#ye olde back surgery from hell

[roseandbee]

...

[inkskinned]

there are days that it is hard, and unfair, and some horrible part of me wishes i could have been born in a different world. i love being queer, i hate how others react to it. when i first came out at 15, my mom whispered: please don't say that. your life would be so much harder.

it is harder.

it is also a tuesday, walking my dog. we are both skiving off of work, and yes both of us have dyed hair and pronouns. mine is patchy - it was my first time trying bleach; i didn't have enough. theirs is a resilient toadstool green. a little girl comes up to us and asks um, excuse me? is your hair real? 'cause jason says you're a fairy.

it is sunday brunch, all of us talking over each other, overfull on love. she is trying out a new name today, and we made her a cake with today's name scrawled in shaky purple letters. she laughs so much she cries and then gets frosting in her hair. someone young at a different table keeps giving us these large, wide eyes: the same look we have all been on the other side of. the kind that says, breathless: wait, is that possible?

it is a half-fight in a supermarket because he loves "dance moms" and says abby's tiktok is funny and meanwhile i think the children in that show should be allowed to sue abby lee miller for child abuse. i tell him that it led to the casual acceptance of child harassment for mainly adult views; and then i am standing, suddenly, in someone else's thrown soda. there's a white lady standing there, furious, saying something about hell-on-earth. i had forgotten i was wearing stuff with pride colors. and then it is this: he had just been casually arguing with me - and within an instant, he squares his shoulders and goes after her like i am his sister

on saturday i sat in a circle while beca played with my hair and we were all over 30 and we laughed about how much happier we are being this old, how much more we appreciate our community. 25 minutes from now, we will be on stage to dance in baggy beige clothing, but for now we look on with envy to the dancers in loud-and-bright buttondowns. where are they getting these shirts! i cry, distraught. everyone laughs. one of our friends has a mushroom witch hat. this would have been cringey in high school, probably. instead we are all delighted with each other; happy just to be here and alive and moving

it's that last week my new friends cried with joy for me when they heard i'm getting top surgery. every so often i have the honor of being the first person someone feels comfortable enough to tell. i'm trying to make long fluttery butterfly wings to wear to pride; but i don't know anything about fabric or dye, so my friends have been sending me their personal advice.

i think in a different poem i would talk about how sometimes you walk into a room and put the mask back on. but i'm sleepy and my whole brain is fuzzy so i think in this one, it's a monday, and my dog and i took a nap on a couch, and i had missed texts from friends. i used to wake up lonely. i think this poem is about walking into a room and seeing someone and just knowing, the way you just-know-sometimes, and then giving them that little smile, and seeing them light up with joy and relief. it is how we always seem to be able to find each other in a crowded room. how we always seem to make friends with each other before even we know-it-to-be-true. it is saying: we're very different people; but i belong to you.

it is harder, yes. but it comes with a built-in family.

[justjensenanddean]

Jensen Ackles | Purgatory Con, Düsseldorf, Germany, May 26, 2024, Panel Summary

Most creepy or annoying toy the kids ever had? Slime. It creeps him out. He has it all over his house now. He doesn’t like the texture or feel. But his kids love it. Creepiest? Danneel has an old antique doll. It is old cracked, has creepy eyes and is the devil. (x)

Demon Dean or Soldier Boy, who‘s more powerful? Demon Dean because SB has a traumatized little boy in him and demon Dean is just empty. He‘s more dangerous because he just doesn’t care. (x)

Funniest moment from set of The Boys? Someone yells Herogasm so Jensen says it was probably not the funniest moment but when he arrived on day 3 of the set, Jack Quaid asked if he‘s been on set yet and when it was a no, he said „whoo, good luck“ (x)

People kept mistaking the bottles of lube and the bottles of hand sanitizer. Jensen was not prepared for when filming started and everyone took their robes off. Jensen was not prepared. (x)

Jensen couldn’t not look. They called cut. Jensen was like „I‘m sorry, there’s 4 people over here doing a position I have never seen before.“ His shower was extra long that evening. „There may have been tears.“ (x)

“There’s four people over here in a position I have not seen before!!!” “My shower lasted extra long that evening. And there were tears.” Jensen retelling stories from Herogasm set on #TheBoys (x)

How long did it take him to learn the Arabic phrase for s14? Not long, he can parrot things quite easily. He just needs to hear it a few times, then he can repeat the sounds. It‘s how he learns accents. Tap dance worked like it too. If he can see or hear it, he can emulate it. (x)

Jensen: “I don’t think Cas’s confession is something that needs to be resolved. There is nothing to resolve. He said what he needed to say, it was a long time coming, it was heartfelt and beautiful. But there’s nothing to resolve.” (x) “Dean took it in and then lost one of his closest allies and friends. The accepting of that happened when Dean sat on the floor. He lost one of his brothers in arms and one of his closest people. When they come back, it’s just understood.” (x)

Are there situations where he accidentally or on purpose bring out Dean? Yes. Sometimes he thinks „it would be great to be Dean Winchester right now. He could have handled this.“ Dean is alive in him and comes out from time to time. (x)

Were there fake tears on SPN or did he ever cry? He wasn’t classically trained, so the emotion we see is real. He doesn’t know how to fake it. Compares it to a book or movie making you emotional. You know it’s not real, but it still gets you. (x)

After the s4 scene when Dean confesses to Sam about his 40 years and torturing in hell, he had to walk away because his body didn’t know it was fake. The barn scene was probably the most real, but for different reasons. He was saying goodbye to Dean, Jared, the crew. (x)

Crew members had to leave set because they were crying too. They were trying to dial it down, because it was too much emotion. (x)

When things get too serious? Laughter. It‘s his levee. When things get too heavy, he makes a joke to ease the situation. (x)

„Do you use Jared‘s conditioner?“ No he does not. That’s just what his hair does. (x)

Who inspires you? Jensen doesn’t idolize anyone, but he has a lot of respect for certain people and tries to absorb as much as he can when he meets them. Could be a brilliant scientist, an artist, an actor. (x)

Being cold on set? There was a scene with Bobby where they looked at a map over the hood of the car. Jensen told Bob Singer that it was ridiculous because they would look at the map in their car. But Bob wanted a specific job and told him to just get it done. (x) A few days after he got lasic surgery, he was supposed to wear sunglasses all the time. But he had to film in the sun with light shining in his face. Jensen was in so much pain that Serge covered the white surfaces in black. Didn’t help much. He took ibuprofen and powered through (x)

Dead in the Water when he had to hold the kid up and the diver pulled him under, it was the most eery feeling. He was terrified for the kid. But the kid actor had fun. / End of panel. (x)

(JMacLean)

[theereina]

Bad News Pt. 3

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC "Bella"

Wordcount: +1.7K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut, heavily dialogue-centered, mental health mentioned (anxiety), *emotional distress*, angst, heartbreak, health conditions mentioned (c*ncer, PCOS, endometriosis), infertility, verbal and physical ab*se mentioned

A/N: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Bad News Pt. 1=> 😢

Bad News Pt. 2=> 😢

Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

Over A Month After Mike's Funeral

“He said he'd leave the door unlocked, so I can just go in and get the rest of my stuff,” I said getting out of the car. “My legs hurt so damn bad,” Shante said bending over. “Old ass!” I laughed as I walked to the door.

As I lifted my hand to turn the doorknob, all of the memories from the night before I left came flooding back. “You good?” Shante asked as she walked up behind me. “Yeah, flashbacks whoopin’ my ass. I can't believe that… Fuck!” I said sobbing. Shante’s arms wrapped around me. “Oh, Bella. You'll be okay, mama. You know me and Mama gotchu,” she said swaying from side to side.

This was the first time since the day Terry called that I had realized how much life had changed. The surgery was “successful”. Testing showed no more immediate signs of cancer. The possibility of me getting pregnant was slim to none and would take a miracle, but I was trying to be as optimistic as possible about the situation.

“I'm fine. I promise,” I said patting her hands. She slowly released me from her embrace. “You’re strong, ya’ know. You always have been,” she said playfully bumping my shoulder. “Thank you for that. Honestly, I wish I didn't have to be. What's the reward in it?” I said reaching for the doorknob again.

Upon entering the house, I noticed that everything seemed to be untouched. It was as if Terry had barely stayed here since then. “Has he even been here?” Shante asked spinning around and taking in the scenery. She seemed to be just as confused as me. “I don't know. I didn't really ask. We only text about me coming to get my stuff,” I said walking further into the house.

The longer I stood there; the more I felt an overwhelming sense of dread, worry, and something I couldn't explain. It seemed off. It was almost as if this wasn't anyone's home anymore.

“Let's just go upstairs,” I said shuddering. As I turned to go up the stairs, I heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. “I thought his bitch ass wasn't coming while you were here,” Shante said barreling towards the door. She grabbed the doorknob and swung it open. “That's what he…,” I started to say.

To my surprise, it wasn't Terry pulling in at all. I saw his mother climbing out of her small sedan. “Shit! It's his mama. What the hell?” I said palming my face. I hadn't prepared myself to face any of them— not Terry or his parents.

I could see her smile before she even reached the door. “Hi, honey. May I come in?” she asked looking at me. Her hands gripped her purse strap so tight that her knuckles turned white. “Yes… yes, ma'am. How are you?” I asked turning to meet her in the living room. “Good, how about you? I haven't spoken to ya’ since ya’ left,” she said walking up to me. She looked at Shante and mouthed a silent hello.

I didn't know what to say to her. Did I tell her the truth? Did I lie about what happened? Was I supposed to protect Terry? Should I even fucking care?

“I've been fine,” I said trying to stifle my emotions. I knew that my face and body language always gave me away. I wore my emotions outwardly like a second skin or a mask. “Don't lie to me, baby?” she said grabbing my hands. I looked down at the floor. “Bella,… maybe you should just… y’know,” Shante mumbled while shrugging her shoulders. “I've asked that boy a million times. He's as stubborn as a mule. He didn't hurt you did he?” she asked stepping closer. “No, but… Yeah, but not physically. Then again, every word he said felt like a punch to the gut. He…,” I said as the tears began to fall.

Before I knew it, I had told his mother everything— what happened that night, the next day, and what happened to me afterward. I even told her about the surgery and diagnoses.

“I'll be the first to admit that we missed the mark with Terry when it comes to emotional intelligence. His father was so set on raising a man that he just couldn't let the boy feel things. Y’know… he couldn't cry, be upset, or… Or, else. Yes, Terry is a grown-ass man, but… I don't know,” Terry's mother grew silent. It was like she had become lost in her thoughts.

“All I wanted was an apology. If he would've just… just heard me out and listened. But, I guess I wasn't worth it. I get it. Mike was in trouble, but I felt like I was fighting for my life… by my… by my damn self. He wasn’t talkin’ to me. He wasn't communicating with me at all. He was just telling me what he was gonna do, and that was it. I… I… I tried my hardest to let it go, but he had already said too much. There was no turning back after what he said. Whether he was angry, overwhelmed, or not; he hurt me!” I said leaning on my hands on the kitchen counter.

“I know. I'm sorry, honey. That's why I'm gone tell you this, and leave ya’ ‘lone. Okay? Listen to me, and listen to me good,” she said holding my face in her hands. “That's my son sure enough, but that's his father's creation. Don't make the same mistake I did. Run. Don't wait on him. He won't change. They'll tell you they will a million times and never will. They just keep feedin’ ya’ lies to tire ya’ out ‘til ya’ settle. And once you do that… It only gets worse. So, go up those stairs and get your stuff. When ya’ do, leave and don't eva look back. Ya’ hear me?” she said pulling me into a bear hug.

“And I know you said he isn't hitting you now, but if he's anything like his daddy, it's only a matter of time. Baby, don't even think ‘bout it… Lord… Just don't go back. Promise me that,” she said rocking me back and forth.

4 hours later

“That's it. We're done! Let's go. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I ain't in the mood. Girl, this was a helluva day,” Shante said walking out the door. I made sure that I had all of my stuff before leaving. I looked down at the set of keys in my hand. His mother was right; this was it. I wasn't turning back. I fumbled with the key ring and removed Terry's house key. I placed it on the kitchen counter. There was no reason to have it because I was NEVER using it again. I turned and began walking out the door locking it from the inside. Closing that door felt like ending an entire chapter of my life.

I walked to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, I got in and slumped into the seat. “Alright. The hotel is only a thirty-minute drive. Let's go!” Shante said starting the car. Even reversing out of the driveway felt odd. It was as if every move from then on was solidifying just how done I was. Shante drove out of the neighborhood and turned onto the main street. The two-lane boulevard went straight through the center of the small town. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I was exhausted as hell.

After a few minutes, I felt the car come to a stop. I opened my eyes to see where we were— the town center. It was the only stoplight in the city limits. “The fact that there is only one stoplight is insane,” Shante laughed. “Aww, don't be mean. That's not nice,” I said giggling into my hand.

As we were chatting, the red light changed to green. Shante eased into the intersection. I looked out the window, watching the scenery. It was heartbreaking, to say the least. This was supposed to be the start of my perfect life— small town, family home, a husband, some kids, all of it. It was like I lost it all in a night. My thoughts were drifting to a poisonous place, and I knew if I stayed there too long I wouldn't be able to climb out of that hole as easily. I let my eyes scan the small crowds outside the window. This was a normal Thursday night for everyone else but me.

We were nearing the edge of town and slowly approaching the city limits. All we had to do was get to the highway. This was the first time this drive felt so daunting. It was as if I was being forced to reconcile with every decision I made before today— the good and the bad.

Out the window, I could see the small bar that Terry frequented. It wasn't busy but small groups were still lingering out front. As we grew closer, I noticed Terry's truck parallel-parked out front. Of course, he was there. Where else would he be? This was where he went to run. I leaned my head against the glass. The side of my face flustered from the temperature of the cool glass. As we started to pass the back of Terry's truck, I could see his figure in front of the truck. He was leaning with his back against the hood. I sank back into the seat. I honestly didn't want to see him. I waited until we were completely past the bar before sitting up again. I didn't look back. I kept my eyes glued on the passenger side floorboards. What was the point? I wiped a single tear that was making its way down my face. I breathed out a deep sigh of relief.

What would life have to offer now? Genuine happiness. Healthy and reciprocated love. Self-discovery. Less bad news. Yeah, that's what I pray for— for God to finally give me enough space to breathe and grow.

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[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Chapter V

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

''Stop looking at me, Johnny.'' Your voice is strained, currently being crushed by the mass of pure muscle currently laying on top of you.

''Cannae keep my eyes off of ya, doc.'' You roll your eyes, attempting to change positions before giving up. The man is not going anywhere.

''Or your hands. Let go of me.'' You gather the strength to try to push him away again, just for Johnny to make himself heavier and shoot you a cheeky smile. As if being woken up by the man running into your room and crushing you wasn't bad enough, he was refusing to let go or move, arms wrapped around you tightly, legs caging you in.

''Next time I'm letting you die.'' You sigh, stopping the struggle just for your best friend to lay down next to you, an arm wrapped around your shoulder.

''Saved my life out there, bonnie.'' The man is like a golden retriever and it's practically impossible to resist his charms, not when he has been in a coma for two whole weeks after the surgery, leaving you alone with the rest of the team. Your hand comes out of the blanket to gently pat his cheek before your arms are wrapping around his neck, bringing him closer, foreheads pressed together.

''I kinda missed you, you know?'' His arms wrap around your waist as he brings you even closer, hearts pressing together. He sighs, looking away before looking back at you.

''Thought that was the end of me, doc. Fuckin' Makarov got away an' I get a bullet to the heid.'' Johnny has always been an open book, anger and frustration clear on his face, yet his eyes showed the fear he felt at the idea of being an inch from death. Your chuckle brings his attention back to you, eyebrow raising in a display of attitude only Gaz can surpass.

''Took me 12 hours to bring you back, Johnny. Got help from Ghost for the chest shots, but your head...? If anything that shouldn't be touched was messed with, we could have lost you— or made you into more of an idiot.'' He playfully tugs on a strand of your hair, a small smile on his lips, yet his eyes were just as haunted as before. He took a deep breath before holding you closer, your face buried on his chest, warm hand on the back of your head.

'''t was scary, bonnie. Thought I'd wake up in hell with all the fannybaws I've killed.'' A dry chuckle escapes his lips as he lets go of you, giving your forehead a small kiss before getting up from bed, looking around your room before his blue eyes go back to you.

''Thank you. For saving me.'' Your gaze softens as you look up at him, finally getting up from bed and gently patting his shoulder, looking at the small patch of hair that had to be shaved off in order to have more space to operate.

''Should have shaved that stupid mohawk while I was at it.'' He gives you an overexaggerated look of mock offense and you grin up at him, happy to at the very least, have your best friend back. He's not ready to be out on the field yet, so you can already expect him to be bothering you or Simon as much as possible.

His hand drapes over your shoulder as he guides you out of your quarters and drops you off in an interrogation room, your eyebrow raising as you look up at him for an explanation.

''L.Ts teaching you how to interrogate people. Said something about ye becoming more involved in field work.'' You don't question it, knowing if anything happens to the team while out on a mission, you'd have to take over. Johnny gives you a smug smile as he walks away, fully aware of what at the very least seemed to be Ghost's attraction to you.

You open the door just to see him already waiting, sitting on an old chair with rope held in his hands. His brown eyes immediately go to yours, softening slightly as he offers you the rope. He knows it's a bad idea, but at the same time, he wants to ensure you know as much as possible about psychological warfare, even when it's completely different from your field. It's an excuse to spend extra time with you, that much is clear— but he also knows you're a fast learner.

''Simon.'' There's a smirk threatening to tug at your lips as you grab the rope, already getting on with tying him up. It's something you're very familiar with, not needing further instructions and ignoring the way his muscles tense up slightly in mild surprise as your hands move with pure expertise as if this is nothing but a second nature to you.

It takes a few minutes until you're done, looking down at the artwork with the perfect muse— there's a knot tied up on top of Ghost's chest, rope running over his chest in three different sections, uniting where his hands are tied behind his back. The rope goes up, binding his mid-section to the back of the wooden chair. His thighs are held apart with the tight rope, ankles tied to the front legs of the chair, his prominent bulge standing out even more with the tightness your knots have.

''Right.'' He interrupts after you stare at him for a second too long, already feeling the sweat pooling up on his forehead underneath the balaclava.

''You already got the intimidation part down, so let's move with torture. In that table there's tools you can use on me. When interrogating the enemy... make sure you start slow before you build up on the most damage you can do without killing. Anything is fair game in this field, love.'' He looks down before looking back up at you, trying to keep his eyes from wandering as he looks at you in civilian clothes for the first time.

''Torture, psychological tactics of intimidation, even amputation, if you're not afraid of being discharged.'' He's clearly joking about the last part, but his voice remains serious as he focuses on the task at hand.

''Go get something from there and try to make me talk. I'll be an enemy holding back information, get it out of me.'' He gestures to the table with his head and you hum in acknowledgement. The corners of your lips tug into a smirk as you see it— a red candle among the many different tools, a zippo lighter you recognize as his right next to it.

''Interesting.'' He doesn't even have to look to know what caught your attention. Your hand reached out for the lighter, flicking it on and staring at the flame for a few seconds before looking over your shoulder, gaze catching his. His eyes follow your movements, from the way you slowly walk up to him, to your hands lifting up his shirt, wrinkling the fabric together underneath the knot of the rope, his strong body exposed.

His breath hitches when your cold finger trails up and down from his abs to his chest. He watches you light up the candle, waiting until the wax starts to melt before slowly tipping the candle closer and closer, pausing before the burning flame makes contact with his skin, waiting for his approval. All he can do is stare down at you and nod his head once.

Your eyes focus on his strong torso, tipping the candle until the wax began slowly dripping into the pale skin, muscles flexing underneath. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to not give you a reaction despite the burning pain on his sensitive skin.

''That all you got?'' He challenges and that does nothing but make the dangerous glint in your eyes dance along with the fire. Your hand goes higher, tipping the candle again until a new bead of wax drips down his chest, not a single sound coming out of him besides his heavy breathing.

''Not yet.'' There's a small smirk on your lips as you notice the jolt that runs through his body, flinching slightly when the hot wax lands on his nipple, yet he still doesn't let out any sounds of struggle. His rock-hard cock twitches in his jeans, another deep breath coming out of him as the muscles on his stomach flex involuntarily. He takes his eyes off of you when the wax drips onto his other nipple, staring at the ceiling as he tries his best to calm down, body shifting in discomfort as much as possible despite the rope binding his whole body to the chair.

''Try harder.'' He orders, gravelly voice growing deeper. A small snicker escapes your lips at his words, nodding your head. From this angle you can see how his pupils dilate, the black specks quickly overpowering his dark brown eyes.

Your free hand travels from the now dried wax, all the way down to his jeans, fingers neglecting his hard cock and undoing his belt instead. His eyes snap back down on you, yet he doesn't deny you. You pull his cock out with your free hand, freeing him from the tight fabric before you let it go, allowing the thick shaft to rest on his abdomen. The candle goes up again, teeth softly biting on your lower lip out of excitement as you look at the red wax drip on his shaft.

''Fuck.'' His stare is firm, but the moment the wax touches his skin, he winces in pain. There it is. His head leans back on the chair, eyes closing tightly as more wax drips all over his painfully hard cock.

''Stay with it... It's nothing.'' He reassures himself, voice nothing short of a pathetic whimper. He shifts his body as you start letting the wax drip higher and higher, movements slow and calculated. He shifts his body, trying to escape the searing hot pain of the wax yet being unable to.

''Fuckin' amateur.'' He spits out, eyes opening to look down at you. His muscles are tensed, jaw clenching underneath his black balaclava. You can see a drip of sweat spill down from his masked forehead, moisture gathering at the bits of skin you can see from his face, eye black looking shinier than before.

''You seem to be enjoying what this amateur is doing, sir.'' Your words are taunting, clearly trying to get a reaction out of him, yet he gives you nothing other than a soft, low moan, half-lidded eyes looking down at you intensely. Your smirk grows at his silence, looking down at the hardening layers of wax all over his thick cock.

''You wanted me to break you, so I will.'' You watch the wax drip down to his glistening tip, mixing in with his precum. He can't help the way his body thrashes against the rope, trying to get away from the pain as a deep moan of pain escapes his lips. You say nothing this time, simply moving the candle around, angling it up so the dripping wax lands on a different part of his tip.

''Fuck! H- I cant—'' He whines out, eyes closed tightly as his body reacts involuntarily. He's still struggling against the rope, yet he doesn't have it in him to ask you to stop.

''That's all you can take?'' You taunt with fake pity and he inhales sharply, beads of sweat running down his forehead, pain showing in his face even when the balaclava is covering it. He finally lets out a quiet whimper, eyes struggling to remain open simply to stare down at you as he always does, yet there's no confidence behind them anymore.

''Do better.'' He's clearly trying to spite you and it works. Your free hand comes up to flick his tip harshly and this time, he doesn't fight himself, a low moan of pain and pleasure escaping his lips. His hips thrust up slightly and in that moment you know— Ghost's resolve is being broken.

''Fuckin'... hell.'' He moans out, bound hands behind his back becoming tight balls, veins bulging in his arms. His head tilts back when he feels a new drop of wax falling on his tip. He can't help it, really, the way his hips thrust up in nothing but pure desperation, ropes of thick white cum staining his abdomen as he groans out in a mix of pain and pleasure, muscles flexing underneath your touch.

''I win, Simon.'' Your taunt does nothing to him other than to make more cum spurt out of his throbbing cock, looking down at him in a mix of amusement and fake pity. Your gaze connects to the pair of wide brown eyes staring at the scene through a half-opened door, cock throbbing in his pants.

A/N: fun fact! Vamp was created with K-9 in mind, but I couldn't keep the idea in my drafts for long enough to use it in this fic so it was published as a one-shot. I decided to use the one-shot in this chapter, as things will get more interesting in the next ones!<3

[on-a-lucky-tide]

"You need your ACL reconstructed."

Price stared at the doctor as she leafed through the scans of his stupid bloody knee, blinking rapidly as he tried to process just exactly how fucked he was. He was running the calculations and the answer was coming up: significantly.

After it had given out on a recent yomp with Bravo Company, he has given in and skulked into medical like a whipped hound. There was only so much ibuprofen a man could neck with his coffee before it became farcical. His stomach was beginning a small revolt. Eventually, his mind unable to accept what it had just heard, he cleared his throat. "Come again?"

She sighed, running a hand through her neat crop of grey hair. After dealing with his bullshit for nearly twelve years, she had no patience left for it. "You're having surgery John, and I'm signing you off for four weeks after. From there, it'll be six months before you return to the field."

"Not happening." Price pushed off the gurney and did a rather shite job of hiding the wince as his knee gave another unwelcome spasm when his foot hit the floor. He remembered the landing that had finally done it; a routine jaunt through Belgrade. Nothing too taxing. Uneven ground, some loose gravel and a distraction because of static through Comms, and he'd gone arse over tit. Gaz had been amused until he realised Price had been struggling to get back up again.

Fucking embarrassing.

"You can huff and puff as much as you want, captain. My decision's final," she said, emphasising his rank to put his impending tantrum in perspective, and then, for good measure, "also, your cortisol levels are high, which is probably why you're getting a bit soft in the midsection. The time off is needed."

"Olright, Janie, bloody hell, no need to go for the throat." He placed a hand on his belly, prodding the layer of give with a sad sigh. "What the fuck am I meant to do for four weeks?"

"Read, go fishing, binge Netflix, catch up with family. You know, what normal people do for R&R..." She glanced up at him and rolled her eyes at the deep frown on his face. "Stop thinking of ways to bribe and blackmail me. I'm booking the surgery for a week's time."

"A week isn't long enough."

"Tough shit. Lost your appetite recently? Belching like a retired general at a Number 10 dinner?"

Price squinted. "Yeah."

"Congratulations, you gave yourself a stomach ulcer by slamming the ibuprofen like Polos," Janie murmured, turning over her notes to annotate her recommendations. "Four weeks--

"--fockin' hell, come in with a limp and leave in a fockin' body bag--"

"--so that's five weeks enforced leave."

Price opened his mouth to argue the toss but it clicked shut when she raised an eyebrow at him. He knew better than to push his luck. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me marm, John. It makes me feel old." She tapped her biro against the clipboard and then gripped it against her stomach, her head tilted, as she considered his miserable sulk. "You need to consider that promotion in the next few years."

"It'll take me outta the field," Price grumbled.

"If you snap something else at the wrong moment, then a bullet's going to take you out of the field. Think it over."

Nikprice Hurt/Comfort?

Yeah, it's Nikprice Hurt/Comfort.

[jenlrossman]

Darts as a metaphor for gay sex between Miles O'Brien and Julian Bashir

Yes, I'm serious. Bear with me.

Miles and Julian first play darts in season three, episode 16, "Prophet Margin."

They are playing darts because Julian was getting tired of racquetball—since Miles's wife has been away, they have played 106 games of racquetball. ("Rivals," the episode where we first see them play racquetball, make a strong case for that being a sexual metaphor as well. So basically Keiko is gone and Miles has been… "Playing with Julian" a lot 👀)

There's some good natured mockery/flirting, and Julian ends up throwing off Miles's concentration by mentioning his wife.

In the next episode, season three episode 17, "Visionary," Miles convinces Quark to put a dartboard in his bar. Quark argues that no one has ever come in asking for a dartboard, but Miles assures him people will.

To me, this reads like trying to convince someone that marketing specifically to queer people is important even if no queer people have ever complained about not being marketed to.

Miles and Julian play darts twice during this episode as well, but nothing particularly gay happens (outside of them being gay for each other in general).

Season three, episode 24, "Shakaar," has Miles playing darts with various guys on the station until he ruins his shoulder and needs to have Julian perform surgery to repair it.

Well that's what you get for playing with people who aren't your boyfriend. It's called karma.

In the fourth season premiere, "The Way Of The Warrior," Miles and Julian invite our old buddy Worf to play with them.

He throws a dart, and it goes extremely deep into the board.

The boys look intimidated. And rightfully so. As Jadzia will later (happily) learn, sex with a Klingon is anything but gentle.

(I wish he had thrown two darts, wink wink.)

Keiko returns in "Ascension," season four, episode 17, thereby ending Miles's "year as a bachelor," as Julian calls it.

Miles spends more time with his family, even trying to teach his daughter to play darts (in this context, darts with Molly does not represent sex, it just represents him trying to be a good father and husband and not having sex with his boyfriend). But he is clearly missing Julian; look at the way he longingly gazes at the outfit they wore together:

Julian has also been unsuccessfully playing darts with other people, and he and Miles lament that it just isn’t the same without each other. Eventually, Keiko arranges for them to spend extra time with each other because Miles is so depressed.

Season five, episode 16, "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?" reveals that Julian is augmented and has exceptional strength and hand eye coordination, among other things. This makes Miles realize Julian has been letting him win at darts all this time.

He is understandably upset that his boyfriend has been… uhhh… "faking it" 👀 and makes him play from 3 feet back to level the playing field (Miles metaphorically using marital aids).

He also suggests Julian play blindfolded. 👀

The next, and last, significant time they play darts is in season seven, episode 23, "Extreme Measures."

This is the episode in which Miles and Julian go through a harrowing ordeal which forces them to finally acknowledge that they love their significant others, but they like each other more.

At the end of the episode, the boys are playing darts in the bar. They are drinking. Miles is struggling with his sexuality at the realization of how close he and Julian are.

He says he needs to go home to Keiko. This is the conversation they have, word for word:

"She's a hell of a woman."

"That's why you love her."

"Mmm. That's right. That's why I love her."

There is no eye contact. It is awkward as hell. Is very obviously Not About Keiko, but rather Miles's last ditch attempt to avoid admitting that he would rather be with Julian right now.

So he leaves. Julian is alone, sad.

Then Miles pops back into frame. He has reconsidered. "Do you want to come?"

They leave the bar together, but not before Julian throws one last dart.

It's a bull's-eye. He scores, and, if you believe my metaphor, it won't be the first time he scores that night.

[mariacallous]

CUT DEEP into the innards of the southern front, Ukraine’s first underground hospital feels like something out of a James Bond movie. State-of-the-art gadgetry begins with admissions. Wounded soldiers arrive directly from the battlefield: in cars, ambulances, quad bikes, or whatever else can carry them. They are assessed and colour-coded into modules by urgency: “red zone” cases for immediate operations, “yellow zone” for other treatment. Alongside an operating theatre, enclosed in steel barrels several metres below ground level, is an intensive care unit. There is a ventilator, and even a laboratory for blood tests. The centre is set up for sophisticated operations: bone repair, soft tissue reconstruction, and even arterial bypass surgery.

In military jargon, this is a “role 2” facility, the second of four treatment tiers from frontline triage to tertiary hospital care. Doctors move people on if they can. Those stable enough are whisked off to “role 3” facilities, approximately 30km away. The rest are treated and stabilised here, a little over 10km from the contact line. The hospital’s immaculately joined wooden beams—chosen over concrete to soften shrapnel in the event of a Russian strike—project a deceptive warmth, like being in a Scandinavian sauna. The drones and glide-bombs that terrorise the skies outside make clear that this is not a place to relax. Ukraine’s medics are here, underground, not by choice. Like the soldiers they treat, they are among the hunted.

Evhen, the underground hospital’s chief medical officer, grunts at any suggestion that Russia might follow the Geneva conventions, which forbid targeting medical units. “They don’t even know what it means,” he says. To the Russian military, doctors are “force multipliers”—they patch up soldiers and send them back to fight, take a long time to train and are hard to replace. Ukraine now tells its medics to remove any markings that might set them apart. “If you put a red cross on a car, you’ll be fired on within 15 minutes.” The goal is still to get wounded soldiers from the frontline to a role 2 treatment unit within an hour, but drones drag out the process, often for hours. The delays often mean life or death; limb or no limb. Leave a tourniquet on for more than a few hours, and tissue damage is irreversible.

Ukraine believes survival on the battlefield is the key to regaining the edge in a war that has become largely attritional. The underground hospitals are a key part of the puzzle, says Roman Kuziv, the 35-year-old doctor who helped design them. A technocratic planner with experience of working as a surgeon in Europe, Dr Kuziv has quickly risen through the Ukrainian ranks: from local hospital chief to medical commander of the entire eastern and southern front. He lets data guide him to new standards and protocols. War pulses through the monitors in front of him. He claims the medical data give him “80% of the picture” about what is happening on the battlefront. Where units are well organised and where they are not. Where morale is good and where it is not. He makes a call to commanders whenever he spots a problem.

Swiping through images on his smartphone—a surreal blend of family photos and flesh wounds—Dr Kuziv reveals the brutal injuries and hard choices his teams face daily. He pulls up a photo of a man with a gaping hole in his upper body, alongside a kidney sliced in two, and a 30cm slab of missile metal that had been lodged deep in his midriff. “Did the man make it?” Remarkably, yes, he did. Another soldier, this time with a deep gash across his back, part of his spine missing, internal organs spilling out. That soldier survived initial surgery in the underground hospital, but died two days later. A third clip shows a soldier in his 30s, convulsing violently as he tries to drink a cup of water. What was up here? “Hydrophobia,” the commander says. “An extreme aversion to water.” In short, the soldier had rabies, caused by a single bite from a cat, and it was too late to save him. The army saw a handful of such cases before culling wild animals in the area.

Almost three years of war have brought Ukraine’s army doctors a mountain of unexpected challenges. Drones have largely rewritten the rulebook on battlefield wounds: the numbers are rocketing, and the attacks are more persistent, more targeted. The “golden hour”—NATO doctrine for evacuating a soldier to proper care within 60 minutes—has become something closer to fiction. Chemical weapons have returned to the field, too, with the re-appearance of agents like chloropicrin, a poison gas first seen in the trenches of the first world war. The gas, used to flush out Ukrainians from their trenches and foxholes, attacks the soft tissues of the respiratory system. At higher doses, it kills.

The demands have seen Ukrainian military medicine develop in quick time. Today’s setup is unrecognisable from seven years ago, when Dr Kuziv first began working with the army. The commander regularly tracks Russian social media to gauge how well he is doing. He’s usually happy with the comparison with Russian front-line medicine. “It’s the second world war over there.” But the demands and need to stay ahead are relentless. The ministry of defence has just approved another 20 of his “role 2” underground hospitals, which are being co-financed by an industrial sponsor. The commander is also working on an overhaul of “role 1” facilities, front-line triage units. According to his futuristic vision, these will be accessible underground by a system of mechanical elevators.

There have been mistakes, thousands who could have been saved. But Russia’s war without limits would test the resources of any military medical service, Dr Kuziv insists. “All-out war gives you one or two months to study and adapt.” NATO countries should be thinking about how they would cope, he says. “Honestly, they are not prepared. They wouldn’t know what’s hit them.”

[edandstede]

i found ofmd not long after i’d come out as a gay trans man. i came out after years of knowing i was and deliberately repressing it, refusing to poke it or acknowledge it, terrified of it. i didn’t want to see it. couldn’t be me, if i ignored it it would go away. like stede, i would cry when i thought nobody could hear me. it was so lonely, shutting that part of myself off, and coming out just to my own close circle (not family at this point) was the scariest thing i’ve ever done.

this show… fucking hell, this show. it held me gently but firmly and told me in no uncertain terms that everything i knew about being a man was wrong, that i could be who i wanted to be and it was never too late to grab it with both hands. it helped me work through things in my head, consider myself in new ways, forced me to reflect. yes, i could be authentic, i could be flamboyant, i could wear what i want, i could be tough, vulnerable, effeminate, silly, a bit of a loser even. i could cry, i could try and fail and try again. i could be messy and human and deserve happiness and love. i could shape my life into something that truly makes me happy, and i could do it all with a family of my own choosing. i could be free.

it took this new and fragile existence for me, something i was still bricking it about, and reminded me of the utter joy of being queer and stepping into yourself properly. of community, belonging, expression, self-actualisation. i didn’t even realise how much i needed ofmd until i had it, and i could scarcely believe it was real! this brilliant gem, full of eccentricity and poignancy and just brimming with love, so much love, from every single direction. it was a breath of fresh air, just like it was for so many others. there’s never been anything quite like it and any future queer media like it has big shoes to fill.

i just turned 28, i’m finally out to my family as trans, i’m ready to send off my deed poll to change my name, i’m crowdfunding for top surgery and i’m in the process of being referred to a GIC. this show’s kindness, its unwavering love towards people like me, it bolstered my courage and bravery SO MUCH and i’ve taken steps towards getting the life i truly want that i never dared i’d take. i want to be myself, i want to stop holding myself back, i want to do things i’ve never been brave enough to chase before. isn’t that amazing? my life is finally an adventure i can’t wait for. and i’ve received so much love and support from all of you too - you’ve donated to my surgery fund, you’ve sent kind messages, you’ve connected with me about being trans. for all the negative stuff i’ve come across in this fandom, there’s double the amount of love and i’ve felt it first-hand.

i truly am not the same person i was before ofmd and that is so fucking brilliant, i couldn’t be more grateful. i’m heartbroken that, as of now, ofmd won’t be returning to us. but it has touched my life in such a special way, written on me in permanent ink, you might say. and i just think it’s a really lovely thing nobody can take away, this lasting impression. i’ll always carry ed and stede and the crew in my heart, even when the revenge is nothing more than scrap wood and old fabric.

:•) 🏴‍☠️❤️

[luminouslywriting]

Could you please write a drabble or headcanons where Rosie and you are parents to a one-year-old child, and for the first time in a year, you have a weekend to yourselves where you can be together as a couple after such a long time. You can finally have sex and be as loud as you want, but actually, your definition of a weekend together doesn’t include sex. Instead, all you want to do is be hella lazy, sleep, and eat because you’re tired!

Nonny, this is so tender and I adore this :) Reminder, my requests are wide open and I adore spam! I go back to work tomorrow and then I start prepping for my surgery on the 21st and I'm a bit nervous, so any type of asks are a welcome distraction :) So keep sending them in haha!

More under the cut, cut for length:

-Listen, I think that this man is the epitome of patience and kindness in human form

-So if the occasion comes up that you two, both being sleep-deprived and exhausted from parenting, work, and other responsibilities, have the opportunity to go away for just the two of you, you're both gonna jump on that so quickly

-Perhaps it's that his parents or your parents are coming into town and they want to have some time with their grandbaby

-So they pay for you two to go away to a cabin for the weekend

-And oh hon, it's STRANGE being away from the baby for the first time

-Like, yes, you two are madly in love and you're devoted and adore one another

-But parenting is a whole other ballgame when it comes to a relationship and so it's just weird suddenly not having to worry about the baby and having it just go back to being the two of you and what you want to do

-And maybe the initial thought is about sex and how you two can finally just relax and have uninterrupted mind-blowing sex (several times, I might add)

-But the minute that you actually get to the cabin? Flopping onto the bed and taking the best nap of your life—and he's included in this

-He's all too pleased to just sink into the bed and hold onto you like a damn koala and not have any crying babies or anyone who needs his attention besides you

-So it becomes the most self-care focused weekend

-This man is PAMPERING you

-Because yes, parenting is hard on both of the parents

-But mother's especially? They deserve a little praise and attention for all of the stuff that they do that goes unnoticed or without thanks

-And Rosie strikes me as the type of person who wants you to know how much he truly truly appreciates you

-So whether it be through drawing baths or helping you bathe, cooking your food while you have a catnap in the sun, reading to you while you're trying to rest, or slow-dancing to music, this man is going to deliver on those gestures of love and appreciation

-Additionally, if you're too tired for being participative in sex...well, he's got some remedies for that and he's more than happy to do all the work while he pleasures the hell out of you so you can just relax haha

[deathbyexhile]

Retribution. ( prologue ) — jackson rippner x reader

Summary: Jackson Rippner is back from his failed mission and no one is happy about it. Pairing: Jackson Rippner x Reader Content: Light smut, just a little tease. More to come later Word Count: 701

The first words Jackson Rippner hears when he wakes up are, “You’re lucky that you looked so pathetic in that hospital bed.” You’re standing over him, holding the supplies to change his bandages. After the failed assassination attempt, the rest of the crew wanted to leave Jackson behind and let homeland security deal with him. He wouldn’t snitch, we’d be able to get to him if he did.

Jackson looks up at you, his eyes are trying to adjust to the darkness of the cargo ship cabin you’re currently in. “The others wanted to leave you behind,” You cup his cheek and rub your thumb against his grown-out stubble. “But when I saw you there, hooked up to the machine, recovering from a vocal cord surgery that they only gave you so that they could question you and have you testify. I just felt such pity.” You pull your hand away, “You looked like a wounded little animal.”

Ever the fighter, Jackson tried to move, but both hands were cuffed to the bed. He tried to talk but it came out scratchy and unintelligible. “I wouldn’t talk if were you.” You roll my eyes, life just couldn’t keep him down. “When I working as your nurse at the hospital, they said you’d need to rest your vocal cords for a week. You’ve got a few more days to go.” His eyes go wide with anger and you laugh. Normally, an angry Jackson would be something to worry about, but right now he was like a neutered dog in a cone. Just wondering what the hell was going on and where his balls were. “That right there might just kill you.” He had always been a talker. Even getting stabbed in the throat by Lisa didn’t stop him.

While you clean his other wounds from the fight, you catch him up on what’s happened since he passed out on the floor of the Reisert house. “Clearly you and the plan to assassinate Keefe failed. Really it was doomed from the start if you ask me. A rocket launcher? I would have just gone with poison or a car accident, but you boys just had to go big.” You laugh again and look over at him. He’s got that usual displeased look about him. His head titled down, slightly furrowed brow, and pouty lips. “And I told you that Lisa wouldn’t be a good target. You told you she’d fight back, but no…you followed her for weeks.” Mocking his deep voice, “I know her. She’s a naive girl who drinks Seabreezes and calls her dad every day.” He pouts even more. “But she stabbed you and now your face is all over the news.”

Upon hearing the word news, Jackson’s eyes go wide, like he suddenly remembered he’s a wanted man. “Don’t worry. We’re on some old cargo ship heading far away from the United States. When things cool down we’ll get you a new identity and bring you back.” Not to Miami or Texas, but there were other states. He couldn’t be trusted to talk to any hostages. “You’ll be relegated to research and planning with me.” He moved his mouth to talk but then remembered he couldn’t. “Yes even with all your looks and charm, you’ll be stuck behind the scenes with me.” He hated not being the center of attention. Jackson Rippner needed to be the one calling the shots.

When you're finished changing his bandages, you say, “Just one more question, Jack. Did you fuck her?” His blue eyes had that wild look in them. Strapped the bed, bandages around his neck and chest, stubble now a week grown out, he looked like a madman. A smile, delighting in his frustration. “No, but you wanted to fuck her, right? Was your cock the reason we failed?” you reach down and stroke him through his pants. His eyes roll back and he lets out a scratchy pathic groan.

When he opens his eyes, You're on the other side of the room. You knock on a heavy metal door, it swings open and Jackson can see two armed guards. You look back at him and say, “You owe me big time.”

[apoemaday]

What Women Deserve

by Sonya Renee Taylor

Culturally-diversified biracial girl with a small diamond nose ring and a pretty smile poses besides the words “Women Deserve Better”. and I almost let her non-threatening grin begin to infiltrate my psyche until I read the unlikely small print at the bottom of the ad: Sponsored by the US Secretariat for Pro-Life Activities and the Knights of Columbus On a bus in a city with a population of 553,000, 4 teenage mothers on the bus with me, 1 Latina woman with 3 children under 3 and no signs of a daddy. One sixteen-year-old black girl standing in 22-degree weather with only a sweater a book bag and a bassinet, with an infant that ain’t even four weeks yet tell me that Yes… Women do deserve better. Women deserve better than public transportation rhetoric from the same people who won’t give that teenage mother a ride to the next transit. Won’t let you talk to their kids about safer sex Have never had to listen as the door SLAMS behind the man who adamantly says, “That shit” ain’t his leaving her to wonder how she’ll raise this kid. Women deserve better than the 300 dollars TANF and AFC will provide that family of three or the 6 dollar an hour job at KFC with no benefits for her new baby or the college degree she may never see because you can’t have infants at the university Women deserve better than lip service paid for by politicians who have no alternatives to abortion though I am sure right this moment one of their seventeen-year-old daughters is sitting in a clinic lobby sobbing quietly and anonymously praying parents don’t find out or will be waiting for mom to pick her up because research shows that out-of-wedlock childbirth doesn’t look good on political polls and Daddy ain’t having that. Women deserve better than backwards governmental policies that don’t want to pay for welfare for kids or healthcare for kids or childcare for kids Don’t want to pay living wages to working mothers, Don’t want to make men who only want to be last night’s lovers responsible for the semen they lay. Flat out don’t want to pay for SHIT but want to control the woman who’s having it. Acting outraged at abortion. Well I’m outraged that they want us to believe that they believe that women deserve better. The Vatican won’t prosecute pedophile priests But I decide I’m not ready for motherhood and it’s condemnation for me These are the same people who won’t support national condom distribution to prevent teenage pregnancy. But women deserve better. Women deserve better than back-alley surgeries that leave our wombs barren and empty. Deserve better than organizations bearing the name of land-stealing racist rapists funding million dollar campaigns on subway trains with no money to give these women while balding middle-aged white men tell us what to do with our bodies while they wage wars and kill other people’s babies So maybe women deserve better than propaganda and lies to get into office Propaganda and lies to get into panties to get out of court to get out of paying child support Get the hell out of our decisions and give us back our voice Women do deserve better Women deserve choice

[lightofraye]

I decided to torture myself.

I don't know why.

Her voice is just awful. Dear Danneel, please get vocal lessons. Bring it down an octave or something because fucking yikes.

A follower sent me this and asked if I had seen it. I had not. It was, after all, a fan compilation of various interviews of Danneel, videos, whatever. And...

How the hell do people stan her?

She's vapid, uneducated. Ugh.

Anyway... points of interest.

Throughout the whole video: WHO CARES ABOUT THE DAMNED HAIR TWIRLING?!

0:54: During a photo shoot I guess at a premier. ZERO chemistry between Danneel and Jensen. Jensen is smiling politely and wanting to get away as fast as possible.

1:00: Yes Danneel. We can see that it's a hallway. GOD. How insipid. Even Jensen was like "OMG, what?"

1:54: Uh. Danneel, honey, why would anyone else play Dean Winchester besides Jensen Ackles? He did not like that one bit.

4:14: Uh huh. If Jensen had witnessed some of it, why was nothing done then? I'm super-dubious about this claim. I really am. And how could he have witnessed it when he was likely filming Supernatural during that? Hmm.

5:55: Yeahhh.... had the family, but the steady career? Hahaha. Nope.

6:35: Danneel, honey, neither do you. If you expect me to believe you do any of the cleaning, I'm gonna call you a liar. You do nothing. Also, Jensen looked annoyed at the idea of so many bathrooms.

6:43: You are also not nice. I came across some old rumors about you, honey. You were awful, vicious, and the reason you got fired from One Tree Hill was because of your *whispers* drug habits.

6:55: WHAT IS SHE WEARING?!

7:35: The ever-changing face, proving that she lies about her plastic surgery. (Supposedly she claims she doesn't that many and I died laughing.) Also: "beautiful men with big egos"--bullshit, honey. You're the one who has the massive ego with zero to back it up. Plus she sounds as insincere as fuck.

8:22: "It's good. I love him. He's great." Insincere.

8:33: I'm cringing on Jensen's behalf. "Where the magic happens". And bypassed Jensen's wishes and insisted it not be cut--and guess what? It wasn't cut. As if they've shared a bed in years.

8:44: Ohhhh my gods. The brewery interview. Pay attention to Jensen's face as the interviewer talks about working together, living together--Jensen's done. And actually says "yes" to being tired of being with her. Danneel looked pissed. Ah honey...

11:43: Uh huh. The ring, huh? Gold digger.

12:04: The so-called flight anxiety. Whatever, Danneel. If you're able to fly without supposed help or therapy...? (No, getting drunk is not legitimate help.) You fly a lot, more than most "average" people. You take your kids. You go to conventions. You supposedly saw your husband a lot when he was filming Supernatural. You flew for your tidbits of roles. Then you're fine.

14:34: "Jensen's first time being in here." For the kitchen? Oh please! As if he never went in for a snack, beer, or anything. SHUT UP, DANNEEL.

14:38: "Nothing can happen to me, not for me, but for my kids." Excuse me, I need to shake some sense into her. Babe, honey, you do jackshit for your kids. They'll be fine.

Also that's not how panic attacks work. You literally aren't able to talk yourself out of it. Please stop.

15:36: "We're having another baby." That look your husband gave you? A deserved death glare because you knew he wouldn't like it. Stop emotionally torturing him, god!

16:41: I love that Jensen called her out on her lie about her name. I don't think she liked that either.

17:24: Ah. The insult about him smelling bad. God, can't she ever say anything nice about him? See the way he took a deep breath, braced himself? That's not a normal reaction to a "joke".

17:43: How can he not know women put perfume on their wrists and elsewhere? Translation: he never sees Danneel do it. Because they don't share a bedroom after all.

18:11: HOW CAN HE NOT KNOW THAT CHAIR MOVES?! Did the man not live there at all?!

19:34: Oh god. The doll. Honestly, Jensen should dump it. Stop torturing him with it! It's not funny!

19:53: Couldn't let him have the closet joy, huh? Bitch.

20:18: No. You're not nice. Nope. Not at all.

God. My eardrums. I'm crying now.

Danneel, babe, vocal coach. Please!

[starfirewildheart]

Ch 16

Scars and Souvenirs

Summary: Sy and his lady both retire from the army but not before tragedy befalls Sy. He slowly tries to adjust to life again on their ranch.

Pairing: Sy / OFC

Word count: 2,206

Rating: Adult only no one under 18

Warnings: Description of physical abuse, death, torture, medical description 

Five days had passed since the rescue and Sy had managed to talk the hospital into putting Deb and Mike in neighboring rooms when they were out of ICU. Mike had surgery to put pins and plates in his arm to fix it and he was doing well. 

Debbie was just taken down to surgery for her knee.They told Sy they didn't know how long the surgery would take because of the damage done. Walter agreed to stay at the hospital while the guys went to ‘clean up’. 

~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

Sy wiped the blood from his hands on a cloth. He'd spent the last two hours torturing the men who hurt Debbie and Mike. They had received the same injuries and wounds in return plus some payback from Sy. “This is your last chance to tell me everything I want to know or I start removing body parts.” He leaned into Marko's face. He was one of two who'd hurt Debbie so severely.  “I'm going to start with your fingernails then….” He paused and shook his head. “Fuck that, I don't have time for that. I'm gonna start with your balls.” He put on a pair of black gloves and pulled his kbar from its sheath. 

“No, no please! I'll tell you everything!”

Will Shaw stepped closer with a recording device and true to his word the man told them every last detail of the gang and its affairs as well as police involvement in three states. The whole ordeal had taken about three hours and since Walt nor the surgeon hadn't called it meant Debbie was still in surgery. 

They all stepped out of the room and sealed the door. August had found a remote abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, just like a damn spy would, to use as their holding facility. “I have to get back to the hospital,” Sy told them. 

They all nodded in agreement but it was Geralt that spoke. Let's leave them here to see what it felt for Debbie and Mike. Once we find out that he told the truth we will decide what to do with them.” He held up his hand to Stop August. “I know your vote, we all do but it's not a decision for now.” 

“It's the right decision,” August muttered under his breath. Sy chuckled and punched August’s shoulder. They cleaned all traces of blood off themselves and headed back to the hospital stopping along the way to pick up some stuff for Mike.

~~~~~~◇~~~~~~

Mike tensed when the door swung open but relaxed when he saw Sy come in with the others. “Any word? “ Sy asked Walt.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. 

Sy sat a bag of stuff in Mike's lap. “Thought this might help ya pass the time a little faster in here.”

Mike grinned a bit. “Thanks.” He opened the bag and found chips, candy, a book, a few magazines and Sy’s tablet. He figured the kid could at least play some games on it. “Thanks, this will help a lot.”

“Oh and I brought this, “ Sy took out a new smartphone. “Your old one wasn't salvageable. Hopefully you had back ups for most of it.”

“Thanks Sy, you shouldn't have done that. It will be a while before I can get a job to pay you back.”

He shook his head and laughed. “When your all healed I intend to put you back to work on the farm. I mean if you want to.”

“Yes!” redness seeped into his cheeks, embarrassed at how quickly he answered.

“Damn, why do they all like working for Sy?  He's strict as hell and doesn't put up with laziness yet it's always ‘Cap is the best guy I ever worked for.’ ‘Syverson’s unit is the one I want to stay in.’”

August mocked.

“All?” Mike questioned. 

“In the Army,” Sy explained.  “That's where we all met. And obviously August still harbors some jealousy.”

Mike and Walt laughed while the others smirked. “I'm not jealous!” August growled.  

Sy sat down on the bed next to Mike and started flipping through the magazines they brought. “Your protests say you are,” he continued to tease. “What the fuck? How did this get in here?” He held up the naked centerfold from some skin mag.

“What?” August asked innocently. “He's right handed and his cast is on the left.” Sy's glare of disapproval didn't falter. “You said he needed to relax and de-stress! Should I have hired a hooker?” 

Geralt cringed, Napoleon face palmed, Will laughed and Walter did his best to hide his smirk. Sy rolled up the magazine and stood up taking the 3 steps it took to reach August and began to hit him with it. “He's sixteen you asshole. No you shouldn't hire him a hooker!”

They all laughed, including Mike who also protested. “I don't need to pay for it! It's not like when you were a kid.”

That time Sy did laugh as he stopped hitting August. August turned and eyed Mike. “What?”

“You know back in horse and buggy days women were more modest in their floor length skirts and bonnets. You had to drag yourself out from behind the plow mule, all stinky and gross and you could only take a bath once a week..” Mike continued innocently. 

Sy laughed loudly at the look on August's face. “How fuckin old do you think I am?”

“90?” Mike smirked. Quick as a flash grabbed the rolled up paper from Sy and popped (gently) Mike on the back of the head with it. 

“And after I got you something you could use to relax, “ August huffed but plopped down in a chair next to the bed. 

There was a knock on the door and Napoleon opened it to reveal a nurse. She scanned the room until she found the man she was looking for. “Mr. Syverson the surgeon wants to speak with you. Please follow me.” Sy followed her and Napoleon joined him. 

She led them downstairs to the surgery floor to the double doors that led to the orthopedics surgery suite. “I'll tell him you're waiting.”

It was just a moment later Dr. Stinebrenter was standing before him. “How is she? Were you able to fix her knee?”

“I know it's been a seven hour surgery but the knee was even worse than we thought when we got in there.” He stepped over to a nurse's station and motioned for Sy to follow before typing something and showing him 

an x-ray. “This was taken the day she arrived.” He scrolled to a new one. “This was taken just before we started surgery. You see how the head of the femur  and the tibula look cracked but intact and the same with the patella.”

Sy nodded,  “you said you were gonna try everything you could to avoid a total knee replacement because she is so young.” He chewed on his lip.

Stinebrenter nodded. “When we opened her leg and moved the tissue and muscle chunks of the tibia and femur heads broke off and the patella just crumbled. What I did was put a cage around the tib and fib heads. They will have to stay on six to nine weeks to allow the bone to heal so I can try to put a plate on them both for support. So that will be her next surgery. If that doesn't work then we will have to do a total knee replacement. I did have to use an artificial patella. There was no saving it.”

“She has a spiral fracture of her femur. I put plates and screws in it to hold the bone in place as it heals.” Sy was regretting not cutting the assholes balls off today  and choking him with them. “We are going to bring her completely out of sedation so Neuro can do a full assessment and make sure there are no deficits. She will be in a lot of pain but I wanted to ask if you wanted to be with her when it happens?“

“Hell yes,” Sy nodded.

~~~~~~♡~~~~~~

Pain was the only thing that existed the second she became conscious. Suddenly everything came flooding back. The kidnapping, torture, fear,  and pain. She screamed and thrashed around trying to break free and get away. Hands were touching her, holding her down making her fight harder when his voice finally broke through the chaos and cloudiness. Her head turned to his voice. “Sy?”

He grabbed her hand and kissed her forehead. .”I'm here sugar. You're safe now. I've got you. They will never hurt you again.”

She quit fighting and clung to his arm, trembling. “Mike?”

“Is safe and resting in the room next door. “ 

“You?” She rasped. 

“Me, what sugar?” He asked, confused. 

“You ok?”

She had been through hell and she was asking about him and the look in her eyes was so sincere and compassionate that it shattered the wall of strength he'd put up.  He felt the flood of tears slip down his face and soak into the cotton of his t-shirt and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop it. 

She tugged his arm and he willingly crumbled to the bed. “Lay with me baby. Hold me.”

Sy shook his head no. “Don't  want to hurt you.”

She looked to the doctor who called in a nurse for assistance.  He knew what she wanted. They carefully moved her closer to the right-side of the bed allowing  her left leg to remain on the surgery wedge so it was elevated. She held her hands up as much as she could motioning for Sy. He looked to the doctor in question.

“It's fine Mr. Syverson.  It will be good for you both.” 

“But I might hurt her,” he argued. “I never wanna hurt you,” he told her. 

She knew he was barely keeping it together.  “You won't, baby. It's the right shoulder and my leg is up on a wedge so you won't hit it. Please,” She whined.

He relented and laid down next to her breathing in her scent. Even over the smell of hospital cleaners and astringents she still smelled like a fresh, spring day after the rain. Like home and love and safety. He pressed a kiss to her head and hugged her to his chest as gently as he could. It took her moment to find a comfortable position but she settled against his shoulder and chest, his head resting on hers. Once the doctor and nurse left the room he lifted her chin so that she was looking into his eyes the best she could. “We got em sugar. They won't hurt anyone again.”

Tears filled her eyes and she clung to Sy's shirt. “Jennings? The detective?”

“Currently being held by the CIA in protective custody. He's needed to testify in a few cases to shut down what they can of the trafficking ring. The same for Mike's old man, though he managed to get hurt before the police got to him.” He was cut off when she pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Please tell me you had back up Austin. That you didn't risk your own life.”

His eyebrows pinched together with confusion.  “What exactly do you remember about the rescue, sugar?”

“Hearing gunshots and then the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life; your voice. Then nothing.”

It made sense she couldn’t see because her face was so busted and bruised. “I called the pack.”

She'd met Will Shaw and Napoleon Solo on a mission in Iraq but she'd only heard stories about the legendary Geralt Rivi and August Walker. “They're here? All of them?”

He nodded. “We've been taking shifts with Mike making sure he's never alone. I spend most of my time by your side but when I go check on him two of them sit with you.”

“How long have…”

“Five days. Five of the longest days of my life, praying that you would come back to me.” He cut her off. 

“I'm sorry,” She said pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and wincing as it pulled at stitches there.

“Don't,  you have nothing to apologize for, Debbie. They hurt you!”

“It's my fault,” her eyes filled with tears. “I was distracted.” She traced over the lettering of his t-shirt to try to stop the tremors running through her body.

“This is not your fault and I won't let you think it was,” his voice was deep, firm, and commanding. “The ones  who set this up  Holmes, Jennings, they caused what happened to you and Mike. S18, dirty cops, it just all aligned in a horrible way.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “You need rest, sleep my darling. “

“But..” She tried to protest.

“Rest love.”  

“Not tired,” She pouted.He watched her eyes drift closed as she spoke. 

Tag List

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@mollymal

[green-cyber]

Neon Snow💚💖[belated Bojere AU, but it's cyberpunk in Vantaa, mild nsfw]

...tongue traced the deep scar on his soft belly. He shivered. Cute...

"Illegal?.." F*ck. Bojan shouldn't have asked. Too personal. And he's known the guy for like what, 2 hours 3 minutes?

"Yes. But you not report me, yes?" he smiled teasingly. City lights seeping through broken blinds casted neon shadows on his skin. Big eyes hypnotizing him. *[more under pic]

"Hey," Bojan squeezed his thigh gently. "I, just... you know, it's not safe." Well, no sh*t, Captain Obvious. Eyeroll. Facepalm.

"Safe to first," his hookup smiled again. Fingers buried in Bojan's hair. A sad smile. "No money. But this before. A lot of years. My family very poor to pay real doctor."

[4 hours earlier]

...and it all went to sh*t at work all of a sudden. Sh*tty week morphing into an even sh*ttier weekend. And Bojan was not a fan of drinking alone. Yet here he was. Snow covered back alleys reflected bright city lights. 💖The Pink Flamingo💖 Bar & Grill.

"This one's on the house, pretty boy." Jeez. How many shots has he had already?..

"Peliä!!" followed by an absurdly cute giggle. Damn it. Music was so damn loud. Cha. Cha. Cha-cha-cha-CHA!! Where the hell did this guy come from? Ridiculous green outfit and a bowl cut that had the power to make anyone look hideous. But not him apparently.

More shots. Since when was Bojan dancing to Finnish music like there was no tomorrow? Otetaas toiset samanlaiset. Toiset! Toiset! Pretty small hands on his waist.

Bojan grabbed the delicate wrist pulling the smaller guy even closer. "What's your name?!" Too loud. The flashing strobes blinded him for a second. "Käärijä." Giggle. Too crowded. More shots.

Bojan breathed in, teeth grazing at the exposed nape. Slight scent of piña colada hitting his nostrils.

"Let's get out of here..."

Motel "Ruoska" was the closest. Bit dingy, but who cared at this point?

How was this even real? The few words they exchanged between eager kisses were not even awkward. Felt like he'd met him before. Known him. His small body, soft whimpers, bites on his neck, and acid green nails digging into his shoulder blades. Bojan was drowning.

"Hey..."

Soft sigh. Blue eyes silently pleading with him not to stop.

"What's your name?... your real name, you have one, right?.."

***

F*ck mornings. Bojan hated mornings.

Sh*t. Sh*t-sh*t-sh*t!! The little green bastard! Bojan's wallet was gone. Damn it...

His phone!! Thanks god. Found it on the floor. Screen cracked. Account drained, and... of course, he found it. His work ID flashing on screen. Smart ass. Good move leaving the phone behind.

***

"Inspector Cvjetićanin. Cut the crap. Focus on your cases. I'm sending you some new leads. Find and detain."

"Yes, m'am."

Picture of some glasses dude. [Voss Aesthetics]. Whatever. Bojan touched the screen moving on to the next slide. [Synthetic bioparts. Smuggling. Unsanctioned medical procedures].

Seen with:

Some bald dudes...

Some freak with a thin mustache. Even thinner braids. Names. More names. More pics.

Suspect #13. Pic looked old. Very old. And he was so terribly thin. Sickly pale skin. Didn't even look like him. But the eyes... Bojan recognized the eyes.

"Jere Pöyhönen. Illegal removal and replacement. Surgery. Ulcerative Colitis."

Bojan blinked.

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Falling In Love

Nick Jackson X Fem Reader

Summary: Y/n and Nick grew up together. They had been best friends since they were teenagers, trying to make it big in the world of wrestling. Deep down inside Y/n and Nick always had feelings for one another but never admitted it, afraid it would ruin what they had. They both ended up with other people but were never truly happy with their partners. What happens when fate brings them back together and both are single for the first time in a long time? What happens when after 17 years Nick realised he’s still in love with Y/n? 

Mentions: of death (reader is a widow), injures,

Main Masterlist (Word count: 2k)

I sat in the private Elite locker room crying into the chest of one my best friends in the whole world, Nick Jackson. We met when I was 16 and he was 17, starting our wrestling journey together, wrestling in the backyard promotion his older brother Matt started. I loved Nick, we spent our whole careers together. He has been there for me through EVERYTHING and I mean EVERYTHING. The past few months have been hectic. The Elite which consisted of myself, Matt, Nick and Kenny had recently made our triumphant return after the whole suspension thing and ever since my life has been a living hell. 

I had made my return a few weeks earlier than the boys at AEW’s first Canadian show. I begged Tony Khan to let me do anything on the show. I had been working for years to bring the show to Canada, nonetheless my hometown of Toronto. After countless meetings and paperwork, I somehow managed to show up in Toronto. I still get goosebumps thinking about the Pop I got from the audience. I made an open challenge to fight anyone and Tay Conti answered it. During my match, I somehow managed to pull the muscles in my abdomen. Unfortunately for me, Aubrey Edwards had no choice but to call the match due to my injury. I didn’t want the match to end but I could not stand, and therefore it was out of my hands to make the call. 

That was the most embarrassing moment of my life. I’ve wrestled matches with broken bones and had death matches, but I injured myself by botching a tiger roll. I was making my return, trying to put what happened behind me but of course, it’s never that easy. It was even worse when I started crying as I was practically carried out by staff. Out of the 16 years I’ve been wrestling I had only gotten a match stopped two other times. Both of which I was knocked out and had to be carried out on a stretcher because I almost died. 

But that was in October, It’s now May and once again I am injured. Nick just held me in his arms and said nothing, knowing I just needed to get this cry out. 

“What’s wrong with me Nick,” I said sobbing uncontrollably 

“Y/N, there is nothing wrong with you” He replied in a soothing tone

“Yes, there is, how come out of all of my years wrestling I barely ever get injured but ever since I came back all I am is hurt.” 

He said nothing

“October, I started crying in the ring which I have never done before and almost gave myself a hernia, February I almost shattered my ankle and I still have this nasty ass bone bruise. Now, It's May and the Doctor told me if my shoulder doesn’t get better soon I might have to get surgery. I can’t be out for months with a shoulder injury” 

Nick knew everything I said was true. These past few months have been a rollercoaster of emotions for everyone. The boys regained their Trios championships then lost it and I won the Ring Of Honour women's championship the past December at final battle. Not to mention the unexpected loss of one of our great friends and my baby daddy James. The last thing is the main problem. My mind was constantly thinking of James and that I am a fresh single mother with an 11-month-old was enough to throw me off my game and cause my injuries. 

“Y/N..” Nick says my name almost in a whisper “Whatever happens, I just want you to know that I am always going to be here for you. No matter what happens, ok. I love you, always.” He then placed a delicate kiss on my forehead and rubbed my back, something that never failed to help me calm down. 

Just then Matt and Kenny walked in. The four of us were family, being there for the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Kenny was holding my daughter, Elizabeth or as I liked to call her Lizzy. It was the name James picked out, she looked exactly like him. He handed her to me and I held her close to my chest. It pained me knowing she would never get to know her father. She was only 5 months old when he died, my only child, our little miracle, and I had no idea how I was going to do this on my own. Luckily I have some great people to help me get through it. 

That night after dynamite I went back to my hotel room, exhausted. Lizzy was upset. There were too many people, it was loud, and not to mention all of the fellow wrestlers wanted to hold her. My little angel was just like her father, not a people person. That meant the evening consisted of me holding her tight as she was wrapped around my chest. Liz wouldn't let Britt or even Dana hold her without crying again so that meant I couldn't make it ringside for the boy’s match. Once I returned to the room and somehow managed to put Lizzy down for bed before having a shower and getting ready for bed. I stood in the mirror looking at my right shoulder, although I was able to move it more (thanks to some crazy rehab) the nasty bruising remained. The “Cody Boob” as I liked to call it as it looked similar to Cody’s torn pectoral. Just as I was lost in my thoughts I heard a faint knock on my hotel room door. I was surprised when I saw Nick standing there. 

“Hey” Nick whispered 

“Hi” I replied, tiredly

“I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing. I heard about the little situation with Liz”

“Oh, that. She’s fine. Too many people I guess….Do you wanna come in?”

As I invited Nick inside my hotel room I noticed something different about him. I wasn’t too sure what it was. He was freshly showered, and I could smell the evergreen scent of his body wash on his skin. He wore black sweats, a black T-shirt along with a pair of Jordans. All normal things, yet something was different. Was it the way his icy blue eyes looked at me? Was it the way he leaned on the doorframe? A million different things went through my mind as I finished in the washroom before returning to him. He sat on the bed, flipping through the channels as I joined him, snuggling close to his chest. I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I woke up in the morning he was gone. 

Nick’s POV: 

As I sat in Matt’s and I’s shared hotel room all I could think about was Y/N. I know how hard things have been for her recently and I was genuinely worried for her. 

“And then I was thinking we could do…, are you even listening to me, Nick?” Matt said in annoyance. I didn’t even notice I drowned him out

“Yeah, I think that’s a great idea man” I replied, not even knowing what he had said.

“What’s wrong, is something bothering you?” he asked

“I’m fine Matt, just worried about Y/N,” I told him truthfully

“I think you worry about her too much. If I am being completely honest with you, I have no idea how you two never ended up together. You two wo-” “I’m getting a divorce” I cut Matt off. I could see his face drop at my words. 

“What? What do you mean you are getting a divorce?” Matt said confusion and fear all over his face. “A few months ago, I filed for a divorce Matt, I am getting a divorce” I admitted ashamed of myself. “Why?” The tone in Matt’s voice was soft. He no longer looked shocked, he looked almost pained. 

“To be honest with you I have no idea”. My marriage had always been rocky from the beginning, that was no secret. The long-running joke on BTE was that one day I would end up leaving my wife for Y/N. Everyone and their mother wanted Y/n and I to get together, they swore at some point we must have slept together but it never happened. 

“Do you love her?” Matt asked the one question I had been dreading for years 

“Who?” I played dumb

“Y/N, do you still love her?” I may or may not have told Matt that I was in love with Y/N after I was high on anesthetic after surgery a few years back and he’s never let it go. 

“I need to get some air” I left before Matt could stop me. 

My brain was going a million miles an hour, I just needed some time to think. I didn’t even notice that I ended up at Y/N’s room. I wanted to go back, but it was too late. I knocked quietly on the door. Hoping not to wake the baby up. When Y/N opened the door I felt some relief. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a robe. She must have just come out of the shower. My brain imagined myself in there with her. I mentally cursed at myself for thinking that, she was my best friend. She invited me inside and I sat on the bed, unsure what to do. ‘Why am I so nervous?’ I thought to myself. I decided to find something on the TV while I waited for her to return. Once she returned she rested her head on my chest. We were always very affectionate towards each other (sometimes a little too affectionate) so this wasn’t something out of the ordinary. So why did I feel so nervous? 

We didn’t say anything, we just lay in silence. It was calming, I felt relaxed. I was going to move to be closer to her when I noticed she was asleep. Y/N looked so peaceful, so beautiful. Matt’s words replayed in my mind. “Do you still love her?” I always loved Y/N, but did I LOVE LOVE her? For the first time in a long time, the both of us were single. Y/N was the first person to know about my divorce, and her reaction was similar to Matt’s. I wanted to protect her, help her raise her daughter, I wanted her, I needed her, I wanted to be with her forever, I loved her and I hate myself for not doing anything about it. For the past 17 years she has been in my life and for the past 17 years I have been in love with her. Instead, I ignored my feelings and got married to someone else to ignore my true feelings. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my mind going a million miles an hour. I was lost in my own thoughts, a text from Matt broke my trance. 

“Where are you?” he asked. Shit, how long had I been gone? I looked at the clock and saw it was almost two in the morning. I wanted to stay with Y/N but Matt wouldn't stop texting me. So I had no choice but to leave.