts to hide her body under huge male sweaters and cargo pants.

She meets Eddie, who is working many jobs and he’s a shop assistant at Stevie's favorite store. Eddie, instead of directing her toward the female section of the store like all the other shop assistants, helps her find what she's looking for in the male section.

With Eddie's help, and his love, Stevie starts to become more comfortable with herself, and finally admits to herself, and her boyfriend, that she doesn't feel comfortable in her body. 

Stevie, now Steve, starts to use male pronouns and stops pretending to be who he's not. He starts taking hormones, and every time he looks at himself in the mirror he likes his reflection more, but there's always something that bothers him.

When Steve tells Eddie he would like to get a top surgery, he's super supportive. They save as much as possible, and when Steve wakes up from his surgery Eddie is always at his side.

When, a few years later, Steve gets pregnant with their baby, the image in the mirror is exactly what he always wanted: his rounded stomach is hiding the most precious person in the world, his top surgery scars are covered in stars tattoos Eddie himself draw on him and he has never felt so beautiful in his life.

Tagging a few people to know their steddie brainworms: @vicecapitain, @oiveyzmir, @katyawriteswhump, @hbyrde36, @soaringornithopter

[warping-realities]

The Last Curse of the Dark Lord

(Revised and improved version)

It’s all over; it’s finally all over. Harry couldn’t quite believe that, after all this time, all his losses, Voldemort had finally been vanquished. The young lad began to crack a timid smile in the midst of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, only to be hit by a wave of energy he’d never felt before in his life, accompanied by the cold voice of the Dark Lord whispering to him.

“You might think you’ve defeated me, Potter, but even in death, the Dark Lord's revenge comes for you. This is my final curse, and it will take everything you love and make Dumbledore , that muggle lover, worst nightmare came to life. This goes for both of you; he who mixes with pigs must live like one.”

At that moment, the boy lost consciousness, unaware that his famous scar was fading away, leaving behind flawless skin.

...

“You didn’t do what I asked. You never treated Harry like a son. He didn’t know anything but neglect and often cruelty because of you. The best that can be said is that he at least escaped the horrible damage you inflicted on the poor lad sitting between you.”

Harry dreamt of an old man with long, white hair and a beard. Sitting in one of the armchairs in his aunt and uncle’s sitting room, he could’ve sworn he recognised the man, but that was impossible; the Dursleys would never let a doddering old git like that cross their threshold, let alone sit in their pristine living room and speak to them in such a way. As he strained to remember where he knew the old geezer from, the dream slowly unravelled as the lad experienced a succession of even more bizarre dreams before finally falling into a deep sleep.

...

Harry awoke in his room at his aunt and uncle’s posh house. For a moment, he thought he was back in his old room at number 4 Privet Drive, but that didn’t make sense, just like those odd dreams he knew he could never talk about in that house. Not that he had the slightest interest in doing so; he wasn’t some sort of weirdo, after all. The dreams involved a school of magic and a Lord… Vol… Vold… something. Bizarre. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and sat up in bed. For a moment, he thought about putting on his glasses, but then remembered he hadn’t needed them for years, ever since his aunt and uncle had forked out for an expensive corrective surgery. Blimey, the Dursleys would give him and Dudley anything they wanted, as the room full of tech gadgets and boxing equipment attested. Still feeling drowsy, the lad scratched his powerful pecs, sensing he was forgetting something very important.

He forced his sluggish mind to try to remember and… he knew there was something planned with Dudley, something his cousin really wanted, and he, as his best mate, would go along. No, no, that wasn’t right, an annoying voice nagged in his head, soon drowned out by a louder and much thicker voice. Mate, today was an important day; he just needed to remember why, but thinking had never been his strong suit. Ever since they were little, Dudley had been the leader, and he was a good follower. Dudley was much brighter, after all. And speaking of the devil, the blonde, muscular lad appeared in his cousin’s doorway at that moment.

“Oi, Goblin! You still haven’t got up, sleepyhead? Get a move on; today’s the big day!”

Harry frowned at the nickname he loathed. His cousin was the only one who didn’t risk getting a proper beating for addressing him like that, although he rarely called him that inside the house for fear of irritating his parents. Dudley exuded confidence, dressed in the smart attire the Dursleys so loved to see on both of them. If only they knew… they’d do nothing but come up with some excuse for the pair’s antics, as always. Letting his cousin pass unharmed, he scratched his head, lost in foggy thoughts.

“Yeah, I know it’s the big day, Big D… just can’t remember why.”

“Potter, how stupid are you? Thank goodness I’m the brains around here! Go have your breakfast; Father wants a word with you before we head out. Put on some clothes and shave that scruff; you know how he gets when he thinks we’re slacking.”

Harry felt butterflies in his stomach, the fear of his uncle’s explosion settling in. But why? Uncle Vernon had never raised his voice at him. The man treated him like a prince.

“Potter, you idiot! You shouldn’t have drunk so much last night. Bloody Piers and his bets,” the young lad muttered as he grabbed the first bits of clothing he found on the floor.

He descended the stairs, still groggy, stopping beside the cupboard under the stairs and staring at it for a few seconds, with the strange image of his uncle locking him in there. Nonsense. He burst out laughing just imagining it.

“What the hell was in those drinks?” he thought, taking a few steps before stopping again, looking at the coffee table in the living room covered in photos of him and his cousin. He scratched his head, with the odd feeling that the images should be moving. If Uncle Vernon heard such nonsense, he could really lose his temper. For some reason, he was surprised to see himself in those photos, as if, for some strange reason, he shouldn’t be there.

The first image showed a young Petunia, flanked by Harry and Dudley on a winter outing about a year after he moved in with them. He was astonished at how thin he looked.

The second was a photo of Vernon with the two boys in his office at Grunnings, the drill company he was director of before making a very profitable deal with old Mr. Mason some years back and then expanding the business into other areas. That business agreement guaranteed them the manor where they lived today among many other advantages.

Harry remembered that day well; after all, it was his twelfth birthday, and he deserved to have that day all to himself. As a reward for giving in, he got a video game and a television just for himself, so he wouldn’t have to share with Dudley, which his cousin thought was a brilliant idea, perhaps because it had been his idea. Strangely, the image of a woman screaming at the sight of an owl flying through the living room window popped into his mind. What the hell was that? An owl in the sitting room? Harry had never been the imaginative type; that drink really must have been poisoned. Piers was going to get a right hiding when Harry saw him again.

Next to it, there was a black and white photo of him and Dudley at Smeltings, the school they both attended until a few days ago. That one was taken on their first day of school. Once again, Harry was flooded with old memories, him and Dudley trying on the uniform that barely fit the pair’s bulk, just before Harry’s eleventh birthday, the two of them engaging in a lively tussle with the sticks that were part of the school uniform.

Of course, the two later used those sticks on far more interesting targets. Finally, there was a photo of the two of them at 15 years old in the boxing ring, the sport responsible for turning all the fat they’d accumulated over the years into muscle power. It was in the boxing team that the two earned their nicknames: Big D for Dudley, thanks to his impressive build, and Goblin for Harry, who, being the shortest in the team had to resort to some tactics that were seen as vicious by some people, earning him that moniker.

Still with the memory of those fun afternoons in mind, the lad entered the kitchen, greeted by the smile on his uncle’s face.

“Morning, Uncle Vernon.”

“Harry, me boy, I need to have a word with you… what are you doing?” The man stopped upon seeing the lad serving a plate for him.

“Sorry, Uncle, is there something wrong with the eggs?”

“No, they’re perfect, but why are you serving? You’ve never done anything like that in your life. Hahaha. Clever lad, trying to please your old uncle. Sit down, Harry; you don’t need to try and butter me up. I just want to ask you a favour.”

Harry sat down at the table, pensive. What the hell was happening to him that day? Was it just the hangover?

“I know where you and Dudley went last night. Don’t get me wrong, lad; I reckon every healthy boy should enjoy life. But I ask you not to let your aunt see. Son, your dad... he was a right piece of work, sorry to say it again, but it’s true. That man could drink properly, and that’s what worries Petunia. So, keep it for Mallorca. Enjoy yourselves; after all, it’s the first time you and Dudley are going off alone to our seaside house.”

Harry’s first instinct was to shout at his uncle to defend his dad, but why would he do that? His dad had died in a car accident, probably drunk, after dragging his mum around the country. Harry liked a good drink too, but he and Dudley would have to be more discreet, especially if the Dursleys had noticed. For a long time, the two lads had avoided showing all their activities, even knowing that the Dursleys would support them; but what they didn’t see, they didn’t feel. And it was precisely by remembering this the lad broke into a smile and spoke to his uncle.

“I’ll go, Uncle, but I assure you that what happened last night was a one-off. Dudley and I’ve never drunk before; it was all Gordon and Piers’s idea. I swear.”

“I knew it! I told Petunia yesterday: ‘Tunia, our boys wouldn’t do something like that. We’ve raised them well. They’re good lads, and we’re good parents. Isn’t that right, lad?’”

“You’re the best, Uncle! Now I’ll go get changed; after all, it’s the big day.” Mallorca! How could he forget? They’d been organising this for months, finally off on holiday alone to do whatever they wanted. He’d been a bit slow if he’d forgotten about it.

After getting ready and grabbing his bags, Harry went to find his cousin, who was already waiting for him in the shiny new car he’d received as a birthday present for his eighteenth. Harry was counting the days to his own birthday, knowing he’d get a machine like that too. He and Big D were itching to race each other. They’d wanted to do that for years, although Petunia had been inexplicably firm in her refusals, probably due to how she lost her sister.

And speaking of her, his aunt was waiting for him in the front garden while Dudley laughed at seeing his dad struggle to get into the sporty car he’d driven back from the airport. Aunt Petunia turned to Harry, looking at him with her pale eyes, which for a brief moment made the lad think will be filled with resentment, but which instead showed adoration.

“Harry, dear, I may not like your father; he wasn’t worthy of your mother, but Lily… Lily was eccentric. If you knew about the horrible boy she was hanging about with when we were young! But when you lost your mother, I lost my sister. But she left you to me, and I’ve done everything to make sure you had everything you wanted, just like Dudders. My two boys all grown up! Off on your own! Do take care of each other!”

“Don’t worry, Aunt Petunia; Dudders and I will look after ourselves. I promise we’ll call every day!” If we remember, thought the lad, smiling inwardly.

“Get a move on, Potter! Time for a bit of fun!” shouted his cousin from the car.

....

A few days later, with his stubble at a length he knew would drive the girls wild, Harry strolled down the sunny streets of Magaluf, heading to meet his cousin, grinning without a care in the world as if he owned the place.

Upon arriving at the beach, Dudley was easy to spot; he was easily the biggest bloke on the shore, and it was hard to believe his cousin was only eighteen. With a mischievous grin, Big D pointed to a group of younger boys.

“Potter, look at those little nippers; they’re begging for a beating.”

“True, but they can wait,” Harry replied. Not used to being challenged, Dudley turned to his cousin.

“And can I ask why, Goblin?”

“The reason, Big D, is those two lovely birds eyeing us up. The redhead’s mine!” Harry replied.

“And you reckon you can pull a fit bird like that, Potter?”

“You know I can, Big D. Once they’ve had a taste, they always come back,” Harry said, pointing to his member.

“They love my magic wand!”

[pangur-and-grim]

my friendship with Grim has changed so much over the last 10 years! she was never a cuddly cat, until her surgery last year - she kept trying to scratch her stitches, so the only time I would take her cone off was if she was in my lap. and she’s pretty damn smart, so it took no time to realize “if I want to groom myself properly without this fucking cone, I need to be a lap cat for a week.” and even after the cone came off, she’s remained a lap cat, which is actually extremely painful as she likes to knead with her claws out, and I have all these weird scars on my legs now from being unable to say “hey Grim, please dont put your claws through my skin, that really quite hurts”

[henrioo]

°•*⁀➷ NOT TODAY: ZORO AND SANJI

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : "Married life with young children has several difficulties, one of which ends up being the lack of time for intimate and romantic moments. It looks like today you and your husbands will have a chance to work it out... Or not"

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : MILDLY SUGGESTIVE BUT NOTHING REAL, TRANS! MASC READER, TRANS! MALE READER, POLY RELATIONSHIP (Sanji and Zoro also date each other but it's not explicit), any mentions of pregnancy but the children look like you three so you can imagine what you want, married life, mentions about not having time for your children and partners, INTIMACY, SEXUAL TOUCHES (kissing and stuff), child wetting the bed

꒰ WC ꒱ : 1,4k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : So here another family fluff story, trying now to really go back posting so everyone can enjoy, I have a lot of stories finished so won't be a problem. Enjoy everyone, you know about fem and I thanks for the new followers I'm happy for having support in this hard time for me!

Finally, after an extremely long and tiring day at work, and with double effort of getting home and having to make up for your twins and give them all the attention you couldn't give them while you were away. You and your two husbands found yourself putting the twins in bed, finally able to take a nice hot shower and lie down on their huge bed full of blankets so they could sleep.

You were in the middle of the two men while Zoro was mumbling about muscle pain and Sanji was hugging your waist and hiding in your neck, Sanji always missed you more, since he was just at home taking care of the twins and unlike Zoro that arrived home in the afternoon, you only arrived home at night. So he always wanted to hug you a little and exchange a few kisses to satisfy the longing before you fell asleep peacefully.

You calmly stroked his blonde hair as you had your eyes closed and let your head start to relax to sleep, Zoro had one leg over yours and Sanji was curled up against you like a needy puppy, everything was exactly perfect in your perfect life with your two husbands and two wonderful daughters.

Usually the three of you slept considerably quickly, but today the mood was a little more… different. Sanji started kissing your neck, then he started with small bites and then his hand was going under your pajama shirt and starting to caress the scars from your top surgery. You mumbled a little sleepily as you opened your eyes to try and understand what your blonde husband was wanting.

“San?” You asked, a little confused about his touches, soon he was pressing his crotch against your leg.

“Dog in heat” Zoro teased and turned to grab you on the other side while staring at Sanji provocatively.

“Shut up idiot… I wasn’t the one who was jerking off in the bathroom moaning his name” Sanji huffed irritably and you smiled realizing that even after years of marriage these two still fought about everything.

“Well, I'm not the one wearing provocative clothes and sticking my ass out every time he comes over trying to get him to pay attention to me” he countered again and now they were both embarrassed for having their secrets exposed.

“Okay, okay, no fighting kids” you laughed and stroked their hair at the same time “What are you up to?”

“We miss you…” Sanji murmured and rubbed his nose against your neck while Zoro hugged your waist tightly.

"You've been a terrible husband, neglecting us..." Zoro said and bit his ear irritably.

“Sorry, I was trying to be the man of the house to support this needy housewife and the gym addict” You laughed, you always teased Sanji by calling him a housewife and you also liked to say that Zoro only pretended to work at a gym to work out all day. Of course there was no offense or criticism in this, especially because they both said that you were the impotent husband who was married to work and forced his wife to have a lover... although in this last part you were a little hurt at being called sexually impotent.

“Well… Now you managed to make two men very angry and excited” Sanji smiled mischievously as he inhaled your perfume.

“And you know that the majority always wins…” Zoro said laughing and soon you were sandwiched between the two strong men.

"Oh yes? So you two are going to make a sandwich with me and punish me for not paying attention to my perfect husbands?” You said, sighing as you felt their hands becoming bold as they began to touch you.

“Something like that…” Zoro whispered as he moved closer to finally kiss you and begin the fun.

Before you could finally make up for lost time and have a passionate and exciting night, small footsteps were heard in the hallway and the door was quickly pushed open completely. The door was always propped open in case your daughters needed to come after you during the night… And it seems that was exactly what had happened now.

You jumped in fright as you pushed the two men hard enough for them to let out groans of pain. You looked at the door and at two daughters illuminated by the hallway light that was always on. The two wore matching pajamas, although Sora's were green pajamas with yellow ducks and Kuina's were yellow with green trees. They both had blonde hair and Sanji's characteristic eyebrows, however, their skin tone was a mix of theirs and Zoro's.

Sora was sniffling and her face was swollen and wet as she carried the huge stuffed monkey she got from Luffy, while Kuina had a determined face and was holding her sister's hand tightly. They might be twins and be the same age, but Kuina always acted like an older sister for everything Sora needed, she was really similar to Zoro and the woman she was named after. Sora wasn't exactly fragile, as she had enormous strength in her fists and legs, however, she used to be more sensitive and affectionate and this resulted in many tears. Kuina also had her sensitive moments, as she always cried in children's films, but she liked to act tough and you wouldn't stop her.

"Dad! Sora wet the bed!” Kuina screamed as if declaring war and you would have laughed if you knew it wouldn't make the situation worse. When her secret was revealed, Sora cried louder and clung to her sister for shelter.

When you heard the cries and all the commotion, the three of you were already extremely awake and all the excitement had been replaced by worry for two girls. You got up faster and were soon kneeling in front of the two girls, accepting Sora who crawled into your arms, whimpering.

“Oh, honey… It’s okay, there’s no need to cry” you stroked her hair, smiling and trying to calm her down. “You did well, Kuina, but next time don't be so... Loud, your sister might be ashamed of this” you explained calmly, knowing that Kuina wouldn't take it as criticism but rather as a way to evolve.

"Serious? But there’s no need to be ashamed, Sora!” She said, patting her sister gently on the head, “Grandpa Zeff always says Daddy wet the bed a lot as a kid!” She smiled, thinking that this would help her sister to be less ashamed of the situation, which in fact happened, as Sora calmed down and looked at her sister, surprised and now calmer knowing that this was normal. In the background, you could hear Sanji muttering about how he was going to kill his father and Zoro laughing at him.

“Okay, okay, why don’t we change Sora and put you two to sleep again?” You suggested using your shirt to wipe Sora's wet face a little.

“Can we sleep with you tonight, dad?” Sora sniffed, looking at you with those tearful puppy eyes... And of course you weren't able to deny it, even if it meant that your night of wild love had gone to waste.

Some time later, you were all in bed. Sora was clean and in new pajamas, this time a yellow one with cute seaweed and of course her sister also wanted to change to match, and now she was wearing a green one, but with goldfish. Kuina was between you and Sanji already drooling over him, while Sora was curled up in a ball on Zoro's chest who held her tightly to comfort and protect her from everything. You were in the middle of the two and, every now and then, you stroked their hair just to hear your girls' soft breaths.

“Well, they told us to enjoy our honeymoon” Sanji sighed, trying to make a drama about not being able to have a night of love with the two of you, but soon he started laughing softly, making you both laugh too.

“Yeah… and you still wanted one more” Zoro laughed, thinking that if with two children it was already difficult to have a little intimacy, with three it would be impossible.

“I can't help it, I wanted a mini marimo to complete the collection” He laughed and then yawned, feeling sleep taking over him.

“We’ll think about the mini marimo later… For now, let’s just sleep and… Well, maybe these two will stay with Zeff for the weekend” you said, closing your eyes.

“Does it mean what I think it means?” Sanji asked excitedly.

“Be quiet, perverted cook,” Zoro snorted at him.

“Yes, yes, no fights or otherwise, I’ll go with the girls to Zeff” you laughed trying to threaten them.

“Well… You’re an essential part, but not mandatory…” Zoro teased and you scowled, these two were screwed with you when the three of you were finally alone.

[doberbutts]

Also just because I've been getting some harassing anons and replies on my post ever since that one self-identified Zionist blog got BIG MAD at me for posting the Palestinian flag (ironic considering like 3 days later when I reblogged something Jewish I had people then BIG MAD at me for that too.......)

Skoll, I took on knowing I would probably have to euthanize him for his aggression. From the very beginning the deal was that I was his last stop since he was a known abuse court case dog who was taken from his most recent owners and languishing in a kennel environment but deemed otherwise unadoptable due to severe aggression. The agreement was that I would have him for however long it would take to determine if he was fixable and then either I'd fix it and keep him or I'd euthanize. He bit me three separate times when we were still learning each other, and then attacked me randomly for the crime of petting his head, an act of affection he normally would approach me to request. I euthanized him at the advice of literally everyone involved with his case, and a few days after I euthanized him I got a letter from the state telling me either I put him down or animal control would take him and do it themselves. Pennsylvania is very strict on what they consider a mauling or a maiming and the resulting bite from his attack was very severe. I have had multiple people, including vets, neurologists, and behaviorists, tell me that they think he had rage, a seizure disorder which causes uncontrollable aggression, when I describe what his random bouts of attempting to attack literally the first thing he locked eyes on looked like.

Tiki, I rescued because I wanted a tiny dog and a dog that would live longer than a doberman, because dobe lifespans are hideously short due to their health problems. Within about 5 minutes of driving away with her, I realized she was very, very sick. We stopped at the vet before we even got her home. Over the next several months and constant ER visits we discovered she had hydrocephalus and also an immune condition that was slowly eating her lungs. She crashed during a procedure that was supposed to be our last attempt at fixing the lung problem as by then we knew the hydrocephalus would kill her anyway and we were trying to extend her life as long as possible. I dropped her off for the procedure, they called me on my way home, and I turned around so I could be there to say goodbye.

Creed died from cancer 🤷‍♂️ mast cell cancer is THE most common cancer in dogs as a species and it's a genuine coin toss if removing the initial tumor fixes it or if it's too late by the time you notice, because it forms on scar tissue so it hides by looking like a regular scar. Creed had a bunch of nicks and scrapes from running around in the woods on our hikes. One of the earliest scars he ever got is what killed him in the end. Losing him is what turned my blog from what it used to be, all dogs all the time, to what it is now. Ironically, he lived roughly the average lifespan for a doberman at 7.5 years old.

Phoebe, I was not involved in the decision to euthanize her. She came to me once again very sick, and I did my best to fix the problem, but it seemed to be a lot bigger than me or her other owner had expected. Her other owner took her to multiple specialists more local to her, and finally we came to a tentative diagnosis of a liver shunt. Her condition degraded rapidly and she went blind and began having seizures, and her other owner made the choice to say goodbye. Surgery was not an option due to her already bad condition not being certain she would actually survive anesthesia. I knew that she was not doing well, but I was not informed that she had died until several months later, despite my asking for updates because I suspected she'd passed. I don't disagree with the choice, I just wish I'd known when it happened. What we thought was just a chronic hookworm infestation and possible pancreatitus from the long-term damage from the hookworms turned out to be much more serious, and deadly, when it stopped responding to treatment.

If you have any questions on my capability as a dog owner to actually keep dogs alive, I'd like to direct you to the fact that Creed and my other actually-purchased-from-a-breeder dogs have lived good long lives. I keep getting sick dogs in rescue despite being told they are healthy, and that is exactly why I refuse to rescue dogs anymore. I'm tired of breaking my heart while cleaning up a problem someone else created. This is the part of rescue that doesn't get shared- what happens when someone loses the rescue lottery again and again and again with sick and mentally unwell dogs that are doomed to die before they've had a chance to truly live? I'm tired of being that someone. I'm tired of loving dogs and hemorrhaging money in a desperate attempt to fix them and feeling the weight of their bodies in my arms when that wasn't enough and they die anyway.

At least I can say Creed had a good fulfilled life as my constant companion, even if he didn't live nearly long enough compared to what I wanted.

[leveloneandup]

Christen Press on returning to soccer following ACL tear, season three of The RE—CAP podcast

Christen Press, the all-time leading goal scorer in Stanford history, has starred for club and country since graduating in 2010. With the USWNT, she has won two World Cups and scored 64 international goals. Press has played overseas professionally, including a stint at Manchester United, as well as in the NWSL with the Chicago Red Stars, Utah Royals and currently with Angel City FC.

After tearing her ACL in June 2022, Press required four surgeries and an arduous recovery. She returned to her first training session on Tuesday, after which she spoke to SBJ about her rehab and the new season of her podcast. Along with Tobin Heath, Megan Rapinoe and Meghan Klingenberg, Press founded a media and lifestyle brand called RE—INC in 2019. She and Heath are the co-hosts of the RE—CAP podcast, which returns for its third season on Thursday. The first episode includes appearances by USWNT legend Abby Wambach and author and podcast host Glennon Doyle.

On returning to the pitch . . .

I am currently in the car driving home from my first training. I would say the road to recovery happens very slow, and then yet it happens all at once. I have been back in the team environment for almost four months. So it's been a long time that I've been integrated into the environment, and it took four months for me to get ready to be in a warmup and a passing pattern — really simple, basic stuff. And I felt very ready for it. I felt almost underwhelmed by how easy it was because I've done a lot more complicated things, and yet it was also entirely overwhelming and joyful to be so connected to my teammates and be celebrated in the way that I have been these last two days.

I'm very grateful for that. They say it's the hope that kills you, and as I drive home, I just have this big smile on my face because I can't help it. I can't help hoping. I can't help believing that I'm going to make it back, and it's going to be everything that I see in my head. I'm relentlessly optimistic, I'm naively positive, and I like that about myself, and I'm not I don't intend to change it. I think the way that it left me feeling was just like, yes, I can do this.

On monitoring her rehab . . .

I'm a person of devices, so I have quite a toolkit, I'd say, of ways that we're tracking and measuring. The truth is we're really still working through issues with my knee, and I have chronic scarring of the knee, so I can experience some discomfort and some swelling that could lead to more scarring, which is incredibly rare, because most people don't scar after a couple months after their surgery. I'm now over nine months for my surgery and still at risk of scarring. So it just means that I have to try very carefully with how much impact my knee can take.

We're being careful, but we're progressing. In terms of my overall fitness, what my GPS has said is that I've got to like 60% of a match load, which is all that I really need to get in terms of volume. And yet, in the warmup and the passing pattern today, it felt like I played a 90-minute game. I was so fatigued. There's training, and then there’s really training. There's no way to get fit for football, except for playing football. And I've done a ton of running, I've done a ton of lifting, and now it's time to play.

On how deep she gets into data . . .

My performance staff would laugh because they said they've never worked with a player that cares so much. So right now, I wear a Polar Watch that I was given in like 2015 from the national team. It's just old school. And I wear my Apple Watch, which is connected to my GPS so I can see all my data live, from heart rate to distance to speed to all that. And then I do sleep with an Oura ring — although I'm not endorsing any of these products, I'm not connected to any of these products — but I do sleep with an Oura ring and track my sleep and my stress levels.

On season three of the podcast . . .

Our show really is about authenticity, and it's about creating a more inclusive space for sports and including diversity of perspective. And so that means we have hard conversations, and we have honest conversations and we have vulnerable conversations, and we have a lot of fun — the same spirit and joy that you saw last year during the World Cup edition of the show. We're back, and we're bigger than ever.

On the origin of the creating the podcast . . .

I never thought I would be in media. I think that's even more true of Tobin. There's two typical paths for athletes after soccer, and it’s coaching and broadcast. ‘So Christen, do you want to be a coach?’ ‘No.’ ‘So Christen, then you must want to be a broadcaster? I was like, ‘No.’

That's an interesting part of the story, but first and foremost, we decided to launch this show as current and active players, and that's unique and different. It's not really a stepping-back-from-soccer thing. It's current players trading stories and having a little bit more space to dictate the narrative.

And then secondly, we really approach this as business leaders. This is our business, this is our company. We are a 3C company: content, community and commerce. The most amazing thing about women's sports is the community, and we're trying to build the coolest women's sports community in the world in our membership, and we're feeding that with amazing content.

And I think because we have such an authentic and vulnerable relationship with our audience that we've developed over the last five years that we've been building this business, it made sense for Tobin and I to be our first piece of content that was really more large scale and more widely accessible. But the plan will be to find like-minded people that sit at the intersection of sports, progress and equity, to continue to hear stories from an insider's perspective. It really disrupts the industry in that way.

On topics they plan to cover in season three . . .

We're going to be talking about women's health, particularly in sport, which is obviously a really hot topic, and representation in sport — how we make it more diverse and equitable for more people, be it across the gender spectrum, the orientation spectrum, across different races and classes. I think that's incredibly important. Soccer in America is an upper-middle class sport, and almost everywhere else in the world, it's a very accessible sport that's found on the street. That's really the spirit of football, so that's really important to us.

On the role of athletes as activists . . .

The interesting thing about the community that surrounds women's sports in particular is they care about a lot more than the sports, and the values transcend beyond the pitch. And that's about diversity, inclusion, progress. And I think that's just inherent because it is disruptive in itself to see women embodied, powerful, unapologetic and also very celebrated the way that you do in the professional sports world today. The people that it's drawing in are the same people that want to march, and they want to create change and they want to stand up for what they believe in.

It's so embodied in the Angel City culture. The professional team that I play for has just nailed it. And when you're in the stadium, it's electric, and win or lose, it's a different type of vibe than any other sports arena I've been in because there's a connection point for all of the audience. They care about more than the X's and O's. They care about what we represent to them, the progress and the opportunity that we as women athletes represent.

On the versatility of women athletes . . .

It's always been that way in women's sports, and it's just becoming more popularized. I think the expectation is that we would always be multifaceted as women and expected to do multiple jobs in multiple roles, if we were going to have careers. And so it really did take to me and my personality to be a player and also be a leader off the field, on the US women’s national team, going through the Equal Pay lawsuit, going through the reestablishment of our players association.

For me, it was such a balancing sense of purpose that I continue to create space in my life for that, and I think that's what we've done with our business, RE—INC. RE—INC is reimagined, incorporated. We set out, in 2019 when we started this company, to reimagine the status quo, to reimagine the way women are seen and experienced in sports. And it's a very bold and ambitious goal, and we do it in a multifaceted way. And I'm really, really proud of that.

[cutielando]

Hi! I was wondering if i could get a fluff/comfort piece for Jay Halstead. Last year I fell off of my horse and shattered my heel bone and shredded tendons in my foot, and I am in chronic pain every single day because of it and it takes a lot out of my mental health.

Maybe you could do like a hurt/comfort. You can come up with the story line or use the chronic pain for example. Thank you so much!

I just feel like Jay would be the most carin, comforting bf, like massaging your foot, even with the ugly scar on it from surgery and taking care of you so on days where the pain is to bad you don’t have to get up and walk when you don’t have to. Ugh I want my own Jay 🤣

chronic | j.h.

a/n: i am so sorry you are going through this, i can't even imagine the kind of pain you must be in every single day. you are so strong, i hope you get better soon!! this is a little short because i ran out of things to write about it, but i still hope you like it !!

warnings!!: mentions of chronic pain

my masterlist

You wouldn't consider yourself a clumsy person.

You were the clumsiest.

Nothing around you was really safe for you. It didn’t matter what you were doing, you would always manage to somehow injure yourself.

Jay always made fun of you saying it was your natural hidden talent. But even though you guys always laughed about it, Jay hated it with a passion.

He hated seeing you hurt, in pain or discomfort of any kind. And he experienced plenty of that when you managed to shattered your heel bone while riding horses with him and his brother.

It had been your idea, ironically. You’ve always wanted to get to ride a horse, ever since you were a little girl, and when you found out about an equestrian farm just on the outskirts of Chicago, you just had to go.

And then, as excited as the three of you were, it died down as soon as your horse betrayed you and threw you off his back.

Jay could still remember the screams of pain you let out, the tears that had been running down your cheeks and the heart-breaking expression of utter pain.

That’s how you ended up with a cast, and your good share of chronic pain to go with it. You were heartbroken when Will told you about the recovery period and how much pain you would be in during.

It scared you to no end.

And boy, did you have your reasons.

Nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of the pain you felt, the blinding jolts from your heel all the way up your body. It was the most awful and painful thing you’d ever had to experience.

You considered yourself lucky to have Jay by your side, and Will by extension. Jay proved to be the best caretaker ever, constantly at your beck and call, trying to make sure you’re as comfortable as ever and in as little pain as possible.

His heart would break when he would hear your whines, the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes because the pain was just too strong.

“You’ve got this babe”, “I’m right here with you, we’ll get through this together”. “You’re so strong, babe. The strongest person I know”

He couldn’t do much more than that, trying to keep your mind off the pain and remind you of just how strong and resilient you are.

And frankly, that was all you needed to get you through it.

On the days when the pain would be so bad you couldn’t even get up from your shared bed, Jay would be right there to carry you anywhere you needed to go.

He would give you foot massages every night, rubbing the ointment Will had given him thoroughly, all while holding your hand with his free one to keep your mind off the pain.

On the days when your thoughts would get the better of you, when you would see the scar on your foot from your surgery, tears streaming down your face when you would see it, because it was so ugly and revolting to see it, Jay would be the complete opposite.

He would manage to give you at least a dozen reasons why you should love it just as much as he did, embrace it and learn how to live with it.

Jay would be the absolute best boyfriend you could have asked for, because even when things got tough, your mood and self-consciousness getting the better of you and attacking Jay, he understood.

He understood, and he helped you through every unresolved emotion you were feeling, through every wave of pain and through every negative thought that would enter your mind.

You knew your journey was far from over, but with Jay by your side, nothing was going to get to you.

You would come out stronger together.

You’d kick the chronic pain’s ass.

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[industrations]

hey. I am a little shy so don't mind the anon. but I just wanted to say this.

last year was the hardest year of my life for a plethora of reasons. trauma I'll never recover from. one of which was; being forcefully outed as trans to a very very unsafe family.

I'd never touched Harry Potter or the Marauders at all in my life because of JKR. but, I saw your art of James kissing Regulus' top surgery scar and instantly felt seen.

it's been two months. but I've fallen harder into this fandom than I thought I would. it's brought me comfort and a little healing because of art like yours. genuinely, seeing people tell you awful things over it is heartbreaking because you've actually brought a lot of comfort to my little world over here.

so, honestly. fuck them. you're doing amazing. your art is amazing. thank you for sharing it with us.

Oh <3 this really warms my heart 🥺 thank you for sharing that with me. Even on anon that is very brave. It truly makes me happy to hear that my art is comforting to you in such stressful times

[intersexcat-tboy]

I'll get to the different parts of how fucked up my last relationship was at a different time, but one part at least that's been healing recently is the deep gouge to my core from having talked so vulnerably abt my fear of losing my sex appeal after top surgery. On the verge of tears, spilling how many horror stories I've heard of partners leaving after top surgery, the years spent over compensating with massages because I felt that if I had to have them, then someone should at least enjoy them.. I already spent my teens mutilating, years of ridicule for a yarn ball of scars for a body, what would I become? Were my partners just attracted to (the only fat I had on) my chest? I felt I had other things going for me, but would they?

And then I was left two months after surgery. A month of healing, and a month for it to really settle in that she could not longer hide the lack of attraction I guess. Something like pity and guilt to have stuck around during my weakest state

I think back on then and often nearly cry, but for a different reason. I can feel the hollow gap between then and now: to be wanted in a way that isn't just to fill the space, to be wanted at all rather than just staying. It's a bit bittersweet to be able to notice the difference. For someone to be attracted again.

I'm not scared that she's faking it and it hurts that I know what that could look like. I used to be so scared bc it felt so similar, but it's just a slight difference. It's hard to keep the act up all the time, so it may be noticed in the little mundane things. Both giving that look you can't quite describe, but one's from a TV scene rerunning constantly and the other looks like sinking into depression (maybe it was the weight of the guilt of leading me on for so long).

It's all so the same but all so different and it's terrifying, it's almost reliving the trauma but setting it right this time. It's so hard to tell the difference but it's cathartic when I can

[scaryscarecrows]

Needles and Stitches

Mark goes from tired to pissed in about five seconds. That’s how long it takes him to turn on the light to his office and clock the Arkham Knight sitting awkwardly in the Sucker Chair. He was supposed to be in Arkham City until next Wednesday.

“The fuck did you do.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got an eight-inch laceration right between my damn shoulder blades and I can’t reach it. I already tried.”

“And you made it worse, I’m sure.” Good morning, sunshine, it’s gonna be one of those days! It must be bad, though, or already infected, or he wouldn’t be here. “Come on, lemme see what you did.”

“Helmet stays on,” the Knight says roughly. “That’s non-negotiable.”

Mark is willing to argue. He is the doctor, and this is his goddamn domain and that’s just the way it is. He’s not willing to argue right now, not with this guy. The Knight has yet to really hurt them, but he most certainly can, and there was one poor bastard that tried to pull the helmet off, last year. Was.

But he’s also not giving him the complete win. It’s the principle of the thing. So he just grunts, jerks his head towards surgery, and locks the door behind them.

His armor is pristine, so no clues there. Mark also has no fucking idea where to even begin getting that off, so he just makes an irritated gesture at the whole mess.

“Well?”

The boss fiddles with one of his many pocket knives for maybe thirty seconds more before reaching up and unlatching the chest plate. The armor under that is kevlar, like theirs, and it’s almost the same, barring the heavy plating across his shoulders. That comes off the same as the chest plate did, with hidden latches, and the rest of the suit unzips at the throat.

Whatever Mark was expecting, it wasn’t this. He’s seen scars like this very rarely, though he’s seen the fresh wounds a lot more, when he and Trent were out in Russia. Burns of all kinds, ranging from small cigarettes to deep ones from a hot poker. A latticework of knife scars on…honestly, everything. What looks like a crude surgical scar at the gut (self-surgery, maybe? Mark’s got a similar one himself), and…honestly, he can’t pin the odd, almost knot-like thing at the hollow of his throat. There’s a horrific slash going from rib to hip that would have been a near-disembowelment, and several of the ribs are just crooked enough that it’s clear they were broken and healed for shit. A short, jagged scar, also older, says that he took a knife through the shoulder at some point. Anything else is hidden under a white bandage wound awkwardly under one arm, over the other, and around his ribs.

These scars are old. The body that bears them is not. Twenties, maybe, if he had to guess. Jesus Christ, no wonder he’s…quite frankly, this fucked up.

“Bandage off, turn around,” he says shortly. “Lemme see what you’re bitchin’ about.”

The Knight’s back is exactly zero percent better. Long, deliberate knife wounds trace his shoulders, barely visible under what looks like, hand-to-God, whip marks. A whip with glass embedded in it, he thinks, judging by the odd pockmarks. But more importantly, right now, there is indeed an eight-inch gash sitting pretty between his shoulder blades, right in an absolutely dickish spot to reach for self-stitches. And yeah, there’s the beginnings of an infection, though he’s clearly tried to at least keep that at bay.

“You gotta give me something to work with.”

“Somebody got lucky with a machete.”

“And how did that happen?”

“I was distracted by the bastard with the cattle prod.”

That explains fuck-all.

“Hm. I’m guessing you’re up to date on your tetanus shots.”

“Yes.”

“It’s something.” The infection hasn’t really had a chance to set in; the gash has clearly been cleaned and had some ointment or something dabbed on it, at least. “Could be worse,” he continues, politely ignoring what looks like the faint rubbing scars of a metal collar. “You didn’t let it get out of control, at least. It’s just a little red, no puss yet or anything super nasty. No trips into the sewer or anything I need to know about, right?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Good. All right, I’m gonna clean it up to my satisfaction, stitch it back together, and then you’re going to leave off your stupid ninja-shit for at least ten days. No gargoyles, no flips, no zilch or on God, I will open you back up and stuff that thing full of those little prickly things that grow out in the jungle, you hear me?”

“You’re welcome to try.” The Knight’s voice doesn’t have the usual humor to it, but he’s not pissed off, either. He’s just–nervous, is the best word Mark’s got for him. He’s nervous.

“I don’t try. I do. This’ll be easier if you just lie down and keep still. You got any allergies I should know about?”

“Artificial cherry,” comes the quiet mumble. Jesus Christ, he’s got a real comedian on his hands here.

“Then I’ll keep the grape lollipops aside just for you,” Mark snarks. “Now let’s get this thing closed up before some idiot falls off a car and breaks their arm. Again.”

THE END

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Holding on For Me ~Rita Calhoun xFem Younger!Partner!GradStudent!Reader (feat. Rafael Barba)

Summary— Rita gets hurt badly and ends in the hospital. Her two closest people, you and Rafael, come running. But you’ve never met each other, and now your partner’s and his best friend’s life hangs in the balance…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: angst, then fluff, heavily implied physical assault, hospitals, near death experiences, bruising, implied scarring, crying, hyperventilating, implied anxiety attacks, happy fully ending, etc.

Enjoy (;

You rubbed your temples with a sigh as you stared at her dull computer screen and flipped the pages of your extensive notes. You was violently pulled out of your doctoral thesis research by the sound of your cell phone ringing. Eager for a distraction, you swiftly picked up the phone.

“Hi this is is Y/N!”

“Hello Ma’am. I am calling from Mercy Hospital, I have you listed as an emergency contact for one Rita Calhoun?”

Your heart dropped. Rita? What had happened? Was she okay??

“What happened? Is she okay??”

“She was brought in about 30 minutes ago… She’s currently in surgery, pretty banged up. I am just making my rounds and contacting her emergency numbers in case.”

“Ok thank you so much, I’ll be there in 15 minutes” you hastily replied.

As soon as the call had ended, you jumped up from your chair, your heart racing and your mind spiraling. You scurried around her apartment, collecting things that you or Rita might possibly need at the hospital, throwing all the miscellaneous items into a bag before storming out of the apartment. You were swift to hail a cab once out on the city streets, eagerly giving the address of the hospital. Was Rita going to be okay? What if they lose her before you got to the hospital?

The words hospital and surgery made your stomache sink. Your hands felt like they were going numb, and your mind seemed to only be able to come up with the worst possible scenarios on what could have happened to Rita. You bit at her lip anxiously, and you closed her eyes for the rest of the cab drive, too overwhelmed to bear the stimulus of sight at the moment. Did this have to do with Rita’s job? Maybe an ex-client or someone who’d threatened her? What was the last thing she said to Rita…??

As soon as the cab stopped outside of the hospital, you paid the driver and rushed inside the bustling ER doorway. You immediately found a nurse and asked about Rita, who led you to the waiting room for trauma surgery, a separate, more secluded area of the hospital. The nurse had not been able to tell you much, besides the fact that Rita was still in surgery. So you anxiously paced the little waiting room, biting your fingernails and feeling like you wanted to cry. ‘Pretty banged up’, how badly was her partner hurt? Why were you the only one here??

Memories of you and Rita flooded your mind. You remembered when you two first met, it was only a couple years ago, but you had grown so close since. You thought of all the late nights that you two had spent together, laughing and drinking until both of you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore. You remembered how much Rita worked, just how passionate she was about her job. And now in a matter of 15 minutes that could all be ripped away from you? Rita taken from so swiftly, so cruelly?

You approached the nearest nurses station and asked about your partner again. As you were trying to pry any and all information out of this poor young nurse, a man stormed into the waiting area. You had the slightest sense that she knew him from somewhere, but as he was pacing the room furiously, muttering certain choice words in Spanish, you couldn’t quite place it. Then the man came up to the desk where you were standing and spoke. What if these were Rita’s last waking moments…? How could you live with yourself if Rita didn’t make it…?

“Hi. Do you have any information about Rita Calhoun and how she’s doing?” The man asked rushedly.

Now that he was right next to you and after revealing he knew Rita, it clicked for you. This was Rafael, Rita’s best friend from her college years. The two had never formally met, you had seen a picture or two of him in Rita’s apartment (from the many nights that you’d had dinner and stayed over) and you had only heard about Rafael when Rita elected to talk about him. You knew that while they were good friends, there were wounds in their personal pasts, so you never pushed to meet him. Had Rafael and Rita ended on good terms in the last time they talked? Did he know if this was work related…??

“You’re Rafael…” you managed to breathe out.

You were surprised that you had even been able to get out one word with the lump in your throat. Rafael turned from the counter to face you, giving you a quizzical and slightly defensive look. How could this have happened? It had been going all so well, and now with a simple call, life has turned upside down…

“Yes. And you are?”

“Y/N. Rita’s partner.”

Rafael’s brows raised and his eyes glistened with intrigue. He seemed to decide that you were alright, because he sent you a confirming nod, before going back to grilling the nurse for more information. Had Rita been threatened…? Attacked? Taken??

Trying desperately not to cry in front of him or the hospital staff, your knees suddenly began to feel weak. Before you could catch herself, your legs buckled and you collapsed on the cold, hard, hospital floor. Rafael was quick to turn back towards you, giving you his hands to help stabilize your overstimulated state. Your weak form managed to make it to one of the waiting room seats, where Rafael promptly sat next to you. It was then that you noticed how much your entire body was shaking. Rita couldn’t die… No, she couldn't die… It just… She couldn't it…

“I… I didn’t know Rita had a partner.” He stammered aloud, breaking the silence of the two of you sitting in the hospital, both equally nervous wrecks.

You shrugged in response, not having the wherewithal to respond to that at the moment. Silent tears finally began to stream down your face, as you started to let it all out. You curled forward, holding your head in your hands as you sobbed for what felt like hours. How would you ever be happy again? You would never move on. You couldn’t. Rita was your everything… You couldn’t face losing her…

“I don’t know what I’ll… d-do if… If Rita…” you stuttered, not able to finish your statement, as your voice returned to choked sobs.

You felt a soft and gentle touch on your back, making you uncurl and meet Rafael’s own reddened gaze.

“Rita is one of the strongest, hard ass people I know. Ever since school… I have never seen a fighter quite like her. If anyone will make it, it’s her.”

“Thanks” you croaked out.

Awkward silence took the room, the only sound being the hustling and bustling of the hospital. Rafael eventually removed his hand from your back, as it began to feel like he was overstepping. But the second you lost that touch, you seemed to only feel worse.

“Do you know w-what h-happened…? Or w-why…?” You stammered out in a whisper.

Rafael leaned forward, his forearms coming to his knees with a heavy sigh.

“I know that she’s been facing scrutiny and backlash for the last case she took. but besides that I don’t know…” he breathed out.

You pulled your knees up onto your chair, wrapping your hands around your body for some semblance of control and comfort, as you let out a shaky sigh.

“S-so it is work related…?”

“I don’t know, Y/N, I’m sorry… Truthfully, I hadn’t talked to her since she took that case, I was the lead prosecutor and we… we had a bit of a fallout over it…” Rafael gritted out.

His defensiveness seemed to have vanished, all that being left being the vulnerable, close friend of Rita’s. His knuckles were white from how hard he was squeezing his hands.

“Christ the last thing I probably did was yell at her to get out of my office…” he confessed, looking down to the ground with shame and guilt.

“I… I can’t even r-remember what the last thing I said to her was…” you choked out through violent sobs.

Rafael looked up at your wailing and his hand came out, caressing your shoulder lightly. He squeezed your trembling form reassuringly.

“I’m sure you told her how much you loved her…” he softly comforted you.

“I don’t know… I d-don’t know…” you changed in a whisper, starting to rock back and forth anxiously in the seat.

“Hey. Take some deep breaths… She’s going to be okay.”

Your glossy eyes met his reddened ones and you two just connected. All because of Rita. You were so grateful that she had found a friend like Rafael. And Rafael was grateful that she had someone like you to support her as a partner. Suddenly you were both drawn back to the crushing reality by a nurse coming up to you with a file in hand.

Rafael immediately stood and walked right up to her, demanding answers. You couldn’t get yourself to stand, so you merely looked up at the two standing adults with pleading eyes.

“Are you family?”

You both nodded vigorously.

“How is she? What happened?? Can we see her…??” Rafael demanded.

“EMT’s responded to a Good Samaritan call who found her in an alley… The ambulance brought her here to Mercy and she’s been in surgery ever since. It was a little touch and go, she has a concussion, multiple lacerations, a four broken ribs, scattered bruising, and a shattered left forearm…”

Your mouth went dry at the nurses words and you couldn’t think as tears began to stream down your face once more. Your lip trembled as you bit it, attempting to stifle your sobs.

“Can we see here??” Rafael immediately asked.

“Yes you may see her, she’s finally out, and she’s somewhat awake. I’ll take you to her, But take it slow, she has a long road to recovery…” the nurse said.

Rafael let out a sigh of relief and he quickly turned to you. Extending his arm, he helped you up and down the hall towards Rita’s private room. The nurse let you in, closing the door behind the two of you.

Rita looked peaceful for a moment, lying in the bed, but as she began to wake up, pain flooded across her face. Practically all of her exposed skin was bruised and battered, the biggest being her black eye. Her eye widened as much as she could widen them at the sight of you and Rafael.

“Holy fuck…” Rita winced in pain as we tried to sit up.

You immediately rushed next to her, sitting at the edge of the bed. The older brunette leaned back again, giving up the idea of sitting up properly for her moment, instead meekly attempting to reach out to you with her right hand, and you eagerly met her more than half-way, taking her hand and kissing it over and over again as tears of joy steamed down your cheeks.

“Rita Rita… God I’m so glad you’re okay… How are you feeling…?” you whispered, continuing your love and tender assault on her hand.

“Hi baby… I’m… in a whole lot of fucking pain, but I’ll live…” she breathed out in confession.

Rita smiled lightly back. But even that seemed to hurt her, as she winced lightly again. Rafael was standing at the end of the bed with his hands in his pockets as he watched the two of you. His eyes softeners watching your dynamic, he scolded himself for being so goddamn stubborn. Because if he hadn’t been, Rita might have introduced him to you…

“Oh Baby don’t move, stay still. Doctors orders you need to rest. Don’t want you getting more hurt…” you pleaded caringly and with much love.

“She’s a stubborn hardass. Doctor’s orders won’t stop her…” Rafael teasingly cooed, meeting Rita’s gaze.

Rita rolled her eyes at her closest friend.

“Shut up, you idiot… Now come over here and hug me.” Rita shot back with the same teasing tone.

Rafael chuckled, looked down to the ground as he made his way around to the opposing side of the bed, releasing his hands from his pockets, the man leaned over and gave his friend a proper embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I’m so glad you’re alive” Rafael whispered to Rita, before retracting slightly, but staying close and gazing at her caringly.

Rita wanted to cup his cheek and pull him close, tell Rafi that it was all good, but her drugs were at a heavy dosage and soon they began to pull her back into unconsciousness.

“It’s… okay Rafaellll…—” she mumbled before dozing off.

Your gaze then met Rafael’s, coming to an understanding that neither of you would be leaving anytime soon.

~~~

Rita Calhoun Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;