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peachesofteal · 7 months

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Simple Math / Part Four

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Descriptions of past domestic violence, past abuse, past sexual assault, SANE exam. Death scene in relation to reader's job. Stalking. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Trauma. PTSD. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Comfort. Soft dads. Johnny is a shameless flirt.

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday sweet Penny-“

Their baby shrieks at the crest in the song, smile shoving her plump cheeks upwards, little fists banging on her highchair tray. She has no idea what’s going on, Johnny imagines, but he knows she’s excited that everyone is singing to her, looking at her, celebrating her. “happy birthday to you!” She swings a hand forward, plunging into the buttercream icing of the cupcake, fingers digging in as much as she can. Johnny can't help but give her the biggest kiss he can manage while trying to dodge the flying food, and Simon laughs over his shoulder.

“Atta girl.” Simon encourages, trying to peel the wrapper so she can get more in her mouth, icing and cake all over his fingers now too, and Johnny wanders for a second, imagining something certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s first birthday.

“Can’t believe your kid is a year old.” Kyle says from behind him, two beers in his hand. “Feels like yesterday you were even tellin’ us she existed.”

“Time is movin’ too fast.” Johnny agrees, taking a long sip as Simon pulls Pen from the highchair, white and blue icing all over her face, arms, and hands. Kyle is right, it is hard to believe it’s been a year, hard to believe that their baby is already one, growing up right before their eyes, taking her first steps, saying her first words. He knows it won’t be long until she’s really talking, running, riding a bike, going to school… thoughts of the future forming a lump in the back of his throat that sticks like taffy.

Simon steps into his orbit with Penny in his arms, keeping her turned outwards away from his body, half tilted to avoid the sticky smear of icing that’s painted all over her.

“What is it?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against Johnny’s cheek, warm breath fanning over his skin.

“Nothin’ ah-“ Penny babbles, head tipped back, gazing at him with wide, pretty eyes, and Johnny rubs a knuckle across her messy cheek. “she’s gettin’ so big. Feel like ‘m missing it, sometimes. Like I should be here.” Simon sighs.

“Johnny-“

“I know, I know.” They made this decision, together. They chose what was best for their family, even though they both knew the distance, the time apart, would sting.

“The option is always there if you want to swap. Though I think we both know you’d lose your head behind a desk.” He nods, but the longing lingers, and Simon reads him right through to his heart, like always. “After this next op, let’s sit down and talk about it. Maybe we can make some adjustments for next year.”

“Ah love ye.”

“I love you too.” He shifts Pen into his side, inclining his head towards her grubby hands. “Can you wash her up?” She reaches for him, trying to latch around his neck, and he rubs her back, cooing into her hair.

“Whit happened to my precious bairn, eh? Where’d she go?” Pen giggles, fingers finding his nose, long strands of his hair with a tug, and he playfully lifts her, mouth against her tummy, blowing loud raspberries over her shirt that has her absolutely screaming with glee.

“Da. Dadadada-“ she babbles at him.

“C’mon wee lamb, let’s go get ye into some clean clothes.”

There’s an envelope shoved under your front door.

The shitty carpet in the hallway is too high, threads jagged, so it sits a little crumpled, half wedged beneath the bottom and the floor.

It’s manilla. Letter sized. Stepping over it to get inside, you immediately notice the lack of postage. Or addressing. Or anything at all, that would signify that it had been delivered by proper authorities.

It’s from him.

You know it is, even though you try to find any other rational reasoning, anything that could explain the mystery behind the envelope and how it got here.

You know. You know it’s probably a letter. Handwritten. Signed in perfect penmanship. You know it’s probably something foul, sick words twisted into terrifying sentences.

You kick it inside and let it sit there for a few minutes. You get changed, get into comfortable clothes, start your kettle. You wrap your sweater tight around your body and lean against your countertop, staring at the offensive tan-beige paper that lays in the middle of the floor.

It’s from him.

He knows where you are.

“That’s impossible.” You answer yourself aloud, fingers curled so tight into your palms that they make little crescent moon shapes in your skin.

Your illusion, delusion, of safety, anonymity, is easily washed away by the appearance of the envelope, and whatever lurks inside it.

It’s too soon.

You didn’t make it.

It’s not a letter inside the envelope at all.

It’s a photo.

A photo of you, taken in harsh hospital lighting, dated over two years ago. It’s taken from the shoulders up, skin bare and exposed, fresh impact bruising around your neck, eye starting to swell, lip crusted with blood.

You remember this photo. You remember the awful experience of the SANE exam, the drive to the hospital that took over two hours because you had to go to another state, just in case.

You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t showered. Your white eyelet blouse, one of your favorites, was splattered red, bright ruby dried a dark wine by the time you pulled into the little county hospital.

You remember the way it felt, to have your clothes put in a bag. To be handled by gloved fingers, with care and attention. The same way you had done for others before that day, and since.

“What’s your name?” your nurse had asked you, so cautiously, so kind. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She tried to promise, but you knew the truth. There was nowhere you could run, not a single place you could hide, where a shadow wouldn’t find you.

The girl, the woman, in the photo is the same person that looks back at you in the mirror every day, except now she’s buried beneath layers and layers of function, schedule, consistency. She’s silenced by distraction. By work.

By fear.

You flip it over with trembling hands, looking for the note or signature you know will be there. Like a greedy, starved pig; he cannot help himself.

Found you.

Bile rockets up your esophagus and into your mouth. How long will he toy with you this time?

“Hey, you okay?” Nia asks, frowning at you from her locker.

“Yeah, just slept like shit.” You roll your shoulders, emphasizing the half-truth. You really did sleep poorly, fragments of nightmares keeping you suspended in twilight sleep, clips of memories morphed into the snapping. bloodied jaw of a monster who reared their head every time your REM cycle started, and it shows. In your face, your posture, your skin. You look awful, the only thing really holding you together the resolve you have to push through, to get it together, to leave the envelope and its contents behind in your mind. You’re safer inside these walls above anywhere else, that you know is true. Your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here. “You know how it is.” You add, and she chuckles.

“Tell me about it. Thought I was going to love overnights, but the sleep schedule is brutal.”

“You get used to it.” You assure her, the two of you making your way down the hall to the pit, and she shrugs.

“If you say so.”

You stand outside of two sixty-eight for too long. People pass you in the hallway, eyes curious, and you pretend to scroll through the tablet, decidedly trying to distract yourself from the dread that’s gathered like a sailor’s knot in the pit of your stomach.

You’re a professional. This behavior is definitely unprofessional. Get yourself together.

You try, filling your lungs with a deep breath, but you can’t shake the shame, the mortification that is curdling in your stomach at the idea of facing Simon and Johnny after the code black situation last week.

“Go sit with Johnny.”

“Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

Will they be angry that you were so rattled? Could they tell?

Your watch alarm beeps, and you uncurl your spine.

Buck up.

You’re both anxious, and relieved, that Johnny is asleep when you finally step inside. Simon sits in his usual spot, paperback book’s spine split in the palm of his hand, and at first… he doesn’t even look up. Not until you clear your throat, and he startles in the chair, eyes snapping up to find yours. “Hi.” He frowns.

“What day is it?”

“Uh, it’s Wednesday?”

“I thought you start your week on Thursdays.” That makes your eyebrows raise, uncontained surprise filtering through you. He knows your schedule? Butterflies thrash in your stomach at the notion, something hot flooding your veins as you blink at him.

“I’m on OT.” You drift towards the other side of the bed, eyeing Johnny’s monitor before lifting the blanket to peek at his elevated leg. “How is he?”

“Uncomfortable. The burn debridement has been… difficult.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. They better not be letting Simon even stand outside and watch that through the window, you think. You’ll have to follow up with whoever is on days.

“Healing burns can be a long and painful process.” You tell him, pulling back the blanket a little further. “I’ll be quick, try to let him get enough sleep as possible.”

“He’ll be sad he missed you.” Simon answers, still watching your every movement, eyes dark and focused above the black cloth mask. The intensity in them catches you off guard when you meet his gaze, hair on the back of your neck standing up straight, and you swallow.

“Well, I’ll still be here in the morning when he wakes so…” you trail off awkwardly, choosing to direct your attention to the scaffolding that’s supporting his femur and hip, checking his sutures for any redness or swelling.

“Do you work a lot of overtime?” Simon asks at the same as he leans forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Johnny’s forehead. The touch is so tender, so gentle, it makes your heart bleed inside your chest, blood warming beneath your skin, captivating your attention until he’s tearing his eyes away from Johnny, and latching onto yours with an expectant expression.

“Oh. Um. Sometimes?”

“Seems like a lot.” He comments, words lazily pulled from his lips, his tone soft, nearly a whisper. “Must make it difficult to spend time with your family, or partner.”

“Oh, I don’t have one of… those.” You immediately refute, pulling up short before the word those, embarrassment making your nose burn. Why are you telling him this? Why are you announcing to a stranger that you’re practically a recluse loner?

Simon’s head tilts, and he looks like he’s about to say something but your tablet chimes, insistent and loud, signaling a vitals issue in another room.

“E-excuse me.” You stumble, and he nods, turning his attention back towards Johnny.

One… two… three… four…One… two… three… four… One… two-

The count in your head is second nature at this point, turning over and over after four as your arms, back and core start to scream, your breaths coming in shorter. Where the fuck is he?

The count continues to roll on, lactic acid building up through your muscles, and you take another deep breath, as much as you can manage. The pain is familiar, it’s necessary, it’s a part of your job, but today, it’s burrowing itself beneath your skull, tugging and tearing at the memories that you’ve buried deep.

Pain. Gnarled and knotted strands of associations pull free from the confines of compartmentalization, stretching out across the front of your mind.

One… two… three… four…

You think about the photo. About being on your back, in a bed like this, lost inside the maze of a panic attack while the NP took photos between your legs. While they swabbed for DNA inside of you, under your fingernails, in your mouth. It’s funny how certain things can stick with you, the sound of the plastic bag crinkling as your bloodied clothes were shoved inside, how you can’t sleep on your back now, the way you counted the ceiling tiles over and over that day. One… two… three… four…

“How long has it been?” Nia asks from the other side of the bed, hand steadily squeezing the bag at the correct rate, still watching the monitor like a hawk.

“At least ten minutes.” You glance at the shade pulled over the window, grateful you remembered when you came running in here, the patient’s family standing just outside the door, holding their breath, hoping you’re in here bringing their beloved granny back, when in reality, you’re just traumatizing her body. You’ve already broken one of her ribs, and you’re worried if you keep going, her sternum will fracture too. It’s not fair. “Where the fuck is he?” you hiss between breaths, anger starting to heat your skin, irritation clear in your tone. This isn’t even your patient. Lazy, slacker, pompous ass, where the fu-

“How long has it been?” The nervous voice just inside the door calls, and your head snaps up.

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Where is Marshall?”

“He- he sent me.” You shake your head. Nia sighs.

“Have you pronounced before?”

“Um. No.”

“And where is Marshall?” You ask again, just to clarify, and the resident swallows.

“I uh, don’t know.” Normally, a resident’s first pronouncement would be supervised by their attending. But since this one’s attending is Marshall, a grade A prick that you can’t stand, it looks like he’ll be on his own.

“Great. Okay.” You take a huge breath, trying to flex your wrists without losing your position. “It’s been twelve minutes now, and no response. Do you want to check?” He nods, and you chew on the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t verbally respond. “I need you to say it out loud.”

“You can stop compressions.” You immediately wilt, stepping away from the side of the bed, the motion of Nia’s hand also slowing until it stops, and she slumps. Marshall’s resident physically checks for a pulse, listens for breath sounds and then finally, does a sternum rub, to no avail.

“Sh-should I…” they trail off, looking back down at the elderly woman in the bed. The deceased woman, whose family is waiting, desperately. You nod.

“Yes.” You tell the resident gently. You can tell he’s unsure, nervous even, and for a moment, you’re transported back to your first code, when you were a baby nurse, a terrified, bumbling mess that needed help, just like he does. And since Marshall is a piece of shit… “No pulse?” You ask, and they nod. “No breath sounds? No sound of a heartbeat?”

“None.” They answer you confidently, and you manage an encouraging smile.

“No response to painful stimuli, no reaction to the sternum rub?”

“Right. No.”

“Okay. So normally, you could also use a thumbnail to press into their nailbed, if you feel like you need it, if you’re not comfortable with the sternum rub, but-“

“No, no. I’m. Yeah. Okay.” They too, take a deep breath, and check their watch. “Time of d-death… twenty one forty five.”

“Great job.” You tell him, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. “Do you feel comfortable speaking with the family?” He blanches, and Nia’s work phone dings, signaling another patient’s needs. You sigh for the eightieth time tonight. “Okay. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

The supply closet welcomes you with open arms. It hides you in the low light of it’s forgotten space, and when you fall into the chair, your face drops into your palms, pressing so hard into them that you start to see stars. The curtain falls. The walls of your sanctuary start to feel frail.

Found you, found you.

He found you.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

“Hey, there she is. Missed ye.” Johnny coos, eyes half shut, sleepy and sweet.

“Johnny.” Simon rumbles his name like a warning, one your patient doesn’t seem to heed, still blinking slowly at you with a sly look on his face.

“Had a dream about ye, pretty girl. Dreamt ye were at ho-“

“Alright.” Simon cuts him off, swiftly. Patients often have vivid, weird dreams when they’re all dosed up on medication, and it’s not the first time someone has slurred out some weird vision they’ve had of you in their sleep.

“Good morning to you too.” You quip, glancing at the catheter bag before putting your hands on your hips. “How are you feeling?”

“’m alright. Stomach hurts.” You frown.

“Can you tell me where the pain is?” He motions to his upper right, the area where his newly repaired liver is sitting, and you nod, pulling out your phone immediately to update his doctor. Could be nothing. Could be something. Not for you to determine, but you won’t let it go unnoticed, and you’ll make sure it’s top of mind during shift report. “Can I check your side?” You motion to where his burn is lightly wrapped, and he nods with a sheepish smile.

“Aye, sure can. Ye can take my clothes off anytime.” You roll your eyes, unbuttoning his gown at the shoulder, peeling the gauze away very slowly. The wound looks better than you were expecting, if you’re being honest, and it relieves some of the anxiety that curled up in the pit of your stomach after his admission of upper right quadrant pain. “Yer hands are warm, bun. Feels nice.” Bun? You opt to ignore it. Probably still a little floaty.

“Good, that’s… good. Better than them being icicles.” Your hand brushes across the center of his abdomen when you pull the rest of the dressing away, and he tenses, ab muscles becoming clearly defined, enough that you stall out for a second before turning away to grab fresh gauze for his wound care, hands just a little unsteady. “Oh, fuck.” You mutter when the pack slips, sliding halfway under the little table that’s along the wall, and you sigh, whirling away from both of them and bending at the waist to tiptoe your fingers across the floor until you feel the corner of crinkly plastic. “Gotcha!” When you straighten, turning back towards the bed, Johnny and Simon are staring at you, and there’s a glee filled smile on Johnny’s face, it’s presence both mischievous and beguiling, fingers of his good hand slowly rubbing circles into the inside of Simon’s forearm. “What?”

“Nothing. Ignore him.” Simon deadpans, and then shoots his partner a very serious look, one that nearly has you straightening like you’re in trouble.

“Ach.” Johnny huffs, stroking a gentle touch upwards across Simon’s jaw as you start to reapply his dressing, taking your time to ensure everything looks good and he’s comfortable. You smooth over it once you’re satisfied, checking for any precarious pieces of tape. “Ye take such good care o’ me.” Johnny murmurs, accent soft and scratchy. It’s decadent the way his voice sounds sometimes, enough to make your throat dry and the room feel too hot. “Got lucky, didnae we, Si?”

“Well, it’s m-my job.” You answer, trying not to look down at where his chest and stomach are still exposed, or get caught in the cerulean blue waves of his eyes. They’re such a stark contrast to the intense, velvety hue of Simon’s, the pointed focus of his gaze that’s able to stun you, throw you off kilter the same time Johnny’s makes you feel overheated, and lightheaded. Both of them together could drown you. Overwhelm you.

Balanced. A yin and a yang.

Get it together. This is your patient and his partner, for gods sake. What is wrong with you?

Something warms brushes along the skin of your knuckles, a fleeting touch, and when you look down, you see Johnny’s hand, two fingers barely stroking yours, the lightest touch catching your breath in your chest like time is slowing to a crawl, and you’re freezing along with it.

Everything goes quiet in your head.

Simon’s watching you, methodically studying you like he’s trying to decipher every twitch in your expression as Johnny’s fingertips move over your knuckles to the back of your hand, thumb slipping into your palm, blazing heat sparking beneath it.

What… what is happening?

A phone vibrates. The noise snaps you free from your near statuesque state, and they both divert their attention to its screen.

“They’re here.” Simon tells him, glancing at you before looking back to his partner. “Be good.” He warns, and Johnny rolls his eyes in response, but he looks almost… desperate now, eyes wide and anxious.

“Hurry?” he asks, hopefully, Simon leaning down to press mask covered lips to his forehead, his eyes shuttering closed, deep breath passing between their two bodies.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really concerned about the pain in his upper right quadrant. I already sent a text, but if his doctor isn’t on this floor in the next hour, page him again.” The dayshifter nods, tapping a note into her phone. “And Marshall’s resident is practically unsupervised, so keep an eye out.”

“Okay, sounds good.” You mention a few other things, details you noticed throughout your day, and she thanks you for the extra eye, sending you off with a parting wave into the cold, crisp morning, your mind already skipping over your commute to when you’ll be able to sink into your bed one last time.

You’re busy compiling a list as you wait for the elevator. Necessities, things you’ll need indefinitely as you bounce back and forth between a rotation of hotels and on-call rooms, all the usual stuff, clothes, toiletries, and all the important things that can’t be left behind, your birth certificate, passport, other things that could make or break you if lost.

Deep breath. You can do this. It’s not the first time. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again.

The elevator dings. You take a step forward, not paying attention, and then pull up short when you see who’s getting out.

It’s Simon stepping towards you, with a baby girl in his arms. She’s situated on his hip, nestled into his side and for a second, you falter because… you recognize her. Or at least you think you do... she looks just like the little girl you saw last week.

“Um. Hi.” You blurt, failing to notice at first that he’s not alone, the man from the first night you met them, the one with the mustache standing behind the width of Simon’s body, his arm curled around the woman you saw last week. They step into view, and you give them all a polite smile, one you really hope doesn’t betray your confusion.

“Hi,” he says your name next, says it so softly it feels tender, and then takes another step closer. “This is Penelope. Our daughter.” Oh. Oh.

They have a baby. A girl. They have a little girl. You don’t know why, but something inside you stumbles, melting into a frazzled, awkward mess, heart thumping in your chest. They have a baby, and Johnny almost died. They have a kid and he’s been trapped in this hospital, miserable in pain, missing his kid. “Pen, this is your Da’s favorite nurse.”

“Bunny.” The baby, Penelope, says, little finger stretching out towards your badge, which is facing outwards with the giant sparkly sticker. Simon chuckles, genuinely, masked lips pressing to her cheek, and you see a glimpse of a father, a protector, a provider. It makes you feel dizzy.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, and you nod like a robot, unable to really form a word with your tongue. “Alright baby girl. Let’s go see your Da, yeah?”

#simple math #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #female reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader x soap

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hush-la-medspa · 2 years

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#skin threading #PDO thread lift #thread lifting #PDO thread procedure #skin threading procedure #skin improvement

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drgreencosmeticgroup · 2 years

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Have you ever wondered about the best cosmetic treatments for women? There’s often a lot of variety when it comes to women’s cosmetic treatments, which can leave people unsure about where to turn for their treatment needs. Nevertheless, it shouldn’t necessarily have to be this way, which is why we’ve done our best to create this short guide on the different cosmetic treatments available, such as those through our clinic in Melbourne.

Read More: https://drgreencosmeticgroup.blogspot.com/2022/07/best-cosmetic-treatments-for-women.html

#Thread Lifts #Cosmetic Nurses #Best Cosmetic Treatments #Cosmetic Clinic Melbourne #Lip Filler #Cosmetic Doctor #Cosmetic Procedure #Cosmetic Injectables #Dermal Fillers #Eyebrows Lifts #Skin Booster

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lacosmetique · 2 years

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THE RISE OF THREAD LIFTS: NEW TECHNOLOGY AND TECHNIQUES

Until recently, the only approach to treat issues caused by facial skin laxity – such as jowls and sagging cheeks – was to undergo facelift surgery. There are some patients who prefer to wait until they need a facelift surgery before opting for injectables and skin resurfacing, but this isn't the case for everyone. To fill in the gap between non-invasive facial rejuvenation and facelift surgery, a new method has been developed: the thread lift treatment. In the aesthetics market, minimally invasive procedures are in high demand because people want to reverse the ageing process without any discomfort or recovery time. As a result of this demand, thread lift treatments are now available on the market. As compared to breast lift and other surgeries, demand for facelifts is much higher.

In a thread lift, temporary sutures are utilised to raise the skin just enough to be noticeable. The cosmetic surgeon suspends the patient's loose face skin rather of physically removing it. Lifting and tightening the face can be achieved by using a special thread method that pulls the skin back slightly. PDO threads are placed subcutaneously and then pulled to provide the desired skin lift result in a shorter treatment type that concentrates on the lower face. Generally, threadlift is used to lift the mid-to-lower face and jowls, although it may also be used to raise the brows and checks.

Original Source: https://www.lacosmetiqueroyale.com/the-rise-of-thread-lifts

#thread lifts kuwait #thread lifting procedures #Lifting and tightening face

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atskiruma · 5 months

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Chatty Medic

expl: after meeting and patching up Soap on a dangerous mission, simon takes an interest in your conversational personality during your service

a/n: hi, second person writing, gender-neutral reader, mw2 settings, reader is implied to be a little short, sfw, reader is mentioned to have hair, 1,855 words

When you were first approached by your sergeant about loading onto the Spec-Gru plane to assist an injury, it was definitely nerve-wracking at first. To be on board with immensely important generals, lieutenants and captains was a scary thought with how low ranking you were in the medical field. Nonetheless, you obliged and with your medic bag in hand you began to board the ship.

The first thing you saw as you descended up the stairs of the military plane was Captain Price standing at the top with a smile. You had known Price previously when he visited the medic facility and was nice enough to start a short conversation with you. His eyes grinning as he greeted you stepping onto the plane.

"It's good to see you," He spoke, "I'm sorry that this request is so short notice, if we'd known the medic we usually had was already boarded on another plane I would of already notified you."

You smiled at his kind gesture, "No problem, I'm glad to help." In response, he smiled a little more.

"Great, just follow me, he's down here." Price spoke while turning to make his way through the plane. Following him closely, you couldn't see much with his tall stature blocking the view, but nevertheless you examined what you could beside you. Being as this was your first time in such an expensive and high-class aircraft, the numerous equipment was fascinating.

Finally making it into the main compartment, Captain Price stepped out of the way to give you view of the problem. 11 people sat on each side of the plane while 1 laid in the middle on a stretcher. A couple of the members looked towards the 2 people entering and the eye-contact made you a little nervous.

"Sergeant Soap, or Johnny, was hit by a bullet near his torso." Price said as you watched Johnny lift a weak hand in the air comically. You nodded at his words and walked towards Soap laying on the stretcher. A couple more eyes followed your movement but you kept yours set straight.

"Hello Johnny, how are you?" You spoke softly as you set your bag down and began to put gloves on for the procedure. He smiled up at you and spoke, "Doing well, until now, you?"

Smiling at his little joke, you spoke, "Fine, until now, but once we get you all fixed I'll be feeling a lot better." Giving him a soft smile before turning to adjust your tools. Soap also smiled bigger when you spoke such kind words to him.

As you began fixing up his wound and cleaning the blood, conversation began to start between the two of you. Although it wasn't common in the medical field, you enjoyed talking to whomever you were helping.

"You're quite talkative for a medic." Johnny stated as you were threading the sutures in his stomach. Without looking away at your work, you spoke, "Well wouldn't you wanna get to know the person digging into your skin right now?" He blinked a bit at your words before laughing, "You're not wrong!" Little did you know a second pair of eyes was peering in on this conversation as you were having it.

This calm atmosphere continued until you were finished and the plane had finally reached it's destination at the Army Facility. While most of the members in the ship started to get up and leave, you stayed behind to organize all the tools you used for Johnny's injury.

The sound of footsteps behind you stopped your task and forced you to look, seeing two men standing behind you, Captain Price and another man with a ghost mask. Price spoke up first,

"Thank you again for the service, I'll make sure to note your superior of what a good job you did just now." His smile was calming to look at, and you could tell why this man was given the role of Captain just by his serenity. The man in the ghost mask however just continued to stare you directly in the eyes without saying a word. His presence seemed heavy and dominating as he didn't blink nor look away.

Giving Price a smile and a few quick glances at the ghost-masked man, you nodded your head and spoke, "I appreciate it, sir. Feel free to request me anytime." After that, both men left the plane and you followed shortly after to head back to the office.

When you were approached for the second time by your sergeant about helping another high-ranking officer, you didn't expect it to be the notorious staring masked gentleman from last time. It had been a couple weeks since you had taken on the big role of helping Spec-Gru and since then you haven't given it much thought.

Until now, when you walked out of the office and into the medic hall, seeing the tall, frightening man sitting on one of the small medic beds. Nurses passing by gave him glances as he sat staring at the floor, others turned towards each other and fawned over him.

Putting on your best smile, you walked over and greeted him. "Hello, how are you?" You spoke, watching as his eyes lifted to look at yours and continued to stare for a while. Clearly not a talker, you stated in your mind. Blinking and reaching for the clipboard placed on the small table next to the bed, you continued, "It's okay if you're not up for speaking, almost everything I need to know is here anyways."

After reading his file, you smiled again and looked at him, he was already staring at you before you spoke, "It's nice to see you again Simon, I know we met a while back when I patched up your friend Johnny." His eyes never left yours as you tried to spark a conversation between the two of you. Nonetheless, it wasn't sparking at all, it was more like trying to start a fire in the rain than anything.

Deciding you'd have to talk for the both of you, you continued to chat with him about little things. How the weather was, wondering what they'd be serving at lunch for today, if he enjoyed the lunches they did serve here. Fortunately, he wasn't deaf, because when you asked for him to lift his sleeve in order to see the damage he obliged.

"That must of hurt," You said as you tightened your gloves and held his arm with one hand while picking around the wound with the other. "I know that you're not much of a talker Simon but if anything I ever do hurts feel free to pull away in order to show me."

This one-sided chat continued on for 30 minutes as you assessed the damage and patched him up, frequently sharing little bits of your life to keep the fixing process less boring. Just as you finished you decided to speak again, "Feeling better? Anything else you need from me?" Simon looked at you and shook his head, finally speaking with a rough British accent, "No, thank you." Was all he said before he stood up and left the wing.

The interaction was odd, but not too odd, because you could tell while he definitely wanted a large wall between him and strangers, he kept a very respectful manner regardless.

You saw Simon again on Sunday, when last time you saw him was Tuesday. He was back at the medical center again and requested your service as well. When told he was waiting in the wing for you, you put on your best smile and approached him again. This time, his eyes were staring straight at the hall you were coming from before you turned the corner.

"Hello Simon, it's good to see you again, how are you doing?" You spoke as you smiled at him and turned to grab some gloves to put on. This time, he responded.

"Doing fine, thank you." His gruff voice spoke out, a small smile made its way onto your face at his response.

"I'm glad, I'm sorry you're hurting today but I promise to do my best to fix that." You tried to soothe the possible ache he was feeling somewhere and comfort his worries if he had any at the same time.

Simon nodded at your words and stared at you as you examined the clipboard with his problem. A small gash in the arm, simple. You then proceeded to explain the type of ointment you were gonna use to numb the pain and pressed to advise you if it hurt anywhere.

Again, you started to speak of plain conversation starters and this time Simon either nodded or actually blinked when you spoke towards him. Progress is progress, you told yourself as you finished bandaging his upper arm and making sure no other injuries were present.

Seeing as he requested for you twice when aiding an injury, you began to wonder if he was enjoying your little chats. Deciding not to get ahead of yourself, you told him he was all better and wished him a goodbye on his way out.

Thursday rolled around and you were again, called to go check up on Simon in the medical wing. This time around though he seemed more interactive than usual. When you first stepped out of the hall and walked towards him, he spoke before you.

“I like what you did with your hair today.” He said, as he stared directly into your eyes. The compliment shocked you but nevertheless you smiled anyways and replied,

“Thanks! I tried something different today. What seems to be the probl-“

He interrupted you before you could finish, “You should wear it like that more often.” His eyes continued to hold yours as the awkwardness set in from his words.

“You think?” You spoke, as you lifted a hand up to twirl a piece around your fingers. “It wasn’t that difficult to do,” You continued, “Maybe I will, if I see you sometime this week I’ll make sure to wear it like this.”

Your eyes followed to the table next to bed, expecting to see a clipboard but instead it was empty. “That’s odd..” You trailed off, “Did nobody examine you before you came in?”

Turning to him again, for the first time since you met him he avoided eye contact. “Simon?” You questioned as he kept looking towards the ground.

“M’ not injured.” He mumbled, still avoiding your eyes. Your eyebrow rose as you held a concerned look on your face from his sudden change in personality. Instead of speaking, you waited to see if he’d continue his reasoning.

“Was wondering if you wanted to do something, sometime.” He spoke, giving you a quick glance here and there. Your confusion was still evident on your face. “Never done this before, think you’re pretty.”

“Oh,” was all you said as your cheeks dusted a light pink color. Simon looked as if he was trying his best at the proposal, so you tried to ease the stress. “I’d love to, when are you free?”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #modern warefare ii #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #atskiruma

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necronatural · 1 year

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The Reigen Arataka Deranged NormalMan Review

Do you ever think about how Reigen has like. A really strange belief in The System and How Things Should Be. Like REALLY strange. Whatever he's got going on is so much weirder than "scammer with a heart of gold".

I think it all comes together if you read the 10th Season 3 omake like, seriously interrogate this:

This is normal, if comedically thoughtful and realistic for a shounen character. This guy talks like a mandatory reporter. What's strange is what immediately follows:

"AS A SPIRITUAL SPECIALIST" DOING A LOT OF HEAVY LIFTING HERE REIGEN

Not only did he hunt down the families of the children bullying his client (insane. where did he get that info), he also contacted the school as if he were representing his own son in order to get justice, and then hunted down a source of complaints when the school fell through.

This is like a genuinely bizarre level of commitment to the bit, and the bit is "the system works, and if it doesn't work, we will find a system that does work, and if we cannot, hell or high water it is my PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY to make the system stop slouching so it works again".

Long thread on the manga with this reading⬇️

Before I start. Reigen adopting Teru is more IC than you think but I don't think it is IC in the way people think it is. I think about this a lot and I think people who do it because they like Reigen aren't understanding how into his bit he is. Guy who talks to social services

So remember the arc that won people over to Reigen despite the fact he's an asshole who takes advantage of Mob and derides him constantly in order to keep him complacent?

He has Mob's phone on his GPS. This makes sense; he's been taking him out and about since he was 11. Very responsible!

Reigen dismisses the "Boss" mistake thinking well, it's a misunderstanding, but it got me in. Yet as soon as he heard they're committing crimes, he VISIBLY puts on his Boss Pants to chastise them. Again, normal so far. I think any scammer with a heart of gold would do this. (And foreshadowing for why he retried reprimanding the Claw Cadres a second time after getting power.)

Again. He's a scumbag. So he leaves Mob to beat their asses using his previous rhetoric. But then!

Reigen's shady morality is more like "people who can take care of things should take care of things". To him, Mob is the Authority on Espers, and can handle conflict like this. Immediately upon becoming aware he can't, Reigen thinks "oh, okay, so the only person who can take care of things is someone who can deescalate". (Pictured: Deescalation)

Okay. Besides the fact this is insufferable as a general concept - YOU just told him to handle it YOU are the source of his stress - his first step in deescalation is to force Mob to back down. Rather than asking him not to fight, he reestablishes "rules" in order to convince Mob he must back down - the same way he tried using what he said to worm his way out of dealing with this shit - and then sets himself up as the authority figure to which the others must obviously defer in matters of His Boy, like a parent accepting criticism at a PTA meeting. This isn't Reigen claiming Mob so much as "in order for them to not attack Mob, they must view me as a representative for Mob".

And like a good authority figure:

Continuing with his phrasing:

If you think about it, this is like...an objectively very strange and incredibly bold approach to this situation. They're homicidal. Reigen is a DERANGED level of Normal Man. He has this image in his head of normalcy, of the world at standard operating procedures, and reinforces it right through an entire conflict. Carceral beliefs don't even factor into this, simply expressing his principles and expecting them to fold.

And they do lol. I keep wondering how Shou must have felt listening to him talk like that

We see a little more of his good side in work; when he was getting so little work it was affecting his grocery bills, this moneygrubbing scammer still asked for like $200 to clear an entire city of hauntings. (His regular exorcisms are around $30). Fair prices are part of his principles of how the business should be. He operates basically at-cost. He mentions he wanted to come out here because he's bored. He's killing time as a career.

Aside:

Just realized he called Mob in last minute so Mob didn't know he accepted crops instead of money. Shigeo didn't like that

So consider that he never got caught here and there was a call on the news to hunt him down at the end of this bit: for the average viewer of the anime, it's just funny, but this is part of the Mogami pre-arc so we've gotten a hold of him by now; he probably holds an inherent belief that the police will intercept him and not Mob. Why wouldn't they? Why would an adult man want to dress up in a highschool girl's uniform? The System will understand.

Not relevant to my point but I like how he realizes what's wrong with Mob way before the final arc, just not why it's happening. Also he doesn't say anything.

With the way his principles are, you really get the feeling that Reigen does his best to avoid culpability specifically because if something happened that was his fault, he'd have to step up to the plate to compensate for that, which is troublesome to him who is a career time-killer. It does not occur to him that an actual bad person and scammer would not step up to the plate as a matter of course. This is his way

What I find really interesting is that this Militant Insane NormalMan does have a sense of wanting something "special", but rather than whip Mob up the way Dimple did Ritsu, he ended up projecting his own values onto Mob, as if he could recreate a special "self" within him. He's always deriding him and baiting him and lying to him in hopes of creating a superb person that a special individual like Mob finds admirable, as if Mob is the authority on his quality of character. Sad! lol

Anyway, it adds a lot more kick to this famous line. Reigen genuinely believes in Authority

Authority works!

And if Mob (the authority on espers) doesn't work, who's the person who MUST step up to the plate [common sense]? You guessed it.

There are other aspects of Reigen's character that everyone and their dog has already picked up on (his self-loathing is the entire reason the way he talked to Mob in Confession arc hit so hard), but this one's my favourite. He's insane

#mp100 #mp100 meta #i like him a normal amount.

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pulisicsgirl · 1 year

Text

caring for you - mason mount

summary: following Mason's surgery, Y/N does everything in her power to take care of him and keep him comfortable, and his parents take note

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings/tags: brief mentions of surgery and medicine, PDA in front of parents, fluff

requested: yes!! here

notes: I'm back (for now)!! I'm about to start finals week, so hopefully I'll have more time to write once I've made it back home! I received this request a while ago, and I was thinking about writing something about taking care of Mason after his procedure last week, so I figured I'd combine the two! Hope you like it!

Also I feel like this started out really strong and the end is absolute garbage, so I'm very sorry about that

Since the moment the two of you had arrived at home from the hospital, you hadn’t let Mason leave his spot in the corner of the ‘L-shaped’ couch. As soon as you walked through the door, you had (gently) pushed him down onto the soft cushion, tucking a soft blanket over his legs. It was only a few minutes before you had a bottle of water and a couple of snacks by his side in case he needed them.

The surgery had been relatively minor, all things considered. It was an outpatient procedure, scheduled for the early hours of the day. So by the time it reached the late afternoon, the doctor had discharged Mason, instructing him to take it easy for the next couple of weeks to avoid agitating the incisions before easing back into his regular training regimen. The doctor had informed you that everything had gone very well and there should be nothing to be concerned about.

So of course, you were very concerned, just a ball of anxiety, making sure that Mason didn’t lift a finger for the rest of the day.

Mason had been pretty tired once the two of you had arrived home, so you left him to nap on the couch while you tidied up the rest of the house. Mason’s parents were making the drive up from Portsmouth to spend the evening in London. Mason hadn’t been able to see them in a while and took advantage of the free days he would have following his operation to invite them to spend some time with him (and you).

Part of you had been worried that Mason would be too exhausted after the early morning he’d had and the surgery to visit with them. But you also knew that, like you, Debbie would be worried about Mason following the procedure, and just being able to see him would do wonders to calm her nerves.

So as Mason took a well-deserved nap, you moved about the house, sweeping the floors, wiping down the counters, and making sure that everything had been put in its proper place. You washed the dishes that had accumulated in the sink over the last couple of days and put them away. You were sure to pass through the living room every few minutes to make sure Mason was still sleeping peacefully. You felt a warmth spread through your chest each time you checked on him, the blanket tucked up under his chin and a slight pout on his lips as his face was smushed into the pillow.

It came time for Mason to take the next dose of one of the medications the doctor had sent home with him, and he had just begun to stir from his nap as you sat down on the couch by his head. You reach out, threading your fingers through his hair as he began to blink his eyes open, humming at your gentle touch.

“How you feeling?” you spoke softly to him.

“ ‘m good,” he mumbled, a grin on his face as he looked up at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes.

You returned his smile. “Good. Well, it’s time for you to take your medicine.”

He sat up slowly, grunting with the effort, which instantly put you on edge, worried that he was in pain. He must have noticed the look on your face when he looked over at you.

“I’m fine. I promise,” he moved himself up on the couch so that he was sitting next to you. He placed his hand on the back of your neck, gingerly leaning over to kiss you on the forehead. “Stop worrying yourself so much.”

You smiled sheepishly at him, feeling a little silly for how worked up you had been the whole day, but you couldn’t really help it. You would truly do anything for Mason, and the thought of him in pain was something you never wanted to even consider.

“Your parents should be here any minute,” you informed him once he had swallowed the pills. “Dinner is almost ready, so we should be ready to eat as soon as they arrive. Are you feeling hungry?”

“Of course. Especially if it’s your cooking.”

“Oh, shut up, you.” He laughed at your deflection, knowing that you had no clue how to accept a complement. Even so, he delighted in giving them to you often, watching your cheeks flush red and your eyes dart to the ground.

It was only a few minutes before you heard the knock on the front door, knowing it could only be Debbie and Tony. You gave Mason a quick kiss, instructing him not to move from the couch as you walk to the door. You opened it, greeting his parents as they both pulled you into warm hugs. You had met Mason’s family several times before, but your relationship with them was still new enough that you felt nervous any time they came around. You felt as though you needed to somehow prove to them that you were worthy of their son’s love, despite Mason’s constant reassurance that it was unnecessary, insisting that they already loved you. You still tried your best, though, making sure that everything was perfect at the house before they came over.

You led them to the living room so that they could greet their son and told them you’d be in the kitchen, putting the final touches on the food you had prepared. You caught Mason’s eye before you turned away, and he flashed a quick grin at you.

You were dishing the food into bowls when Debbie entered the kitchen, a kind smile on her face as she offered your help. You informed her that you were nearly done, but she could help with carrying the dishes to the boys.

“He seems like he’s doing well,” she said.

You nodded in agreement. “I think so. He hasn’t told me he’s had any pain since we got home, and I just gave him another dose of the pain medicine that the doctor sent home with us before you got here. Though you and I both know that he probably wouldn’t say anything even if he was in pain.”

The two of you shared a laugh over the stubborn boy that was dear to both of your hearts.

“How are you doing?” she asked suddenly.

“M-me?” Her question caught you off-guard as you dished food into the fourth and final bowl, and you looked up at her. Her lips were drawn together in a tight line as she examined your face.

“Yes, you. I know you well enough to know you’ve been running yourself ragged all day to keep him comfortable.”

“Oh,” you breathed, a warm feeling spreading through your chest at her motherly concern. It meant more to you than she realized that she would express that kind of affection for you. “Y-yeah, I’m alright. He’s a pretty good patient, so he makes my job easy.” You pressed a smile to your face despite the emotions you felt welling up inside you.

You handed Debbie the bowls containing food for Tony and herself and let her know you’d be in the living room in a moment. She walked out of the kitchen, and you lingered behind for just a moment, dabbing the tears from the corners of your eyes in an attempt to keep your mascara from running.

Just that simple question from Mason’s mother was so important to you. Knowing that she approved of your relationship with her son and saw how much you wanted to take care of him—it did wonders to calm your nerves surrounding your relationship with her and Tony.

Once you had collected yourself, you picked up the two remaining bowls and met Mason, Tony, and Debbie in the living room. You had decided that it would be best for the four of you to eat on the couch so that Mason could remain comfortable, and you could all continue to visit together.

Plus, you knew Mason and his father really wanted to continue watching the football match that had started a mere 20 minutes ago.

As you approached Mason, he gently swung his legs off of the couch cushion, patting the space where his legs had just been to signal for you to sit down. You did so carefully, still holding both bowls of food and he placed his legs across your lap, draping the blanket back over both of your legs. You were a little taken back by the display of affection in front of his parents but brushed it off as you handed the bowl to him.

He gave you a curious look, brows slightly furrowed, as he noticed the misty look in your eyes. You just replied with a slight shake of your head, a signal that the two of you would talk later.

You eagerly watched Mason and your two guests as they took the first bite of their food. It was one of Debbie’s recipes and you hoped desperately that you hadn’t let them down with the dish. As soon as you knew Mason had a surgery coming up, you had texted Debbie asking for the recipe for his favorite meal of hers, wanting to spoil him after the procedure.

Debbie and Tony both smiled, humming in appreciation as they got their first taste, and Tony remarked how good it was. Mason, ever the dramatic one, let out a groan, dropping his head onto the back of the couch, using words like “incredible” and “scrumptious” as he voiced his gratitude for the meal. He merely grinned at the way you rolled your eyes at him while your cheeks flushed red.

By the time the halftime show was wrapping up, you were collecting everyone’s dishes and carrying them into the kitchen to tidy up. Debbie appeared moments later, pushing you back into the living room and insisting that it was “the least I could do” to clean up your kitchen. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in.

You walked around behind the couch, threading your fingers through Mason’s hair to get his attention, He dropped his head back, eyes gazing up at you lovingly.

“Do you need anything?” you asked as you scratch his scalp lightly with your nails.

“Hmm,” he pretended to think for a moment before tapping his lips with his index finger. “Just a kiss.”

You laughed at him, leaning down as you held your hair out of the way so it wouldn’t get in Mason’s face. You pressed your lips to his gently, expecting to give him a quick peck. But Mason seemed to have other ideas, holding your face to his for a few seconds with a hand that had reached to the back of your head.

He let you pull back after a moment, and you gazed down at his upside-down face, adorning a lovestruck grin. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him today, but something had gotten him in a touchy and lovey mood.

“Anything else?” you whispered, caught slightly off-guard by his actions. Mason just shook his head, gesturing for you to come back to sit on the couch with him, and you resumed your position under his legs.

As you watched the football game, you did your best to keep up with Mason and Tony as they talked over the strategies of the teams and the technique of the players on the screen. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to you, and you felt your eyes slip closed, your head falling forward just slightly before you jolted awake.

Noticing this, Mason pulled you into his side and intertwined his legs with yours. Your head rested on his shoulder as he leaned back on the cushions, shuffling down slightly so that your neck wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Too tired to protest the PDA in front of his dad, you draped your arm over his stomach and quickly fell back asleep in the comfort of Mason’s arms. He ran the tips of his fingers over the skin of your arm, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head every couple of minutes as he listened to your steady breathing.

A knowing smile took over Debbie’s face as she re-entered the living room after finishing up in the kitchen.

“She’s a keeper, that one,” she pointed to your sleeping form. Your cheek was pressed firmly to Mason’s chest, causing a slight pout to form on your lips.

He looked down at your face, a smile spread across his lips. “She’s just amazing,” he replied earnestly. “She’s so selfless and hardworking, always taking care of me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her today.” He looked back up at his parents, holding you a little tighter. “I’m… really happy with her.”

Debbie and Tony smiled back at him, happy to see their son in a healthy and successful relationship.

“People like her are hard to come by,” Tony remarked. “You better do everything you can to keep her around.”

“Oh definitely,” Mason grinned, looking back to the football match on the TV screen. “At this point, if she leaves me, I’m going with her.”

tag list: @masonspulisic @chelseagirl98 @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #mason mount fics #footballer fics #footballer imagine #footballer imagines #football imagine #football fics #mason mount fluff #mason mount fanfic #mason mount one shot #mason mount angst #mason mount blurb #chelsea fc

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dr-hera-dermatologist-roorkee · 1 year

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#Aesthetic Enhancements #Anti-Aging #Beauty Treatments #Collagen stimulation #Cosmetic Procedures #Facial contouring #Facial rejuvenation #Minimally Invasive #Non-Surgical Face Lift #Non-surgical facelift #Rejuvenation Techniques #Skin Lifting #Skin tightening #Thread Lifts #Youthful Appearance

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em-prentiss · 26 days

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on love and anesthesia

----

“Why’r you touching me if you have a husband?” Aaron frowns deeply, a wrinkle forming between his brows as she twists his ring around. Emily slips her hand out of his hair and presses her thumb to his frown.

“Because he’s you.” She tells him.

Aaron’s eyes widen.

In which Aaron undergoes a minor surgery and promptly forgets Emily is his wife.

to @sequinsmile-x, because our brains operated on the same wavelength today <3

Word count: 2.2k

----

The word surgery always sparked panic in her blood. The fact that it’s an outpatient procedure doesn’t ease any of her anxieties, so she chews on her lip and twists her rings around, trying not to tear her cuticles to blood as she waits for Aaron to come out of his cholecystectomy.

“Family of Aaron Hotchner?” A voice rings out.

Emily’s head snaps up. She gets to her feet, the nervous pitter patter of her heart calming slightly when the doctor gives her a reassuring smile.

“Yes,” she clears her dry throat. “Is he okay?” Her nail catches on the skin of her thumb.

The doctor smiles softly. “He’s all done and ready for you to take home.”

Air rushes back into her lungs. “Oh thank fuck,” Emily mutters, blindly following him to the recovery room.

“The surgery went well,” he says, “we didn’t encounter any issues with his scar tissue like we expected.”

Another brick lifts off of Emily’s shoulders. Her relief is enough to make her blur out the blinding lights of the hospital, the overly sterile walls and the scent of antiseptic. Finally the doctor stops in front of a door, but before Emily can lunge in, he starts talking again.

“He shouldn’t be eating any high fat foods for at least a week, and make sure to get him on lots of fluids for the next 24 hours. He also shouldn’t be performing any strenuous activities—biking, jogging, the like. No lifting anything heavy either, for at least a month.”

Emily scoffs at that. The doctor doesn’t hear her.

“Walks are good, just nothing too long, maybe a half hour or so. For the incisions—”

“Oh, don’t worry, we know how to take care of those,” Emily smiles wryly. The doctor’s brows raise and he nods haltingly, clearing his throat before continuing.

“There’s a chance he might’ve taken well to the anesthesia, but if he did it’ll fade in a few hours. A nurse will be in to check his vitals and then you’re all set.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Emily smiles at him, grateful if a little rushed, her hand already on the handle and opening the door before he even leaves.

Her eyes drift to Aaron as the door slams shut behind her. He stirs a little at the sound, brows furrowing but his eyes still shut. Emily walks over to the chair next to his bed and sits down, finally letting out a breath as his lashes flutter.

The white hospital gown washes him out—the sight is more familiar than she’d like—but his chest rises and falls evenly.

She takes his hand in hers. It’s a little cold so she covers her fingers over his, threads them through his own and hears the clink of their rings together.

Emily rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, slowly warming his skin with her own as he starts waking up. It takes a few minutes before he starts shifting awake, coming to with a groan.

She squeezes his fingers as his eyes flutter open blearily. Aaron flinches from the bright lights and turns his head, meeting Emily’s gaze as she rests her chin on the handle of his bed.

“Hey handsome,” she whispers, untangling their fingers to brush the messy hair away from his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

The soft bangs slip against her skin and flop back into his face. Emily smiles and moves to push them behind his ear, but Aaron frowns and moves his head further into the pillow.

“No, I’m married,” he mumbles, shying away from her touch. “I have a wife.” He tries to glare at her, but it has little effect with the way his eyes are dazed, his movements uncoordinated and his voice raspy.

The doctor’s words come back to her suddenly—he might’ve taken well to the anesthesia.

Emily bites back a smile and drops her hand from his hair. She grabs a water bottle from her purse, uncaps it and holds it to his lips. “Oh yeah? What’s your wife’s name, sweetheart?” She asks gently, her voice soft and low.

Aaron frowns at her as he drinks. The expression is so unguarded, so deeply genuine that Emily can’t contain her grin this time. He pushes the bottle away clumsily, a few drops spilling down his chin and onto his hospital gown.

“Tha’s what I call her. She’s m’sweetheart.” He slurs, squinting at her. “You…” He waves his finger in her face. Emily catches it and places his hand back in the bed. “You kinda look like her. Pretty. She has dark eyes like that,” Aaron sighs.

Emily bites her lip. Pretty, huh? “What’s her name?” She asks, fully intending to take advantage of the—rare—situation.

“Em,” he says promptly, his lips turning up in a loopy smile. Dimples dig into his cheeks, deep as she’s ever seen them.

“She’s my Em.” Aaron mumbles. He digs his head into his pillow, messing up his hair further as he looks up at her with glazed eyes. “We’re married and she’s m’wife. Do you have a wife?” His brows raise into his hairline.

Emily chuckles. “No, baby. I have an amazing husband who’s high off his ass right now,” she reaches a hand out and threads her fingers through his hair.

Aaron leans into her touch, instinctive, his lashes fluttering shut when she scratches her nails along his scalp. He lets out a deep groan-sigh before his eyes snap back open again. His honey brown eyes meet Emily’s and she smiles at him, taking his other hand in hers and kissing his knuckles.

“Because he’s you.” She tells him.

Aaron’s eyes widen. His pupils are blown wide, though she’s not sure if that’s because of the drugs or the news. “Nu-uh,” he shakes his head, his hair flopping with the vigorous movement.

“I’d remember it if we were married.” He says confidently. “I couldn’ marry someone as pretty as you.”

Emily’s lips curve upward. “Why’s that?” She whispers.

Aaron looks at her like she’s crazy; as if the answer is glaringly obvious. “’Cause y’d distract me alll the time.” He says, his tone clearly saying duh. “I’d never get anythin’ done. I’m Uni’ Chief, you know,” he tells her solemnly, “I have a very important job.”

“I know you do,” Emily scrunches her nose at him. “It’s how we met, honey. In that god awful office of yours.” She says lightly.

He shakes his head again, firmly in denial as his lips twist downward. “Don’ mess with me,” he frowns. It has about a fourth of the power of a proper Hotch glare.

Emily huffs out a soft laugh. “I’m not messing with you, Aaron.” She gently grabs his left hand and holds it up next to hers. Their rings shine side by side.

“See?” She tells him as he touches her engagement ring. “We’re matching.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, contemplating. He touches his ring and hers, fingers smoothing over the platinum, before he turns to her again. “I’d remember if we were married, though,” his lips jut out in an honest to god pout.

Emily can’t help but laugh, too loud and bright, the tension of almost two hours in the waiting room promptly melting off her shoulders.

“You’ll remember soon, baby, I promise,” she soothes, just barely holding in the urge to kiss his pouted lips. God, she wishes she could snap a picture.

Aaron sighs dreamily, smiling as he reaches for her fingers. “D’you always call me that?”

“What?” Emily tilts her head, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Baby?” She asks.

Aaron flushes. He nods slowly, red crawling up his jaw.

Emily hums. “Only sometimes. You pretend not to like it, but I know you do, sweetheart,” she coos, cupping his face and gently tracing her thumb over his cheekbone. His skin flames beneath her touch.

His cheeks turn a deeper red. “You call me lotsa things,” he mumbles.

Emily grins. “That’s ’cause I love you so much,” she murmurs, leaning over the handle of the bed and kissing his cheek. A medicinal scent lingers on his skin but she ignores it, peppering his cheek with kisses.

“I love you so much and I’m so glad this is fucking over,” she sighs into his skin, pressing her love—and relief—into his dimples.

She feels Aaron melt into the bed, his hand sliding on top of hers as she continues murmuring nonsense, glad to have her highly drugged husband back after hours that passed by slow as honey.

A knock on the door forces her away from him.

A nurse walks in and smiles at them brightly, her eyes kind. “Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” she chirps. “I’m just here to check your vitals and then you’ll be free to go.”

Aaron is surprisingly compliant as the nurse takes his blood pressure, measures his breathing and heart rate. Emily thinks it has something to do with the way he’s shamelessly ogling her. His gaze is hot on her skin as he completely ignores the nurse poking and prodding at him. Meeting his eyes, Emily arches her brow.

Aaron grins.

She sighs.

“Are you feeling any pain, Mr. Hotchner?” The nurse asks when she’s done. His attention goes back to her, lazy and reluctant.

“No,” he mumbles, frowning down at his gown, scratching at the bandages beneath it, “jus’ itchy.”

Emily grabs his hand and forces it away from the wounds, loosely linking their fingers together.

The nurse nods. “That’s perfectly normal. Keep the wound dressing on for today and you can take it off tomorrow, alright? No hot baths, though.” She turns to Emily, “If he’s in any pain, paracetamol should cover it, but if it continues after that, you should bring him back here.”

“Okay,” Emily nods, hoping she doesn’t sound too eager at the thought of finally leaving. “Thank you so much.” She smiles at her.

The nurse smiles back. “Of course. Have a great day.” She says, slipping back into the hall before Emily can respond.

She sighs as she turns back to Aaron, her smile spreading when she catches him staring at her unabashedly. Again. His eyes drop to her lips and his cheeks tint pink.

She would kill for a camera right now.

Emily grins. “Come on, let’s get you dressed so we can go home. I’m sure the kids have turned the house upside down on JJ.” She untangles their fingers and stands up, holding out her palms to help him up.

Aaron’s mouth drops open, his eyes widening in wonder.

“I have babies with you?” He breathes. A lopsided smile makes its way onto his lips, digging his dimples deep into his cheeks. He beams at her and takes her hands, letting her pull him up to the side of the bed.

It’s Emily’s turn to flush. “You’ll be having more of them if you keep that up,” she mutters.

Aaron grins, his hands going to her waist, stopping her from bending over and grabbing his change of clothes.

“Do they all have your pretty eyes?” He tilts his head up to look at her, his fingers grabbing at her shirt. Her eyes meet his and he sighs dreamily, “Fuck, thy’r so pretty.”

Emily’s body heats. She threads her fingers into his hair and bends down to kiss him. Aaron responds immediately, his lips a little chapped against hers, his hands tightening on her waist; he may momentarily forget marrying her, but he’ll never forget this.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Emily whispers, pressing her lips to the tip of his nose, “but they’ve got my nose.”

Aaron immediately frowns, this time his brows drawing together harshly. “Tha’s ridiculous,” he scolds as best he could. “Your nose is fucking cute.”

Emily laughs brightly, warmth spreading through her body. She kisses the top of his head. “Not as fucking cute as you are right now.” She resists the urge to ruffle his hair and moves out of his hold to grab his clothes.

Aaron smiles at her back as she takes out a shirt and sweatpants from a bag next to the chair. “’Mily?” He mumbles.

Her heart warms at the way he says her name, soft and slurred and like she’s never heard it before; his voice hushed, his usually careful syllables crashing into each other.

“Yeah, honey?”

Aaron grins. “I remember marryin’ you. We ate cake for breakfast the next morning. An’ I had to pay for insurance ’cause we broke the bed—”

“Okay,” Emily laughs, her cheeks heating at the memory. She undoes the tie holding his gown together, slipping it down his chest and bunching up his shirt before guiding his arm through it.

“Let’s hope you’ll remember your airtight filter next,” she teases, stretching out the collar of his shirt to help him poke his head through it. He grins at her when his head is finally free, soft hair all messed up and falling into his eyes.

Though she knows she’ll miss this side of him.

Taglist: @kllingdaddy

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#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic

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margareth-lv · 4 months

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💉 Botox, dermal fillers and tristesse 💉

First of all, I want to make an important disclaimer.

There is not a shred of body shaming in what I am writing about in today's post. Nor is there any mockery of cosmetic surgery procedures.

I myself am a great admirer of facial treatments, effective wrinkle reduction and in not letting time take its toll.

In fact, I think (using my own example) that Botox is not a killer, and that it can beautifully smooth out features. And make you feel better. So - stop shaming women for having Botox.

But let's look at something else.

*** *** *** I think everything has been said about Caitríona Mary Balfe's infamous performance last weekend. So what I'd like to add is pretty much a reiteration of what you've already written about, Sisters in Arms… in Fandom…. But I just cannot help myself.

*** *** ***

The photos below are taken almost a year apart (left - Grilled by The Staff Canteen on 8 March 2023 in Glasgow, right - JW Anderson's catwalk show on 18 February 2024 in London).

Well, nobody gets younger over time (well, unless you're Dorian Grey or, even better, Benjamin Button). And it's not just a matter of good (or bad) lighting on your face. If your eyebrows are sagging, they're not going to lift themselves. Unless you have Botox in your temples. Then you get an effect like the one in the photo on the right.

I bet she also had a suture suspension facelift (also known as a thread lift). This improves the contour of the face.

So admiring Cait's undying beauty (which I don't question, she's really gorgeous!) must include the surgical factor. And there is no shame or disgust about it. *** *** *** Although the most important factor affecting Caitríon's face is obviously Sam. Even with the wrinkles around her eyes, doesn't she look younger when she's close to Sam?

(on the left, Glasgow, 29 April 2022)

And then there's the left, nervously squinted eye, an unmistakable sign that Mr McNobody is hovering nearby.

This eye is not the result of failed facial surgery. It's born out of the Hopeless Narrative, that seems to have no end. What a sad, tragic story this is. An unmitigated disaster.

[21 February, 2024]

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tiannasfanfic · 7 months

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Auntie Ethel’s Cure

Astarion x Drow!Reader (Fluff)

| Astarion Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: Another promised cure for your tadpoles ends up being just another dead end when a powerful Hag is unable to remove it.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral Tav/Reader, they/them pronouns used (if any). Spawn!Astarion x Drow!Reader, but no descriptions of Tav/Reader's appearance. Fluff with Mild Hurt/Comfort. Takes place during Act 1 before heading to the Goblin Village during the "Investigate Kahga" quest. The dialogue between Auntie Ethel and Tav/Reader is taken from BG3 based on the dialogue options chosen in my current play through.

CW: Mentions of eye removal (no details, just that it happened); mentions of Astarion drinking blood (no details, just that he does it).

Word Count: 1,734

The party had been quiet ever since you and Astarion returned from the Tea House.

Morale was now lower than ever. Yet another lead on removing the tadpole had proven to be a bust. Not only that, but you’d lost an eye in the process.

But, even with her failure, Auntie Ethel had done something that no one else had been able to do thus far. She was able to provide you with more information about it.

“You little shit, you didn’t tell me it was Netherese!” the Hag had growled as she released the magic that held you for the procedure, resulting in you collapsing in a heap on the floor. “I’m not touching that!”

“Netherese?” you asked, sounding dazed as Astarion helped you up.

Auntie Ethel nodded.

“Filthy shadow magic - brings nothing but chains and misery,” she said, then grimaced in pain as she gingerly rubbed her right hand, the tips of her claws now black after the failed extraction. “How could I have missed that stink? It’s like blood and piss congealing on my tongue. Bleh.”

As if to emphasize her point, the Hag turned and spat in the dirt.

“Someone’s tampered with your parasite,” she continued, turning back to gaze again at you and Astarion. “That’s likely why you’ve not turned yet.”

At this point, the shocked daze you were began to lift. You shook your head rapidly as if to clear it, grimaced, then refocused your gaze on the Ethel.

“What do you mean, ‘tampered’?” you asked.

The Hag chuckled, an expression coming to her face that was reminiscent of an old lady looking at a small child who just said something silly.

“Bless us, you’re as slow as a wet week,” she said, almost affectionately, then pointed one of her singed claws towards your forehead. “That thing has been touched by more than Mindflayers.”

Then came the dreaded words that no one wanted to hear, the words that now echoed through everyone’s heads as they silently sat around the campfire.

“You’re a dead soul walking, petal. I can’t help you.”

Ironically, despite her nature, Astarion detected a thread of sympathy in Ethel’s voice. Not much, mind you, not like when she was still trying to sell her harmless little old lady act. Just a thread. She seemed oblivious to it though, and that made him believe her.

You were quiet on the walk back to camp. Once at camp, you told everyone what the Hag had said, word for word, then disappeared into your tent.

That was three hours ago. You had yet to emerge, even after Gale called everyone to dinner.

Generally, it wasn’t like you to sit in your tent and brood. That was Astarion’s job, and sometimes even Shadowheart’s. But you? You were the one that always pulled them out of their dark thoughts. You had a knack for snapping them out of the dark recesses of their minds, even if it involved just barging into their tents and dragging them out by force.

Looking around at everyone, Astarion could see they were all bothered by the day’s events. No one was eating much, not even Karlach. They were poking at their bowls of stew, with occasional glances of worry towards your tent.

After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore. The silence, the lack of jokes and laughter, the gloom. Even Gale was silent and that never happens. Normally he’d be going on about what technique he used to sear the meat for the stew or waxing philosophic about his collection of spices back home. Granted, Astarion normally tuned him out, but at least there was something to tune out.

Getting to his feet, he approached your tent. The flaps of your tent were closed and there was no sound coming from inside. He began to wonder then if you’d fallen asleep, but then he listened more closely to single out the sound of your heartbeat and breathing. Both were steady, indicating you weren’t asleep.

He paused just outside and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Tav? May I come in?”

Only a moment passed before you answered.

“Of course.”

You sounded normal, your voice its usual tone and timber. That was a good sign, or so Astarion hoped.

As he brought his hand up to open the flap of your tent, the sudden feeling of being watched washed over him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw everyone at the campfire was watching him with hopeful expressions. Karlach and Wyll both gave him an encouraging thumbs up. Astarion rolled his eyes in response before ducking inside your tent.

Once inside, he could see that you hadn’t been idle for these past few hours. You had gotten yourself cleaned up from the marsh and changed into your camp clothes. The muck and grime had been cleaned off your armor as well. It sat in a neat pile near the tent flap, ready for tomorrow’s adventures.

Presently though, you were having an idle moment as you sat on your bedroll, mirror in hand.

You were gazing at your reflection thoughtfully, looking at yourself one way for a moment before tilting your head to see yourself at a different angle.

If you were bothered by the change to your appearance, it wasn’t apparent, but that didn’t mean anything. Drow were nothing if not vain and you were no exception to this.

After watching you for a few moments, Astarion cleared his throat again.

“What are we thinking, darling?” he asked.

You tilted your head to the side a bit, raising and lowering your brows at the same time, like you were shrugging with your face instead of your shoulders.

“It’s not bad, all things considered,” you finally said, setting the mirror aside and finally looking up at him. “Did she leave any scarring? It doesn’t look like she did, but my vision on that side isn’t that good anymore.”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up at that statement.

“Really, darling?” he repeated, an incredulous tone to his voice as he crouched down in front you. “Just, ‘not that good anymore’?”

You chuckled softly.

“I guess there’s no point in lying, huh?” you asked, looking up at him.

Astarion shook his head and you sighed.

There was no hiding it. While your eye was still wholly intact, anyone could see that it was as dead as the deer Gale had used in tonight’s stew. It was completely whited out now, with no trace left of its original color, the gaze coming from it emotionless and blank.

Gently taking hold of your chin, he tilted your head up towards the light so he could see that side of your face better.

To his amazement, you were right. Auntie Ethel had done excellent work as far as damage went. She’d left behind no scarring, no tissue damage apart from the obvious. The only blemishes and scars were the ones you already had.

“It’s not bad,” he finally said, letting go of your chin before smirking. “If anything, you’re an even scarier Drow now.”

A bark of laughter came from you at his words.

“True,” you said, and a grin came to your face. “Who knows? Maybe this will make things easier for us now.”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to bark laughter, which he did as he got to his feet.

“As nice as that would be, darling, our luck isn’t that good,” he said, extending a hand out in an offer to help you up. “Now, let’s get some dinner in you. You’ve had a long day and tomorrow will be even longer still.”

You quirked a brow at him as you placed your hand in his.

“Now now, Astarion,” you said as he pulled you to your feet. “Keep saying things like that and I might actually start thinking you care about me.”

Astarion felt a slight pang in his chest at your words, but brushed it off like he always did. It was happening more often now since spending that night with you in the clearing. He just assumed it was due to your blood. Even though he’d fed in a few human bandits since then, none of them had tasted anything like you. No doubt it was a side effect of you being his first, and he was sure it would go away in time.

But, even still, you’d placed a lot of trust in him by letting him drink from you again after what happened the first time. Whether intentional or a decision made in the heat of the moment, he wasn’t sure, but he was still grateful for it all the same. It was a nice, unexpected treat before the act he had to perform.

Presently, Astarion realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts, and shook his head to clear it.

“Of course I care about you, darling,” he said in his most charming voice, as he turned and walked away. “You’re my backup food source.”

Upon reaching the front of your tent, he swept open the flap with one arm and looked back at you as he gestured outside with the other.

“Shall we?”

Despite your excellent composure, Astarion could read the telltale signs of amusement on your face. There was a slight crinkle at one corner of your mouth, a very slight but brief lowering of your eyelids.

“I suppose,” you said nonchalantly, then came over to join him at the door. “Just remember, no more midnight surprises.”

Astarion opened his mouth to make a witty retort, but the words died on his tongue when you patted his shoulder reassuringly as you headed out of your tent. This gesture indicated that, despite your words and stoic tone, you were just teasing him. But what really got his tongue was your touch itself. His arm felt pleasantly warm and almost tingly where your hand had been.

It felt…nice.

Not as nice as waking up with you in his arms, but still nice all the same.

Astarion blinked, then shook his head hard as he quickly followed you from the tent.

He had no idea where that thought had come from.

It was a little bit alarming, but now that camp was back to normal following your departure from the tent, he had the ambient sound of people talking to tune out while he sat at the campfire brooding over it.

#astarion #astarion fluff #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion imagine #astarion series #astarion oneshot #astarion romance #drow tav #spawn!astarion #astarion x you

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