#brief guide to surgery

[whumpy-daydreams]

A (not so) brief guide to surgery

This is what the people want so this is what they'll get.

For reference, I spent 3 years training to be a surgical nurse (im not registered yet for Reasons). This is going to be UK-centric, and every hospital is slightly different, so if some things are different that's why.

Also this is not medical advice or anything I shouldn't have to clarify that. Ask your doctor about it if you're getting surgery.

Anyway this is getting long so here's a masterlist of posts

Types of surgery

Patient journey and staff roles

Anaesthesia basic equipment

General Anaesthesia

General Anaesthesia pt 2.

Local and regional anaesthesia

The operation

Surgical kit

Waking up and recovery

Drug list

Emergencies during surgery

Cardiac surgery

Hope this is vaguely useful, my asks are open if you have any questions

[hederasgarden]

Safe With Me

Summary: Six is a hard man to read up until the moment he isn’t.

Paring: Sierra Six (Court Gentry) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU, violence, blood, angst, whumpage, death and some sexual content.

A/N: If this gets a good response I will write a sequel that takes place during the movie. Please note the reader has been Claire’s caretaker since her first surgery and is in her early 30s. The story is based on this ask. Thank you N and a @a-reader-and-a-writer for beta'ing and @skvatnavle for the title.

When Six comes into your lives, you’re not sure what to make of him. He’s clearly CIA-adjacent like Fitz – or some other alphabet agency– though he has none of the easy warmth of Claire's uncle. Just his quick sense of humor, but even that comes out sparingly, often startling a laugh from you. Claire takes to him quickly, poking and prodding at his cool exterior until you begin to see little cracks in it. Small glimpses of the man beneath the protector.

Once you notice the little tells, it becomes easier to catch them. Like the soft way he looks at Claire when she’s singing along to a record or the way his lips twitch up into a brief smile every time you remember his favorite pastry from the bakery. It’s apparent in the way his hand always rests at the small of your back when you’re out in public together, guiding you along as Claire tugs excitedly at your arm. You see it in the way he keeps himself as a buffer between the two of you and other people.

It’s how you know his nightly check-in at bedtime isn't just about following security protocol. Seeing you both safely tucked into bed for the night seems to ease some of the tension he carries. Most times the two of you don’t speak, he just pokes his head in and nods, giving you that awkward little grimace he probably thinks is a smile. Claire is another story, you can normally hear her excited little voice asking Six a hundred different questions that he patiently answers.

Tonight you’re in bed early, a warm cup of tea and a book in your hand. You thumb through the pages while you wait for him to come say good night, unable to rest until this part of your routine is complete. The clock on your bedside ticks steadily forward until it’s 9:05. Six is always prompt and when he doesn't show you grow concerned, venturing out to find him. You don’t make it far before a gloved hand covers your mouth and an arm snakes around your stomach. You’re pulled back against a solid wall of muscle.

“Tell us where the girl is,” comes the gravelly demand.

In your panicked state you thrash around, jerking your head back. Pain explodes along your skull and the man groans, releasing you. When you look back, you see blood pouring from his broken nose. You scramble away from him and scream for Six but the man catches you quickly. He forces you on your back and your head snaps to the side with the force of the first blow. You lay there stunned, with the taste of pennies in your mouth. You've never been hit before or purposely hurt like this and the ugly surprise of it is almost worse than the pain.

Tears well up and you breathe in wetly, blood escaping from your split lip down your chin. The man stares at you and even though the mask hides most of his face the anger in his gaze is unmistakable. Before you can recover he hauls you to your feet and throws you roughly against the wall, demanding you take him to Claire.

"No," you croak. He strikes you a second time and you flinch. God you hope Claire made it to the panic room. The thought of this man touching her makes your stomach roll. You close your eyes when he asks you again, waiting for another blow to come but nothing happens. When you hear the audible click of a gun’s safety your eyes shoot open. The man in front of you freezes.

He’s quick to recover, turning around and bringing you in front of him as a shield. You blink rapidly to clear your tears, relief surging through your body at the sight of Six. He looks a little worse for wear, a wound on his arm bleeding sluggishly and a gash on his side. To your surprise, he doesn’t address the man but looks right at you.

“You alright?” He asks.

You're not, but you nod anyway.

“Where’s the girl? Take me to her or I’ll kill this one,” the man demands, pressing a knife to your throat.

You whimper and Six’s lips thin, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Still, he doesn’t look at the man, speaking to you again. “Did he do that to you?” Six asks, motioning to your face.

“Yes.”

“Take me to the girl,” the man growls.

You jerk in his arms when you feel the blade split the skin of your throat. Six takes a step forward but stills, watching you for a long moment before he shifts his attention to the man behind you.

“I want you to know. I was going to leave one of you alive. The CIA loves to interrogate you assholes… but you touched her. That was a mistake,” he says, his voice cold and even. When he speaks again he’s still watching the man though you know he’s addressing you. “Close your eyes.”

You squeeze them shut, holding your breath. There’s no hiding what Six means to do and even though you know it’s coming you still flinch at the sound of the gun and the hollow thump of the man’s body hitting the floor behind you. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel Six’s touch on the side of your neck.

At his coaxing, your eyes flutter open, and you stare at his bloodied face. You can’t stop your hands from shaking and when your lips part no sound comes out. Some part of you knows you’re in shock, but you can’t make your body cooperate. It’s a struggle to breathe.

“It’s alright, take a breath,” Six instructs, cradling the uninjured side of your face in his hand. You inhale through your nose as he continues to watch you, nodding encouragingly until you're breathing normally.

"Six," you whisper, grasping his shirt.

“How are you doing, hen?” He questions, the use of his terrible nickname for you startling a laugh from you. Mother hen. For the way you tended to follow Claire around the house, fussing over her even when she tried to wave you off. “Should we go check on our little chick?” He asks.

“Where is she? Did they-” you start.

Six is quick to reassure you. “She went straight to the safe room just like I taught her. She’s okay,” he promises.

He offers you his hand and you take it, letting him fold you into his side. The smell of blood and cordite burns your nose but underneath is the familiar scent of Six’s cologne. It helps calm you, grounding you to him until you turn the corner.

“Don’t look,” he instructs, a hand on the back of your head urging you to press your face into his chest.

You only catch the briefest look at the carnage in the living room, thankful for the way Six shields you from it. He guides you along the hallway and you don’t open your eyes until he tells you to. The thick door to the safe room slides open and you smile in relief at the sight of Claire, lamp raised and a fierce expression on her face.

As soon as she sees you, she drops it and rushes into your arms. She touches your face so gently and cries, turning even more upset when she sees the state of Six. It takes both of you nearly an hour to get her calm enough to sleep. Even then you can tell it’s a fitful slumber, her little face scrunched up in concern. You stay with her, stroking her back while Six leaves to deal with whoever he called to clean up the mess in the living room.

You’re thankful nothing happened to her but it scares you how close those men got. If they’d gotten their hands on her… You shake your head, not wanting to think about that.

“Hen.”

You turn around at the sound of Six’s soft voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe. Even though he’s cleaned the blood from his face you can still see the gray shirt clinging to his side.

“We should get you cleaned up,” you say concerned.

“That’s my line,” he tells you, brow raised. “Come on, she’ll be safe. I got three guys in the house and another four outside. No one is getting in.”

You follow him into the hall, letting him lead you to the spare bathroom. He shuts the door behind him and you turn towards the sink, flinching at the state of your face. You raise a trembling hand to your lip. Six stops you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Did he get you anywhere else?” He asks, looking you over critically.

“Just the face.”

“So nowhere important, huh?” He questions, making you laugh and then wince when the action tugs on your split lip. “Hop up,” he directs, tapping the counter.

When you struggle to do as he asks, a disconnect between your mind and body still, Six helps you. He grasps your hips and hefts you up with a surprising amount of gentleness. You look up, your face close to his. He squeezes your hips and steps away, bending down to take out supplies from a little bin under the sink you never realized was there.

You clear your throat and curl your fingers into the fabric of your PJs. Now that things have calmed, pain filters in through your scattered nerves.

“You a doctor now?” You ask.

“No but I play one on TV,” he replies without missing a beat, rising back to his full height.

He stands between your legs and pulls on a pair of gloves. His touch is gentle as he slowly cleans your face and treats the wound on your neck. Your eyes fall closed at the feel of his fingers tracing the cut on your throat, spreading a cool, numbing cream over the angry line. He does the same to your lip and it helps take the sting out of it. After he removes the gloves, he runs his fingers over the rest of your face, applying gentle pressure at different points. You know he’s looking for fractures or breaks. Outside of the underside of your jaw being tender to the touch, you’re mostly okay.

“It’s not a lollipop,” he warns, dropping two little pills into your hand, “but they’ll help with the pain.”

“What about you?” You question.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re still bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” he tells you.

“Oh.” You fall quiet and look up at him.

He turns away from you, listening to something outside the door and you look at his face in profile. You can see the faint beginnings of bruises on his cheek and jaw and there’s a patch of dried blood at his temple. Your eyes wander down his chest, cataloging what looks like a knife wound on his right pec and another down his left side. Hesitantly, you reach out and touch him.

Six grunts, eyes closing briefly. “Well, maybe a little bit is mine,” he admits.

“Let me help you.”

“Not to sound dramatic but it’s not the first time I’ve stitched myself up,” he tells you.

“Please, I…” You trail off, close to tears again.

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly.

You don’t know how to explain that even though he may trust the men outside, you only trust him. You don’t want to be alone. He makes you feel safe, his presence the only thing keeping you from unraveling. It was easy to hold it together for Claire but now that it’s just the two of you there’s nothing to distract from how close those men got to her or what they did to you.

Six says nothing but he doesn’t have to, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your shoulders carefully. You sob when he hugs you close, twisting the fabric of his shirt in your finger as your body shakes. He rests his chin on your head and drags his hand up and down your back soothingly. The tears don’t last long, not with him holding and comforting you.

A small part of you thinks Six needs it too. You hear him breathe out and some of the tension leaves his body. He cares a lot for you and Claire. It’s why the two of you make an effort in your own ways to make him feel a part of your little family and cared for. To know he’s worthy of that affection. Eventually, Six pulls away, smoothing a large hand over the back of your head and down to your shoulder, squeezing it.

“Alright, your turn to play doctor,” he says, reaching back to tug his shirt off.

You can’t help the small sound that escapes your mouth at the sight of his scarred body. He doesn’t react to your response, staring steadily at a point beyond your head. His right arm is the worst, deep scars mangling his tan skin but it seems like everywhere you look there’s more damage to find. Underneath your concern is another feeling, one you try to ignore because now is not the time for your body to recognize just how good he looks without a shirt.

“None of these look too deep,” you say, taking the pair of gloves he hands you and getting to work cleaning and bandaging his wounds.

You carefully avoid the gun on his hip, looking up every so often to see his face. His expression is blank, and he doesn’t react to your touch even though you know it must be painful. You want to ask him what really happened tonight, but you know he’d only give you a glib answer. After you’re finished Six inspects your work. He gives you a thumbs up and smiles.

“Not half bad, doc.”

You grin back and stare up at him, breath catching when his eyes dip to your lips momentarily. The expression on his face is uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. You feel an answer tug in your own heart and slowly reach to touch the side of his face. Even though he’s still a mystery to you in a lot of ways you know him well enough to understand he would never make the first move. Too driven by some internal moral compass.

“Six,” you whisper, tilting your head up to invite him in.

There’s only a flicker of hesitation before he’s kissing you, a hand on your hip drawing you close to his body. He groans and you respond with a little gasp of your own when he pushes you back, your head bumping against the cold mirror. Your lips part for his tongue, a brief flare of pain from the cut there but it fades quickly when his hands cup your face. His scent and taste surround you and your body responds.

You grab his shoulder, wanting him closer and he grunts, pulling away. Pain clouds his eyes and your brows raise in concern.

“Six…”

He shakes his head and steps back, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. The air between you shifts, whatever softness he allowed to the surface dissolving as he steps away.

“You should go check on Claire,” he says.

“Alright,” you agree, letting him help you down from the counter. His hand lingers only for a moment.

He follows you down the hall to Claire’s room, hovering in the doorway as you climb carefully into bed with her. She stirs, blinking sleepily and reaching for you. When she says your name softly you assure her everything is ok, curling your body around her smaller one. She grasps your hand tightly against her chest and sighs, falling still. Six turns to leave and you call out to him quietly.

"Stay. Claire will feel better if you're close by," you lie. "She'll want to see you when she wakes up."

He nods and takes up a vigil in the brightly colored chair in the corner of her room. You lay your head on the pillow, the back of Claire’s head obscuring his figure from you. You don’t need to see him to feel safe. You know Six will always protect you and Claire.

Taglist: @wildbornsiren, @a-reader-and-a-writer and @blue-aconite.

Join my tag list here.

[lundenloves]

— doctor!price

tw: miscarriage, brief injury description.

masterlist | taglist | request info

he paces the hospital corridors with narrowed eyes and a one thousand mile stare, each and every passing nurse smiling at him to no avail. he’s too grumpy for it, too sleep deprived and mentally fucked.

will spend seven hours in the surgery theatre without a break, steady hands remaining true to their skill though the silence in the room felt deafening — like a simulation he had blacked out from until leaving the cooped up room to discard the surgical gear. his nurse removing all gloves and outer scrubs, asking him to pivot for the sanitisation spray before stepping back out into the busy corridors.

immediately bombarded with calls and blue light situations, as if he hadn’t earned any resemblance of a break. rubbing a rough hand across his brow before assigning multiple people to seperate cases and dragging himself down to his second theatre of the night.

he’s been on shift for sixteen hours at this point, finding zero time to fall asleep in one of the barren on call rooms before he had been requested with a sharp bang to the door. promptly stirring from his failed rest before sitting on the side of the bed, palms either side of himself after they had dug into his eyes.

“can you run down to labour ward? there’s two complications with babies. one mum.” and see, that was the skill with dr price, he was a trick of many trades. requested everywhere for the short staffing and lack of deep experience within his team, it was exhausting but at what other cost?

and so he did, pulling his coat back on before swinging the door open to meet his assistant nurse. a lovely woman, some of the time.

“don’t walk with me.” he said bluntly, watching as she steeled herself before entering the lift with him, doors shutting in her face for a brief moment of silence — perfection really, the four stainless steel walls of the lift seemed ethereal to his sanity for the five seconds of peace he got. not before it was interrupted by an ambulance team and one or two a&e members, carting a bed into the cramped space and price pushed himself back up against the wall to create space.

“price, any thoughts? broken spine disc and degloving of both arms. we’re taking him for a CT, though it’s likely he’ll see a storm.” he cursed himself for being in the same fucking lift he was praising mere seconds ago, leaning forward to look over the younger man.

“don’t say that.” he cleared his throat. “you don’t know.” seeing a storm often passed for death, though it was loosely guided in a different direction for if you were to say it in front of a patient it shouldn’t land immediately. or at all, well that was the idea. not that it worked.

“keep me updated on that.” he pointed, hating that he was now involved before squeezing past to take his stop at the labour ward. the familiar sound of baby cries and alarms was one that he hated. it was literal scarring, almost a trigger having spent so many of his specified training years an obstetrician.

and in taking all of two steps into the area, he was swiftly being guided in an immediate direction, current doctors filling him in on what’s going on and their preventative measures — ones that worked, ones that didn’t.

“get me forceps. now.” he instructed with an unmissable sense of rush to his voice, holding his palm out for every requested instrument before making the decision to admit to theatre for a last ditch caesarean. a decision he was beyond baffled hadn’t been made twenty minutes ago upon examination.

he couldn’t run it, immediately moving to another unhealthy baby that when one was lost in that theatre room, he couldn’t help but take the brutal weight on his shoulders.

his face was like thunder, unable to patch up his outward disdain for this ward upon helping a separate mother and baby to safety. her cheeks were damp with tears, exhausting wilting at her bones though she took the time to take prices hand and thank him dearly. a genuine thank you, one that he nodded absently at, mumbling how he would possibly see them in a few months for check ups before darting out the room.

one door down was the mother who had lost hers. only a thin wall between sheer joy and unknown disparity, she hadn’t woken yet. and price didn’t want to be here when she did, it wasn’t something he could handle — not anymore, not this ward. not today, not next week or even next month. “i’m sorry.” was all he could mumble to the unconscious woman, standing by her bed and staring at her for all of ten seconds before running his hands through his hair with a sharp inhale.

tears pricked at his eyes and he cleared his throat to push them away, a heavy frown infiltrating his brow before shaking his head and leaving the room. avoiding every last drop of eye contact before retreating back to the lift of death and ironic serenity back to his preferred floor of neurology.

deep. breaths.

this was a lot supposed to be headcannons nvm. it’s unedited.

i would fucking love to write a series on this, this was just a taster for the character. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

any and all cod characters taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @luvfromkat @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @mistydeyes @dilfdotgov @sofasoap @liishook

[copperbadge]

Good morning everyone, and welcome to Radio Free Monday!

Ways to Give:

dapperanachronism linked to a fundraiser for Chris and Nina, who are trying to recover after Chris lost his job for pushing back against illegal labor practices. While he was unemployed, their car was repossessed; he has a new job offer, but needs a car for it, and he will lose his employment without it. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

Nikki is currently working on paying off back rent owed and with fall cold approaching knows that her utilities will go up; they're raising funds to help cover groceries, winter boots, and back rent and bills. You can send funds via paypal to ncdavis1701@yahoo.com or via cashapp to $ncdavis1701; she's requesting donors add a brief note what the funds are for and where they came from.

rilee16 is raising funds to keep the lights on; their roommate, with whom they have had a number of issues, has begun running appliances all day to drive up the bill. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

thishazeleyeddemon is president of Sacramento State's new Secular Student Alliance, which will be hosting Dr. Darrel Ray, a psychologist and author, to speak on recovery from religious trauma; they'd like him to come speak on October 12th, but need to raise funds for a speaker honorarium; when I visited this morning the funds had been raised but I'm sure they could use the extra going forward. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

Help For Free:

treesah is asking folks to come out and vote for her friend, Rachel Raydo, on Inked Originals, a contest where she's in the running to win $20K and be featured in Inked Magazine; her tattoos have very personal meaning for her and tie into her recovery journey, and winning would mean a lot. Voting is free, but requires a Facebook account or credit card to prevent bots. You can participate here!

marveltrumpshate, a fandom charity auction focused on Marvel characters, ships, and universes, is open for sign-ups until September 30th; you can offer various forms of fanwork or service (fic, art, editing, graphics, podfics, videos, merch, etc) and auction winners donate their bid amount directly to one of the nonprofits on the list. This is the sixth year for Marvel Trumps Hate, which has raised $178K since 2018! You can read more and sign up here.

Recurring Needs:

frenchroasted's cousin, who has been fundraising for a used wheelchair-accessible van after herniating her back lifting her stepson's wheelchair and had to have surgery for it, has partnered with MyDMDHero which is now hosting their fundraiser on GiveButter so that their donations are tax-deductible. You can read more and support the fundraiser, formerly at GoFundMe, here.

And this has been Radio Free Monday! Thank you for your time. You can post items for my attention at the Radio Free Monday submissions form. If you're new to fundraising, you may want to check out my guide to fundraising here.

[defectivevillain]

shared solitude

pairing: Lawrence Gordon/Reader

summary: “How are you feeling?” Lawrence asks, placing a hand on your shoulder.  “Fine, doc,” you say, if only to make Lawrence’s eyebrow tick in annoyance. You know he hates it when you call him that, but sometimes you just can’t help it. Ironically, it’s in moments like these that you realize just how good of a doctor Lawrence is—how patient and understanding he is, even in the wake of your stubbornness. 

Lawrence helps you recover from top surgery. 

The reader’s pronouns are unspecified and race/gender is kept ambiguous. 

This one’s for my nb, transmasc and otherwise gender-nonconforming friends <3. If you want top surgery and haven’t gotten it yet, then I’m manifesting it for you. And if you don’t want it, then that’s fine too—you can just kick back and enjoy Lawrence Gordon being an amazing partner!

ao3 version | word count: 1.6k

warnings: mentions of surgery, medications, pain, nausea (typical medical stuff); some brief self-deprecating thoughts. 

When you get up from the couch after several hours, you’re unsurprised to find that the effort is awkward and slightly painful. You just had top surgery a few days ago, and the binder you have to wear over your bandages is horribly uncomfortable. You know that your patience will pay off soon—and that you’ll be taking the binder off within a week. Still, it makes regular activity rather difficult. 

You just need to get some more water and stretch your legs. Sighing, you take a few slow steps forward until you’re near the water dispenser in the kitchen. The water seems to drip into your bottle with infinite slowness, and you eventually have to lean forward and brace yourself against the wall with a hand.

“I told you not to get up without me.”

Your heart rate spikes at the sudden noise, but you immediately recognize the voice. Lawrence is back from work, it seems. You had no idea it had gotten so late in the day already. Not that you’re complaining.  “Lawrence, you scared me,” you say breathlessly. Lawrence just raises his eyebrows at you, evidently questioning why you’re standing up. “I’m fine. I just needed to get some water and move around a bit.”

The skepticism fades from the doctor’s expression, replaced instead with concern. “Just be careful,” Lawrence chastises. He places his jacket on the coat hanger near the door, before taking off his shoes and walking over to you. You know you must look horrible right now, but Lawrence doesn’t seem to care. He leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, before his gaze falls to your sides.  “Did you check your drains?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago,” you respond, allowing yourself to lean into him for a moment. You’re infinitely grateful that you have Lawrence to guide you along in this recovery process. You know you’re capable of caring for yourself on your own, but it’s nice to know that someone else cares about you, too. 

“How are you feeling?” Lawrence asks, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm and reassuring. You take a deep breath. Despite your overwhelming appreciation for Lawrence’s assistance, he can get a little… overbearing at times. You know it’s all born out of compassion and concern, but it’s hard not to feel patronized sometimes. 

“Fine, doc,” you say, if only to make Lawrence’s eyebrow tick in annoyance. You know he hates it when you call him that, but sometimes you just can’t help it. Ironically, it’s in moments like these that you realize just how good of a doctor Lawrence is—how patient and understanding he is, even in the wake of your stubbornness. A hint of a smile falls on your lips. 

“Have you taken your meds?” He hums, his thumb running along your skin as his hand cradles your jaw. You meet his gaze and nearly choke on your next breath as you see the sheer adoration in his glimmering blue eyes. 

“I switched to Ibuprofen this morning,” you murmur, leaning into him for another moment before slowly breaking away. You haven’t been able to shower in the past few days, and despite the efforts you’ve taken to maintain your hygiene in other ways, you still feel a little self-conscious. Lawrence has maintained several times that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. 

“Okay, good,” Lawrence says, breaking you out of your thoughts. His hand slips from your face and he tugs his sleeve up to glance at his watch. “You can take Tylenol after you eat something.” His gaze turns expectant at that latter statement. 

“I’m not hungry,” you say through gritted teeth. Truthfully, you are hungry, but nothing sounds good. The thought of food right now turns your stomach. Lawrence has a knowing expression on his face as he regards you, as if he’s able to read your unspoken thoughts. He takes a few steps towards your pantry and looks around. 

“How about some rice?” Lawrence asks, turning around to look at you questioningly. “It’s easy on the stomach.” 

He’s right. Besides, you know that you should eat something. You’ve only really been snacking for most of the day, eating crackers and other small things when your stomach allowed for it. “Sure.” Lawrence smiles and tells you to settle on the couch. You hear him rustling around in the kitchen, evidently getting whatever cooking utensils he needs. You hope that he’s making something for himself, too.

Some time later, Lawrence is heading back to the living room with a bowl of steaming white rice in hand. You slowly push yourself up, ignoring the tight feeling the movement provokes in your chest. After noticing that Lawrence is also holding something for himself, you swing your legs around to leave him room to sit next to you. He settles next to you and remains silent for a moment. You realize that he’s watching you eat. 

“I don’t need help eating, Lawrence,” you huff fondly. To your surprise, he flushes pink at that and moves away. You quickly backpedal, wanting to make sure that he knows you’re just joking. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that… I really appreciate all your help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be just fine,” Lawrence smiles down at his plate, before taking another bite of his own meal. You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for taking periodic bites of your food. Lawrence seems content to share the silence, as he picks at his food. Once you’re done eating as much as you can, he presses a pill into your hand and you down it with water. 

Lawrence finishes with his own meal moments later and reaches for your plate. “Hey, let me do something,” you remark, holding your plate in a tight grip. “I’ll do the dishes.” You try to push yourself up, but Lawrence places a hand on your shoulder and pushes you back onto the couch. 

“Absolutely not,” Lawrence argues. You glare at him and he takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sweetheart, you need to take it easy.” He implores you, before taking your plate and stacking it on top of his. “I’m doing the dishes.” He proceeds to walk into the kitchen. You hear the water running and the occasional clanging sound of dishes. Moments later, Lawrence is back and settled into the couch next to you. 

You keep sneaking him sidelong glances, hoping he doesn’t notice. He looks tired—dark circles under his eyes. He’s been busy at work recently, from what he’s told you. Guilt stews in your chest at the thought that his work as a caretaker doesn’t end when he leaves work. “I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Lawrence replies, reaching out to place a hand on your knee. You disagree. You’ve been doing nothing the past few days, save for leeching off of Lawrence and practically demanding his constant attention. 

“I just feel so useless-” You admit, your throat burning with unshed tears. You hate being so sedentary, feeling so restless and frustrated. 

“You are not useless,” Lawrence interjects sincerely. There is a stern expression on his face as he looks at you. “Absolutely not. And besides, we’ve talked about this. I told you that I would care for you as you recovered—that I wanted to.” He maintains, turning to the side to look at you head-on. 

“You’ve been there for me for so long,” Lawrence continues. “Now, let me return the favor. Okay?” He leans into you and presses a kiss to your lips. You feel a smile growing on your face. Somehow, he always knows how to cheer you up. 

“Okay,” you whisper, your eyelids burning and feeling heavier. It seems your exhaustion is catching up to you. You lean back into the cushion behind you. Just before you feel your mind begin to calm down, Lawrence interjects. 

“Don’t go to sleep yet,” he remarks. You blink dazedly, opening your eyes to find him staring at you expectantly. “You can’t sleep out here—it would be bad for your back.” You groan at the thought of having to move again, triggering more pain. Lawrence extends a hand and you take it, allowing him to guide you into a standing position. Thankfully, it is a rather short walk from the living room to your bedroom, and Lawrence provides the support you need to make it to the bed. You slowly sit down on the bed, before trying to grab the covers. He pushes your hand away and pulls the sheets over you. 

“Do you need anything else?” Lawrence asks once you’re settled, eyebrows furrowed in concern. His gaze flits to your nightstand and wanders about the room, before settling on you once more. 

“I don’t think so,” you respond with a slight shake of your head. You reach out and clasp his hand. “Thank you, Lawrence.”

“Any time.” He responds.

Once you heal from surgery, you take over dishwashing duty for a straight month—until Lawrence has to practically drag you away from the dishwasher and reassure you that you’re doing your part, that you don’t owe him anything. 

For now, though, you’re content to let your head fall back into the pillow behind you. Lawrence lingers in the doorway, a soft smile on his face that you rarely get to see.

“I love you,” Lawrence murmurs. You smile, wondering—not for the first time—how you got so lucky.  

“I love you too,” you respond without hesitation. “Good night, Lawrence.” He flicks the light off and closes the door, but the warmth of his gestures settles into the air around you and coaxes you into a gentle slumber. 

thanks for reading! <3

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general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian

[hd-junglebook]

Neutral

Part 6.5

Lets pretend this chapter doesn't exist queens lol

word count - 2353

The dim light flickers overhead, casting elongated shadows that dance across the walls, mirroring the uncertainty looming over the makeshift surgery. the sounds of the outside world— lightning cracks lighting up the sky, the occasional howl of the wind —filter into the dropship.

Clarke's focus is split between her wounded friend and the urgent instructions crackling through the radio. Abby's voice, a lifeline in the chaos, is both a source of comfort and pressure. “Clarke honey, how deep is it?” Abby questions, her mother's voice cuts through the static.

"Well, I can't tell how deep it goes," she admits. Abby and Jackson exchange worried glances. Abby's voice filters through the static again. "That's alright, just don't remove the knife yet," she instructs.

Clarke nods as she processes Abby's instructions, Raven is pacing by Finn, her restless energy palpable as she moves back and forth near Finn. Clarke hands her a canister. “Hey, here, sterilize your hands.” Raven takes the moonshine and drinks a large sip, before pouring some on her hands.

The clinking of the metal canister against Raven's trembling fingers adds to the cacophony of sounds filling the dropship, blending with the distant voices on the radio and Clarke's own inner turmoil. "Clarke, do you see any fluid?" Abby ask.

Clarke's brow furrows in concentration as she processes Abby's question, her gaze focused intently on Finn's wound. But before she can respond. As the voices blend and overlap, Clarke's frustration mounts. "Damn it!" Clarke curses under her breath, she turns to Raven, her voice cutting through the noise with authority. "Clear the room!" she commands.   

Raven nods in understanding and takes charge of the situation. She charges towards the group of delinquents, her voice ringing out above the din. "Everyone! Upstairs! Now! Let's go!" she calls out

In the dim light, Clarke's hands move with precision as she carefully touches Finn, her movements deliberate and measured, she calls out "He feels a little warm." Raven, ever vigilant, turns on her heel and rushes towards Finn joining Clarke by his side.

"That's alright, fever sometimes accompanies trauma," she reassures, her voice calm yet authoritative. "Clarke, I need you to tell me if there is any fluid leaking from the wound." After a moment of silence, she responds hesitantly, "No."

Abby's response is barely audible, a whispered acknowledgment of their luck. "Pleural membrane's intact," she murmurs under her breath before addressing Clarke directly. "That's good. That's actually really good. You got lucky," she says, her words a balm to Clarke's frayed nerves.

Raven's smile is infectious as she looks down at Finn, her breath coming in short bursts as adrenaline courses through her veins. "Hear that? You're lucky," she says, her voice a mixture of relief and disbelief.

As the storm outside intensifies, the dropship is rocked by powerful gusts of wind, causing the metal walls to creak and groan under the strain. Debris pelts the exterior with a deafening cacophony, each impact sending tremors rippling through the cramped interior.

…

Harper kneels next to you, her brow creased in concern as she looks you over. "Her hands are cut up but that shouldn't make her so pale and weak," she says to Clarke. Clarke spares you a brief glance before returning focus to Finn. "She's probably in shock. See if you can get her to drink some water."

Harper nods, grabbing a canteen and bringing it to your lips. The cool water revives you a bit, but exhaustion still weighs heavy on your limbs. "Just rest," Harper soothes, brushing hair back from your clammy forehead.

Inside, Abby's steady voice guides Clarke through the delicate task of removing the blade from Finn's side. With trembling hands, Clarke works methodically, her focus unwavering but just as Clarke's hand hovers over the blade, a particularly fierce gust of wind strikes the dropship with brute force, knocking everyone off balance.

Clarke and Finn are sent sprawling to the ground, the impact jolting through your body like an electric shock. For a heart-stopping moment, the dropship is consumed by darkness, the only sound the howling of the wind and the frantic pounding of hearts. As the dust settles and the dim emergency lights flicker back to life, relief floods the cramped space.

As Clarke struggles to her feet, you stand at the ready, your heart pounding in your chest as you survey the scene before you. Raven's concern is evident as you make your way over to her, Harper's steady hand at your side providing much-needed support.

"Hey, are you okay?" Raven prodded, her voice tinged with worry as she takes in your disheveled appearance. You manage a weak smile, attempting to reassure her. "I'll be fine," you reply quietly. "Just a bit shaken up." Raven's brow furrows in concern as she studies you, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury. "You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost," she says with genuine concern.

Before you can respond, Clarke's voice cuts through the air, "Yeah, you look like death warmed over," she quips teasingly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. You manage a weak chuckle at Clarke's remark, grateful for the brief moment of levity.

…

Clarke lets out a long breath as she ties off the final suture in Finn's side, her hands steady despite the exhaustion creeping in. His skin is clammy and pale, early signs of infection setting in. She smoothes a hand over his feverish forehead, praying the procedure worked.

At the crackle of the radio, Clarke turns to see her mother Abby requesting a private conversation. " Clarke. Clarke, wait. Raven, could you give us a minute?" she asks. Raven nods, moving back to keep vigil over Finn but Clarke declines instructing raven to stay with Finn as she makes her way to the third level of the dropship.

As the screen flickers on, Kane's face appears. Your shoulders relax slightly at the sight of his familiar, comforting presence. Raven, ever perceptive, senses your need for privacy and nods in understanding, gesturing for Harper to follow her as she steps away, leaving you alone with Kane.

Taking a deep breath, you walk toward him, your fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. "Kane," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I wish you were here." There's a brief pause before Kane responds, a sad, sympathetic smile on his face. "I wish I were there too," he replies. "But you're stronger than you know. you're not alone, y/n.” you nod at him, glancing down to your bandages before Kane speaks again. “"Y/n, you look pale. What happened?"

You hesitate for a moment, debating how much to reveal, before deciding on honesty. "I got into some trouble," you admit, your voice tinged with resignation. "Sliced my hands open, but I think I'll be fine."

Kane's expression softens with sympathy as he listens to your explanation, a silent understanding passing between you despite the miles separating you. "Take care of yourself, y/n," he says, his voice heavy with emotion. "And remember, I'm here for you, no matter what."

You turn away from the radio, the sickly feeling settles back into the pit of your stomach. You continue walking away but darkness begins to cloud your eyes once more. a sudden commotion breaks out behind you. Finn begins to seize, his body wracked with convulsions, and you feel a similar sensation coursing through your own veins.

Raven and Harper rush to your sides, their panicked cries for Clarke pierce through the haze of agony. “Clarke! They’re seizing!” The world spinning wildly around you as you cling to consciousness with all your strength. Clarke rushes down to assess the situation, her face paling when she sees you and Finn seizing in tandem, the truth hits like a punch to the gut—both you and Finn have been poisoned. “Get my mom on the radio now!”

But Raven shakes her head, distraught. "The storm's blocking all communication. Please don't let him die."

Clarke's expression hardens with determination. She squeezes Raven's shoulder. "I won't let him die. I promise." Then she runs to Finn's side. She rushes off to attend to Finn, leaving you in Harper's care, you feel another wave of dizziness wash over you.

Harper does her best to soothe you as another seizure takes hold, your back arching off the floor. Helpless tears fill her eyes as your body contorts in her arms, her steady hands wipe your face with a damp rag. Despite her efforts, the seizures continue to wrack your body, each convulsion sending shockwaves of pain coursing through your veins.

Finally, the convulsions ebb. You sag back, drained and gasping. Harper gently mops your fevered brow, her soft voice encouraging you to keep fighting. Though your limbs feel like lead, you manage to push yourself up on shaking arms. The world tilts around you, but the rolling in your stomach has ceased for now.

Harper helps prop you against the wall of the dropship. "That's it, just breathe," she coaches. She grips your hand tightly, anchoring you against the lingering tremors.

With a defiant curse, you push back against Harpers attempts to stop you, the dizziness threatening to overcome you as you struggle to maintain your balance. Ignoring her protests, you grit your teeth against the pain and stagger towards the ladder.

…

With a trembling hand, you start to climb despite the struggle to maintain your footing. With every last ounce of strength within you, you make it to the top floor, pushing open the hatch. As you emerge into the dim light of the upper level, the world spins wildly around you, but you refuse to give up.

You draw closer to the tied-up Grounder, Bellamy and Clarke halt their torture, their expressions a mixture of surprise and concern as they take in your frail frame. The bruises on the Grounder's face stand out in stark relief against his tan skin. He meets your stare evenly as stop walking.

"Which vial is it?" you croak out between a gasp for air, searching for any sign of recognition in his eyes. But he remains unresponsive, his gaze flickering towards Octavia. You catch his eye for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange passing between you before your gaze falls upon the knife still lying on the ground.

With a shaky hand, you reach for the knife, the blade glinting in the dim light, your fingers closing around the hilt with trembling precision. The weight of the knife in your hand is a sobering reminder of the choices that lie ahead, the line between right and wrong blurring in the dim light of the dropship.

You pull Octavia to your chest, pressing the cold steel of the blade against her neck. “Please,” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “I don't want to hurt anyone, but I have to save Finn.”

The Grounder's eyes widen in fear, his muscles tensing as he struggles against his restraints.  "Tell me which vial, or I'll slit her throat right here." The words come out harsher than you intended, but you know you have to do whatever it takes to save Finn.

As the air grows hotter in the room, a wave of dizziness washes over you, your sickly form swaying with the effort to stay upright. But you refuse to let weakness overtake you, clinging to consciousness with all your strength as you await the Grounder's response.

Bellamy rushed forward into your line of sight, trying to reason with you. 'Let her go, y/n,' he demanded. 'You don't know what you're doing!'

But you refuse to yield. The weight of the knife in your hand felt comforting, giving you a sense of power and control. “I know he won't let her die,” you rebutted. With a defiant glare, you pushed Bellamy aside and focused back on the grounder. 'Which vial is it?' You repeat again, pressing the knife closer to Octavia's neck.

From beneath you, Octavia's voice trembled. 'Y/N, please, don't do this,' she pleaded. “I don't want to see anyone else get hurt.”

With a jerk of his head, the Grounder directs Clarke towards the correct vial, his gaze unwavering as she shouts out a confirmation before rushing downstairs to Finn's aid. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you can trust the Grounder's words. But then you remember the look in Octavia's eyes, the desperation and fear, and you know you have no other choice. With a sigh of relief, you release your grip on Octavia, allowing her to collapse to the ground beneath you.

You could see the pain and betrayal in their eyes, and you knew that you had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. With a shaky breath, you apologize for your actions, your voice barely above a whisper as you show her your hands, the cuts reopened and fluid seeping out. Octavia's expression softens with understanding as she takes in the extent of your injuries.

…

Emerging from the dropship, you felt grateful for the sun. The hues beat down on your skin, warming you after your day of cold and darkness. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the memories of the hurricane that had almost swept you away with it.

campers working tirelessly to clean up the aftermath of the storm. The air was heavy with the scent of mud and debris, and the sound of voices raised echoed through the clearing. The camp was in shambles.

Bellamy approached you, his expression guarded as he stopped at your side. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, the unspoken words hanging in the air. "I'll never save you again," he says with a hint of bitterness. "So don't take my actions to heart."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You never relied on Bellamy to protect you, to save you from any danger. But during the hurricane, he had left you behind, choosing to save others instead. You decided to put Finn before yourself and it was clearly costing you more than you thought.

[arabaka]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ TRANS!REIGEN ARATAKA x AFAB!READER. CONTENT WARNINGS: scissoring. reference to sexting. reference to top surgery scars.

your fingers, so nimble and capable of lighting sparks at every turn, trace his jawline. your thumb smooths his rounded earlobes until they're in his auburn hair; you don't know it but his brain is tingling wildly with these feathery touches as he lies underneath you in bed. you nosedive into the crook of his neck, lining kisses down the column of his throat until you're right at the edge of his shirt, the first few buttons discarded and exposing his blushing red skin. "still okay?" you ask, feeling his muscles tense and flex. he nods, but then surprises you.

"y-yeah, just- can i be on top?"

you slide under him so fast, the speed would give anyone whiplash. "feel this, arataka," you coo so lovingly as you guide his hand to cup the wet heat pooling between your legs, "you're so hot when you take charge." you hear him hiss, then curse and those sounds rattle in your head until every cell is buzzing with lust for the man you adoringly call yours. you could get off on the man's smile alone, that's how tight he has you wrapped around his finger.

"s-shit," reigen huffs, contending with the marathon-worthy speed his heart is drumming to, "for me?" his fingers, slender and lithe, start to spread your juices all over your folds and clit, sometimes dipping into your entrance and curling just the way you like it so he can see you writhe for him. you amaze him more and more each day. he could never grow tired of you, nor your blissful expressions as you give yourself over to the pleasure only he can give you.

you manage to hum a coherent thought as you grind on reigen's fingers, "mmh- need you, arataka." fuck, his name is so decadent on your tongue. he needs to hear more of it. fortunately for him, just about everything he does is a catalyst for your pleasure. he comes to straddle your leg, your whole body dipping deeper into the bed you've shared for so long, and raises the other until it hangs over his shoulder. your core is alight with flames, no, FIREWORKS as he scoots closer, until his swollen clit is right up against yours.

he gasps watching your head fling back against the pillow, your cheek squishing against the fluff as he starts to buck his hips into you. "feels good f'r me too..." words somehow skirt a groan as he picks up the pace, so easily taming you as with the engorged hood of his clit stretching up and down, up and down with every grind of his pelvis.

it had been so long. too long. but he'd been busy. you even more so. yes, you'd been able to spoil him with photos, videos, and even voice messages, always showing off the fruits of your labor after a long masturbatory session but he would always hunger for the real thing. how many times had he rubbed one out to your soppy and sticky folds, your labia practically glittering with your bubbling cum after you've released all over yourself? how many photos had he sent you of the wet patch he'd left on your sheets, of his briefs stained with a streak of cum because of you? "f-fuck, so pretty." reigen sighs, forgetting the time you've spent apart so he can really throw himself into every rock against your cunt.

"a-ah-arataka," you hiccup, a shaky hand landing on his plush thigh because you can never get enough of feeling every bit of him, "i love you, i love you, i love you." you're babbling before you even realize it, desperate for him to know that he's the only one you'll ever need, the only one you'll ever want in this crazy world.

"god, i love you too, always!" he's a bit louder than he was expecting but can you blame him when you're rutting against him so desperately?

"h-handsome, 'm gonna cum. let me cum?" oh, you know he'll always let you have your way when you ask him so nicely. you don't know when he does it, but suddenly his hands are interlocked around your raised thigh and now that he has you hooked, he's fucking harder and deeper against your sex. squelches and squirts fill the room like a requiem, a proclamation of your intense and divine devotion to one another. he shudders when you squeal and cry out for him, his cunt absolutely drowning in your essence by the time you're done cumming. and he's quick to return the favor, running up into you and no doubt spreading your slick right back into you during his frenzied chase for his own release.

when he groans and sings for you, you almost feel like you could cum again just from the noise alone. you shiver, feeling his juices start to splash over you and around you. by the time you're done, both of you are sweating with hair clinging to your dewy skin.

still trembling, reigen leans forward to capture your lips in a soft and sweet kiss. your hands, still wracked with endorphins from your climax, land on his chest and relax on the stretched scar. "love you arataka." you confess again, plucking his bottom lip between your teeth before withdrawing entirely.

the reciprocated sentiment is stamped on your forehead with a peck and you end up giggling at your sensitivity when his folds graze your twitching clit one last time. "you're so cute." he murmurs. "thanks for- for this."

"duh." the silence settles between the two of you but it's anything but awkward. another beat passes before the two of you jinx each other with a "not it!" over who has to get up and get a towel.

the spirit of unabashed horniness compelled me to write this. constructive criticism is welcomed; i don't have too much experience writing sex scenes like this and i want to make sure i am doing all that i can with respect and love <;3

[whumpy-daydreams]

Waking up and recovery

Masterlist

So you're all stitched up, but you're still asleep? Guess we'd better wake you up then!

This either happens in the operating room or in recovery, but is mostly the same. The anaesthetist turns off the anaesthetic gas and gives a muscle relaxant reverser. Then you just wait.

Usually within 15 minutes the patient will start waking up. Everyone is slightly different. Some people will flap their hands a bit but are still asleep, others wake up all at once.

What you're looking for is that they can follow a basic command - opening their eyes, squeezing a hand, lifting their head up. This is proof that they can protect their airway and it's safe to remove the et tube.

The cuff on the tube gets deflated and the tube is just pulled out. It usually smells a bit gross by the way. An oxygen mask goes on immediately, and if they get laryngospasm (the vocal chords spasm) then we give positive pressure (force oxygen into their lungs with a bag).

If they were woken up in the OR, they'll go to recovery now. The anaesthetist will bugger off really fast once the tube's out, and the recovery practitioner takes over.

Most patients are very very sleepy after anaesthesia. This is generally fine and makes it easier to do all the paperwork. The recovery nurse will take observations every five minutes, and will look at the surgical site to check for bleeding.

If everything's peachy then the patient will go back to the ward after 30 minutes, otherwise we just wait until all their vital signs are stable and there's no signs of deterioration. If the patient's in a lot of pain they'll get some pain relief (usually morphine).

Congrats! The journey's finished! (well, in the surgical department anyway)

[levmada]

As a changed of pace, how about some Levi x trans male reader. I feel like Levi would be so careful about boundaries and terms, willing to do whatever makes you the most comfortable and brings you the most pleasure

yesyesyesyesy!!!!!!!!!!!!

//ftm!Reader, all male/vague terms for genitals (functioning on the idea that reader is on T without surgery.) | 1.6k

Levi is minimally familiar with what being trans is like through Hange, but he knows it's not the same, since they're nonbinary... and everyone has their own preferences anyway. Do you mind if he calls you pretty? Or strokes your waist? He would lend you his clothes (that are possibly large on him in order to fit you). Does it make you uncomfortable to show him older pictures of yourself before you transitioned, or make encouraging comments on how the testosterone is changing you into who you really are?

He’s endlessly mindful. Some things don't really warrant asking since Levi is so observant that he can tell from hints that you're made uncomfortable or flattered by something. He pretends he doesn't hear anything whenever your voice cracks, but he's secretly amused by how cute it is.

Before you ever have sex, he sets some conditions on the terms that you explain your boundaries first, if you know them. And he quietly but adamantly points out that it's better not to bind your chest for this. You can do anything you want besides. It doesn't bother him to treat your chest or other parts of your body like they don't exist. Of course he's eager, but that means nothing to him if you're uncomfortable. Much less, Levi is a giver, and he wants to give you the best experience possible, whether it’s your first time or not.

The first time, he’s more slow with you than he'll ever be from that point forward. You're dressed down to a baggy t-shirt and tight briefs, him the same, but shirtless and sighing as you place kisses all over the column of his neck. He shivers. Squirms as you eagerly flick his pink nipples until he's clutching at your waist and nosing your hair.

"Can I touch you here?" he murmurs, drawing his fingertips up and down your hips.

You breathily answer back, "Yes," and meet his lips like you’re starved for them. With that, he guides your hips to grind against his, heightening the tension immediately.

And fuck. He shuts his eyes and whines under his breath—you’re so warm and wet, and the tiniest bit hard. He wants to get you down to wearing nothing and grind through your slit, but that desire makes him feel guilty at the same time. What you have on the bottom, he knows, discomforts you so much in general. So he resists taking control, let’s you go at your own pace, and hungrily drinks in your every soft moan, hum and sigh instead. They remind him how good he's making you feel.

"I wanna take 'em off," you huff, grinding down harder so Levi's forced to shudder. Just the spandex feels like a frustrating barrier.

He lets you take off your underwear on your own as he peels his own down his wide thighs, which you're eager to stroke and kiss as his pretty cock twitches above his navel, fully hard. As your tongue drags and your lips close on them, often leaving blossoming marks, he tosses his head and buries his fingers in your hair.

Once he knows your boundaries better after the first time, he isn’t so pliable. Either way, you know Levi's giving you all of his full attention. That’s the type of person he is.

He teaches you how to touch him by flicking your wrist and swiping around his slit, and how to suck his pretty cock until his toes curl. It gets to be too much if he hasn't had the chance to touch you yet, though... Especially when he looks at you going down on him, eyes heavy and fixated on him as your cheeks bulge around his heavy cock..

anyway.

He can sense your still-present, but slight hesitation when you're back on top and straddling his hips. You’re completely soaked he can feel, and smearing his navel in your warm, sticky cum where you perch. His eyes flutter where he feels your firm dick resting against the rippled muscles on his abdomen. Your squirm the slightest bit.

He pulls away from another kiss, and touches his knuckles to your warm cheek, gently. "Tell me what you want. How you want it."

You shake your head dismissively, and smile, sheepish. "I'm mostly just embarrassed. I'm so..." You squirm again, struggling with the word.

His eyes widen. "You want to apologize for being turned on?"

He doesn't give you room to answer, he knows what you're referring to. As he talks, his palms ride up your thighs, maintaining steady eye contact. “Don't be stupid. Sweetheart. What if I told you, I like knowing how hard I make you.”

You gasp swiftly as his thumb smears cum from your slit, and strokes your dick in slow, tight sweeps. "Levi, oh fuck—"

“You don't give yourself nearly enough credit. Or should I put it another way?”

"No," you breathe. You take support from his strong shoulders as you rock your hips. "No. Mm. Keep going."

He licks his lips as he flicks it, and carries on sweeping over it. It's absurdly sensitive, he can tell. "Let me suck it." He tilts his head back. "Come here. Sit on my face."

Your chest rises and falls with your breaths. "S'long as I don't suffocate you." You crawl forward. Your knees settle on the pillow by his head.

His eyes seem to gleam. "You won't. But you can go ahead and try."

Like yours, Levi's blush warms and spreads to the tips of his ears as your weight comes to rest on his chest. By your hips, he gives you an extra yank so your dick hovers right over his lips.

"Good boy," he murmurs. He kisses first, soft, innocent even, and doesn't take his piercing eyes off you in case you get any second thoughts.

You moan, heavy and low, grinding your dick into his lips until they close on it. The silky heat, and the flat of his tongue prodding against it makes you all but shout.

Levi’s needy in suckling, fueled by the suffocating sensation of your thighs, and your greedy hips incessantly twitching down for more. He can't get enough of the taste, either—peaky, bitter underlying, but so fucking sweet. He moans, and squeezes the fat of your ass to encourage you.

"Fuck, just like that. I love your mouth. I love it." Your moans are accentuated by your grip on his hair, tightening.

You flutter around nothing, painfully empty. But when you reach back, Levi grunts his disapproval, and replaces your fingers with his own. Two circle your quivering rim, gauging your reaction, and when he recieves a rapid nod, he buries them inside with ease. In no time, his fingers are soaked, and so is his nose as his heavy tongue rocks through your slit. You grind your dick shamelessly against his nose.

Then he curls them. Your hips snap and press on his mouth even more, so he’s forced to flare his nostrils just to breathe.

It’s fucking exhilarating. His hips lift by themselves, hopelessly into nothing. His poor cock is aching, so he bends his knees, and lays his arm over your leg and steadying you in the process of getting his fist around his cock.

He’s much more pent-up than his thought. From the first pump, he bucks into his fist and laps into your cunt that much more eagerly, his brows severely knit in focus. The squelching noises are obscene, drowned out by your rapidly rising moans. Try as you might to keep your voice in check, it cracks badly when a third finger sinks inside all your silky heat, pistoning them firm and quick. All the while, you can't stop praising him.

Out of every possibility you had going into this, even with someone like Levi, your expectations are more than blown out of the water. There's no possible way you could ask for better in someone as patient, passionate and accommodating as him, and yet he exceeds them again as his heavy tongue, slathered in your cum, pushes through your slit and closes back on your dick, just as you start to quiver the tightest.

"C-Coming—wait, ohgodohLevi—"

For a flash, he's confused, until warm and sticky cum douses his lips, his tongue, down his chin.

He somehow doesn’t come right then and there. A shudder runs through his whole body as his hips snap, but he focuses on you. On hammering his fingers as you grind and use him. He swallows in a flurry as louder moans rumble in his throat, dragging out your own climax.

By the time you're shuddering out the last throbs, he throws his head back when he comes, and gasps. He pulses in his tight fist, moaning heavily.

"Oh, that's it—come." You tug his head back to hear him at full volume, making his jaw drop.

"Fuckfuck." He gasps your name as his hips lurch, snapping rapidly into his fist and jostling you on top.

The best part is, you get the best view. His messy bangs still manage to frame his face like this, with his flaming blush standing out brightly against his normal skintone compared to his pale face. His dark lashes kissing his cheeks. His forehead is shiny with sweat—and from his nose down gleams the same with your cum.

You each come down slowly. His eyes are still gently closed, catching his breath, and yet still appreciating your weight on top of him.

"Are you okay?" you, surprisingly, say first, and swipe his plump bottom lip. "Ah. So wet, baby..."

Levi licks his lips without thinking, briefly catching the pad of your thumb. When his soft eyes flutter open, they positively shine. He blinks. "As good as you look right now... Are you..."

"I'd say the exact same about you," you tenderly reply.

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[spaceobloquy]

A Starter Guide to Armored Core Roleplay

Hey, buddy. I'll try and fill you in as quick as I can. The first thing you should know about Armored Core as a franchise is that there appear to be four big continuities:

the Armored Core 1 and 2 series, consisting of Armored Core, Project Phantasma, and Master of Arena on Earth, eventually leading to Armored Core 2 on Mars and Another Age back on Earth

the Armored Core 3 series, consisting of Armored Core 3, Silent Line, Nexus, Ninebreaker, Formula Front, and Last Raven, all taking place on Earth

the Armored Core 4 and 5 series, consisting of Armored Core 4, For Answer, then much later in time Armored Core V, and Verdict Day, all taking place on Earth

the Armored Core 6 series, so far just consisting of Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon, taking place on the exoplanet Rubicon 3

All of these are valid for roleplay, and all possess interesting characters, settings, and lore. Today I'll be talking about the Armored Core 6 series though, because Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon just came out recently, is far and away the most easily accessible of the games, and it possesses the most compelling characters in the franchise's history. Its unique nature as the only interstellar entry in the series also provides much more freedom when it comes to roleplay. There's a lot of free real estate.

So, let's say you just got done playing Armored Core VI, or saw some footage and vibed with it. You found you really liked a character and want to muse them, or you want to adapt a muse from some other fandom for a verse/AU, or you want to make an original character in the setting, or anything in between. Where do you begin?

Let me help you out, buddy.

The first thing I'd recommend is: ignore the endings. They're all bad. I don't mean that they're poorly written, I mean that they're all bad outcomes for the setting and for all the characters involved. Just handwave it. Imagine a fourth ending that muddled through and preserves an uneasy status quo. Did your favorite character die in the endings, or sometime before? No they didn't. Just rewrite it. Armored Cores canonically have ejector seats. Keep it kinda vague so you can easily operate with anybody else, but otherwise, don't sweat it.

The second thing I'd recommend is: let your imagination run wild. I'm running a service on my main blog where I'll come up with a verse/AU for existing muses, to include AC designs with rough paintjobs (you can view these in this tag) but if you already have an idea, just do it. There really are no hard rules; just write.

Alright, I said I'll keep it brief, so I'm going to give you some CliffsNotes on the setting without all the supporting evidence and homework:

Human space in Armored Core VI probably comprises somewhere between 3,000 and 5,000 exosolar planets at a minimum. This suggests somewhere between 300 and 1,000 star systems, or more. The only places mentioned explicitly by name are Rubicon 3, and the Jupiter colonies. There was also a "Four Island Disturbance" but that could mean anything, really. You're free to make up whatever you want.

There is FTL travel of some kind, and it's both pretty ubiquitous and fairly fast. There's a lot of interstellar commerce going on, and human space is pretty well linked up considering there is a unified and universally recognized currency in the form of COAM. The setting features some kind of stasis, although whether this is merely general purpose or used predominantly for interstellar travel is unclear. It doesn't seem to be particularly tricky to use.

Human augmentation with genetic engineering or cybernetics to some extent doesn't seem particularly rare, although those properly addressed as "augmented humans" probably number in the tens to hundreds of thousands at most, and mostly seem to be military personnel or mercenaries. Augmentation surgery was quite dangerous until about 30 or so years before Armored Core VI begins. It's quite safe at present, but expensive. There may or may not be human longevity technology, it doesn't matter too much. AI is very much a thing, though somewhat uncommon at small scales. City to continent scale megastructures and space engineering are quite feasible.

Armored Core VI takes place in the indeterminate future, but isn't so far in the future that Earth-based ethnicities and nationalities have completely died out. Using existing cultures, mashing up existing cultures, or inventing new cultures are all perfectly fine.

The only known thing approaching a government entity in Armored Core VI is the Planetary Closure Administration (PCA) which is basically a police force for the Rubicon star system. They were most likely originally set up by corporations and planetary governments. Planetary level is likely the largest size governments come in within the setting, possibly a few planets and moons; there are likely not immense or substantial empires or federations. Armored Core games are traditionally dominated by megacorporations, but state actors likely still exist.

While Armored Core VI features two major corporations (Balam Industries and Arquebus Corporation), as well as several smaller ones and subsidiaries, there is no reason to believe there aren't more that specialize in other things or subcontract their work to these. You're again free to make up whatever you want.

You're probably generally okay with using Halo or Aliens as sources of inspiration in terms of the scale of things, although remember that there are probably no big overarching interstellar governments.

Armored Cores (ACs) are the main high-end form of mechanized warfare, which goes by the name 'Core Theory' and involves close-range, heavy firepower, high mobility assaults using them. These were developed from less sophisticated machines called Muscle Tracers (MTs) which comprise the bulk of armed forces, although other vehicles like aircraft and ground vehicles still exist, and infantry combat still takes place as well.

I think that's a good place to end for a starter guide. If you have particular questions, ask in a reply and I'll try and answer. But really, if you like mecha, sky's the limit. You ready to climb The Wall?

[simpingcowboy]

Thinking about Trans Din today. Any thoughts?

YOU KNOW WHAT!?!? I've been thinking about him a lot lately!! Specifically about what his transition would've been like in The Mandalorian culture/with star wars medicine!!! But I'll let him tell you a bit about it himself :) (aka your first kiss)

Pairing: Trans!Din x GN!Reader, no Y/N

Word Count: 1.2K+

Warnings: Discussions of medical transition (HRT, top surgery), coming out, brief mention of body dysmorphia, (nothing graphic or overly descriptive!!! All happy endings here!!! <3)

A/N: I wrote this in 2 hours as 2am hehehehe I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense I love trans!Din Series Masterlist here!!

The twin suns of Tatooine had long sank below the sand dunes. Their warmth out of reach. The desert cooled greatly under the dark sky. The only given light that of the distant stars, and the fire Din had built for you two. Din sat next to you, his shoulders and thigh touching yours. His cape covers over both your shoulders. Everything was quiet. The fire crackles in a hushed tone. The winds of Tatooine only give half hearted hollow howls. It felt as if the world was waiting for something.

"Cyar'ika?" Din breaks the silence. His dark visor still fixed on the vast sky. "Can I kiss you?"

You turn to him in silence, taking in the silhouette of his helmet. "You want to kiss me?" You repeat to him, unbelieving you've heard him correctly.

You two hadn't had much physical contact. Even after, you admitted your feelings for each other. He was still a Mandalorian after all. Even more, he has spent so much time under his protective armor, Din had forgotten how touch was supposed to feel. Let alone how he was meant to initiate it. But each time he did, stars was it breathtaking.

The first time he let you hold his bare hand you just about fainted. He was so warm and soft. With pretty tanned brown skin. Every touch of his was electrifying. Each time felt like such a gift. A little piece of him you got to have. A piece no one else had gotten. Maybe it was the cloak of night, or the empty desert sand, or being so close to you…but he was filled with an unwonted kind of bravery.

"Yes." He answers bluntly. Letting his answer dangle in the air. The visor slowly turns to reach your gaze. "Do you not want to kiss me?"

"No! No I-I want to kiss you…" a hit of embarrassment runs through you, heat spreading over your face at the admittance. "But your helmet-"

"Can you close your eyes for me?" He asks. A small waver in his voice.

He was nervous. Stars was he nervous… With every step he took he was overly consumed with self consciousness. Never sure what you'd think of him. Of his body. Never wanting to seem even half as eager as he truly was to touch you, to be touched by you. You were so perfect. He just wanted to live up to everything you deserved.

You nod, closing your eyes at his request.

"I'm going to lift my helmet up now." He explains. "I'll tell you when to open your eyes again. Okay?"

"Okay." You answer him with a nervous gulp. You were finally gonna kiss your Mandalorian. A low hiss echoes from Din, letting you know his helmet must be coming off. You hear a small inhale. Unmodulated. Unfiltered. You hear Din's real voice.

"Cyar'ika…"

He slowly pulls the helmet off his head, baring his face for you. Din hadn't thought it possible, but you're even more lovely without the crude filter of his helmet. Even in the poor lighting of the fire, you are radiant. He brings a gloved hand to your cheek. The orange tip of his finger softly traces over your bottom lip.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." You answer, leaning into his hand.

Din gently guides you closer to him. He leans into you, tilting his head opposite yours. It feels like an eternity before your lips finally meet.

He kisses you gently, lips barely touching yours. His lips are soft against yours, just a bit rough no doubt from the dry desert air. Your mind is empty. Everything is him. Din kisses you again, this time with an insistent urgency. His lips press firmly against yours, desperate to taste you needing to feel you.

He's so close to you. A bump nudges against your cheeks. His nose. Short prickly hair rubs against your upper lip and cheek. Stubble! He has stubble. A small chuckle rises up your throat at this new knowledge. You feel Din's lips turn up into a smile as he slowly pulls away from you. His hand moving off your cheek.

"What are you laughing at?" He feigns offense.

"You…you have stubble." You say with a laugh. "I- I didn't know you had stubble." You say bashfully.

Din huffs a laugh at you. He enjoys watching you laugh. The sight without his helmet on is even better. "Yes, I have stubble." He blushes at your reaction to him "Is that okay?"

"More than okay I just…I didn't know you could. It's exciting."

"You didn't know?" Din repeats curiously.

"Well it…you must take something…right?"

Din just chuckles at you. "You can ask, Cyar'ika." He affirms, dropping his helmet back over his face. "Open your eyes."

You open your eyes slowly, readjusting to the light. Din's visor locked on you. You give him a soft smile. "Hi." You say shyly.

"Hello." He says back. "You want to ask how I can grow facial hair, right?"

You nod. You'd been curious ever since he told you, if he'd transitioned medically. If that was something he even wanted. But you didn't want to intrude on something so personal. Especially when it was something he'd not often discussed. But you wondered.

"I use patches that give me more testosterone. They give me more- masculine features."

"Like a batcha patch?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"Where do you put them?"

"On the thighs is best."

"Oh I see. How long have you been wearing them?"

"Everyday since I was 18. The Mandalorians were very familiar with it. I'm not the first of my kind among my clan."

"Din if I may…have you done anything else?"

He nods. "Just one. In my 20's I had surgery on my chest to remove some…excess tissue. That's all."

"The Mandalorians…they did alot to care for you, huh?"

"This is the way."

"Was it hard for you to tell them?" You tilt your head in curiosity.

"Hmm," Din thinks back to his early teens. In a way he'd always known. But it wasn't until puberty he really began to understand the disconnect between his brain and body. For the first time in his life he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Like his body was betraying him. It felt so wrong. "First I told the doctor. She slowly helped me put a word to it. The Mandalorians…they're my family. They always did what was right for me. Always helped me. They love me…I told them I was a boy and- they treated me as such. I was nervous at first, but after that everything was easy."

You smile up at him. "I'm grateful they received you with such kindness." You say in earnest.

"I am too." Din echoes your sentiment. "And- I'm glad you are so kind." Under the helmet, a blush goes over the tips of his ears.

"I love you Din…the rest is easy."

The rest of Din's face goes hot. "I-I love you too."

He still can't believe he's so vulnerable with you. Even more so he can't believe that you still want him everytime he is. There you are again, piercing through his beskar to look into his heart.

"Din?"

"Yes, Cyar'ika?"

"Before I forget, you're a very good kisser..."

[bonefall]

recently checked out your HRT post and loved it!! but I was curious?? I’d you ever made that OTHER post you eluded to in that post about??? possible trans surgeries the cats could do???

I never got into it because I wasn't sure what would count as too gorey, and decided to save most of it for a brief mention in an Herb Guide I want to make for surgery in general. Including sterile procedure, how a knife is made and why claws are not used, how to disinfect a tool, how to make sutures out of animal gut...

(CW: Genital surgery. Cutting things off)

But, in a nutshell, castration is very easy to do as far as surgeries go for a MTF warrior. First the area is shaved, and then it's a simple incision. The hardest part for the Cleric would be tying off the chords and suturing up the cut. Low risk of complications, too.

Unfortunately FTM surgery is out of the realm of possibility. It would be too invasive. Even just top surgery is looking at a nearly 50% fatality rate back in the 17th century, on top of the only painkillers being poppy seeds.

Not to mention that cats don't have breasts like humans do-- there's nothing there to be dysphoric about unless the man is actively pregnant and his milk is coming in

There is also always tossing yourself in a TNR trap, for FanClans. Only BloodClan does that in my rewrite, though, and they're VERY careful about it. One wrong guess and you're not in the TNR program, you're in the shelter.

[reaperxxxxzz]

Where I Need You Most

smut I guess??? I didn't know??!!! Mind you I don't really write things like this and have never written a fanfic before so beware!!!!! If I do post this mdni for posts like this I guess??!! Smut under the thing,

also this is pointed towards my fellow trans-guys, cus we need more content and Gaz needs more content so why not right?? And this is where the reader has already gotten top surgery and is on testosterone!! And there is gonna be praise and degrading and a little bit of a sir kink so if you don't like that then you don't have to read it, it's fine!!!

↓↓↓↓song I suggest!!↓↓↓↓

You looked at Gaz, the way he looked so nice and sweet and god you could go on about him for years, but right now you had to do a de-brief after the mission. Damnit though, he looked so pretty with his perfect skin, and strong arms, and his cute little accent, he was fucken' perfect.

"Okay everyone, I know a lot of you are tired so I will let you go, good job on the mission and get some sleep soldiers." Captain Price said, picking up the papers on the desk and going up to leave.

You quickly grabbed Gaz's arm and walked towards your room, not even looking at Ghost and Soap, when you got to your room you pushed Gaz against the door, making sure to lock it, you looked down at Gaz and smiled, his face looking so perfect with his smile.

"Hey my love.." you said as you pushed your head into his shoulder, finding comfort by him.

"lovie, are you really that needy for me?" He teased as his hands went to your waist, holding and caressing it.

"mmf.." You said with a nod, although it was muffled because you were pressed so close to his shoulder he could still hear your pretty little whimper.

"Aww, maybe I should make you cum, is that what you want lovie?" He teased as his hands went up your shirt, squeezeing your perfect tummy

You nodded as best you could in your position, a small "yes sir..!" Was heard, it sounded heavenly to Gaz's ears

"fuck...Yea? You want me to make you cum? Make you so messy?" He asked as he picked you up and sat down on your old bed and moved you so you were straddling his waist, his hands moving close to the part you needed most, but his hand stopped right next to it.

"please Gaz, I need you, need your hands please..!" You begged, your hips moving to try and get any kind of friction

"ohh boy, do you need it that bad? Huh boy?" He teases as he looked you in the eye before taking off your shirt. "Can I take off your shirt, my boy?"

You nod and just take it off for him, your cheeks getting slightly hot at the fact that he's seeing you, even if he has before it's still so sureal.

"oh good boy." he traces your top surgery scars gently, making sure to not hurt them, he looks at you with want in his eyes. "Don't be shy, look at me my love." He says as he moves your head by your chin to make you look at him.

You smile and start to take off your pants, throwing them on the floor, you guide his hand to your cunt, the only thing separating his hand and your wet pussy is your boxers, but they do have a little opening by your crotch, made for peeing, but you want to use it for another purpose. "C'mon please touch me..! I've been such a good boy..!" You whimper and beg.

Gaz grins, he starts to rub your clit through your boxers, there's already a small wet patch on them, showing just how needy you are. "Aww my boy is so wet, such a needy little slut.." He teases while rubbing your T-dick faster, making you even more wet.

"Fuck..! Yes sir I'mma slut.!" You whine as you grind on his fingers. "Wan' yer' cock please sir!" You beg him.

"Oh you want my cock? Want me to fill you up? Make you a slutty fucken' mess? Is that what you want?" He says as he moves you for some seconds so he can take off his pants and boxers, his cock hard and leaking pre-cum from you, he sits you right next to his dick, wanting to take this by your pace. "C'mon, you can touch it.." He says with a breathy voice, so full of desire towards you.

"its so big..!" You whisper as you stroke his dick gently, you swiftly take off your boxers and start rubbing his tip on your clit, mixing his pre-cum with your own juices, getting you to moan.

"yea it is, is it to big for your tight little hole?" He said as he grabs his dick and starts to rub your T-dick faster, making him groan.

You start to push his dick in your tight hole, and although it stung it still felt amazing, you slowly got to his base and sat there for some seconds, getting normalized to his size, once you do you start to ride him, not bring the best at it though, so you look at Gaz for directing.

"baby boy do you want my help to ride me? Don't worry I'll help you." He says as he grabs your waist to help you up and down on his big cock. "Gonna make a mess out of you little slut."

You moan and move your head to rest on his chest, feeling so good and overflowed with pleasure.

Your ass bouncing on Gaz's dick mixed with the sounds of your cunt, makes so much noise, fueling both you and Gaz's adrenaline.

"Gaz, fuck I feel so good..never felt this way, wanna cum, please make me a mess..!"

That right there made Gaz ram his cock into your soaking wet cunt, him already feeling close with all the teasing beforehand, and he knows that you feel the same, he starts to kiss your neck, leaving marks so the 141 knows that your *his* and *only his*

"mm, fuck I'm gonna cum, wanna cum so bad sir..!" You moan and clench around him. "Cum inside me please sir, wanna be full of you..!"

"do it, cum around my fucken' cock, god yea.." Gaz moans and thrust up into you one last time before you both cum. "Good boy..such a good boy me.." He whimpers.

"fuck its so good, so full.." you mumble, absolutely exhausted but still there, you hug Gaz tightly and start to fall asleep.

Gaz gets up and starts to clean your body and his, making sure to make you comfortable, he then tucks you in right next to him, you immediately cudling him, then he falls asleep.

This was probably terrible lolz thank you tho

[lifewithchronicpain]

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has issued new guidance for clinicians on how and when to prescribe opioids for pain. Released Thursday, this revamps the agency's 2016 recommendations which some doctors and patients have criticized for promoting a culture of austerity around opioids.

CDC officials say that doctors, insurers, pharmacies and regulators sometimes misapplied the older guidelines, causing some patients significant harm, including "untreated and undertreated pain, serious withdrawal symptoms, worsening pain outcomes, psychological distress, overdose, and [suicide]," according to the updated guidance.

The 100-page document and its topline recommendation serve as a roadmap for prescribers who are navigating the thorny issue of treating pain, including advice on handling pain relief after surgery and managing chronic pain conditions, which are estimated to affect as many as one in every five people in the U.S.

The 2016 guidelines proved immensely influential in shaping policy — fueling a push by insurers, state medical boards, politicians and federal law enforcement to curb prescribing of opioids.

The fallout, doctors and researchers say, is hard to overstate: a crisis of untreated pain. Many patients with severe chronic pain saw their longstanding prescriptions rapidly reduced or cut off altogether, sometimes with dire consequences, like suicide or overdose as they turned to the tainted supply of illicit drugs.

Federal agencies had tried to course correct, making it clear that the older voluntary guidelines were not intended to become strict policies or laws. But doctors and patient advocates also held out hope that the CDC's updated guidelines would undo some of the unintended consequences of the earlier guidance.

This was clearly on the mind of CDC health officials when they announced the new clinical guidelines on Thursday.

"The guideline recommendations are voluntary and meant to guide shared decision-making between a clinician and patient," said Christopher Jones, acting head of the CDC's National Center for Injury Prevention and Control and a co-author of the updated guidelines, during a media briefing, "It's not meant to be implemented as absolute limits of policy or practice by clinicians, health systems, insurance companies, governmental entities."

The change in outlook is evident all over the new guidelines, says Dr. Samer Narouze, the president of the American Society of Regional Anesthesia and Pain Medicine.

"You can tell the culture around the 2016 guidelines was just to cut down opioids, that opioids are bad," he says. "It's the opposite here, you can sense they are more caring more about patients living in pain. It's directed more towards relieving their pain and their suffering." (Read more at link)

[bullet-prooflove]

Blood Brothers (Brian Zvonecek x Reader)

They say there are moments in your life that you will never forget. These are the moments that truly make up who you are. The moments you overcame the challenges that were thrust into your path. For you, the moment you stood alongside Hank Voight and watched while he fastened those handcuffs onto the wrists of the man who had almost beaten Joe Cruz to death.

You wouldn't forget the look on Brian's face as he answered that call about Cruz's condition.

It was devastating to see Brian on the opposite side of the glass. You watched as he held his spiritual brother's hand, his lips were moving but you couldn't hear what he was saying. His lips quirked, the left side of his mouth twitching into part of a smile. He was brave and stubborn. He had stuck to his Cruz’s side like glue since he had been wheeled out of surgery.

Herrmann had left not too long ago, with a brief peck on the cheek and a request that you would take care of Brian. You already knew what he was thinking when his pale blue eyes bored straight into yours. Brian needed a different kind of help. The kind only you could give to him.

Your eyes came to linger on Cruz, his face swollen and deformed from the kicks that had been delivered to his head. The doctor thought there may be brain damage. The paramedics weren't sure how long he'd been left there not breathing. The surgery had taken over four hours to repair the extensive damage to his internal organs. When they had brought him into the recovery room, they had made it clear that Cruz would be on a breathing tube for the near future.

It was such a waste, you thought shaking your head. All of this had happened because of a wannabe gangster that Cruz had grown up with.

The occasional beep from the life support machine was the only sound that emitted through the room, as you took a step forward and pushed the door ajar.

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose. His dark, wavy hair falling over his forehead as he turned his head away at the sound of the door shutting behind you. He was trying to keep it all, trying to hide his vulnerability, but you knew that wouldn't last long. He couldn't hide things from you.

Your hand slid into his. A perfect match, just like the glass slipper in Cinderella. There were no words between you. There was nothing left to say as Brian's shoulders trembled, the knot in his throat tightened and ached. His fingers entwined in yours shifting into something more intimate, and more real as the grief tore up his insides. His eyes were burning as your hand came to rest upon his cheek, your thumb smoothed softly over his quivering lips as you guided his gaze to meet yours.

He couldn't hide all the pain and the desperation that welled from deep inside. The fragility he felt as he stared deep into your eyes. There was comfort in you, you were here, and you were home. You were everything he needed right now. His defences began to weaken and crumble. His eyes lined with tears he had forced himself from shedding; now he couldn't seem to stop. They were sliding down his cheeks as he choked.

Your fingertips chased away that first single tear away from the curve of his unshaven cheek. There was tenderness in your touch. There were no pretences between the two of you in moments like this. The floodgates shattered.

You looped your arms through his. Your body pressed against Brian's offering up the security he'd craved ever since his life had become this hollow, fractured mess. His own arms wrapped around your slim frame, as you cradled him close. He inhaled the essence that made up your scent as he buried his face in your shoulder. His world came crashing down.

He held onto you like you were the last person on earth, he was frightened that if he ever let you go there would be nothing left for him anymore. You were his person, the other part of his tarnished soul. It was moments like this that reminded him of that.

Your small hands smoothed circles on either side of his vertebrate as he clutched onto your jacket. The material was balled up in his fists as his sobs vibrated against you. You heart wrenched and twisted at the sounds that he made. Sounds that you had never heard from him before, sounds you hoped you would never have to hear again. His heart ache killed you. You wanted to take his sorrow and make it your own; you wished you could banish it all away.

You stood like that for a long time until the only thing that you were aware of was the beating of Brian's vulnerable heart against your own.

Brian was the first to break apart. He withdrew uneasily sinking deep into one of the two plush chairs residing alongside Cruz's bed. Your hands were still connected, so he pulled you down lightly into the seat beside him. You shuffled your chairs closer together, unwilling to break your only source of contact.

Brian's head came to rest upon your shoulder, his eyes closed as his masculine frame sagged in exhaustion. The last few days had been hard on him and today was taking its toll.

He reminded you of a child, it was times like these that you remembered how innocent he was. You cupped his hand between both of yours. Your delicate fingertips traced patterns along the back of his hand, over his knuckles as you listened to the sound of his breathing.