#i spent most of the day one day in a medical tent because i got drugged so that was not fun

[bamsara]

IM HOME and god that was. something.cool festival my leg hurts

[ghostgorlsworld]

Moondrunk Monster Pt 1 (Ghost x reader)

Hey so this is my first Call of duty fanfic, so the characters might be wack. The general idea for this one is based off of a Love, Death, Robots episode where werewolves are basically in the military.

You're a retired combat medic that made a mistake, costing you your cushy office job. As punishment, you're sent to an active war zone, where you meet the 141, a squad of werewolves that slowly accept you as their own. (I know, I know I'm bad at summarizing)

Warnings: Extreme violence, smut in the future

Part 1

It was odd to think of how much your life had changed in just a few weeks. At the beginning of the year, you were placed in a cushy job at a base where you were paid large amounts of money to stitch up red-faced recruits and perform physicals on the higher ups–it had been nice, a simple existence where you didn’t have to see blown apart soldiers or hold poor boys down while they screamed and screamed.

But things changed, and for the punishment of your mistake, you were flown here. An active warzone deep in the desert, where there were no boyish recruits eager to please, just grizzled soldiers that look at you like an intruder, a hen in the midst of foxes.

When you were younger, this was easier. You had liked the excitement and adrenaline of danger, of scurrying in the heat of gunfire with your medpack to save lives.

Now you’re older, grumpier, and generally out of shape. They hadn’t given you time to prepare before the Colonel shipped you out here, so here you were in an ill-fitting uniform, setting up your medic bay beside the wolf-soldier’s tent because the Captain insisted that was the only space left in camp.

Their original medic had died after both he and his supplies were blasted to pieces. Captain Graves shortly put in a request for an experienced combat medic, and you could imagine his surprise when he saw you step off the plane, a woman in her early thirties, soft from five years of office work.

The Captain, understandably, hated you. He was saddled with an overweight female medic and a squad of wolves, you were sure the combination put a few extra gray hairs on his head.

Ironically, wolf-soldiers were highly sought after in the military. They were quicker, stronger, and smarter than even the best of the best, able to walk barefoot in the desert without a blister or sniff out an enemy from miles away. You had seen a wolf blown nearly in half get up and walk out of your tent the next day. 

Captain’s group was a particularly intimidating bunch. There was Johnny–or Soap, as he preferred–a mohawked wolf with charming blue eyes and a deadly sense of humor. Gaz was the sweetheart of the bunch, smiling at you in a friendly sort of manner whenever you were forced to sit at the end of their lunch table.

Price was their leader, a wide man with a deep voice and commanding presence. Honestly, he reminded you of your father.

Then there was Ghost, the wolf in the skull mask. He was the biggest, all broad shoulders and muscles encased in a healthy layer of fat–and, from what you had learned from your patients, the most dangerous.  

On your first day, you had to dig a piece of shrapnel the size of your hand out of his shoulder. Ghost refused when you offered wolf-friendly pain medication, seeming to enjoy your expression as you watched the skin around his gaping wound knit itself back together.

The other soldiers disliked them, simultaneously jealous and fearful of their abilities . The 141 were excluded from the rest, much like you were, so you spent meals at  the other side of their table, minding your own business with a novel.

They didn’t seem to mind, after all, you spent half your time digging bullets out of them when the other medics refused to touch them. They weren’t used to humans being kind to them. 

You quickly adjusted to life in the desert, sleeping in the back of the med bay in a rickety cot while your patients tossed and turned through the night. You got used to the early mornings and the shitty food, the screaming, the blood, settling back into a life that you had thought you left behind.

This morning was no different. You wake to the noise of shouting, the dark sky telling you it was far from morning. 

“Where the fuck is the medic?” Price’s voice dominated over the others. You quickly stumble out of bed, shoving your legs through your pants and hastily buckling them as you hurried outside, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

The scene before you was gruesome. Gaz lay prone on the ground, throat slashed and guts strewn out of his belly like noodles.

If he were a man, he would be dead.

But even a wolf can die, and a body can’t heal around its  own intestines.

You were awake in an instant, shouting orders to the men around you as you dropped to your knees. His pulse was slowing as more blood pooled into the dirt, his body unable to replace what he was losing so quickly. 

The thing about werewolves is that they are partially human, which allows them to take human blood in small doses if the need calls for it. But the issue was the blood itself. 

Every week, you get a shipment of fresh, cold O-negative blood, giving you ample supply for every occasion. But a sandstorm had interrupted the usual shipment yesterday, and while you knew that the shipment was supposed to arrive at noon later today, that didn’t help you now.

Gaz gagged, blood gurgling from his throat.

“Shit, shit,” Soap said, his mohawk slicked with his friend’s blood. “Is he gonna make it, doc?” Soldiers huddled around you, supplies in their hands. You ripped strips of gauze and placed them over his throat, slowing the bleeding before you started on his gutted stomach. 

“We’re out of transfusion blood,” you announced. “Is any soldier here O-negative?”

Silence. No human soldier would volunteer to give his own blood to a wolf. 

Except you. You nodded, swiping an alcohol swab into the crease of your elbow before connecting the two of you with an IV, the bright red of your blood flowing into his veins at the gasps of both human and wolf around you.

It would stir up the healing process so you worked quickly, Amon, another medic, joining you as you worked on closing his stomach.

It felt like hours before his pulse grew strong again, but you knew it could only be ten, twenty minutes. You slid the IV out of your arm, blinking as black spots appeared in your vision.

You might have given a bit too much. 

Gaz looked at you, his dark eyes replaced by an eerie yellow stare. A chill stole up your spine. 

 “Good morning,” you said through numb lips, taking a peek under the gauze on his throat. It was now only a pale scar, just a memory of a wound. “Look at that, soldier, you’re practically brand new.”

Gaz smiled weakly, his head falling back into the dirt. Soap whooped, gripping your shoulder in a vicious hug. “Good job, lass, I thought the pup was gone for sure.”

You stumbled at the weight of him, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Amon, will you get him set up in the infirmary? I think I need a moment.”

Price waved Soap off, gripping your elbow in a guiding hold. “Ease off the poor girl, Johnny, she’s dead on her feet.”

Soap merely grinned apologetically, ruffling your bedhead with a rough palm before helping the others move Gaz into the infirmary. 

Ghost stood behind you, a reaper in sand-colored tactical pants. Price pushed you gently into Ghost’s direction, “Get her something to eat, Lieutenant.” “I’m alright,” you tried to insist, a spike of nerves in your belly about being with Ghost. He was the least human of them all.

“That was an order, doc,” Ghost said, his voice a dry rumble as his hand fell on your shoulder. “Go on.”

You allowed yourself to be herded to 141’s tent, having half a mind to curl up in one of their bunks and sleep until dawn, free from the smell of blood and antiseptic. 

Their tent was neat and smelled, well, like an animal den–not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly…male. 

Ghost nudged you towards the sink without a word. 

It took you a moment to see that you were still wearing gloves, caked in Gaz’s blood. You stripped them off, then began soaping up your hands and forearms, scrubbing the red from your skin.

When you were clean, you hovered over a cot, about to take a seat for your shaky legs.

Ghost stiffened from where he was crouched, his hands in a tub of supplies. “Not that one.” You glanced down, seeing the Scottish flag on the wall, the photos of a couple that looked exactly like Johnny. “Oh, sorry.” 

He jerked his head to another cot, this one bare of any decoration except for a cold cup of tea. You assumed it was Price’s, perhaps he doesn’t mind the stench of a human on his sheets.

You took a seat, your hands trembling in your lap. Ghost tossed an army bar your way. “Eat,” he said, in a tone that didn’t invite an argument. 

“Ew,” you said, eyeing the packaging. He gave you a dark-eyed look, the kind that probably made wolves bare their bellies and whine. “Oh fine,” you huffed, tearing into it. It was awful, the kind of chalky that let you know they stuffed enough nutrition and calories in the bland, tasteless bar to keep a soldier going for days. You chewed and watched Ghost shift around in the makeshift kitchen, heating a pot of water over a spindly propane stove.

Was he making-

“Drink this,” Ghost said, passing over a cup of tea. He kept one for himself, pulling up a chair to sit across from you. He was still filthy from whatever mission the Captain had set them on, blood and dirt smeared over his gear and mask.

“Thank you,” you said, sniffing it doubtfully. You were American, so you didn’t have much taste for tea unless it was iced and sweet. 

But when someone like Ghost makes you a cup of tea, you drink the fucking tea.

He nodded, turning away from you so he could lift his mask over his mouth to drink his tea. You looked away quickly, focusing your attention on the Scotland flag on Soap’s corner.

The two of you sit in silence for a long time, long enough that your cup is drained and you’re blinking heavily at the darkness still outside.

“Go on,” Ghost said, slipping the cup out of your hand.

You hide a yawn, pushing yourself up from the bed.“It’s alright, LT, I’ve got my own bed somewhere.” “You have half a dozen men in your tent, love.” Ghost backed you up against the bed, his heavy hand on your shoulder. “Sleep. We’ll keep an eye on Kyle.”

It made sense. You kicked off your boots and curled up on the cot, hiding your throbbing head in a pillow that smelled like gunpowder and musk. 

Ghost ducked out of the tent as you laid down, your eyes falling on a skull mask folded up neatly beside the cot.

It was then that you realized this was his bed. 

[datura-tea]

holy shit this year marks 10 years of this blog and moz!! i can't remember the exact date i started posting here - my archive says i have one post from november 2013 but let's disregard that - but i do remember it was around late 2014/early 2015 :)

^ one of the very first moz art pieces i ever drew, for fallout week 2015!!

memories and art through the years under a read more bc it got long

2014 → baby's first rpg!! i started playing fnv on my cousin's jailbroken xbox late 2013 and finished mid 2014 and i loved every minute of it. i remember waking up at 8am and playing almost nonstop until 2am the next day haha!

i didn't play moz on my first playthrough - but i did start creating a character that would eventually become her: a shorthaired ex-boxer who punched her way through obstacles when diplomacy failed. i remember she spent a lot of time with boone. i liked him then, because he saved my ass more times than i can count. but i digress. this is draft 1 moz essentially

2015 → this is the year that i was doing my thesis so i could graduate but i was so depressed and stressed about it that i distracted myself by replaying fnv on pc, where i played through the dlcs for the first time. i fell in love with the dlcs' oversarching story; particularly ulysses, who i became obssessed with, especially since i couldn't find any content of him at the time. in the game, i played as moz; i had most of her personality and choices down, but her backstory was still up in the air.

fun fact: this was an existing sideblog that i remade to be a fallout blog so i could look for ulysses content, and when i couldn't find any, i made some myself, featuring moz as my main courier six. originally, i didn't ship them, but eventually i ended the year as a courier/ulysses otp shipper.

this was the year i started drawing digitally - my uncle let me borrow a drawing tablet and i used an old copy of photoshop i pirated hehe

2016 → i graduated this year!! and promptly fell deeper into my depression. this was the year that it got so bad that i had to be medicated. through it all, this blog and moz and ulysses and my fandom friends were with me. and for that i am truly grateful :) this was the year i figured out how to lock transparent pixels so that i could color my lineart lol

2017 → i started hammering out moz's backstory this year i think. there's a lot of sketches of her and her family in my files. i experimented with shading and backgrounds here but that experimentation was pretty short-lived

2018 → i started using references seriously!!!! i did a lot of oc on oc kissing this year, featuring mostly moz and many friend ocs haha

2019 → didn't draw much this year. actually this year was a blur and i can't remember much from it except from it being the year of my terrible no good bad copywriting jobs... anyway i did manage to continue my courier/ulysses brainrot and make this piece, which i'm still proud of

2020 → pandemic time. i spent a lot of time asleep at home and i think this was also the year i started doing commissions?? shoutout to anyone who has ever commissioned me - thank you so much, i truly appreciate it!!

2021 → i switched from my old-ass pirated photoshop to clip studio paint and never looked back. also i did a bunch of commissions for my grandmother's surgery, which failed, and i distracted myself from the sadness by drawing my ocs over and over and playing disco elysium

2022 → by this year, i've got moz down pat and have started vaguely developing other ocs instead. but she's still always at the back of my mind

2023 → i bought new brushes from true grit texture supply and immediately found new favorites that i started using for everything. i tentatively started incorporating background elements in some pieces!

2024 → while it's still too early to say where this year will lead me art-wise, i will say that i started experimenting in realistic paint studio (which i bought in 2021, the same time as clip studio paint) a few days ago and i'm liking the results so far. we'll see!

all in all, these last 10 years have been quite a ride, but i'm glad i stuck around and i'm glad you guys stuck around too!! much much love 💖💖💖

[therealdisneyfan2319]

Mission Impossible Part 2 | Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Four months ago a mission went horribly wrong.  Natasha’s learning to live with the consequences.  Just when she thinks things can’t get any worse, they do.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI, graphic description of injuries, blood, violence, medical procedures, mentions of death, mild suicidal ideation, language, cheating

Word Count: 5.6K

Masterlist

A/N: This is the long-awaited part 2 to Mission Impossible.  I’ve taken little bits and pieces from different comments on the first part to create this pile of angst.  You’ve been warned 🫠

Nearly four months had passed since the mission that ultimately destroyed Y/N and Natasha’s relationship.  After Y/N left their apartment he didn’t return.  He didn’t even go back to get his things.  Pietro had done that, muttering and cursing Natasha out under his breath as he shoved clothes and books into cardboard boxes while she watched everything that reminded her of her favorite person disappear right before her eyes.  Y/N stayed with Pietro for a couple of weeks while Tony pulled some strings to get him another place.  He ultimately ended up letting him stay in his New York penthouse, as Y/N had also requested a leave of absence.  He was in no shape to be going on missions, let alone spend  all of his working hours with the woman who tore his heart into a million pieces.  Natasha had also been placed on administrative leave by Fury while he tried to sort out what exactly had gone wrong that night.  She resigned herself to Yelena’s apartment most days, not wanting to spend time in the place that she once shared with Y/N.

 She awoke one morning to her phone ringing: it was Fury.  

“Hello?” she croaked into the phone.

“I need you to come to the office now.”

“I’m still on leave.”

“That’s an order, Romanoff,” he repeated sternly.  “You’ve got ten minutes.”  The phone clicked as Fury abruptly hung up.  

Groaning, Natasha sat up.  She’d spent the night crying herself to sleep like she did most nights.  She rubbed her bloodshot eyes, sighing as she contemplated skipping out on meeting with Fury and going back to bed.  Consequences didn’t bother her anymore.  Nothing bothered her anymore because nothing mattered to her anymore.  Most of the Avengers gave her the cold shoulder.  They didn’t go out of their way to explicitly exclude her, but they didn’t make any effort to include her either.  She was grateful to still have Yelena and Clint, but even they were upset with her.  Whether she meant it or not Natasha hurt Y/N and her mistake affected more than just him.

She threw on a pair of slippers and started for Fury’s office.  She was still in her pajamas, but she didn’t care.  When the elevator opened, she was surprised to see Steve standing there holding two cups of coffee.

“Morning,” he said, handing her a cup.

“Hi,” she mumbled as she tentatively accepted the drink.  Steve wasn’t one of the Avengers who was outwardly hostile towards Natasha.  While he in no way approved of the way she handled the situation, he understood that she needed a bit of compassion.  They never talked about what happened that night.  Steve never pushed and Natasha never offered, but many nights they sat in silence together in the common room.

“Looks like you’re back on the team then.”

“I guess,” Natasha shrugged.  “Maybe I’ll just quit.”

“Nat-”

“I’m serious, Steve.  I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”  She stared straight ahead as she sipped her coffee.  Steve sighed, knowing it was futile to try and talk any sense into the assassin.  “What’s this about anyways?”

“No idea.  All Fury told me was that it’s important.”  The duo stepped off the elevator as the doors opened right in front of Fury’s office.

“Nice of you to dress up for the occasion,” Fury joked as Nat entered the office.  She looked down at her fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and grey tank top somewhat abashedly.  “Have a seat.”  He motioned to the two chairs sitting across from his desk.  

“What’s this about?” Steve asked as he sat down.

Fury sighed, rubbing his goatee as he paced behind his desk.  “Four months ago Romanoff was tasked with retrieving intel that’s critical to SHIELD’s assault on the vibranium black market.  Her target was a man by the name of Oliver Parker.”  A picture of Parker appeared on the holographic screen behind the desk.  Natasha immediately lowered her gaze from the tall, dark, handsome man looming larger than life in front of her.  The mere thought of him churned her stomach.  

“Parker,” Fury continued, “is only one of many aliases the man assumes.  His real name?  Pyotr Larionovich.  Spent his formative years working for one General Dreykov as a recruiter essentially.”

“Dreykov?”  The name sent a chill down Natasha’s spine.

“He’s since moved on and now works as an independent contractor for all sorts of underground dealings…has contacts all over the world.  We didn’t learn this until well after the mission.  But the fact of the matter is that he knew exactly who Romanoff was.  He played us big time.  The microchip was a dead end.  Sent us on a wild goose chase.”

“I’m guessing you want us to find him and bring him in?” Steve asked as he walked around examining the various pictures and pieces of intel that appeared holographically.  

Fury’s face wove itself into a look of unease as he clicked the remote in hand.  “We need you to recover Y/N.  He’s been abducted.”  A picture of Natasha and Y/N flickered into view: it was the one Natasha kept in her wallet.  

“Where did you get that picture?” She’d never shared that picture with anyone.

“What happened to the black handbag you brought with you that night, Romanoff?”  She thought back to that night, trying to remember what she did with the handbag.  She definitely had it with her while she was down at the party, but what did she do with it afterwards?  She hadn’t left the hotel with it.  As she put the pieces together, she slowly realized her error: she left it on the bar.

“I left it on the bar,” she whispered.  She was so distracted, drunk, and wrapped up in the moment that she completely forgot about it.

“And we have video footage of him picking it up and putting it in his coat pocket.  We figure he went through it, found the picture, and figured out who he was.”

“Is this a hostage negotiation situation?” Steve asked.

“Negative.  He doesn’t know that we know about Y/N.  We’re sure he’ll be demanding a ransom shortly, but we’d like to avoid that.”

“Are we sure about the intel on this, Fury?”

“Unfortunately, yes.  He’s being held in a cargo storage unit just outside of Atlanta.  It’s an old Red Room extraction site.  They haven’t used it in a number of years, but everything is still there.”

Natasha barely heard a word either man said.  She was lost in the depths of her mind, spiraling as she realized the extent of her carelessness.  First she lost her relationship.  Now it could potentially cost Y/N his life.  Grief crashed over her like a wave, threatening to swallow her whole before spitting her back out.  

“Romanoff?” Fury’s gruff voice snapped her back to reality.  

“I can’t do this, Nick.  Send somebody else.”  She stood up to leave, not wanting any part of the mission.

“Absolutely not.  You started this, you’re going to see it through to the end.”  Natasha paused.  He had a point.  She sighed as she realized that he wasn’t going to give her another option.

“He won’t want to see me,” she muttered.

“That’s beside the point, Natasha.  You’re the only one who has extensive experience with the Red Room.  Just get it done.”  The screens flicked off as the lights came back on.  Steve looked over at Natasha, his hands in his pockets as he shrugged.  

“I’m ready when you are unless you plan on going in your pajamas,” he joked.  Natasha groaned, rolling her eyes as she stormed out of the office.

*******************************************************************************************

They sat in silence as Steve piloted the Quinjet.  Natasha stared out the window and watched the world fly by.  Steve looked over at her.  He gave a slight cough, indicating that he wanted to speak.  

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing.  Just wanted to ask how you’re doing?”

“I’m fine,” she sniffled, rubbing her nose as she turned to look back out the window.

“Nat-”

“I’m FINE, Steve.  Drop it.”

“Okay.”  He adjusted his shoulders as he sat back in his chair.  An awkward tension hung in the air as the silence filled the cockpit.

“I messed a lot of things up that night, didn’t I?” she whispered as she put her feet on the chair and hugged her knees to her chest.

Steve didn’t answer immediately.  He thought for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly to say.  “Yeah, yeah you did,” he finally admitted.  “What were you thinking?  I can’t understand how you came to the solution that-”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know, Steve, I don’t know.  I was drunk and I know that’s not an excuse but I got wrapped up in his charm, okay?”  Her voice cracked as she spoke as all the emotions from that night bubbled up inside of her.  “It was dumb and if I could take it all back I would.”

Steve sighed as he looked over at her.  “He’s a mess, you know.  I went over to visit him right after he moved in and…you really hurt him.  He wanted to quit, you know?  I managed to talk him into sticking with the leave of absence instead.  That was after I convinced him to take a shower for the first time in almost a week and actually eat something other than pizza.” Natasha hung her head in shame.  She’d been beating herself up over cheating on Y/N for months now.  There was no doubt in her mind that he was suffering, but hearing just how distraught he was broke her heart.  

“I miss him so much,” she began to sob as she pictured a depressed Y/N, a shell of the vibrant, loveable man he once was.  “He told me not to do anything dumb before I left.  I know how he gets when I go out on missions alone and I thought it was just another stupid thing he said to make himself feel better.  I told him he worries too much and that nothing would happen.  And then I went and fucked it up.”

“You made a mistake, Nat.  Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Yeah, but not everyone cheats on their boyfriend.”

“Look,” Steve sighed.  “I won’t sit here and tell you I’m not mad at you because I am.  In my book what you did is inexcusable.  Not only did you put the entire mission at risk, you hurt one of my teammates.  The team is broken, Nat.  That’s on you.  I don’t know how I can trust you again.  I’d like to, but I can’t right now.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I know that doesn’t cut it, but I am.  I just want to tell him that.”  She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.  “Let’s get this over with, okay?”

“ETA is about 70 minutes,” he noted as he looked over at one of the screens off to the side.  “Fury should be sending the last of the intel soon if you want to give that a look.”  Nat sniffled as she nodded, pulling up the last-minute SHIELD intel on the small screen in front of her.

*******************************************************************************************

“Y/N?!” Natasha yelled as she cleared the door of the storage unit.  “Are you in here?”  Her voice echoed around the empty unit, bouncing off the walls as she struggled to see in the pitch black.  “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath as she slammed the door shut.  

The Red Room base was a complex of old warehouses full of storage units.  Overwhelmed by the sheer number of units to check, Steve and Natasha quickly agreed to split up.  She carefully checked and cleared every unit.  Every rusted door filled her with dread and apprehension.   Gruesome images of a mangled body flashed through her mind and for the first time in years she prayed to whatever higher being would answer first that Y/N would be alive and in one piece.  

“Southwest sector is clear, Nat.  He’s not here.  Anything yet?” Steve’s voice crackled over her earpiece.

“No.  I’ve still got a few units left up here,” Nat murmured into the microphone.

“I’ll head to the southeast sector.  He’s gotta be here.  All the signs point to it.”

“I know,” she sighed.  She shivered against the cold dampness of the warehouse.  The bleakness of it all chilled her to the bone, physically and emotionally.  Her hope of finding Y/N alive was quickly dwindling and the thought of finding him dead made her want to curl up into a ball and scream.  Of course she knew this was all her fault.  If she hadn’t let her guard down on that damn mission none of this would be happening, but there was no changing the past.  The best she could do would be to find him and bring him home safely.  

“Y/N?!” Natasha shouted as she kicked the next door in.  Her eyes scanned the room robotically, not anticipating to find anything worth noting.  As she turned to let the door slam shut once again, her ears perked up at a soft scraping sound.  It was barely audible, but the fact she hadn’t heard any sort of noise in any of the other units gave her reason to pause.  Reaching for the flashlight on her belt, she heard the noise again.  She shined the bright beam directly in front of her and nearly dropped it as she saw her worst nightmare in front of her.

“OH GOD NO!” she screamed, tossing the flashlight to the side as she sprinted toward the back of the metal box.  She nearly slipped in the pools of blood that surrounded the chair Y/N was tied to.  He was blindfolded with a bloody rag, slumped over as thick ropes cut into his wrists and ankles.  Blood, both dried and fresh, coated the exposed parts of his face and matted his hair to his forehead.  His hands were bruised and broken while deep lacerations drew whimsical patterns up and down his arms.  

“Nat, we’ve got movement in the northwest sector not too far from where you are.”  Steve’s voice interrupted the screams that pierced the darkness of the rusted unit.  “Natasha?  Natasha, are you there?”

“HELP ME!” she wailed into the microphone.  The anguish in her voice cut into the deepest parts of Steve’s soul as she cried out like a wounded animal.

“I’m on my way.”

Tears clouded Natasha’s vision as she carefully untied the blindfold knotted at the back of his head.  As it slipped down, part of her wished she’d kept it on.  His beautiful face was bruised and bloodied.  His eyes were blackened and swollen shut and his nose was more crooked than she remembered.  Blood streamed down his nose and lips, staining his face a dark crimson.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,  This is all my fault.  It’s all my fault,” she cried as she held his face in her hands, stroking his cheek with her thumb as she smeared more blood around his face.  “I’m so, so sorry.”  She leaned forward and rested her forehead on his, tears silently streaming down her face as she held him close.  She missed the way his body felt under her touch, the way he used to smile into her lips as he kissed her, the way his hands rested perfectly on her waist whenever he pulled her close.  Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the way it felt when he hugged her for the last time and she smiled at the thought of their last happy memory together.

A sharp, groaning intake of breath snapped her back to reality.  Y/N coughed and painted Natasha’s face with specks of blood.  He was awake.  He was alive.

“Nat?”  His voice was garbled and his mouth full of blood.  His swollen eyes barely fluttered open as he attempted to make out the redhead kneeling in front of him.  

“It’s me, baby.  I’m right here.  Steve’s on his way and we’ll get you out of here and back home in no time.”  She ran her fingers through his bloodied hair as his eyes struggled to focus.

“Hi,” he grinned weakly.  Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t try to talk, okay?  Just rest.  You’re safe now.”  She wiped up the small trail with her thumb. 

“ ‘M sorry,” he mumbled as tears began to roll down his bloody face.

Without any hesitation Natasha pressed her lips firmly against Y/N’s.  The salty, metallic taste of his lips against hers brought her back to a time where none of this nightmare was real.  For a fleeting second everything was as it was supposed to be.  

“Don’t you dare apologize, mister.  This is all my fault.  I messed everything up and I’m so, so sorry I hurt you.  Okay, Y/N?  I’m sorry.  I wish I could take it all back and I know I can’t so I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.  I promise.”  She kissed the top of his head as Steve kicked the door open.  

*******************************************************************************************

Natasha was grateful she had a super soldier with her as Steve picked Y/N up effortlessly and sprinted toward the Quinjet at a superhuman speed.  She followed close behind, making sure that the Red Room agents that were lurking in the area weren’t following them.  

“STEVE!  Let’s go!” she shouted as she sprinted up the ramp.

“Already ahead of you-F.R.I.D.A.Y.!  Take us home!”  The ramp closed and the ship began to hover as Steve placed Y/N on the medical fabricator Stark engineered specifically for the Quinjet.  “How’s he doing, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Mr. L/N has received multiple critical injuries to his head and torso.  Current body temperature is 100.4, heart rate is 50 BPM, blood pressure is 77/50.”

“Can you keep him stable until we get back to the Compound?  And call Dr. Cho.  We’ll need her to be ready the second we land.”

“Anything else, Captain?”

“Don’t let him die,” Steve gritted through his teeth as he took over the manual controls.

Natasha stood by the wayside as robotic arms started IVs, suctioned blood, injected various antibiotics, and monitored Y/N’s vitals.  An oxygen mask was placed over his face as an incubator cover encapsulated him from the outside world.  She watched while a sedative was injected directly into his IV.  The effect was instant: he fell into a state of unconsciousness that permitted him a moment’s respite from the excruciating pain of his injuries.  He struggled to breathe even with the oxygen mask.

“His lung collapsed as a result of his broken ribs, Agent Romanoff,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed her.  

“What’s the odds of survival here, F.R.I.D.A.Y?” she asked, crossing her arms as she walked to the fabricator.

“In his current condition, Mr. L/N has a 37% chance of survival.”

“Shit,” Natasha cursed.  Y/N looked completely helpless as he laid there with tubes and wires sticking out of him.  A lump grew in her throat at the thought of him not not being alive by the time they got back to the Compound.  She wiped her eye with the back of her hand, struggling to not completely break down.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so scared.  More than that she was overcome with guilt.  This was all her fault.  If he died, his blood was on her hands.  She’d been responsible for countless deaths in her lifetime, but his death would be different.  He wasn’t supposed to die.  Not like this, not because of her.  

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Agent Romanoff?”

“C-can I hold his hand?”

“Seeing as he has 24 broken bones in his left hand, I would advise against that.  I would recommend perhaps his forearm or his elbow.”

Natasha exhaled a laugh as the AI suggested she hold his elbow.  Carefully reaching out, she placed her hand on his arm just above his wrist.  His entire arm was bandaged from the wrist to the shoulder.  Her sweaty palms stuck to the neat white bandage.

“You can’t leave yet.  Not when I still need you,” she whispered over his unconscious body.  “I’ll make this right, Y/N.  I will be here every step of the way and I’ll do anything and everything to fix us.  I miss you so much.  I know I messed up.  That night went wrong in so many ways and I think about how badly I hurt you every single day.  I know it’s not enough to say sorry, but it’s all I have.  I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.  I’m such an idiot for throwing it away.  But I’m going to fix this.  Because I still love you.”

*******************************************************************************************

No sooner had the Quinjet landed that an entire medical team was waiting for Y/N on the landing dock.

“Cho’s on her way, but it’s going to be a while.  We’ll keep him stable in the meantime.  F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s been sending us real-time updates on his condition,” Sam yelled as he helped a team of medical officers run him into the Compound.  

Natasha’s jog slowed to a stop as the glass doors slammed shut in front of her.  Her chest heaved as she watched the team hang an abrupt right to lead Y/N toward the medical bay.  With Cho on the way and the Compound’s medical team watching over him, she knew Y/N was in good hands.  They were his best shot at survival.

Steve called out to her from the Quinjet.  She strained to hear through the whirring of the engine shutting down.  As she turned to ask him to repeat himself, she felt herself being lifted into the air and tossed like a rag doll.  She crumpled to the ground, rolling back toward Steve.  Instinctively he raised his shield against the unknown assailant, only lowering it when he saw the grief-stricken brunette witch hurtling toward Natasha.

“Wanda,” he warned.

“Don’t stop me, Steve,” Wanda threatened.  Red orbs of magic hovered between her hands as she conjured another spell.

“Wanda-“

“SHE KILLED HIM, I’LL KILL HER!” she screamed as tears streamed down her face.  “I CAN’T LOSE HIM, TOO.”

“Do it.”  Natasha’s voice was small yet firm as she pushed herself to her knees.  “Please.”

“What?” Steve dropped his shield in disbelief while Wanda continued to sob.

“It’s my fault he’s dead.  I deserve it.  Please.”  She choked back a sob as she thought about Y/N’s final moments, how he died a shell of the wonderful man she fell in love with so long ago and how he’d never light up her life again.

Before Wanda could respond, utterly dumbfounded herself, one of Clint’s stun arrows whistled by, landing on her forehead before she shook violently and collapsed.

“Both of you need to relax right damn now,” Clint grumbled as he passed Wanda.  “Relax, he’s not dead.  They’ve stabilized him enough so that Cho can put him in the regeneration cradle when she gets here.  Wanda misheard something and got a little upset.”

“That’s an understatement,” Steve replied as he picked up his shield.

“And you.  Nat, come on.  Come on.  This is ridiculous.  Get up.  Up, up, up, let’s go.”  He extended his hands to her, which she reluctantly accepted.  “Can you grab her?” he yelled at Steve.

“Why-?”

“Did Wanda get so upset?”  He sighed, shaking his head as he pulled her to her feet.  “They’re dating, Nat.”

Natasha didn’t realize that her heart was capable of breaking any more , but Clint’s words shattered it into a million more pieces.  While she spent the last few months wallowing in self-pity and loathing, he moved on.  Her head spun with a million different thoughts and questions as she started to process what she’d just been told.  She looked up at the clear night sky, not wanting Clint to watch as tears started to stream down her face.  The stars offered little comfort to her overwhelming grief. 

“Nat-” Clint placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  She pulled away at his touch.

“Don’t,” Natasha begged.  “Please don’t.  I can’t deal with this right now.”  She wiped the snot from her nose with her sleeve as she stormed off, surpassing Steve as he carried an unconscious Wanda toward the Compound, for Yelena’s apartment.

*******************************************************************************************

“He wants to talk to you.”

Natasha groaned as she rolled over under the covers, pulling the comforter over her head.  The early afternoon glow of the sun peeked through the blinds and landed on her face.  After spending most of the night crying, she had no interest in being up so early.  Clint and Yelena spent the rest of the night waiting up in the med bay for any updates on Y/N’s condition.  Sam and the team were able to keep him stable until Dr. Cho arrived in the wee hours of the morning and got him in her regeneration cradle.  Once he was in there, everything seemed to turn around for him.  He was in rough shape and recovery would be tough, but it looked like he was going to pull through.

“I don’t care.  I don’t want to see him.”  Her eyes screwed shut as she willed herself to go back to sleep.  A sudden rush of light and cool air pulled her from the feigned sense of relaxation.

“You’re going.  I don’t care if I have to drag you.  He wants to see you!” Yelena ordered as she pulled the covers off her sister.

“What am I going to say to him, Yelena?  Sorry I messed up our relationship and nearly got you killed and then asked your new girlfriend to kill me?”

Yelena shrugged.  “I don’t know, just see what he says.”

“Fine.”  She rolled out of bed, throwing her slippers on as she headed down to the med bay.  The long walk felt even longer as her heart pounded in her chest.  The butterflies she once felt at the thought of him turned to knots that suffocated every inch of her body while the sterile smell of the hospital wing loomed closer with every step.

When Natasha came to his room, she paused as she looked through the window.  Y/N was wrapped in bandages from head to toe, casts on both arms and tubes hanging out from every inch of exposed skin.  Wanda sat in the lone chair next to his bed, her hand holding his plaster-wrapped one through the rails of the bed.  She gazed lovingly over him as he reclined on the mountain of pillows behind him.  Her fingers trailed through the tufts of hair that poked through the weaves of his head bandages.  Natasha could almost feel the way his hair used to slide through her fingers as she watched Wanda soothe him.  She almost felt embarrassed at the way she invaded such an intimate moment between the two.  Taking a deep breath as she grabbed the door handle, she gave a soft knock as she opened it.  Wanda’s neck snapped toward the door as it creaked open.

“Get out,” she growled, her eyes glowing bright red as she lifted her hand threateningly.  Natasha froze as little red bursts of magic danced around her fingers.

“Hey,” Y/N croaked as he struggled to lift his arm.  “It’s okay.  Let us talk.”

“Are you sure, baby?”  He nodded weakly.  “Fine,” she huffed, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on his swollen lips.  “Try anything and you’ll regret it,” Wanda whispered as she walked past Natasha, who gulped rather loudly.  

Once Wanda left, Natasha cautiously walked over to Y/N’s bed.  At first glance, he didn’t look as bad as he did the night before, but he still looked awful.  The swelling around his eyes had gone down, but they were still black and blue.  His nose had been reset and his lip had been stitched up.  Blood and iodine stained the exposed parts of his face and arms.  Small spots of blood were starting to soak through his arm bandages even though Cho had focused a considerable amount of energy repairing the flayed skin.  

“Hi.”  His voice was hoarse from the breathing tube that was recently removed.

“Hi,” Natasha whispered in a weak voice as she sat down in the stiff chair.  “How are you feeling?”

“Shitty.  The meds make it a little better.”  He winced as he laughed at his own joke.  “You ever broken a rib before?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.  “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll never take breathing for granted again.”  Natasha smiled weakly.  It was just like Y/N to crack a joke in the midst of a horrible situation.  “Listen-”

“How long?”

“What?”

“You and Wanda.  How long?”

Y/N sighed.  “About three months.”

“That’s a little fast.”

“I know, but it just sort of happened.  She came with Pietro to help me move and that…that was that.”

“She’s too emotional.”

“She listens to me, Nat.  I can talk to her about anything.  She tells me when things are bothering her.  We don’t have anything that we keep from each other.”

“It’s been three months, Y/N-”

“And in those three months we’ve had more important conversations than you and I ever had in three years.”  His Y/E/C eyes stared deep into hers as innumerable indescribable feelings bubbled up inside Natasha.  “She never brushes aside my anxiety.  She helps me cope with it, Natasha.  I never realized that a partner could do that before I met her.”

Natasha stared down at her slippers.  So many moments from their relationship came flooding back into her mind.  Moments where she brushed him off.  Moments where she kept her true feelings to herself because she didn’t know how to bring them up.  Moments where she simply went through the motions for the sake of the stability of their relationship.  She loved him, but love wasn’t enough.

“The night of the mission…I don’t know what happened.  I never meant for it to go so wrong.  I got drunk, he was handsome, and I messed up.”  She continued to look at her shoes as she recounted the events of that night, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.  “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.  I’m sorry.  I wish I could take it all back.  And I’m sorry about this.  I should be the one in that bed right now, not you.  If anything I should’ve died.  I don’t deserve to be here after all of this.”

“Don’t say that.  Don’t ever say that again.  Natasha, look at me.”  She looked up as he strained to look at her.  “You hurt me and I can never forgive you for that.  I don’t think you can ever understand just how much you broke me that night.  That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to live.  You deserve love and happiness and a good life.  It just won’t be with me.”  He lifted his arm slightly, carefully reaching out to her.  She gingerly wrapped her hand around his.

“I still love you,” she choked out through the lump that was forming in her throat.  “I was so scared you were dead and that I’d never be able to tell you that again.”

“A part of me will always love you, Natty, but I’ve moved on.”  

“Shit,” she whispered as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.  “I hate this.”

“Me too,” he nodded.  “But we’ll be okay, okay?  I’ve got Wanda, you’ll find someone, we’ll move on.”

Natasha nodded tearfully, unable to get any words out.  Her heart was breaking again and again.  Y/N moved on.  There was no chance that the two of them would ever get back together.  All of the hopes and dreams she’d been sitting on since he walked out were officially gone forever.  Now all that was left for her to do was to pick up the broken pieces and try to start over.  

“Go back to work, okay?  It’ll help.  And be civil with Wanda.  I don’t need you two threatening to kill each other all the time.”

“What about you?”

“Well, once I get healed up I’d like to come back.  I miss the team.”

“Do you really think we can work together again?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugged.  “The only thing I do know is that you should probably get out of here before Wanda gets back.  She’s still a little heated about the whole thing.  I’ll work on her, don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” she chuckled.

As Natasha left Y/N’s room, she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and guilt.  One mistake cost her the love of her life.  There was no way she could possibly forgive herself for that.  Yet in the darkest depths of her soul, she felt something reaching for a glimmer of hope.  Maybe Y/N was right.  Maybe she would find someone else and move on.  But she knew herself all too well.  There was no coming back from that fateful night.  The best she could do would be to soldier on, getting through every day the best she could while pretending that she wasn’t completely broken on the inside. 

[ofmermaidstories]

hello, please have this list of sunday evening thoughts & things & questions without any real answers:

1.

“Gaza is basically a man-made hell on earth”, by Jeremy Scahill. A interview with a Toronto surgeon, Yasser Khan, about his latest medical mission into Gaza, and the destruction facing the people and the health-infrastructure there.

I had one young man, about 25 years old, he lost one eye that I took out myself. He spent about five, six, or seven years, basically spent thousands and thousands of dollars in IVF treatment because he got married young and they wanted to have a child and they couldn’t have one. So he spent years on IVF treatment and finally had a baby that was 3 months old. And there was a missile attack by Israel at his home. He lost his entire family, including his baby and his wife and his parents and family. He’s by himself, single guy. I took his one eye out, and he has nobody in this world. He just kind of walks around the tent structures, just kind of walking around with no home and trying to sleep wherever he can.

i genuinely wonder at what a future with israel looks like. not just with the palestinians they’ve displaced, but like, with the rest of the world. israel will be dismantled, eventually, but until then how long is this misery going to be allowed to drag on? the US (and UK) are like—encouraging it. they want it, it’s always been in their joint interest that israel be established. idk. i have no doubt they’ll let that genocidal boot camp of a settlement run rampant like the brain-washed, blood-thirsty nazi wave they are, but all things give—this can’t carry on. the horror our varying governments force on us by watching it will have to boil over, eventually. the question is just—how, when. capitalism has done a bang-up job of separating us in the west from each other. you can’t take down your government if you don’t know your neighbour’s name. :/

2. these comments, on the youtube videos i’ve recently watched.

This first comment was a response to @/mynameismarines book review, ‘is to gaze upon wicked gods a colonizer romance?’. i find colonizer/colonized pairings to be intensely interesting, because they’re so often done so badly LMAO. i am not a person who believes there are topics/things you’re not allowed to write; everything is fair game. but the price of that is that you have to do it well, and by well i mean like—you have to ask yourself the question, “what does this mean for the people involved?” and you have to answer it. and you have to be prepared that at the end of the day the audience you invite might not agree with your answer!!! like, i think people in the romance/YA spheres think of colonizer/colonized as like, shorthand for a power-imbalance trope (which it does involve!) but it’s like, more than you know, some Billionaire/Secretary cliche. it’s literally the question of, ‘can you come to care about someone who is currently perpetuating the misery of your people?’ Like!!! that is a big question!!!!!!!!!! and you have to do the asking of it, the thesis of your book, justice. and that is a hard thing to do!!!!!! most of us tend to like… not like people who hurt the other people we love, LOL. so if you’re going to write that, you have to work overtime with it.

i’m sharing this comment here because it’s particularly addressing molly x. chang’s (the author of to gaze) knee-jerk reaction to (genuine, thoroughly detailed) negative reviews. which on one hand is understandable: molly was one of the targets in the goodreads sock-puppet review bombing, by one of her peers. but her reaction to these genuine reviews (brought to her attention by a third party!) has been an interesting case-study in like, why the lines between fanfic communities and traditional publishing blurring is a bad thing. because @/aclutteredlife is right, we have different rules here in our community that properly published books have, with their readers!!! i think it’s natural, for instance, for readers to be drawn to a proxy (Reader-chan for us) to be put in a position that generates a lot of angst (losing your family to a raid by a band of fantasy barbarians, for example), because that angst creates an opportunity for The Romance (the comfort, the understanding, the regret and then the assimilation into a new life with ur romance at the centre, cherished wife of the Hot Fantasy Barbarian Husband). in a fanfic, if you have issues with how it’s being presented, you might leave a dissatisfied comment—(“why is she forgetting that Hot Fantasy Barbarian Husband murdered her entire family???”)—but the general understanding is that it’s not for you, at that stage!!! like it’s probably some 14 year old kid that’s just recently discovered captivity tropes or something, like sure you can be annoyed or frustrated but if the writer doesn’t want to answer (or be asked!!!) those questions move on, you know? you didn’t spend money on this, you can hit the back button and find a different fic. complain about it to the group chat if you absolutely have to, LOL. but move on.

but when it’s a traditionally published book who’s author was supposedly given an advance for it the size of half a million dollars? half a million dollars that the publisher is going to try and make back by selling it to readers like you, who will part with your hard-earnt money for a copy? yeah. we’re not a community just trying to entertain each other and ourselves anymore, at that stage. you made a transaction. a transaction to then engage with this piece of art, and the transaction part of that exchange means you get to ask those hard, uncomfortable questions—especially if the art in question doesn’t.

this point kinda bleeds into the next one, tho, so i’ll let the screenshot speak for itself:

LOL. yeah….. yeah. yeah. 🥹

the third comment is from the same video as the second (booktok, brainrot, and why it’s okay to be a hater), but i thought the highlighted part was interesting because it like, kinda made me think of the way things work around here on tumblr, in our fanfic corners LOL. like… you know. how we might share little soundbites about ideas, or just a throw away couple of sentences about an AU or character. and we all do it, that’s the culture of our community, i just find it interesting—telling—that it’s such a… quick and almost guaranteed way of like, getting enmeshed into the community, getting followers, etc etc etc.

like i said, these are just some thoughts & things without any real answers to them. i am always happy to hear ur opinions too (unless they are wrong in which case i regret to inform u we will have to knife fight over it 😔😌🫱🏽🔪).

[fizzarollitm]

.thinking about a proper loose fizzy timeline now that I've played him more and developed him Note: This is like 50% character study and build for me to better understand Fizz and how I want to interpret him. Everything is adaptable for the sake of threads or hc's!

tw; stalking

1-3: Born in Greed, he has very little memories of his bio-parents. Thinks they were low level in some mob but hard to know for sure. Never reached out (and likely don't even know/recognize Fizzy is their child once he gets famous) in his life.

3: A circus worker found him abandoned by the popcorn stand. While at first people thought it was a case of some couple losing their kid (not the first time nor the last) as announcements became more "Come get your fucking child", it got obvious no one was going to claim him. Cash saw money signs in adding another child (sweet, sweet unpaid labor) to the roster, and that was that. Cash got the name Fizzy from a random clown prop/sign (I just love the idea Fizzarolli is like HHverse of naming your kid Krusty)

5: First glimpse of Mammon; it was one of those blink and you miss it life altering moments: An ad on a TV in a shop window, a millisecond of Mammon performing at some mall before getting shoved out by security, him passing by on a float of money. He saw him and his whole brain flared to life and he saw his future ahead of him. He will be the greatest clown ever!

General childhood notes; Grew up in step with Barbie and Blitz following everything they ever do. He did any stunt they did because they didn't seem scared so why should he. He loved performing for them and making them laugh and that love spilled over into Clowning very easily. If you had asked him what his dream was at this age it was the three of them forming a traveling trio and TAKING OVER THE WORLD

13-15: Light teen fuckery like shoplifting makeup they can't afford and fabric to make costumes. He gets handy with a sewing machine and makes everything for the three of them usually basing it off of whatever Clown Fashion magazine he swiped. He also starts to experiment with his gender around here and comes out as nonbinary in his early teens!

15; Seeing Mammon was the greatest night of life. He still thinks about it as an adult and the whole night gets swept up in this haze that destroys every blemish, in his mind it was the perfect show. Blitz's (right) negative comments bleeding the jealousy filter that comes later. He will be Mammon's protege even if it means leaving the Circus. This was also when the "light" stalking he experienced hit a new high and when Blitzo became his unofficial bodyguard. Cash told him to ignore it and " Take it as a good sign of how popular you are!"

16th [Explosion]: This will be a full hc post by itself one day but tldr he spent most of the after unconscious. Later, he got told the "hero" Cash pulled him from the wreckage before the remains of the tent finished what the fire didn't. He is shocked and hurt made worse by Cash's claims it was Blitz who did it, years of jealousy turning unfortunately deadly. Barbie is in not much better shape and they are alone in the wreckage wracked with betrayal, pain, and medical debt.

16-21: Recovery time. He got fitted with prosthetics and started physical therapy pretty quickly. He focused on his goals and put his head down while also learning ASL for when 1) His voice is too weak to speak from smoke damage 2) Hearing loss in his right ear. Soon he was able to rejoin the Circus (Albeit in a much more stripped down form) and eventually after Barbie's use made her unable to perform, took on most of the performance rolls. He mostly stayed out of guilt with Cash being his "savior".

21: Things hit a boiling point. After Barbie left it was a lot on him as the face of the Circus and he started making demands as such. Cash pushed back again and again until finally he snapped and ended their professional relationship. Out of impulse, he left the Circus for Mammon's stage entering the competition in a thrown together costume and a prayer. And. He. Fucking. Won. After signing on he realized the debt he had with Mammon but shrugged it off as a reality of fame. He moved into greed and took up a small apartment and lived out the year as any other winner. This includes an AI scan to create a robot for LooLooLand.

Nebulous pre-canon I have no set date for:

Mammon announced his wish to start selling robots in his likeness. He felt a little weird about it but went along with it using a more advanced AI based off the LooLoo Land model.

Asmodeus was commissioned to work on them (Fizzbot was made by Mammon hence its...quality) and him and Fizzy gradually grew closer over the project.

Sex robots come shortly after and he just keeps saying yes because its Mammon! His Idol! ...wooh. Also the echo of Crash's words about the stalking not helping much either.

As Mammon shifted focus to the Fizzy Bots, the stage became less a focus and he started working in Ozzies. Moving to Lust as his work moved out of Greed just made sense.

[sankttealeaf]

If you could relive any of your memories, which would it be?

oh of course!!! i answered this before but tumblr decided to not post it so i gotta retype everything out again 😭

anyway - i have a few notable memories i'd love to relive and i cant pick between them!! so you get them all <3

first up: seeing critical role live in october last year! such a fun experience, especially because most of my friends i met through CR and the mighty nein have such a dear place in my heart. it was such a fun experience (despite the... merch issues grrrrr) and i want to be back in that room singing along to 'your turn to roll' with 12,500 other people!!

(little did we know, two days later we would meet taliesin jaffe and get to tell him how amazing the show was!!!!)

second up: sitting in the saloon after our first show at an immersive cowboy/steampunk experience in london with my friends last year, talking about if we should book tickets to come back for the afternoon tomorrow because we spent so much time interacting with the cast we didnt manage to complete many of the trails. it was such a fun and giddy moment i love it! we've gone back (almost) every season (its where we met taliesin) and its so much fun. the cast are recognizing us. its so silly <3

third is graduating from uni in 2021! i didnt think id be able to graduate with my friends because in 2020 i was diagnosed with crohn's disease and it got to the point where i was considering what would happen if i needed to take a break from uni to deal with my health. i didnt want to, and luckily the medication i started later that year worked quickly so i could do my work without being in so much pain. graduated with a 2:1 in animation!!

fourth is watching shooting stars in my friends garden. we laid outside for a while and watched them all and it was so nice!!

fifth and final memory id love to relive is the last night of camping with my friends last year, where we sat around the fire and sung musical theatre songs together and my friend braided my hair and i slept in a warm tent. it was so fun despite how many ups and downs i had over those few days!! (notable runner up for this one is the night before where i did tarot readings for some of them and laughed so hard i started my period)

needless to say i love my friends and any memories i have with them i cherish so dearly!!! if any of them are reading this: im pointing to you! i love you!! youre so cool!!! thank you for being my friend!!!! 💛💛💛💛

shouldve kept this to one but i just. i love my friends and i want to talk about the fun things i get to do with them. i cant wait to make more memories together<3

thank you for the ask!!! this was fun!!

[sleepingdeath-light]

marriage hcs ; peter

requested by ; onehellofashadynerd (13/11/22)

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; peter

outline ; “Hi! Can I request some Peter marriage headcanons please? You’re one of the few people I’ve bumped into who writes for him.”

warning(s) ; canon-typical references to violence, peter being an ass (also canon-typical)

peter isn’t someone who is traditionally romantic or affectionate as he doesn’t want to appear ‘girly’ or weak

… well, any more than he already is

he loves you, of course, and he does show it in his own way

like how he saved up two months’ worth of wages just to buy you your engagement ring

or how he spent over a year looking for someone to marry you both before giving in and asking joker to do the honours

or how he cried when he said his vows

or how he’s always the first to wake up and the last to fall asleep because he loves watching you be so peaceful

it’s subtle but if you know him well enough it’s clear as day how enamoured he is with you

you’re the one who does his makeup before their biggest shows and he wears something small of yours when he performs because you’re his good luck charm

he claims they do better whenever he performs these little rituals, but you both know he’s talking out of his ass

whenever he comes back after a long night of collecting victims for their father, when he’s at his most emotionally drained and vulnerable, you’re the one he seeks out

the only one who gets to see how much it affects him — and the one who wipes away his tears and cleans the blood off of him as he sobs until he’s close to coughing up blood

he can get incredibly arsey with you whenever you get hurt and will mouth off at you all the way to the medical tent about how stupid and irresponsible you are

he calls you a lot of names but you know him well enough to realise that he’s not angry, just terrified of you getting hurt or going for good

makes sure that you get the best serving of food during meal times and will physically fight anyone who tries to stop him (key word there being ‘tries’)

his family adore you and see you as another member of the troupe, which means you can expect plenty of hugs and bad jokes and shoulder rides whenever you’re down

initially peter didn’t want you to get involved in the darker side of their life because you’re too precious to him, but with joker’s insistence he brought you into the scheme and he’s so glad he did

his nicknames for you are usually co-opted insults that became inside jokes

other members of the circus will often catch him making goo-goo eyes at you across the tent — and will get a thorough chewing out if they point it out

him staring at you has on three occasions caused him to fuck up during practise in a bad way

thankfully wendy has a good head on her shoulders and can course-correct and doesn’t find it too annoying, but you end up apologising afterwards anyway

if anyone tries to flirt with you, he’ll be storming over there and making it very clear verbally and physically that you’re his spouse/husband/wife and they can go to hell if they think they’ve got a chance with you

[imnosuperman12]

A time I felt accomplished.

About 2 weeks ago, I summited Mount Kilimanjaro.

It was by far the most physically challenging thing I've ever done. Like, at least 3-4 times harder than completing a full marathon.

I'm eternally grateful that we chose an 8 day trek to allow for acclimatization. I think it would have been physically impossible otherwise. Honestly, the first 6 days were fine. Even though I didn't take any altitude sickness medications, trekking for 6-8 hours per day and sleeping in tents in varying degrees of cold weather was tolerable. Fun, even!

Summit day on day 7, however, hit me like a train. We had to start the hike at like 1030-11pm, with the goal of completing the majority of the summit before the sun came up. The rationale, apparently, was so that you wouldn't look up and see how much further we had to go. I had a throbbing headache the whole time, downed 2 Tylenol just to make it bearable. I think I was maybe walking 0.5 mph. We took a total of 2 rest breaks, but otherwise spent that entire time moving.

We eventually reached Stella Point, which marked about 1 hour from the highest point. Then, I proceeded to complete the journey with my eyes closed and arms open because I was starting to get shoulder impingement.

I think the hardest part of it all was ultimately realizing that the summit was actually only the halfway point. They made very clear that we could not sit and rest at the top, for fear that our altitude sickness would get even worse the longer we stayed up there.

Even though I was surviving, they had to shove an entire pack of glucose in my mouth to get it into my system more quickly. And then, even when we made it back, we had to hike an additional 2 hours down to our next tent camp.

Needless to say, this will be my one and only time climbing up to 19K feet. *Or at least, climbing without altitude sickness medication.

I will venture out to say that I'm glad I got to do this before my 30th birthday. For physical reasons. And just to prove to myself that I'm capable of hard things. It was the impetus for me coming out publicly. And I'll forever be grateful that I got to share that experience with my friends. Here's to many more adventures to come in my 30s.

[gridgirldrabbles]

Hi!! if you're up to a quick drabble or headcanon... <3

Pierre is driving on a race, you are watching it in the paddock. Suddenly you feel so sick that you gotta go to the hospital (you fainted and the team insists that you should go for a check-up), and they do not notify him about it, only after the race...I'd like to see your take on his reaction.

you were currently situated in the back of the Alpha Tauri garage watching the race, headphones on to protect your ears from the roaring of the engines. you had been feeling slightly off all morning, doing your best to hide it from pierre as he shouldn’t have to worry about you when he has his race to focus on. your head had been aching and your stomach felt like you were sailing over rough waters, and it was progressively getting worse as the day went by. by the time the race got to lap 35 you were profusely sweating and decided you should get yourself some water to try and cool yourself down.

and then suddenly you opened your eyes and you were sprawled across the floor, bodies crouched around you asking if you were okay, someone shouting to get the medical team. you slowly sat up, pyry handing you some water and slowly helping you to your feet before walking you to the medical tent. the two of you had become relatively close friends since you had met your boyfriend, it was impossible not to given how much time the three of you spent together. ‘I’ll wait right here for you okay?’ he told you, his eyes telling you how worried he was by your little episode in the garage. you nodded weakly as one of the doctors escorted you into a private room.

when pierre emerged from the car he knew something was wrong. he’d managed to secure p6, one of his best results of the season so far but there were very few celebrations in the garage. his eyes immediately searched for you as they usually did, finding you cheering for him among his team, but today you were nowhere to be seen. his legs carried him quickly to the garage looking for pyry to ask if he knew where you were, but he couldn’t see his trainer anywhere either. he grabbed a team member, ‘where’s y/n? and where’s pyry?’

as soon as the news hit his ears he was furious. ‘why did no one tell me my girlfriend was in the hospital?!’ he was basically shouting at this point but decided he needed to see you to make sure you were okay. he ran to the medical tent where he’d been told you were being checked over as fast as he could, which is where he found pyry waiting in one of the small plastic chairs. ‘is she okay?’ his head snapped up as he heard the French accent ring through tent. ‘she fainted back in the garage so I brought her here so they could make sure she was okay.’ once pierre had thanked him for looking after you in his absence he found the room where you were laying on the doctors table getting some rest.

your eyes opened sleepily when you saw him standing in the doorway, a small smile settling onto your lips as you immediately felt safer. ‘you’re not supposed to scare me like that you know?’ he spoke quietly into the room, making you laugh as much as you could in your sorry state. ‘I’m sorry, how did the race go?’ he told you all about the race to distract you from the pain your body was in before asking what the doctor said. ‘just a really bad case of the flu, I should be back to normal in about a week.’

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, no one told me what had happened.’ his eyebrows were furrowed, feeling bad that he hadn’t been with you when you needed him most. ‘hey hey hey, racing is your job, you can’t just get out of the car because im sick. plus, pyry was here to look after me anyway.’ once you’d had the all clear from the doctor to leave, pierre took you straight back to the hotel, deciding the fine for missing media duties would be worth it if he got to make sure you were okay.

[kayfabebabe]

Fic title: Around and Around

Hallo Josie! Thank you so much for the Ask <3

I’ve been staring at this title for a couple of days because it’s been surprisingly difficult to settle on a single idea. None of them felt right for some reason. So this turned into something unexpectedly sad. Mox visiting a male reader in the hospital after they take a nasty bump during a match. Angst galore! 

WARNING - Serious wrestling-related injuries. Hospital things. A LOT OF ANGST. 

(Ps. I’m sorry this got so long. I planned on keeping the lil blurbs near 300 words and this one is closer to 800. Oops.) 

~ ~ ~

The clock hasn’t moved in the past 10 minutes. Or, at least, Mox doesn’t think it has. Each time he glanced upwards, it read 2:47am. God, he hated hospitals. Everything was far too quiet for his liking. The only movement that broke the stale air of the waiting room was the occasional nurse poking their head around the corner for a second before disappearing again. 

Like the majority of wrestlers, Mox had spent more than enough time in emergency rooms to develop a healthy dislike for them. The stench of disinfectant clung to every surface, walls were painted a boring shade of white and none of the vending machines worked properly. Even the squeak of shoes on the tiled flooring made his skin crawl. Most in-ring injuries could be treated with some butterfly stitches and some superglue. Tonight, he had the displeasure of being a visitor. 

“Mr Moxley?” 

Finally! Mox threw himself out of the chair and followed the nurse down the hall, half-listening to them rattle off some medical jargon. He didn’t hear any of it. All that mattered was seeing you. None of the staff at the front desk would tell him anything about your condition and Mox definitely wasn’t allowed to search for your room by himself. So he was forced to sit in the waiting room until somebody fetched him. It had been hell. 

Once they reached your room, Mox felt a hard lump form in the back of his throat and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He prided himself on being able to handle the goriest of sights without a second thought, but this was different. Your neck was encased in a complicated brace, keeping your head from moving and causing any further damage. 

Mox had been backstage when the accident happened. In the blink of an eye, the usual buzz of excitement that came from wrestlers waiting to perform was gone and something more serious took hold. People were yelling and a stretcher was hurried out to the ring. On one of the screens, Mox saw you laying flat on your back with a dozen people surrounding you. You were unmoving and too still. This isn’t right. He fought his way down to ring-side, demanding an explanation from anyone who looked in his direction, but none of them said anything helpful. The medical staff barred anyone else from getting in the ring whilst they secured you to a board then slowly manoeuvred you onto the stretcher. Mox helplessly watched from less than a foot away, silently praying for you to reach out to him. Just the tiniest of signs that you were okay.

You never did. 

“You’re walking a hole in the floor, Moxie…” 

The steady thud of familiar footsteps had woken you from a light doze then you heard Mox quietly talking to himself as he paced. A nervous habit that was strangely endearing. When Mox moved into your line of sight, you couldn’t help tiredly smiling up at him whilst noticing the worry behind his eyes. Jon Moxley, Deathmatch extraordinaire and violent to the core, was terrified. You tentatively lifted your hand as much as you dared, beckoning him closer in hopes of easing some of the fear that you shared. He got the hint and carefully leaned over to press a kiss to your temple then another to your cheek. 

“You alright? Like… You’re not in pain or anything?” 

The only pain that you could pin-point was a slight ache at the bottom of your neck although you didn’t know if that was caused by the bump or the brace. You vaguely remember someone - possibly one of the nurses - mentioned giving you painkillers, but you weren’t sure. Reality had been hard to hold onto with everyone rushing around you. Mox stayed closer with his nose lightly nuzzling your cheek as you recounted everything that you did remember with certainty. All of the intrusive tests and frequent prodding by faceless doctors.

“I really fucked up, Moxie, didn’t I?” 

It was hard for either of you to ignore the way that your voice cracked or how tears quickly filled your eyes. Shock had worked wonders in keeping you calm throughout the initial aftermath of the accident. Now, it felt like the sky was falling. Nothing was going to be the same after tonight, even if you make a full recovery and you’re cleared to wrestle again. You’re never going to carry yourself with the same confidence. You tried to stop crying, but the tears only fell harder when Mox rested his forehead against your temple and laid his hand in the centre of your chest. 

“You’re alright. Everything’s going to be alright, babe.”

~ 

[animeomegas]

Infertlie!Omega!Neji manages to become pregnant

Hello! Do you have any hc’s for what would happen if by some miracle Neji WAS able to become pregnant? Love ur stuff!! ❤️

(Hello! Ahh, I’m flattered! Hmm, if Neji was able to become pregnant… I have a few ideas. Enjoy~)

Warnings: miscarriage mention, suppressant abuse. 

Finding out:

He’s been taking a pregnancy test every month for 18 months by this point, and nothing.

You have been telling him that he may have to start thinking about what he wants to do if he can’t have pups.

Neji knows whose fault it is that he can’t conceive.

He struggles to walk through the Hyuuga compound sometimes, knowing it’s their fault that he’s like this. That he’s broken.

You deny any such things, but he knows he is. And he’s very bitter and upset about it.

But he won’t give up yet.

2 years. That was the time frame he had given himself. If he couldn’t conceive within two years, then… Well, he didn’t want to think about that.

One morning when he doesn’t have a mission, he gets up and heads to the bathroom, taking the test automatically.

The feelings of hope and anxiety have long since faded after too many disappointments.

So, he grabs the test, gives it a cursory glance and goes to throw it in the bin before he realises what the test says.

He lifts the test back up, hand shaking. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he could have sworn it said…

Positive.

He’s holding a positive pregnancy test.

His heart is beating very fast now. Neji just stands there for a few moments, unsure what to do.

He ends up taking all the pregnancy tests in the bathroom, seven in total.

And all of them are positive.

He won’t ever admit it, but he did cry a little (a lot).

But quickly the joy begins to fade, and fear sets in.

He needs to be so careful.

He can’t lose this baby, he just can’t.

He needs to stop taking missions, he needs to eat better, he needs to go to the hospital-

He works himself into a little panic, and then panics more because he is so scared the stress will make his lose his baby.

At this point, he’s been in the bathroom for like half an hour, so you tentatively knock and ask if he’s okay.

Neji was clutching the sink in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror and desperately trying to calm down. He needed to calm down, but he just couldn’t. He distantly realised that he was letting out quiet panicked whines, calling for you to help him automatically.

And then he heard a knock on the door, you were here. He let out a louder whine to try and signal to you that he needed you there with him.

“Neji?” your voice was a little alarmed, you must have heard his whining. “Neji, what’s wrong? Can I come in?”

He heard the door handle shake as you tried to open it against the lock.

“Neji, please, open the door.”

“I’m pregnant.” He blurted.

The door handle stopped moving. He waited anxiously for you to say something, still struggling under the weight of the anxiety clawing at his chest.

“…Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed heavily. “I took all the tests.”

“Let me in please, my love.”

This time, Neji follows your request automatically. The lock clicks open, and you immediately step in. Neji can feel your eyes scanning him before they flit over to the abundance of pregnancy tests lying innocently in the sink.

A smile slowly creeps its way onto your face.

“Oh, baby boy, come here,” you opened you arms for him and he immediately stepped into the embrace. His heart was finally starting to calm down, as he took deep breaths of your scent. He was safe, he didn’t have to worry, you would be here to make sure everything was alright.

“We’ll go down to the hospital tomorrow, alright? Get everything checked out, but I don’t…” you hesitated.

“You don’t what?” He knew what you were going to say. ‘I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’

You shook your head. “Nevermind, let’s just book the appointment. Would you rather go to the hospital or see one of the clan medics?”

Neji grimaced. “Hospital. I know it’s weird, but… I don’t want them to know yet.”

You rubbed a hand on his lower back. “We won’t tell anyone until you’re ready, I promise.”

 Pregnancy:

The hospital visit went as well as you could have hoped.

Neji was indeed pregnant, and everything was progressing well for the moment.

But, of course, there were some concerns.

Neji was given a gentle reminder that he was at a high risk for a miscarriage.

He was also told that a traditional birth would be too risky for him, and that he would have to have a c-section.

And, while the mednin couldn’t be sure yet, it was unlikely that he would be able to breastfeed.

Neji took all the information with a detached nod, acknowledging what was being said, but not reacting to it.

As a Hyuuga, he kept his emotions firmly pressed down in public. His scent and face were completely normal. Few would have been able to tell that something was wrong.

But the second he stepped into your house, he just sagged.

He claimed to be tired and went to lay down upstairs. You let him go, knowing that he wanted his own space to process,

But it was hard to smell his sour scent and not come running.

Things got better, however.

Once he was past three months, the chances of a miscarriage reduced hugely, and Neji was much happier.

He threw everything he could into looking after himself and preparing for the pup.

He stopped taking missions as soon as he found out he was pregnant and started to babyproof the house and make the nursery.

The nursery was very traditional. A rocking chair, a wooden crib, handmade blankets and toys.

It was beautiful and Neji was very protective of it. He wanted it to be perfect.

He was protective over the pup in general, as well.

He didn’t let anyone other than you put their hands on his tummy.

As far as the physical pregnancy, Neji had some troubles, but he pushed his way through them with no complaints.

He was most infuriated by his constant need to go to the toilet.

Pain he could deal with, but the constant inconvenience started to grind on his nerves.

He was also a little restless when he was left by himself. Without missions or training he didn’t know what to do with himself a lot of the time.

When you were home with him, he was fine, but he got bored by himself.

“No.”

You sighed, “Again? We’ve been shopping for hours, Neji.”

“Do you want to buy poor-quality blankets for our pup?” he huffed, placing another rejected blanket onto the shelf.

“What about this one?” you suggested, holding up a lovely, soft blanket.

Neji squinted at him, pulling the tag towards him to read. He pulled a face a dropped the blanket.

“No.”

“What’s wrong this time?”

“It’s part polyester. I don’t want polyester in the blankets and toys, I already told you this. Let’s try the next shop.”

You grimaced, feet already sore from all the walking. “Why don’t we just get some blankets and toys commissioned? We can afford it, and then they would be exactly what you want.”

Neji stopped, contemplative. “That’s… actually a good idea.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so shocked.”

Yes,” Neji smiled, ignoring your complaints. “I want to do that. Let’s head to the stationary shop so I can get some materials to draw up some sketches.”

“The stationary shop?” you whined. “Can’t we just go home for today?”

“No, if I’m pregnant and I can do it, so can you.”

 Labour:

With a pre-planned c-section, Neji knew in advance when he would be going to the hospital for the procedure.

He had packed and re-packed his bag four times, just to be sure that he had everything he needed.

Neji was very calm, but it seemed to be because of the shock more than anything else.

He was escorted in, and prepared for the procedure, and exactly on time, he went in for his c-section.

You sat with him, only able to see him head as the rest of him was sectioned off with a screen. You were told not to stand until you had the signal.

You gently stroked Neji’s hair away from his face as the mednin worked. He was drowsy and disoriented. He blinked at you slowly.

“Is… everything going okay?” he whispered to you.

“I think so, baby. How are you feeling?”

“I feel strange…”

“I bet you do,” you laughed gently, pressing a kiss to his head. “Just try to relax, okay? I’m right here with you.”

The operation was exhausting, and Neji ended up being unable to do much for two months while he recovered, but the pup was healthy and Neji couldn’t be happier.

He spent hours every day in the rocking chair in the nursery cradling his pup.

Neji didn’t let anyone outside of you and some mednin meet the pup until she was three months old because he was so protective.

Neji would never be so tacky as to refer to his child as a ‘miracle child’, but sometimes, he can’t help but think it.

[dancingamongstdust]

Old Habits (Warren Worthington x Reader)

So I was digging around in my old files and I found this from a few years ago. I’m sure I published it somewhere once but I have no idea where. Either way, the writing isn’t too bad so I thought some readers here may enjoy it. 

Before, when you originally met Warren, you had never had an issue with reaching out and grabbing his wings if he tried to march away from you. It had become a habit.

There would be an argument over something inconsequential and both of you would scream and shout like children. Warren would realise that his temper was getting out of control and try to stalk away from the fight before it got out of control. You would snatch a fistful of his feathers or the edge of a wing; anything that was within range was ample gain. It never hurt him but he stopped moving due to the sensation. Then he would turn around and kiss you until your lips were bruised and you couldn’t breathe properly.

This time…

You had been eternally grateful to Charles Xavier for bringing Warren back despite all his previous actions and your heart belonged to whoever had saved his life. When you had seen him walking through that portal, you had sold yourself on the notion that you would never be seeing him again. A bitter reality without the white angel wings that you had spent hours wrapped in.

The fight had been inconsequential really. Something about his sulking and yelling at anybody who tried to get close to him.

But now you withdrew your hand as quickly as you reached out.

Warren still spun around to look, the metal feathers screeching against the walls as he did so. Instead of kissing you, his eyes fell on your bloody hand and he reached for it with tentative hands. “I…” his words died in his throat.

You met his eyes with a clouded expression and sighed. “Sorry,” you said. “I forgot…” Your eyes fell on the huge metal wings and you sighed. “I didn’t think that through. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Warren said. “No, you shouldn’t have had to think about it in first place.” Unlike the feathered version, these wings made a horrendous noise when they bristled and even he winced at the sound. “Just go and get somebody to look at that.” And he stormed back into his temporary room, slamming the door far too loudly behind him.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. Charles had approached you to see if you could possibly fix the situation and maybe convince Warren to relax a little more in the mansion. His end goal obviously being to offer the angelic mutant a permanent place to stay.

Stomach churning, you hurried down the stairs to the nearest mutant that could heal your hand or at least somebody who knew basic medical skills.

Two stitches and a little bit of healing later, you were sitting in your own room and staring down at your bandages. While you had been standing up there, it hadn’t hurt at all but now it was burning like fire. You rubbed it gently and sighed. Warren had always been self-sabotaging. At this point, shutting you out could almost be classified as a hobby of his.

So eventually – at an hour that any reasonable person would be asleep at – you climbed out of bed and marched over to the room to quiet your wailing mind. If you didn’t know Warren’s self-destructive tendencies you would have presumed it was too late.

But you had lived with the man before.

You didn’t bother knocking. You knew that Warren would have pretended he didn’t hear you. So you counted on him forgetting – or purposefully – not locking the door.

“I’m tired of this,” you said when Warren finally noticed you and removed the headphones that were blaring rock music so loudly that you could hear them from across the room. You walked over and sat on an untouched desk, watching the winged mutant carefully. “Every day, you make me sit and watch you turn all that anger and hatred inwardly and I can’t do anything about it. I feel useless when it comes to you. Like there’s nothing I can do to help.”

“Help?” he scoffed. “Help what?”

“You.”

He rolled his eyes and sat up on the bed, those metal feathers screaming a symphony as they were dragged across the wall. “I don’t need your help,” he said. He glanced at your bandaged hand. “Look what happens when you try. I’m fine. They said that my feathered wings will grow back soon and then I’ll be able to get as far away from this fucking place as possible.”

“I want to stay.”

“Then stay.”

You gave a forced laugh. “And here I thought you knew me well enough to know that there isn’t a chance that you would leave without me following.”

Warren crossed his arms and his wings puffed up as he attempted to become more intimidating. It would work on most people. Not you. “Nobody likes codependent twits,” he grumbled. “But then again, it’s not my problem if you want to chase me around the country like some lost poodle. If you get killed, I don’t want anybody blaming it for me.”

“It’s not… alright, no, I’m not rising to that,” you said firmly. “No matter how often you insult me, I’m not going to leave and you know that by now. Warren, won’t you at least consider staying here? There are others who –“

“Joined forces with an ancient evil and attempted to bring about the end of the world because they were offered shiny wings then almost died and had to be saved by their enemy out of pity. Just so many of those assholes running around that I can barely even walk without seeing one.” His hair was falling into his face now but he didn’t seem interested in doing anything about it. “But they don’t count if they switched sides during the actual battle.”

“You were unconscious the majority of the battle.”

“Thank you for reminding me. I wasn’t aware.”

You sighed and reached out to move his hair away from his eyes. It said something that he didn’t move away despite the glare he was sending in your direction. “Wouldn’t you prefer to be able to rest for a little while until you got back onto your feet?” you asked. “I’ve been talking to some of the people here and they’re all friendly if you give them a chance.”

“I don’t see any weapons attached to your back that are constantly hurting people you actually care about,” he noted.

“My hand was my own fault,” you repeated. You stood up and moved closer, reaching the uninjured hand past his head and resting it gently on the metal of his feathers. “See? I’m being careful now and it’s not getting me hurt. If I had taken a few more seconds to think it through, I wouldn’t have grabbed your wing out of habit. But you said they’ll go back to being normal soon.”

“Apparently,” he said. “Some of them have fallen off but they’re meant to do that. What would you do if they stayed metal? You’d have to start finding your own beds instead of curling up next to me constantly. Something tells me you won’t find these wings ‘comforting’.”

A phrase you had always used when speaking about his wings and it hurt to hear him spit it with such bitterness in his tone. It had always been something genuine to you. “They probably won’t keep me as warm as the normal feathers,” you admitted. “But I don’t doubt that I could grow used to them and love them as much as I adored the originals.”

He scoffed. “Always a fucking optimist. Even when I have tattoos that probably will never fade etched into my face.”

“I’m not always an optimist,” you said. “When you disappeared into that cage fighting thing for months without telling me and then came back with your wing fried to a crisp, I was so worried that I thought I would vomit. I lost countless hours due to nightmares about waking up and finding you dead or missing again.”

��And then you did.”

“I was too late,” you said. “No matter what you said, I knew that your wings were making you distressed and I wanted to help but I didn’t know how. If I had figured out how to fix things sooner then there wouldn’t have been a reason for you to go with that asshole.”

Warren just glared at you and then flicked his bedside lamp off and lay down on his side. It used to hurt his wings when he slept like that but you were unsure that the metal felt anything. Either way, you lay your hand on his shoulder temporarily and then took the hint to leave the room. There was nothing else for you to say or do.

Almost a week passed where you only opened the door to throw random food and drink items at Warren where he was pretending to be asleep. Sometimes he would mumble something and other times he would continue to ignore you. You took the bandage off a few days later. It was something Warren undoubtedly noticed but he didn’t say anything until the day you opened the door to find everything strewn across the floor in such a state of disarray that you flinched.

“What’s the problem?” you asked.

Warren glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and muttered something about not having any shirts that weren’t torn to shreds by his new wings. Which later led to you going shopping and returning with a bunch of new shirts with cuts in the back for the new wings. It took you a while and he grumbled under his breath when you dumped them on the floor but you didn’t say anything.

The charade continued day in and day out but you weren’t deterred. You waited patiently for Warren with a well-learned routine. This had happened many times before. A waiting game that you had perfected over many years of worrying about the angelic mutant who held so much of your attention and your heart.

You walked through the door with a milkshake in hand when he was busy plucking the metal feathers off his wings. Silently, you placed it down and settled cross-legged behind him on the bed to help him peel off the shedding metal over the unreachable areas.

It came off easily and you happily spotted some of the soft, white feathers peeking out from beneath the metal. You ran your fingers happily over it and smiled. They would be returning soon.

“You’re going to need to preen these daily while they’re growing out,” you said. You didn’t expect an answer but you said it with the knowledge that you would be the one to do it. “Otherwise they’re going to be crooked and then you won’t be able to fly properly.”

Warren’s feathers fluttered slightly as he turned around to face you. They didn’t sound quite as horrible when they brushed against the wall now and there were fewer grooves than before. Deep scratch marks already tore up the bedframe and one of the bedside lamps had disappeared a week ago. “Just leave.”

“Alright. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Why do you bother?”

Your fingers brushed the doorknob and you shrugged. “It’s just force of habit now.”

[awheckery]

so. uh.

cut for frank discussion of chronic illness and the serious failures of the american healthcare system. tw for fatphobia and gaslighting.

Last July, I got sick. It wasn’t too bad at first: some fatigue, body aches and a slightly elevated temp, until suddenly it was bad and I wound up in the ER. It took three rounds of steroids, a round of antibiotics and a more powerful inhaler to get my feet back under me, but I never fully recovered.

I didn’t talk about it here, except for answering an ask in October and blaming my lack of creative output on depression. It really, really wasn’t depression; it was my health progressively collapsing, one system after another until the avalanche of symptoms that flattened me just after New Year’s.

For the last four months, I’ve spiked a fever over 100°F nearly every single day. My joints hurt. My knuckles are knobbly and swollen, and occasionally my fingers are so painful and weak I’ve had to literally tape my pen to my hand at work. I get rashes at random that itch so badly I claw myself bloody. I overheat and have hot flashes in temperate rooms. The skin on my face and neck and shoulders turns red and hot to the touch, like I’m burning for hours with no immediately discernible provocation.

Some days, I wake up and I don’t have the strength to get out of bed. Some days I can’t wake up at all. I’ve slept through deafening alarms for hours, long enough for my phone battery to run out and die. I can only stand up for ten minutes a day without being hobbled by the effort, and every extra minute beyond that I pay for in hours spent bedbound by exhaustion and pain.

I keep losing words. I’ll arrive at the middle of a sentence and stumble to a halt, because the word I need isn’t there. It’s not true aphasia, and it’s not all the time. I comprehend written and verbal communication perfectly well, but I can’t get my own thoughts out without tripping over them.

I am, to quote a friend attending school to be a nurse practitioner, “a textbook case for SLE,” and I agree, but somehow I can’t pay a doctor to treat me seriously.

In January, I was referred to a rheumatologist after the bloodwork my PCP ordered indicated I had autoimmune activity of some kind.

To date, that’s my only test for anything that’s come out definitively positive for any kind of disease state at all. Ever. I tested negative for celiac disease on a technicality nine years ago, despite how specifically and intensely sick gluten makes me, so I was dismayed but not too surprised when follow-up bloodwork for lupus came back just barely inside the range of “normal.” Despite that, I wasn’t prepared to be jerked around as much as I have been.

The first rheumatologist I saw, back at the end of January, had barely been in the exam room for thirty seconds when I could see he’d already made up his mind about me. He was dismissive and perfunctory and condescending when he told me that “plenty of perfectly healthy people have positive ANA results,” and he referred me back to my PCP for an exercise program and antidepressants to treat my “fibromyalgia.”

Putting aside that I’m not a “perfectly healthy person,” I’m a Fat Lady living in America, and I’ve experienced medical fatphobia for decades at this point. You learn the key words and phrases pretty quickly, and “exercise program” has never not been a euphemism for “weight loss.” (Which is heavily ironic in this particular situation, because before I was Fat, I walked 2-3 miles a day for funsies and spent 15-20 hours in the gym every week. I only stopped because I somehow shredded both my ACLs in one summer. I’d love to get back to that if a rheumatologist could help me figure out how to be active and uninjured at the same time.)

I was frustrated after that first appointment, enough to request a referral to one of the best teaching hospitals in the country. Why not go to the best, right? There was a five month wait for an appointment, but I am stubborn, and I made use of the time by documenting every bullshit symptom my body threw at me. I have a daily symptom journal, full of subjective entries like my pain and fatigue levels, as well as objective entries like daily temperature changes and photos of my rashes and my burning face and my goddamn mouth ulcers.

I thought I had enough logged to be impossible to ignore, and then I saw the second rheumatologist three weeks ago, and the first sentence out of her mouth was the beginning of an interrogation on my blood pressure, and whether I was taking medication or if I was on a fucking exercise program for it. I tried to get the appointment back on track by sharing my symptom diary, and she turned back to my just-under-the-wire test results, and told me, “many healthy people have positive ANA results, it doesn’t mean anything without other positive test results for specific conditions.”

I said, “Healthy people don’t run a fever for months.”

And then she told me that a "fever is not associated with any of the conditions a rheumatologist treats." I was so startled by the confidence and authority with which she stated the lie that I was unable to speak to rouse a defense or contribute anything else for the rest of the appointment. After an insultingly brief examination, in which I never took my face mask off and she declined to look at any of my photos, she said that she “didn’t see anything that could be rheumatologically wrong with me.”

I asked her what she thought could be wrong with me, and she grudgingly admitted it’s possible, though rare to have an autoimmune disease and test negative for everything, so she would order more tests and refer me to appropriate specialists for my various symptoms. She ordered a referral to an infectious disease specialist for my fevers, and a referral to a dermatologist for my “rosacea” (that she’s assuming I have, because I would like to again note she did not see it, at no point did she actually look at my face or a photo of it), and a referral to an ENT for a salivary gland biopsy for my dry mouth, and a referral to a neurologist for my “stroke-like” memory and speech problems.

It was, all told, an unbearably shitty appointment. I cried in my car for an hour in the hospital parking garage so I wouldn’t do anything impulsive like lying down in traffic, and then I went home, cried some more, and went to bed for three days.

On the fourth day, I woke up enraged. It’s one thing to be blown off by a doctor when you’re just reporting symptoms without proof, it’s a wholly different thing for a doctor to ignore your proof and lie about diagnostic criteria to your face.

It’s hard enough not to think you’re crazy when your test results come back negative over and over; it’s that much harder after being told that your major concrete measurable symptom is diagnostically irrelevant, when it really, really isn’t.

(for the record, just going off the symptoms I can concretely prove I’ve experienced in the last week alone, I land a 16 on this chart, which is the most up-to-date, widely agreed-upon diagnostic criteria)

I have decided, for the moment, to play ball. I don’t have the energy to jump through all the hoops this rheumatologist wants, but I'm angry enough to drag myself through them. Tomorrow I’m supposed to see the infectious diseases specialist. On Wednesday I see the dermatologist. In two weeks I see the ENT, and I’ve got a neurology appointment tentatively scheduled for December.

I’m going to be blisteringly forthright with all of these doctors about why I’m there, and that I’m looking to exclude diagnoses other than the lupus I pretty obviously have. (Except with the ENT. Apparently they treat allergies, and I’d like to be able to go outside long enough to walk a dog, someday.)

I’m supposed to see this rheumatologist again at the end of November. Depending on how this week’s appointments go, I’m aiming to either move up my appointment with her when one becomes available, or just send a firm yet diplomatic email asking why the diagnostic criteria apply to everyone but me.

If anybody else has gotten through this fucking nightmare successfully, I’m open to suggestions, it’s not like it can get worse at this point.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

help medieval au has got me googling princess dresses I think keyleth would wear, also tiaras, she's very pretty okay?

ANYHOO I keep thinking of this one scenario where maybe during the war, when Vax is at this point pretty far away, apparently there was an attack on the castle, like the whole thing was like this trap to get there strongest troops away to make the kingdom more vulnerable, and they hear about this but there's no word on casualties and Vax is Stressed, he feels so helpless not knowing If his sister and keyleth are alive or okay and hates that he couldn't protect them. maybe they had sending stones as an emergency type of thing? and that night he used it, called out to keyleth or vex but got no response, which only freaked him out more, he spent most of the night in the infirmary next to pike cause he just needed to be around family. maybe it took a day or two until he got a response back from the sending stone, they're all alright, some cuts and bruises but mostly just been busy trying to get things back in order, he's never been so relieved in his entire life.

Omg I love that

And he's half ready to just grab Simon a get back as fast as he fucking can, but Pike reminds him that it's at least three days back and he'll be exhausted. So while they wait, she puts him to work in the medic tent and teaches him some basic healing so that he can have something to do with his hands while they wait for word from the castle. Grog and Scanlan do the same, the four of them just sticking close to each other because they need that support while their friends are in danger.

And when they hear Vex's voice on the sending stone, she tells him that there were only a few causalities, mostly knights and that Korrin and Keyleth and Percy were locked in the bunker under the castle during attack so they were safe as could be. Vex doesn't tell them where she was, but when Vax presses her she just tells him that she's a little banged up but she's completely fine and she and Keyleth have spent the past day in the infirmary helping tend to wounds when the can.

But also the panic that Percy would feel being locked somewhere safe and out of harm when he knows that Vex isn't safe? That even their room in the stables isn't safe. Keyleth just spends most of her time in the shelter trying to calm him down, but to him it's so much like what happened to his family that he's just struggling.

And afterwards, when they get the all clear, Percy and Keyleth sprint to find Vex and the second they find her helping move the wounded inside, Percy is pulling her into a massive hug and kissing her through his tears.

[robinrunsfiction]

CAN I GET A FRANK X READER FIC WHERE THE BAND GOES OUT FOR LUNCH AND Y/N STAYS AT THE BUS AND SLEEPS IN FRANKS BUNK AND THEY GET BACK AND FRANK SEES HER AND JUST GETS INTO BED WITH HER AHD HOLDS HER AND ITS ALL FLUFFY

Hold You Here

Pairing: Frank Iero x Female Reader Rating: General Requested By: Anons Word Count: 2,000 Author’s Note: I’m combining this with another similar request, which resulted in a longer story! I hope everyone enjoys! TW for a brief mention of Gerard’s addiction struggles in 2004

To be in a band meant that your bandmates were your most intimate friends. Hours, days, weeks spent cramped together in small confined spaces meant that everyone saw each other at their best, worst, and everything in between. Platonic physical affection wasn’t an unusual occurrence and neither was sharing beds so that the fewest number of hotel rooms could be reserved to save money, curling up under a blanket together while watching a movie on the bus, not to mention all the on-stage antics, it was all taken in stride. 

It also helped that everyone looked out for each other, but it seemed as if Frank looked out for you more than the others. When things became hectic, or when you were suffering from one of your migraines, he’d always be the one checking up on you to make sure you were okay. Spending hours up late at night talking with him was one of your favorite ways to pass time on the bus. You’d developed quite the soft spot for the chaotic guitarist.

The band had been touring what felt like non-stop for ages, but especially now that Three Cheers was out. It had been a very long, hot summer full of meeting fans, rocking out, and if you were being honest with yourself, way too much partying on everyone’s part. You were feeling pretty burnt out, but the success of the band made it worth it.

Now it was the last week of Warped Tour 2004 and you could tell summer was ending by how quickly the nights were cooling down. As usual when the tour was stopped over for a couple nights, both a bonfire, and most of the bands, were lit. You were standing as close to the fire as you could without melting the rubber on your chucks trying to keep warm.

“Hey,” Frank said, walking over to stand next to you.

“Hey, how’s it goin?” You asked

“Good. Cold?”

“Yea,” you rolled your eyes. “I decided to dress cute, and now I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Who were you dressing up for?” Frank asked, unzipping his hoodie.

“No one really,” you replied, watching as he took off the sweatshirt. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you warm,” he replied.

“You don’t have to,” you started as he put it over your shoulders.

“Too late,” he replied with a smirk that faded into a soft smile.

You looked up at him, in the dim light of the bonfire and you felt your heart skip, like a switch had been flipped. That soft spot you held in your heart for him suddenly felt overwhelmed, like the quiet feelings were now screaming in your ears.

“I bet it’s warmer on the bus,” you suggested, deciding to lean into the moment. You just hoped you were gauging the situation correctly.

His eyebrows went up in surprise, but he nodded. “I bet you’re right, wanna go back?”

“Yea.”

The walk across the parking lot was silent, as your hands brushed against each other’s, shoulders bumping occasionally. Climbing into the bus, you wandered to the back and confirmed no one else was around, and when you turned back to Frank he seemed a little nervous.

“Ya know you do look really cute. Like not just tonight, like all the time,” he said.

“Thanks,” you replied, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously. You were in your 20s, why were you suddenly feeling like a middle schooler talking to their crush?

“Wanna watch a movie or something?” He offered after an awkward silence hung between you.

“Sure. Nothing scary though, I’m tired of horror.”

“How can you be tired of horror?” Frank asked with feigned shock.

“Because that’s all we watch and we’ve watched almost every movie we have 100 times over.”

Frank started flipping through the stack of DVDs that the band had accumulated through countless tours. “What about ‘10 Things I Hate About You’?” he asked. 

“Yes,” you nodded eagerly, plopping down on the couch and pulling off your shoes.

Frank put the movie in the DVD player and turned off the lights, sitting next to you. You glanced over, trying to gauge what he was thinking. He glanced back and you snapped your eyes back to the tv. As the movie progressed, Frank casually put his arm over the back of the couch and you settled into his side. 

“I wanna go play paintball, like real paintball, some time,” you said, watching Kat and Patrick’s date on the screen.

“We should go then,” Frank replied.

“Just us? Or,” you trailed off.

“Yea, I mean unless you wanna invite other people.”

You looked up at him, and he was looking back down at you. "No, just us," you said softly.

"Cool," he said with a goofy smile.

You had to bite your lip to keep from giggling, but in that moment, the energy between you shifted. Frank started to lean in and you closed your eyes as his lips met yours. At first the kiss was soft and tender, almost tentative. But then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer and your hand ran through his hair as he deepened the kiss. 

When you finally came up for air, you couldn't help the smile on your face when you saw how happy Frank looked. "That was fun," you laughed.

"I've been wanting to do that forever," he said, running a hand through his hair, smoothing it down.

"Well we should do it again sometime," you replied.

Just then, loud, drunken voices could be heard outside the door to the bus and you both jumped apart.

"They're in here makin' out or something," Ray shouted over his shoulder with a giggle. You knew there was no way they could have seen you two just minutes before, but the joke still rattled you.

"No they weren't," Mikey said disbelievingly, as he and Gerard followed.

You glanced at Frank who was shaking his head at your bandmates before he changed the subject to something totally random. Things had literally just started with him, and it felt fragile. The last thing you wanted was to have it all fall apart like nothing happened, and be left wondering forever what could have been.

The next day, nothing about the prior night was discussed between you and Frank, but it had been a busy day of press, playing, and meeting fans. When you were climbing back into your bunk, completely exhausted, you spotted a folded up piece of paper on your pillow. You closed the curtain behind you and turned on the small light above your bed. When you unfolded the note, you immediately recognized Frank's scrawling handwriting. 

(YN), all I've been able to think about today is how your lips felt on mine and wondering when I can feel it again. I can't remember anything that was said to me because I was thinking about how I'd rather just be talking to you. I hope sometime before the end of this tour we can hang out alone together again.

XO, frnk

You bit your lip to keep from squealing with delight.

~

The last few days of Warped Tour were just as much of a blur, and when that tour was over, you were quickly shipped off to another one. Gerard was struggling and the whole band was impacted. Everyone dealt with it in their own way, and luckily you had Frank to brush away the worried tears when your brain wouldn't quiet enough to let you sleep at night. 

Soon after, Gerard got the help he needed and when he rejoined the band, you were immediately sent back out on the road. Everything felt a little brighter that fall.

You and Frank were as good as ever, but still keeping your relationship quiet. His hand would find yours when no one else was around. You'd each sneak into each other's bunks and spend the nights cuddled together. Then there was the series of excuses as to why you two should share hotel rooms, which included Mikey texting too much, Ray talking too much, and Gerard keeping the light on all night drawing, among others.

So when you were blindsided with a migraine one morning, you were not at all pleased. The pain throbbed through your head as nausea rolled through your stomach. You groaned as you slid out of your bunk and stumbled to the front of the bus, which was obnoxiously bright, to the cabinet holding the medicine. 

"There's sleeping beauty," you heard Ray laugh, but you just grunted in response. You grabbed the bottle of Excedrin and silently prayed they'd do their job quickly as you took a dose.

"You ok?" Frank asked as you slumped down on the couch.

"No, migraine."

Your bandmates groaned, knowing how much of a pain, literally and figuratively, they were for you.

"So you don't wanna go grab lunch?" Mikey asked.

"Please don't make me think about food or I might get sick."

"Do you want me to stay back with you?" Frank offered. It didn't even register how much concern he was showing toward you.

"No, I just wanna sleep and hope it goes away before we have to play tonight."

"Ok, we'll leave you alone. Come on guys," Gerard said, shooing the guys out. You glanced up and saw Frank giving you a sympathetic look before leaving the bus.

You dragged yourself back to the bunks, closing the door to the main room behind you and looked at your bunk. There was no way in hell you were climbing back up into it. Instead climbed into Frank's. 

You pulled his blanket over you as you curled up in a ball facing the wall. His pillow smelled faintly of his shampoo, but not enough to make you feel sick, or maybe the medication was finally kicking in.

It felt like no sooner you'd fallen asleep that you heard voices in the front of the bus. You wondered how long you’d been out, but didn’t care enough to check the time. Before you could drift off again you heard the door opening and closing softly. Shuffling steps stopped behind you and then you felt someone climb in the bunk behind you.

"Hey," Frank said softly, his arm wrapping around your side.

"Hi," you answered, a smile forming on your face for the first time all day, not that he could see it.

"Feeling better?"

"A bit. Not 100% yet, but better than earlier."

"Mind if I nap with you?"

"Please do," you replied.

Frank drew the curtain shut and settled in behind you. He brushed aside your hair and placed a soft kiss on the side of your neck before giving you another quick squeeze.

You drifted back to sleep for a while, and when you woke up again, your headache was mostly gone you were relieved that you'd be able to play that night without feeling awful. As you stretched your legs out, Frank shifted, pulling you tighter against him.

"Better yet?" He murmured sleepily.

"Yea," you said, not moving more, afraid of disturbing the comfortable cocoon you two were in.

“So at lunch the guys were talking,” Frank started.

“‘Bout what?” You asked, rolling over.

“Us.”

“Oh?” Your heart rate going up.

“We went to this café for lunch and I got you a cupcake, it’s in the fridge by the way. And they were just wondering if there’s something going on between us.”

“What’d you say?”

“I just brushed it off, they were just giving me shit.”

“Oh,” you said, suddenly feeling a little dejected.

“Do you still wanna keep us a secret?” He asked.

“I dunno," you mumbled. "Do you?”

Frank intertwined his fingers with yours. "It's been kinda fun this way. But I also kinda wanna tell everyone I know that I'm the luckiest dude in the world BECAUSE I'm with you."

“Let's decide later,” you replied. “For right this moment, let’s just enjoy this.”

"Good idea," he replied with a soft smile before leaning in and kissing you lovingly.