#tw: hiding medical issues

[moongreenlight]

I love your work about the 141 gossiping about Ghost, love the concept of him having a “secret wife”.

Please please please write more with “secret wife y/n”, I beg of you. 🙏🏻

ANYTHING FOR YOU, ANON. <3 Ghost and secretwife!reader are my sweet babies I love them so much.

Tw: blond Simon & smiling Simon. Read at your own risk.

If there’s one thing Gaz knows how to do, it’s shut the fuck up. And if there was ever a time to employ that skill, it was now. Now after he’d been frozen watching the two of you reunite after a close call. After he’d discovered your dirty little secret. Suddenly feeling like Icarus after flying too close to the sun. Hurtling back down to earth. He was certain that when he moved there would be a crater under his feet where his stomach dropped.

He’d gone so green that another nurse came up and gently tugged on his arm to see if he was alright. He snapped his jaw shut, nodding and mumbling something that didn’t sound anywhere near reassuring. But he forced himself to leave the medbay. Left the two of you behind the curtain, where in his final glance back he saw that your feet were still neatly on top of Ghost’s big boots. Pushed up on your toes to be able to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He made some excuse not to meet with you that evening. Could barely look you in the eye when you caught him in the hall, looking significantly more cheery than you had been that morning. You pried, asking if he was alright, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand, but he claimed the stress of their mission had just hit him and he really needed to sleep.

It took him weeks to get over the initial shock. Couldn’t stand next to Ghost during conditioning. Made a point of sitting catty-corner to him during meetings and in transit so he had the least chances of accidentally catching his eye. Feeling like he’d deeply bastardized the idea of ‘Ghost.’ Blurred the lines between the man Gaz knew and the man he was in private.

He tried to reason with himself. Keep it fresh in his mind that he’d seen the signs, just hadn’t been able to fully connect the dots by himself. And it was an accident. He’d never intentionally pry into either of your personal lives like that. It wasn’t in his character. There was nothing innately wrong with the two of you hiding a marriage. Probably would have been an HR nightmare. Gotten both of you re-stationed. He was certain you both had a good reason to hide it. And there was no better person to find out than him. He’d actually be able to keep it a secret. Soap would immediately run his mouth. Get on the intercoms and scream the news as loud as he could. Price would pull the both of you aside and try to have some heart-to-heart. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, it just would have felt too forced. Wouldn’t have served any real purpose.

So eventually he gets over it. Never pressed you about your marriage again, and you never seemed too keen on following up his request from months ago. The dust settles in his mind. He shelves the information like an old book. Life goes on.

And then the weather turns. Starts getting colder. The first few weeks of cold after summer where the wind stings a little more. Finds it’s way through jackets and uniforms a little more artfully. Soldiers are catching ill and passing it around like it’s a competition of who can infect the entire base. The medbay is busy, but a different kind of busy than summer when it’s an optimal time to see missions through.

The medics are tasked with rounding up all the soldiers on base and issuing flu vaccines to hopefully prevent further spread. You trudge to Price’s office in the early morning. He notices you look a little pale. The rims of your eyes and tip of your nose are blotchy. A gentle shade of pink that he assumes is from the weather or the cold you were bound to catch. You chat for a bit, catch up because you haven’t had the opportunity for a few weeks. Let him know that he and the boys need to make their way to the bay for their shots at some point.

You feel a little woozy. Pressing into his doorframe for support, white-knuckling it to keep yourself from swaying in your spot. He looks a little concerned. Asks if you need to take a few days away to recoup. You wave him off, tell him it’s nothing you can’t handle, but he insists on walking you back to medbay. And he’s glad he did because on the short walk back you find yourself having to duck into a dark meeting room so you can vomit into a trash can.

He keeps a steadying arm wrapped around your waist when you stumble back out into the hall. Shaking his head when you profusely apologize. Slowing his normally long strides so you were comfortable. Gently lets you down on your own cot and instructs you to stay where you are while he goes to find a few other doctors that can delegate your work for the day between them so you can have the day off.

He sends you home despite your protest. You’d already gotten your color back. Claimed you must’ve had something off to eat. He wasn’t having it. Said he wouldn’t have his best doctor spreading sick because she’s too stubborn to get off her feet for a few hours. He’s a bit more stern than usual because he knows you won’t listen otherwise, but he brings you a ginger ale and sits next to your bed until you’ve finished it.

Later that day, when he and the boys finally get around to the bay for vaccines, he notices the way Ghost’s eyes dart around like he was looking for something. His shoulders tensing when he sees your station empty, and moments after he’s taken his shot, Price sees that he’s slunk off to a corner to make a phone call.

He doesn’t think much of it. He’s been trying to give Ghost some space. So he just shrugs it off. Let’s him finish up whatever he’s doing before they get back to work.

The boys have gotten in the habit of taking a week off as the snow melts. Just before Spring brings rain and the soft buds of new leaves on the trees. Unofficial tradition proposed early on to have a few more days rest before things inevitably picked up again. Usually gave the boys time to kick off to visit family or get some well needed time away from base. Get in a well needed break because God knew they wouldn’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

Soap finds himself a little North of Manchester in his time off. Went out to see his godparents in Bolton for a couple days before getting back up to Iverness to see his parents. Meandering through a supermarket to pick up a bottle of wine for his godmother and a bottle of bourbon for himself. Could have sworn he saw Simon turning a corner at the end of the aisle. Chalked it up to a trick of the light. Seeing things after months of close quarters with his L.T.

But then he saw the man again. Stood in line at the butcher’s counter. No mask, but the same crooked nose and cropped blond hair. Same scar hooking his jaw. Swapped out his uniform and gear for a thick leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. Would have been unrecognizable if Johnny didn’t know him so well.

He was about to head over to say hello. Make some wise crack about Ghost missing him too much, but he was stilled for a moment when a woman approached Simon. Pushed her cart up next to him and nudged his side with her hip. Prompted him to give her a small smile- the only smile Soap had ever seen Simon grace anyone with. No teeth, just a curve of his lips, but it changed his face completely.

Ghost said something to the woman. She reached up to fuss with the collar of his jacket. Johnny saw her shoulders shake slightly and heard the quiet tinkling sound of her laughter. Completely shell shocked. So imagine his surprise when the woman turned away from Ghost and it was you. Only you looked wildly different. He knew your face well enough, but after almost six months not going to the medbay on a weekly basis, something had changed.

Even wearing an oversized sweatshirt he could see the way it pulled taught against your swollen belly. Saw the way your arm was cradling it like second nature. He didn’t even realize that the bottle of wine had slipped from his fingers until he watched Simon’s head snap toward the sound. Ears perked. Tense like he’d suddenly flashed onto the battlefield. His eyes went wild for a moment as he scanned the busy aisle, calmed only a degree when he found you.

It’s like that Spider-Man meme where the three of them meet and point at each other. Johnny’s smiling sheepishly (for once), your jaw is dropped in surprise, and Simon is glaring daggers at Johnny like somehow it was his fault that you were all in the same place at once. You’re the first one to move. Rushing up to him as quickly as you could- now moving a bit awkwardly with the disproportionate weight of your pregnancy on your front. Asking if he was alright. Grabbing his hands to make sure the glass hadn’t cut him.

Simon tailed you like a hulking shadow. Glowering down at Soap something fucking ferocious. Didn’t even give him time to tell you he was fine. Pulling you back behind his arm by the wrists with a kind of gentleness Johnny had never known the L.T. to possess. You twisted your face in displeasure, batting his hands away and stepping back out from behind the wall that was your husband. Ignoring the wine and the soft crunch of glass under your shoes.

And to Soap’s absolute bafflement, Simon stood down. Didn’t try to yank you back, didn’t voice his protest, just drew his mouth into a hard line and let you push past him. He was speechless. For what well may have been the first time in his life, John MacTavish had no words. Couldn’t apologize for the mess. Couldn’t crack a joke. Couldn’t even say hello. He was pure dead at a loss.

Somehow, he allowed you to guide him away from the mess he’d made- staining the waxed tile a muted crimson even after the disgruntled looking employee came over to mop it up. Found his voice in your tugging him along after you and Simon to the checkout where you insisted you’d pay for the bottle of bourbon he’d managed not to send careening to the ground. Tried to tell you no, but you’d already sent it down the belt. And by the time you’d rooted through your purse in search of your card, Simon had already finished paying and was tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

Shuffled out with the two of you into the car park. Making a point of putting distance between himself and Simon who was pushing the cart with one hand and had the other planted firmly on the small of your back. Always walking on the side of oncoming traffic.

Johnny tried to keep up with your conversation. Asking him about his break. Where he was staying and for how long. How had he been. But it was tense. He could feel Ghost’s eyes on the back of his head. Burning through him. Making him feel like he had a target tacked to his skull.

He said a quick goodbye when Ghost helped you into the passenger seat of your car. You said you’d see him soon enough, said if he had any extra time before they went back he’d have to come by for dinner. Simon closed the door before you could say anything else. Looking monumentally irked.

The two men stood in suffocating silence while Simon unloaded the groceries into the trunk. Johnny tried to ignore the glinting of the silver band on the L.T’s finger. Caught the light every time he set a new bag in the back. A little unsure if he was being dismissed or if Ghost was just waiting until he was certain you wouldn’t hear the lashing he was bound to receive.

But it all stayed relatively calm. Maybe the eye of the hurricane. Simon pushed the bottle of bourbon into his chest before swinging the trunk shut.

“Appreciate if you’d keep this between us.”

Ghost spoke first, the words sounding a bit sticky in his throat- like they didn’t want to come out.

“‘Course.”

Johnny’s voice wasn’t much better. Both of them shifted on their feet. Not use to this kind of conversation. Uncomfortable being pushed from their usual dynamic.

Simon just nodded, moving to push the cart back to the corral. Johnny followed.

“How long you been keepin’ this in?”

“Which bit.”

His response was flat.

“Dinnae, L.T. Seems yer a man o’ mystery these days.”

Soap prodded, unable to help himself. A smile crept into his voice.

“Don’t push it.”

Simon bit back.

“Bonnie thing for a brute like you.”

“Johnny.”

“Looks ready’ta pop.”

A harsh sigh from Ghost. He reached into his jacket pocket like he was going for a cigarette. Tightening his jaw when his hand showed back up empty. He hummed his agreement.

“Few months.”

They’d reached Johnny’s car by this point. Just a few rows over in the car park. Stood by his driver’s side door shuffling their feet once more.

“Ken it’ll turn out like you?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Never pictured Ghost the fatherly type, but the idea was growing on him now that it’d been planted in his mind.

“Hope not.”

Simon gruffed back. Johnny snorted.

“Boy o’ girl?”

This earned him a nasty look, but he figured he was in deep enough as it was. No harm in asking.

“Girls.”

[greatstormcat]

A Reason To Go On - Part 1

Stalker!Ghost x f!reader

TW: MDNI 18+, stalking & obsessive behaviour, dub/con, mental health issues

Authors note: this came about following a series of drabbles which I’ve put links to below which may be useful to read beforehand. Written in one sitting and not edited!

Drab 1 Drab 2 Drab 3 Drab 4 Drab 5

AO3 version where everything has been merged

Series Masterlist

Simon sat looking across the kitchen table at Price, both nursing barely touched glasses of bourbon. The surface was immaculately clean, having never been used since it was bought a few months ago. Like much of the items and furniture in the little flat he now called home. Price was looking at him, waiting for him to speak, and the silence was eating up the last of the air in the room.

“Is it really that bad, Simon?” Price prompted him, his tone serious and maddeningly sympathetic. He was always Simon now, Ghost was gone, dead and buried the way he should have stayed all those years ago. He hadn’t even touched a balaclava since he left, using a black medical mask instead when he felt the need.

“No, not really,” Simon shrugged, turning the glass on the table idly. He didn’t look up at his Captain, no that was wrong, his ex-Captain. “Been keeping myself busy reading, exercise, you know,” he finished dismissively.

“You’ve kept up with that therapist?” Price asked, knowing the answer was most likely going to be a negative.

“Sure,” Simon lied. He hadn’t been to any appointments with a therapist since his medical discharge, and he would rather… No, can’t finish that thought as that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Chucked out on civvy street with a fat pension and nothing to do, no purpose to serve after all these years. At least Price had arranged the pension so he didn’t have to worry about his name getting into circulation, not with his past. The flat was rented under a pseudonym and paid for by some shady forces protection scheme. He didn’t need that catching up with him now.

“Look, I’m settled in and getting myself sorted. You don’t need to come all the way here and check on me,” Simon grumbled, not bothering to hide how much he resented Price these days. He hadn’t fought for him, hadn’t tried to keep him on the Taskforce when that shrink had stamped his file as unfit for duty. Anger issues, poor impulse control, danger to self and others. Price huffed and knocked back his drink. These visits always ended the same, full of regret and bitterness.

“Okay, son,” he said, getting up and looking around the barely furnished flat one last time. “I’ll let you be, but I’ll be back when I can. Why not think about what I said though, try and get a hobby, something to focus on.”

Price left soon after and Simon finished his glass before heading towards the spare bedroom, his office as he liked to think of it. He’d found his left a purpose, no thanks to Price. He had a reason to carry on now, and it meant everything to him. Flicking on the lightswitch the rows and rows of photographs on the wall were illuminated, all showing images of you at various times since he had first seen you.

With a smile he relaxed into the chair by the desk, looking up at the photos. You were his life now, he was dedicated to taking care of you. Since that first day he’d seen you he had dealt with your worthless ex-boyfriend, making sure the little shit stain never bothered you again, scared off several unworthy bastards in the pub you met your friends in, and put some small security cameras in the downstairs areas of you house so he could check on you from his laptop.

You were the focus of his every waking moment, and even when he slept now he pictured you in his dreams and woke hard and throbbing. At the start of this he had sworn to himself he would keep his distance, not let you know he existed so he didn’t burden you with his problems. But it was getting harder and harder not to sit and imagine what the touch of your hand would be like, you were a brave and kind soul, would you turn him away if he spoke to you?

That was why he had answered the note on your coffee table. The chance to make a connection to you was too great a temptation, and he let himself slip and grab the chance. This would be a slippery slope.

As midnight nears he makes his nightly pilgrimage to your house, his motorbike left at the end of your road before he walks closer, not wanting to disturb you with the noise. The footholds he made in your garden wall months ago allow him to quickly and quietly scale the wall, and he fishes out the key he copied for your back door, letting himself into your kitchen. He cocks his head and listens carefully making sure you aren’t moving around upstairs, and he hears nothing.

By now, he knows to look at the notepad on the table in the living room. There’s always a small note written there since he’d replied to the message you’d left all those weeks ago. Tonight, however, the pad is missing and he feels a pang in his heart. Why haven’t you left a note tonight? Has your tolerance for him dried up now? He feels a creeping fear, another loss looming in his future that he isn’t ready to cope with, not when he has already lost so much in the past.

He moves up the stairs, having memorised where to step and where to avoid so no creaks come from the wood. Your bedroom is at the top, and he has spent many hours sat in the hallway outside your bedroom door just to listen to the steady sound of your breathing. More than once you’ve gone to the bathroom and walked right past him, never bothering with putting on lights at night. He looks through the open doorway, a thin beam of light shining through the gap in the curtains and across your form under the bed covers.

Tonight though, your breathing sounds different, and he realises you aren’t asleep in the darkness. When you sit up, he freezes.

“You’re there, aren’t you?” you say to the darkened bedroom, absolutely certain you can hear soft breathing in the shadows by the door. You’re still not sure who or what you’re talking to, but you know that there is someone listening to you.

Simon remains calm. It's the first time you’ve spoken directly to him and he can’t quite process the fact that the object of his desires has come this close to actually perceiving him. Both the last thing in the world he wanted, and the one thing he has needed more than anything in his entire life. For several heartbeats he wrestles with himself deciding wether to answer you or not.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he finally answers, deep voice carrying around the room easily. He watches you carefully in the thin slither of light, sees your tiny flinch as you hear him and the involuntary swallow in your throat, but you don’t panic.

“Will you tell me why you’re here?” You ask, unable to hide the slight tremble in your voice. You’re so brave, his heart swells with pride at how you handle waking up to a strange man in your house, your very bedroom. You’d have made an amazing soldier.

“Just checkin’ you’re okay. I check on you a lot,” he admits.

“How long have you been doing this?” He can see a frown on your features, you’re trying to piece this all together now.

“Few months,” he answers with a shrug of his shoulders which draws your attention. You see the movement and realise just how large the shape in the shadows is, your eyes going wider in shock. His frame fills the doorway in width and height, and a tiny voice in your head tells you that you should be terrified, but you aren’t. If this man meant you harm you’d be dead already, months ago apparently. Instead he was getting into your house and doing the stuff that, and you feel your brain stutter at this thought, a boyfriend would do.

“Okay, and you’ve been doing more than that haven’t you? You’ve been following me around and helping me out haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Why?”

“Wanna keep you safe, and happy,” he grunts with a frown, not wanting to dwell on that question.

“You could do that without breaking into my house, without hiding yourself from me.”

“I didn’t really want to bother you, I don’t need anyone to take care of me and it’s just easier this way,” he tells you, hearing how hollow his own words sound to his ears.

“Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing, but this isn’t… normal,” you say, hugging your knees to your chest now as you settle into this off situation. Again, you tell yourself you should be screaming and calling the police but there is a sadness about this man that you can’t ignore. “Why don’t you come and sit with me and we can talk?”

“Wait,” comes his brusque reply, and your eyebrows raise. He steps back from the doorway and down the stairs, not nothing to mask his footsteps now, and returns with a scarf that was hanging at the bottom of the stairs in one hand. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, holding the scarf in one hand where you can see it.

“A blindfold. Why? Are you ugly?” you tease, the words hitting him like a bullet between the eyes and a smile forming across his face.

“Quite the opposite,” he replies, feeling warmth spread through his chest at such a poignant exchange of words. It's almost as though you knew…

You close your eyes. Listening carefully as you hear him moving closer, the faint rustling of fabric is just audible. A blindfold settles over your eyes, thick and heavy, blotting out anything you might have been able to see even in the darkness.

Then, and only then, do you feel the mattress dipping down a long way as he sits on the edge of the bed. Tentatively you lift one hand and blindly reach out to touch him, after a moment or two he takes your hand in his, warm fingers and a calloused palm encapsulating your own. On a whim, you pull, urging him to move closer to you. At first he resists, the bed shifts and for a moment you worry he is going to get up and leave, but you hold onto his hand and tug again. He relents and leans over towards you, and warm face rests against your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek, and you wrap your arms around huge shoulders.

It’s as though a dam breaks inside Simon, the moment you put your arms around him he melts against you, gently pushing you back against the mattress as he lies down beside you. One of his legs hooks over yours over the covers and his arm drapes over your stomach, pinning you into place as his face rests against the exposed skin at the crook of your neck.

You feel a hot rush of air leave his lungs, heating your neck, and a tiny groan tinged with such sadness escapes him. The sound plucks at your heart and you rub your cheek against his hair, encouraging him to nuzzle into you even further, as though we would climb into your chest if it were an option.

“What should I call you, now that we are finally talking? You already know my name,” you murmur.

“Ghost,” he replies, his lips tickling your skin as he speaks and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I thought you were a ghost to start with, so that’s appropriate,” you reply.

He grunts and touches his lips to your neck again, feeling you shudder again as he is draped over you. He tried a small kiss, his control evaporating by the second as you respond to him to readily, and when you sigh softly it vanishes. He kisses you desperately, moans accompanying every movement of his lips until his mouth is on yours, hot and needy. From the darkness of the blindfold you kiss him back, hands framing the face you cannot see and the weight of his body shifting until you are crushed into the mattress below you.

The bed covers are pulled away from you, cool air reaching through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you are wearing until his warmth settles against you, pushing your knees apart so his clothed erection presses against your crotch. He humps you through his clothes, a frantic and needy action as his kisses continue to burn your mouth with their ferocity.

Little moans and whines escape you as you let him drink his fill of you, the amount of passion he has for you like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You hands trace over his shoulders, tracing firm muscle as he lifts your T-shirt and kisses down you body, stopping to grope roughly at your breasts before he kisses across your stomach to your underwear.

His mouth moves across the fabric, hot and hungry, pressing into your folds and causing arousal to flood through you. The wetness is unmissable as he grinds his face into you, fingers digging into your thighs. You hear a zip being undone.

“No, wait,” you try to slow him down by putting your hands on his chest but he is too far gone now, muttering praises and words of adoration like he is reciting a memorised prayer. Your underwear is pulled down roughly, stinging your legs as he drags it down carelessly and the tip of his erection is pressed against your dripping cunt before you have time to think again.

Simon presses into you, his head hanging from his shoulders loosely as he focuses on the sensation of your heat enveloping his cock. He shudders and pauses when he is halfway in, looking to your face and wishing he could see your eyes, but that would be too much for him and he knows it. Your mouth gapes open, back arched and you whimper when he slowly thrusts forward again.

“Fuck… your perfect,” he whispers, watching his length disappearing inside of you. “So perfect for me.” When he hilts himself in your cunt he leans down and kisses your neck again, hands gripping your shoulders so you are totally surrounded by his body, entirely surrounded and filled by him. Your arms are trapped between your chest and his, leaving you no way to move with his weight on top of you. He pulls his hips back, almost completely pulling out before slowly pushing back in, sparking intense pleasure as you feel his thickness stretching you open. Every vein and ridge of his cock can be felt, and when he bottoms out again he presses against your cervix and you whine at the sensation.

“Its okay,” he whispers, kissing your neck and nipping at your skin as he holds you tightly, not letting you move as you lay in total blindness while he slowly fucks you. “Everythings fine, this is so good, you feel so good.” His hips begin to snap against yours as he picks up the pace, the pleasure from each thrust bleeding into the next as he speeds up until you’re riding a never ending wave of electricity. The sounds of his skin on yours mix with his grunts and praises, creating a filthy symphony of sounds around you.

The pressure against your clit spurs your impending orgasm, and you rock your hips to chase the release, coaxing him to thrust harder into your aching hole.

“Gonna cum,” he starts to moan, “gonna cum in you.” He repeats it over and over, his voice cracking as he speaks, and the words push you over the edge. Your cunt grips and clenches onto his cock as you cum, crying out his name and with a harsh groan he pours himself into you.

His head falls into the crook of your neck as he catches his breath and after a while carefully pulls his softening cock out of you, making you wince.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” He asks, going still as he hovers over you.

“No it’s okay. You just have… large equipment,” you say weakly, and feel a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t, you know, ask about that first,” he says, frowning at himself as he lowers himself beside you on the bed. He’s meant to be protecting you not taking advantage of you, but it felt so good. He feels wetness on his cheeks and wipe his face with the back of his hand.

“It was intense,” you say, “but it’s fine, don’t worry.” You turn and press yourself into him, this large and solid man that you don’t know, but trust for no good reason. He stays a while longer until you fall asleep, but when you wake up with your morning alarm he is gone. The scarf is neatly folded up on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it ontop with the words ‘if you need me’ written under them.

When you go downstairs he has even put out a mug and teabag by the kettle for you, locking the door as he had left.

Taglist @ghosts-cyphera @katamari-possum @kkaaaagt @n1ght4ngel

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Post non-con recovery scene ideas with caretaker and whumpee?

tw: r*pe aftermaths, sa, ptsd, ed

whumpee flinched at every physical contact, no matter how light or gentle (no matter if it was nonsexual or if it came from caretaker or a doctor or a nurse), because their mind had associated all kinds of physical contact with the time they were assaulted now. 

caretaker wanted to hug them, but they understood whumpee’s struggle and remained their distance for the sake of whumpee’s wounds (both mental and physical). 

whumpee knew caretaker wasn’t going to hurt them, they just couldn’t help being terrified by any physical contact now.

though it became an issue when whumpee had to be examined by doctors and nurses. it pained caretaker to have to hold whumpee down and keep whumpee still when the medical procedure was being performed on them to make sure whumpee was healing properly, and whumpee cried and whimpered and just tried to get away because so many hands were touching them and all they could think of was their assaulters forcing themselves on them.

when the procedure was done, caretaker let go of whumpee (despite their wanting to keep holding and comforting whumpee) and whumpee leaped out of their arms to go hide somewhere they believed would shield them from… anything, sometimes they went and hid behind a drawer, hugging themself with their knees against their chest, sometimes they went and hid underneath the bed and wouldn’t come out for hours.

whumpee refused to make eye contact with anyone, including caretaker.

at night whumpee couldn’t sleep alone, so caretaker took the couch in the room with them and kept the nightstand lamp on throughout the night. (sleeping in the same bed with whumpee was still too much, and caretaker understood that.)

loss of appetite. caretaker never wanted to have to force whumpee to eat, but when it’d been a while since the last time whumpee ate anything and they were putting their health at risk, caretaker had no choice but to make sure whumpee ate. (caretaker was still being gentle, of course, but for whumpee’s health, they couldn’t let whumpee leave the table until whumpee finished at least half of the food on their plate.)

whumpee’s obedience both relieved and angered caretaker, because whumpee was never this “docile” prior to their assault. now whumpee wouldn’t talk back or argue and would do anything they were told to do (like whumpee was afraid they would get punished if they disobeyed). sure, whumpee was eating now. because caretaker told them to. and while it was for whumpee’s own good and it was a good thing that whumpee ate, whumpee’s complete obedience still disturbed caretaker. 

it angered caretaker, yes, but caretaker wasn’t angry with whumpee. they were angry with whumpee’s assaulters, and they had to make sure their anger was well hidden so that whumpee couldn’t see it and think caretaker was angry at them.

besides the trauma, whumpee believed they were being a burden, that they were holding caretaker and everybody else down by being so “difficult” and they blamed themself for it. they also believed they didn’t deserve caretaker’s kindness. thus caretaker sat down with whumpee and patiently explained why whumpee could never be a burden and why caretaker was glad to have whumpee here with them now. whumpee… knew that, deep down, but caretaker’s reassurance didn’t necessarily mean whumpee’s own mind would magically stop feeding them poison just because caretaker said nice things to them, did it? — caretaker only said this because they had to, because they pitied you, said the voices in whumpee’s head, but whumpee told caretaker they believed them nonetheless, because they obviously wasn’t going to start an argument with caretaker, or with anybody, for that matter.

the first time whumpee willingly let caretaker hug them, they hesitantly and carefully crawled onto caretaker’s lap. It was a rather impressive progress and caretaker knew that, they also knew to be very gentle and mindful as to not do anything that could overwhelm or trigger whumpee’s trauma. 

only when caretaker was certain whumpee was okay with this did they softly wrap their arms around whumpee’s back as whumpee rested their head on caretaker’s chest, curling in on themself on caretaker’s lap.

still on caretaker's lap, whumpee finally looked up to meet caretaker's eyes and gave them a soft smile. it was a sad smile, and it was barely noticeable. but it was a smile nonetheless.

caretaker really thought they would never get to see whumpee's smile again.

[tiddygame]

i’ve stared at this for so long that i now hate it and think ive lost all concept of how to write so take this and get it out of my google docs

the introduction is rough and the medical depictions (and accuracy/realism) could use some (a lot of) work but whatever! here it is, my vague yet still oddly specific idea of how the face reveal would go in @myriadblvck ’s streamer au:

tw: description of a panic attack? i think?

[this takes place post first irl meet but before they’re officially together]

imagine ghost has a glasgow smile but on one side they carved a little too deep and left some nerve damage. time and surgery helped, after which he could eat unimpeded and talk without a lisp, but there's still some facial nerve damage and/or skin contractures from scarring, specifically around the corner of his mouth.

now, everytime he smiles, be it shit eating grin or a full genuine joy filled smile that not even grumpy mcgrumperson could hold off, it always looks wrong because one corner doesn't raise fully like the other.

everything else is fine, there isn’t any facial paralysis, he just smiles… wrong. especially since only one eye properly squints when he smiles, giving him the look of someone who got stuck mid wink.

if he wants to look “normal” (or as normal as he could get it) he has to manually squint his other eye. still, it always felt weird; you don't realize how much those muscles affect the rest of your face until they're gone.

it's why he learned to always wear the mask.

when his expression is neutral, you don’t really notice it. if you can see his mouth when he talks however, it’s obvious that there’s something wrong. he wouldn’t say he’s necessarily ashamed of the scars and damage itself, but it’s the stares that are the worst. before he started hiding behind it, people would openly gawk or even glare at him as if he was some ne’er-do-well gang member that got what was coming to him.

he still remembers the cosmetic surgeon that had been talking to him about fixing the contractures— the whole appointment was a fucking nightmare. the cuts had healed nicely enough especially considering how bad it could have been; he was lucky to only need a little cosmetic help. the only reason he was there was so he could fucking eat food without struggling to open his mouth.

the doctor spent god knows how long breaking down everything wrong with his face like he was a fucking car mechanic lying about how dirty your filter is. the guy constantly mentioned that while he was under, they could also fix his jawline, do a rhinoplasty, trying to break him down to agree to more work.

he was already fuming my the time the doc brought up how kids would react. asking ghost if he wanted to scare children since “you cant expect the little youngins that are still learning about the world to not get scared by something scary,” and that “even some adults would cringe at the scarring.”

what stuck out most was the condescending smile he had when he said it. as if he was pointing out the obvious and ghost was being stupid and shortsighted by not agreeing.

he declined everything except what was medically necessary. the procedure went fine and after an aggravatingly long recovery period, he could eat solid foods again without issue. but the comments still stuck with him.

…okay, maybe he’s a little ashamed.

scaring kids with your face doesn’t feel good and being reminded of everything you’ve lost when you try to smile can really fuck you up in a way words fail to describe.

so yeah, he hates it. he’s gotten used to the mask, both skull clad balaclava and simple medical mask, being a permanent layer of armor. even now that he’s a bit more comfortable in his own skin it still feels wrong to pull it off.

when he gets close to soap, it still feels like a layer of vulnerability that he’ll never be prepared for.

the first time he let soap see his face, there hadn’t been any grandiose build up, no extravagant planning.

simon had arrived just a few hours earlier. he hated commercial flights with a burning passion but it was always worth it to see johnny.

with soaps twin out of town for the week, he had decided to take leave to spend time with his friend, a friend that he most certainly did NOT have a crush on (a disclaimer roach and gaz heard everytime they started snickering over ghost taking leave.)

johnny had cooked something nice and simple for dinner, saying that simon had spent too long with MREs and deserved real food (ghost only agreed if he was the one washing the dishes, soap had laughed and told him he's not so kind as to let him off the hook for chores).

when they ate, it was always in the living room with johnny taking care to always stay angled away from simon, never trying to catch a glimpse, regardless of how much he wanted to see what was under the mask. the obvious gesture of kindness and respect for his boundaries always left him feeling all weird and fuzzy inside. but, then again, johnny seemed pretty good at triggering that feeling in general.

their finished plates were on the coffee table and johnny was watching whatever dumb movie he had put on. he was pretty sure the man spent more time talking over it and making fun of everything than he did actually watching it (it was simon’s favorite way to watch a movie.)

ghost however, was watching soap. thinking.

in the end, it was an impulsive decision made after a strong three seconds of consideration.

“you uhm— you can look by the way,” ghost stared at the can of soda in his hands, immediately regretting the words.

“what?” soap didn’t fully turn, just shifted slightly to hear him better. a simple gesture to show he was listening without turning to face him. it normally made simon happy to see that johnny was more than willing to accommodate for his boundaries. now though it made him feel stupid for robbing johnny of a normal face to face conversation, a normal human interaction, just over his idiotic insecurities.

“my face, you—,” he felt his heart block his airway and tried clearing his throat before continuing, “you can look if you want,” christ he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. why was he getting so fucked up over this?

“are you sure?” he hadn’t turned yet, but ghost could see his pensive expression from here. this should be nothing. realistically, he knew johnny seeing his scars wouldn’t suddenly make him hate him… right?

“yes.”

but it was more than the fear of hatred, wasn’t it? he was scared that johnny would see him. see more than just the scars, see all of the ugly idiosyncrasies and insecurities laid bare. afraid that johnny would see the truth of how unlovable he was.

jesus he was getting so fucking worked up and dramatic over nothing.

ghost didn’t look up. he made an effort to not focus on his peripheral vision. he heard soap turn, heard the intake of breath. the silence was loud only for a second. then, deafening white noise surrounded him, inescapable, suffocating.

fuck.

he didn’t regret giving permission but god did he regret everything else; the stupid scars, the stupid nerve damage, the stupid way he had managed to fall for someone so fucking good like johnny while he was unequivocally unworthy of his love.

stop being so fucking dramatic. you are not together, never have been and never will be. reality was blatant in front of him but it didn’t stop his heart from foolishly hoping.

he heard soap stand and walk closer. saw from where he was still staring a hole in the can his feet step in front of his. saw johnny’s hands raise. he took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and with a great deal of effort didn’t flinch when soaps fingers grazed his cheek.

both of his hands came up to cup his face, holding him and ever so slightly tilting his face up, giving him the chance to pull away. he didn’t. he may be a coward but he wasn’t backing down.

ghost eventually opened his eyes to see soap staring at him with wide eyes. he looked away, staring off to some point on the right. he hated not knowing what soap was thinking.

they stayed there for a while before soap broke the silence, muttering, “i fuckin knew you had freckles.”

it was stupid but it shocked a laugh out of ghost. he meant to drop his head, embarrassed that something so dumb made him laugh, but accidentally just pushed himself further into soaps hands making him blush.

he looked up and saw soap staring even harder than before. the chuckle died in his chest.

“do that again.”

ghost just gave him a confused look.

“smile.”

such a simple request, a one word sentence, but it set his face ablaze. his breath caught in his throat, somewhere around where his heart was still trying to choke him.

…he hadn’t thought it was that bad but soaps reaction indicated otherwise. fuck. was his it that awful? he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. this was stupid. he was stupid.

“simon,” of course, one word from johnny and it felt like he could breathe again.

“please?”

fucking goddamn soap and his stupid fucking puppy dog eyes and the way he has ghost wrapped around his fucking finger without even realizing.

ghost smiled. there was no real mirth, more a grimace than anything else. he just wanted to get this over with.

soap was still staring at him, his thumbs tracing his lips, following scars, drawing imaginary lines between freckles… if he wasn't so terrified it might have felt nice.

“Christ,” ghosts heart cracked more, “you weren't lying when you said you were beautiful.”

ghost huffed a laugh and went back to staring off to the right, the fake smile dropping. of course soap would try to lighten the mood with a joke.

his panic fled as quickly as it had consumed him, now just left sitting in soap's living room, face still cradled in caring hands, resigned to his mistakes.

he felt so tired and johnny's hands felt so inviting.

“i wasn't joking,” soap looked…upset? angry? wait— fuck, what’d he do?

ghost stared back at soap, confused and tired. soaps nails felt the grooves of the scar, catching where the skin was raised and lowered.

“you don't have to lie, soap. im a grown man. I'm not fragile. you don't need to coddle me,” ghost said it like it was a joke, hoping soap would laugh along and that this would all just blow over. that tomorrow morning they could forget this ever happened.

“are you calling me a liar?” soap’s brow furrowed. great. instead, he had managed to make everything worse and piss off soap as well.

ghost took in a deep breath, giving himself another shot at calming things down, “no, I'm not. I think you're lying, but you're not a liar,” he stood and stepped to the side, grabbing their dirty plates and walking them to the kitchen sink, “you just don't want to upset me, it's fine. I get it. you're a nice person but you don't have to lie to spare my feelings.”

“I am not fucking lying!” as per usual, all ghost had managed to do was make things worse. there’s a reason he had decided to stick to the battlefield and give up on domesticity.

“well alright then. agree to disagree,” he turned the kitchen tap and started rinsing the dishes, waiting for the water to heat up. just walk away. end it there. let us forget about this stupid blunder and move on. please just leave it. please, please, please—

“no.”

the force behind it damn near made ghost drop the plate he was holding. he managed to set it in the sink carefully and turned to face soap, who was now in the kitchen as well.

“i— I'm not just gonna fucking— simon,” soap took in a deeper breath and went to continue but ghost was faster.

“johnny,” he interrupted, walking forward with his hands up in a gesture of surrender, approaching slowly.

one last chance to not fuck everything up.

“the fact is they're called deformities for a reason. they're not cute. they're not pretty. they're your body’s way of healing what it can and protecting what it can't. it's not meant to look nice, it's just—”

“bullshit they’re not pretty! says fucking who?” the genuine distress in soap’s voice and force behind his words caught him off guard. “simon—”

he huffed and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, pulling slightly at the strands. christ, ghost needs to shut the fuck up. every single time he speaks he just upsets soap more and more.

he needs to retake his hostage negotiations courses. clearly he has forgotten everything about how to diffuse a situation.

johnny takes another second to breathe and collect his thoughts before he speaks.

“simon. I know that— that ‘this’ isn't something that's going to fix itself overnight and I don't expect it to. but, ‘the fact is,’ I think you're pretty.”

ghost opens his mouth to disagree but johnny doesn’t let him.

“no no,” johnny put his hand over simon’s mouth, shocking him into silence. he blinks twice, stupefied.

“i think— no. I know you're pretty. cute even. beautiful is a given but obviously worth mentioning.”

his hand moved to cup simon’s cheek. ghost grabbed his wrist but didn’t stop him, wether it was a warning or encouragement he himself didn’t know.

johnny continued, unperturbed, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right?”

there was a pause and simon realized he wanted an answer.

“johnny-”

“ah ah!” his hand moved back to cover his mouth, grabbing his face and shaking his head back and forth, over accentuating his words, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right? yes or no.”

he stopped shaking him and moved his hand back to simon’s cheek. simon sighed, defeated, “yes. you are right.”

johnny looked smug, “good. and what do you say when i give you a compliment you don’t agree with?”

simon sputtered, “wha— i don't fucking know—”

“nothing! you don’t say anything!” soap looked way too proud of himself and he continued, “or thank you if you feel so inclined.”

“that was a trick question,” simon replied eventually.

johnny thumbed over his scars once more, again tracing them, “sure it was. now go take a shower.”

he patted his cheek twice and walked to the hallway.

“wait,” johnny probably shook the few remaining brain cells out of his head. “this whole conversation ends with you telling me that I stink?”

“yes. rancid,” johnny opened the door to the linen closet. simon was still in the kitchen. the tap was still running.

“no dipshit, do you not remember telling me that commercial planes makes you feel gross?” johnny threw a towel at him, which he caught just in time for johnny to hit him with a bath rag.

ghost had mentioned that… ages ago, he thinks. on facetime with each other, discussing the merits of bathrooms on public transport. he had said that enclosed, crowded spaces like commercial planes or buses made him feel, well, gross. how—or why—did he remember that?

“but… I’m supposed to wash the dishes?” a weak argument against the stubbornness he was faced with but simon had officially lost track of his mind and this conversation.

johnny shot him a weird look as he walked back towards the kitchen sink. simon still hadn’t moved.

“did you think i was being serious earlier?”

“yes???” he felt like he had been given a lobotomy.

johnny decided to take pity on him and explained in a soft voice that felt out of place, “i was being sarcastic. i’m not going to make you wash the dishes, simon.”

“but that was the agreement: you cook and i wash the dishes.”

johnny laughed as if he remembered something funny, “yeah, i lied.”

simon still stood there, trying to figure out if he had a stroke. johnny had been angry, completely pissed at him, but now was letting him off the hook and calling him pretty? what the fuck is happening?

johnny turned him and pushed him towards the hallway. simon could have resisted but his resolve always seems to crumble around johnny mactavish.

“now go shower, you beautiful bastard,” soap grabbed one of the plates out of the sink and started washing it with water that had probably heated ages ago.

ghost walked towards the bathroom, feeling like he was on autopilot, limbs disconnected from his brain. his cheek still felt… odd? weird? tingly?

it felt something from where johnny had grabbed it. ghost thinks… he thinks he likes the feeling, whatever it is.

he needs to sleep.

[weird-obsessed-girl]

Harry dealing with abuse trauma/people finding out about Dursley’s treatment

Ok so I didn’t know exactly how to word this particular genre of Harry Potter fanfiction, but I have been reading some fanfics where either the teachers, Sirius or the golden trio find out that Harry has been abused by the Dursley’s and how Harry deals or heals from that trauma. #cupboardreveal

so therefore below is a list of fanfics that deal with this topic, this is pretty obvious but TW for child abuse, some of these I haven’t read yet so i don’t think any of them feature active abuse, more so past abuse.

All of these will be angst but many with a hopeful/happy ending. Organised by word count. If you would like some fic recs that don’t focus on Harrys abuse here’s the link to my master list Harry Potter Fic Rec (mostly Drarry)

How Each Weasley Found Out About The Dursleys - burnthebodiesandbedonewithit

What it says on the tin, Harry/Ginny (very light tho), protective Weasleys | G | 1k

Food For Thought - LoveHP

Snape notices some things throughout the years, have not read yet so IDK | T | 1.2k

Bottle It Up - mallfacee

Disabled Harry, Severitus, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, apart of a series | T | 2.1k

Aftermath - CreateImagineWrite

Post-final battle, Harry is dealing with trauma, Ron helps him and finds out, Trigger Warning for food issues and trauma responses | G | 3.1k

Disguised as something else - aloneintherain

Everybody lives, au war ends early, Wolfstar custody of Harry, hurt/comfort, THIS IS SO GOOD #cupboard reveal | T | 3.1k

Muggle Management - LadyWinterlight, NerdyKat

Hermione recognises the signs of abuse, part of a series, Hermione finessing the muggle system | G | 3.4K

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell - IamShadow21

Not focused on past abuse but is mentioned, Ron and Harry friendship through the years | T | 3.7K

The Cupboard - GreenEyesGreySkies

Drarry, panic attack, harmless prank that turns out to not be so | T | 4K

Bruised Hearts and Painted Skin - mikimouze16

Lupin, McGonagall and Snape find out, therapy, depression | G | 4.4K

Cascade - taradiane

Drarry, post-Hogwarts, Harry has nightmares, discussion about the Dursleys | PG | 4.7k

Claustrophobic- Annie1025

Summer at Spinner’s End, sevitus, 5th year, hurt/comfort, panic attacks | T | 4.8k

Where the Sunbeams Start - zedpm

Sirius/Severus, Soulmate au which leads to Severus getting Sirius freed, then they adopt Harry! T | 7.1k

Locked Cupboards - Lomonaaeren

Redemption, Draco is assigned to guard Dudley, Dudley talks about their childhood | T | 7.2k

Darker Than You Think - Lomonaaeren

Drarry, Draco is very much a psycho, bent on revenge, dubious consent | M (definitely should be E) | 7.8k

Fac Mihi Viam - MistressKat

Canon divergence, Harry stays at Grimmauld Plac, abuse not necessarily discussed but implied, Wolfstar | T | 7.9k

The Uncle - copprbadge

Wolfstar, gangsters au, Remus saves Harry from Dursley’s | T | 7.9k

Tugging Sleeves - Windschild178

Harry isn’t responding to Rons letters, POV Ron, Ron to the rescue | G | 8.1k

Harry Potter And The Summer At Grimmauld Place - Silver_Queen_DoS

What it says on the tin, Sirius is free, home renovation, book 3 | G | 8.6k

Listen - Marchling

Need to sign into Ao3, Sirius spies on Dursleys, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, reconciliation | T | 10.9k

Finite Incantatem - skullcandy11

Rogue spell hits Harry and reveals some truths, manipulative Dumbledore, Harry joins the dark side | T | 12.3k currently, ongoing

Scars - pheonixgirl26

Some Gryffindor’s see some of Harry’s scar, and decide to help | M | 12.5k

Timeshare - astolat

Honestly i have not read this yet but it looks promising, Harry is spending summer at the Dursleys and then the Malfoy’s | M | 14.1k

Seven Plus One - ABlackRaven

Sirius adopts Harry, 7 times Sirius is called uncle and 1 time he’s called dad, Peter caught, hurt/comfort | T | 15.4K

What’s Left Unsaid - angel74

Post-Order of the Phoenix, Hermione and Ron look into Harry’s life at the Dursley’s, angst, hurt/comfort | T | 16.1k

A Hero - Celebony

Dudley begins to see his family in a different light | T | 18.1k

The Lioness - Aya_Diefair

Molly becomes suspicious of Harry’s relatives, she visits them, BAMF Molly, Sirius is freed | G | 18.3k

That’s Your Punishment? - slytherclaw7

Molly actually asks Harry questions, this is definitely a fix-it fic, Sirius is freed, Peter is caught, Dumbledore bashing, Tonks family taking Harry in | IDK how fanfiction.net ratings work | 19k

Pinky Promise - etymolodrarry, huffinglepuff

Remus is observant, angst with happy ending, Dumbledore bashing, implied self harm, Wolfstar | T | 19.5k

Listen Now - mrsfizzle

Harry confides in Remus, hurt/comfort, Wolfstar adopts Harry, moving into Grimmauld | G | 21.2k

Conquering the Dark - noeon (noe)

Healer!Harry and neuromagic!Draco, both work together, unearths trauma | E | 23.7k

The Chamber of Secrets and Half the Adults are Idiots - Des98

Apart of a series, Drarry, Harry recognises Lucius’ treatment of Draco, fix-it, inter-house friendships | M | 42.8k

The Article - LeeASherlook

outed by the Daily Prophet (not in the gay sense), 6th year, Drarry friendship | T | 43k ongoing

Burnt - lastcrazyhorn

Disabled Harry, Slytherin!Harry, have not read so refer to tags | T | 104.9k

Memories and Dreams - paganaidd

Series, one part Dudley’s POV | T | 140.3k

Malfoy Family Values - belana, Merry1978

This only really mentions Harry’s mistreatment but i thought it is an interesting fic to possibly explore, Malfoys adopt little Harry | G | 141.7k

Stronger At the Broken Places - enigmaticblue

More so focus’ on Sirius’ trauma, but it’s a whole Wolfstar family affair | T | 174.9k

Digging for the Bones - paganaidd

Hogwarts starts screening students for abuse, Snape conducts Harry’s screening, Snape is Harry’s bio dad, Severitus | M | 212.2k

The secret language of plants - Endrina

Severus/Remus, Sev rescues toddler Harry, this is a series of Severus/Remus being Harry’s parents, pre-Hogwarts to post, future Drarry | rating varies | 373k

Innocent - MarauderLover7

Ok so this does not focus on Harry’s abuse but Sirius gets freed and raises Harry when he’s 8 | M | 487.5k

A Year Like None Other - aspeninthesunlight

Disability, slightly Severitus, 6th year, canon divergence, Snape forces Harry to read letter from Dursleys | T | 789.5k

[epigstolary]

Real Talk

TW: Medical fatphobia, health issues, fat shaming, toxic masculinity

Dude, you say you want me to help you, but you’re going to have to get serious if you really want to start losing weight. I’m a trainer, not a miracle worker. I mean, look at you; you know your body’s fucking disgusting, right? You let yourself get so huge that even your fat guy clothes can’t hide your belly anymore. Every inch of you is covered in blubber. Everywhere you look. And you have to push all that fat around every time you want to walk or move. It’s so gross watching you try to go anywhere. You’re just waddling around under hundreds of pounds of fat, wheezing like you just ran a marathon. Like… people aren’t supposed to get to the size that you have. And don’t give me that “health at any size” bullshit. You’ve got to have some serious problems to get this big and think it’s ok. Nobody your size is healthy. Your body’s a fucking disgrace, tubbo.

You gotta realize just how bad being this fat is for you, right? Think about it. All that fat’s wrapping around your organs. Either they work harder, or they just quit working. Your joints are getting annihilated having to move all that extra weight around. Your heart’s having to work so much harder just to do its thing because you’re so fucking big. Your body’s not supposed to work like that. It feels like it’s under attack 24/7 — because it is — so you’ve got anxiety, you’ve got inflammation, your hormones are all out of wack. Your body chemistry is basically fucked once you get fat. And fucking forget about it when you weigh as much as three normal people, like your flabby ass does.

Not that you seem to care, since you pay zero attention to your diet. It’s just fucking scary, bro. I’ve seen you pound an entire pizza or a bag of burgers and be ready for more. And that’s just, like, a regular lunch for you. There’s so much saturated fat and sugar in all the shit you eat for every meal, it blows my mind that you’re even able to function. Where do you think that shit goes after you cram it down your throat, meal after meal? It’s blowing up your body even fatter. It’s clogging up those arteries to make that overworked heart work even harder. It’s running through all the insulin your body tries to pump out so that it can deal with the abuse you put it through. I bet if I went through your kitchen right now, I couldn’t find one goddamn vegetable — all sweets, and takeout, and chips, and junk food, am I right? Yeah, you love kicking back on the sofa and working through a big pile of garbage like that, don’t you, fatass? I bet you sit there just belly out, crumbs and shit all over your tits, like a big fucking blob, huh?

Keep eating like that, and you don’t have a fucking chance. You’re just gonna keep blowing up until you finally have the fucking big one. That shit is so, SO bad for you. You want to not be a total embarrassment, fatty? You’re gonna have to throw the snack cakes in the garbage. You’re gonna have to cook stuff that’s not loaded with butter or grease or sugar. You’re gonna have to eat something green that grows in the ground every once in a while. And yeah, you’re probably going to feel like shit for a while because your body’s used to getting fed lard nonstop all the fucking time. But you gotta get a little self-control. The whole reason why you look like a fucking enormous cow, why you’ve got that belly packed full of fat fucking garbage, is that you’ve never had any.

I guess what I can’t figure out is, why the fuck did you do this to yourself? It’s so much harder to make it through life when you’re this fucking heavy. You can’t even go anywhere or do anything because you’re too fat to leave the house. Everyone you meet has to be shocked at what a lardass you are. Nobody who sees your disgustingly obese body is gonna want to fuck you, except the fucking weirdos who get off on that shit. Maybe that’s who you have to settle for, since there’s no way you’re reaching your dick with all that fat in the way. God, I can’t even imagine letting myself get too fat to be able to fuck. That’s so fucking gross, bro.

Like, look at me. Look at this rock-hard bicep next to that big flabby fucking water wing of an arm you have. Look at these abs next to you and that belly hanging down to your knees. It doesn’t even have a fucking shape. Look at these tight glutes next to that wide, wobbling, fat ass you’ve gotten from sitting in front of the tv stuffing your fat face for years. With a body like this, I can fuck anyone I want. How do you think that same hookup’s gonna go for you, huh? Nobody out there’s going home with a pile of jello like you You’re going home, alone, to try and figure out a way to get yourself off.

And dude, I’m not saying all this just to shit on you. I’m worried about you. It sucks to see my bro blow up into a fucking whale and get all mopey ‘cause he can’t get any ass. But you need someone to be real with you. Someone’s gotta tell you how much of a fatass you are, and how much of a fatass you’re gonna be until you get to the gym and shut this fast food and shit down. You can’t blame anyone but yourself for how you got this way. Keep complaining, and you’re going to keep being a gross fatty. You’re gonna have to go out, get some fucking exercise, and deal with being embarrassed at being the fattest guy at the gym until you’ve put in the work to fix it.

Trust me, bro, you’ll thank me later.

[thewandererh]

🩺✨TW // medical concepts (tubes, ivs, veins), noose mention (cj storm and a spring lyrics)

(personally icky and squeamish on the medical concepts myself due to my health history, but im trying to conquer my fear by drawing them!! baby’s first IV drawing <33)

@calamarispiderart @calamarispider

I drew some fanart of calamarispiderart’s very cool hms guys in my sketchbook 👀. ive been dubbing them the ‘crazy concept calamari crew’ or something of the like. been having a hyperfixation ever since i found their tumblr last week :]. so earhm,, hope you enjoy!!!

.-.

‘’ spoiler image!! this is what stuff will be centered around ,,

.-.

ok art time

slowly listening to the full cccc album my myself :]. im very much in the fandom, just might not get all the references. mind is my favorite guy (everyone else is awesome too) so that might reflect here haha. calamari’s mind neck was so interesting to draw, i had the idea it can retract-ish and hide away in his weird fluffy coat. they all look so cool 😭😭

oH and a little extra whiteboardfox doodle wouldn’t hurt anyone. i wondered why the tubes on his neck were there, and came to the conclusion maybe theyre to substitute bloodflow because his neck is broken and blocked :0!

kind of funny because i first discovered calamari’s art amidst the aftermath of some twilight sedation i had (related to my ✨gut issues✨). discovered both calamari’s (i think) and spook on twitter’s (definitely) art after that whole procedure when i was home and watching turning red, love that movie,,, makes me cry. kinda funny i’m returning to calamari and spook’s arties at the same time after discovering them both at also the same time a while ago. was it october? wow.

anyways uhm…sending virtual hugs calamari!! i know this crew might be a bit old-ish (i had to scroll to find them) but i hope you enjoy it. time to do laundry ok bye

[lucky-ducky006]

TBB headcanons that nobody asked for ❤️

Pt. 4 Hunter

TW: oldest child syndrome 😁😁

While he’s much more mature than his younger brothers, those on the outside see him as just as crazy.

Tries to act like the cool dark and mysterious guy but his brothers just bully him and it ruins the vibe.

The last one (except Tech) to go to sleep and is occasionally checks on his brothers during the night.

With Tech he always reminds him he needs to go to sleep, but knows he can’t force him.

Always the one his brothers (except Tech 😀) go to when they have trouble sleeping.

When they were kids he was the tallest aside from Wrecker and when Tech and Crosshair finally got taller than him he got so mad at them.

Once asked the Kaminoans if he’ll grow any more.

Has sensory issues due to his enhancements.

He got used to them over the years but occasionally still has trouble.

Light sleeper.

He CAN drive, but is he good at it…? No.

When his brothers are sleeping he’ll walk to each of their bunks to fix their blankets and give them each a smooch on the forehead.

Can’t cook but he tries.

When Wrecker got his head injury Hunter was somewhat distant bc he felt like he failed as a leader and it took a long time for him to feel confident in himself again. After the incident he became 10x more protective over his little brothers.

After Wrecker’s incident be became a bit more serious and would lecture his brothers over the tiniest scrapes from battle.

He eased up a bit over time but he never stops worrying about them.

He’s a hypocrite and he hides his injuries from his brothers.

Tech always notices and if it’s serious enough he’ll get Wrecker to jump Hunter and hold him still while Tech patches him up correctly and makes sure he’s ok.

It hurts Hunter’s pride a little when they do that. He doesn’t want his brothers to worry about him and have to take care of him so he doesn’t allow himself to be thankful or relieved when they try to help him.

When Echo joined the group he was relieved he had someone else level headed enough to help him take care of his brothers though he won’t admit it.

Echo is the only one who has ever convinced him to get medical help.

Some of Echos mannerisms remind Hunter of 99 and this gives him a bittersweet feeling of missing his older brother, but having another with him that brings him comfort.

Is often frustrated with Crosshair bc of his attitude and personality and has a hard time getting along with him sometimes but Tech has private chats with Hunter to help him understand how Crosshair is feeling.

On VERY rare occasions after a fight with Crosshair (when they go to sleep angry at each other) Hunter will wake up with Crosshair next to him in his bunk fast asleep. (Not from Wrecker bringing him.) Hunter wouldn’t dare mention it in front of his other brothers, but sometimes when they’re alone together he might tease him about it to push his buttons and Crosshair freaks out.

He has never washed his bandana and it smells like death. Other than that he has good hygiene.

He has really hairy toes.

That’s all for now 😘

[archie-sunshine]

Mb if youve already answered this before, but what are your thoughts on Ratchma? (Not just the sexy bits but also just the. Mess that is their relationship lol)

ooohhh girl....

Ok so this sat in my askbox for a bit, not because I don't have ideas, but because I have... far too many. I FINALLY got my shit together though. Ok first of all I'd like to say this post is a little bit pharma heavy, i feel like I would write my ratchet prettyyyyy close to canon?? I think i take a few big steps away from canonicity with my pharma

SECOND. here's what I think ratchma's vibe was as simply as possible

I think it began pretty normal all things considered!! I think he was a little bit clingy, a bit possessive, but like... it becomes odd when he's feeling like this about someone he's not even dating.

This SHOULD have been mitigated when they started dating. it was not. because Pharma is decent at hiding his weird side, and Ratchet was too busy to notice really, because he had a job and he cared a lot about it.

TW: UNDER THE CUT CONTAINS MENTIONS OF PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE, CODEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS, INSANITY/MENTAL BREAKS, BAD MENTAL HEALTH, AND TRAUMA THOUGH THESE DESCRIPTIONS ARE NOT INCREDIBLY IN DEPTH PLEASE BE SAFE!

During this time I do think pharma's BIG issue was that heeeee can imagine his way through anything. I think he was more in love with the idea of ratchet than he was with how ratchet actually was. I feel like pharma based a lot of his desire for ratchet less on him as a person, and more on his skill as a medic, and the rank he perceived him to have. It wasn't really out of manipulation or power grabbing so much as it was like... an obsession with an idealized version of Ratchet that doesn't really exist.

I feel like obviously that would kind of lead to some mild gaslighting on pharma's part. where if ratchet did something that didn't fit with his worldview, he would act like it didn't happen, talk about it like ratchet did what he wanted. Again, I think he got away with this because Ratchet was genuinely just too fucking busy to deal with it.

I think as well, his downfall was also his possessiveness, I don't think it's too much of a leap to say pharma would have been at best cold to those he saw as a threat to their relationship, and at worst, outwardly combative. I think he'd take a swing either socially or figuratively at whoever was 'in his way' if he thought he could get away with it though.

I think on ratchet's part, it's really difficult to be in a relationship with someone who puts you on a pedestal like that. To know everything you say has a 50/50 chance of going in one ear and out the other if they don't think it 'makes sense' for you to think that

Again, I don't think ratchet was really helpless, but judging by the way he ended his relationship with pharma by canonically GHOSTING HIM, I like making sense of that for ratchet by saying I think he had a few pretty good reasons not to end things properly, namely that pharma probably wouldn't believe him.

SIDE NOTE- PHARMA'S SANITY

Okay so I've seen some discourse about people who think pharma was always totally crazy, so i'd like to start by saying I don't think pharma was as cutthroat and murderous as he was at the end of the delphi arc, I think he's always been a liiiiittle bit off. I think pharma is a tragic character doomed by the narrative, I do think he had a hand in that narrative.

I've put together a helpful little chart here to illustrate!!

I fully believe that pharma was pushed to the brink by the situation with the djd, I think he would never be the person he is now without that situation. I feel like it's kind of stupid and naive to say that pharma was always gonna end up like that bc he was a little toxic and weird and bad for ratchet, I think having to betray your oath and butcher your patients for an insane t-cog addict is enough to really drive someone insane.

I feel like pharma dives off the deep end with wild abandon when he realizes Ratchet has met him again at his absolute worst, bringing around someone he seems to really adore(drift), now knowing that ratchet will never trust him again and that he sees him as a murderer and monster and there's know way he can delude himself out of that. I think he sort of goes 'MAY AS WELL!!! NOTHING MATTERS!! AHAHAHA'

NOW AS FOR. *AHEM* EVERYTHING ELSE.

I think pharma brings all of that possessiveness and insanity directly to bed with him. I think he would do anything for ratchet, i think he wants him so bad it makes him think terrible thoughts. I think he'd dissect that man if he got the chance, I think he's the type of guy to be like 'i gotta crawl into his ribcage or I'm not close enough to him' you know??

basically I think pharma is a simp and wants to rip Ratchet apart with his teeth. I think he would say 'oh yeah ratchet whatever you want to do is fine!' and he would mean 'i would do anything to feel your warmth against me for even one fucking second, youre mine, you are mine forever i will die without you'

on a more lighthearted note, Pharma is the type of guy to be like 'PAH! I WOULD NEVER STOOP SO LOW AS TO HAVE A MEDICAL KINK!!' while having the worlds most massive medical kink. I think if he got to do Ratchet's physical he would cum so hard he died. I think pharma has a thing for control, but he can spin literally any situation in his head so that he's in control, and so no matter what position he's in with Ratchet, he's pretty happy.

With anyone else though, he tops or power bottoms, no question, no room for switching.

OUGHHH GOD THIS WAS WAY WAY LONGER THAN I EXPECTED IT TO BE!!!!! AND GOT SO FUCKIN HEAVY I GUESS!! ANYWAYS!! THANKS FOR TUNING IN!!

[hikari3601]

Take a Step Back

Home page

Pairing | Cyno x Reader

Author’s Note | Al-Haitham’s version will be coming soon!

CW/TW | Mentions of injuries and blood.

Synopsis | When you flinch away from him during an argument.

Arguments with Cyno were rare, to say the least. The both of you often found an agreeable compromise before the argument even started, but today was different. Today was a cold reminder of what his work as a Matra entailed and after having his many wounds disinfected and bandaged you packed away your medical kit with your lips set in a firm line. He was tired, that much was visible in the way his eyes drooped every few seconds, but the man still found the willpower to haul himself up and stride toward the door.

~~

“And where do you think you’re going, General Mahamatra?” Your voice cut through the otherwise silent room with a steady firmness, forcing the man to turn to you, stunned. You never used his title.

“I need to report back-“ He started, his initial shock quickly fading as he turned towards the door again.

“You can do that later. You need to rest your body before you end up tearing your wounds open.” You moved to catch up with him, barricading the door with your frame.

“I’ll rest when I come back.”

“No, you’ll rest now. Patience is a virtue that those old geezers should have mastered by now, they can wait, Cyno."

With a deep sigh, the white-haired man attempted to sidestep you, grunting out a small, “But I can’t.” as he moved, although, he hadn’t gotten far before you were in front of him again -hands stubbornly placed on your hips to hide their slight tremble.

“Cyno, you’re being irrational, I’m not requesting this of you because I’m the bleeding mass of bandages, you are. If you so desperately need to hand in those reports then I’ll go for you. Surely that will be satisfactory?”

“It’s not about satisfaction Y/N.” He groaned, “I have orders to receive and several other pressing issues to discuss, so I need you to step aside.”

“It’ll all be for nothing if you pass out on your way to the Academia, so I need you to turn on your heel, head back into the ward and lie down -please. I don’t want to see you bleeding any longer than you already have.”

The two of you remained unyielding as the argument continued to escalate -your eyes occasionally drifting back to the largest gash across his chest, while his to the exit.

Cyno could have sworn his urgency was visible by now, but his irritation only flared when he saw no end to your relentless demand. His hand itched to twist the door handle just a few feet behind you but he remained rooted where he was, crimson eyes beginning to burn with aggravation knowing that you were right.

The general knew he needed to rest, he had been in this type of situation many times before but those damned Sages were far more painful to deal with than the wounds on his body and that was a truth he couldn’t admit while that Akasha was still nestled against your ear.

To calm his racing mind, he raised a calloused hand to his face, ready to rub the bridge of his nose but froze when he saw your body curl into itself at the motion of his hand.

You flinched, he thought.

You flinched away from him.

He made you feel unsafe.

Your eyes widened, reflecting his, at the disbelief of your very own actions.

“I didn’t mean to Cyno, I don’t know what came over me-“

“I apologise.” He stated, head cast low as if trying to make himself seem less intimidating. “It was never my intention to make you feel afraid, I swear. I’d never hurt you.”

Your mind reeled at the sight as you raced to take him into your arms. “It’s ok, I know you wouldn’t. It’s just stressful having to see you come here so hurt and knowing that you still have more work to do -it’s just the stress, Love. It’s just the stress."

You repeated the words like a mantra -pleading that they carry the rightful certainty that he needed.

He returned your embrace after much time passed -although he held you far more lightly than he usually did. “I’ll go back with you.” He breathed, “I’ll see the Sages tomorrow morning.”

[phantoms-planet]

(already made a post about this but it was giving me issues so I'm making a separate one)

Danny's obsession with Protection begins to take hold, changing him from a normal ghost to a godling. Unfortunately his new status catches the eyes of a twisted organization, one that wishes to use his powers for their own gains. He is captured and his friends and family killed. Danny is contained well below Amity in one of the organization's secret facilities. In order to use one of Danny's new powers, healing tears, Danny is subjected to nonstop of projections of people in peril he has no power to save.

Bruce is suspicious of just how successful this new medical company is. They popped up out of nowhere and quickly gained a reputation for being able to make medicines that could cure just about anything. As batman he investigates further and finds a research and containment laboratory hidden from the public. As "Brucie" Wayne he manages to gain the trust of the owner and CEO of Ameliorate and convinces a tour out of them.

It's easy to sneak away unnoticed for a moment, but less so to hide his surprise at a white haired, ethereal boy chained down there, sobbing uncontrollably. Bruce decides it's time to pull the Justice League in, save the boy, and shut down the company.

First | Prev | Next

Tw; Death mentions, torture, mention of drugging, inhumane treatment of Danny

-------------------

His core screamed out in agony.

A protection god forced to watch as thousands, millions died in front of him, unable to stop it.

Tears flowed down into a collection basin below.

Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t care. However long, it was too much. He wished his friends were there. Sam and Tucker… Their lifeless bodies flashed in his mind and prompted another huge wave of tears to splash into the basin.

Jaz would be able to quench the sorrow with her obsessive knowledge of how emotions worked. She was overbearing at times but he missed having someone care about him so much.

His mom and dad could sooth the ever-present ache with their special brand of care and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to wreak havoc to save him.

But Maddie and Jack were gone too; shot down trying desperately to save their children. Jaz taken out weeks later while Danny and her were on the run. Danny had rushed to her and then there was a net and then-

This was all his fault; if he hadn’t gotten sloppy with using his powers, if he had kept his ghostly side hidden better.

Instead of his loved ones there was nothing but the overwhelming screens covering every inch of walls, broadcasting carnage and death 24/7. There was a person dressed in all white who came in to feed him. They didn't matter. The people who were shown on the screens mattered. In danger, scared, hurt. They were the reason Danny tried so hard to get out.

A sob jolted his frame enough the chains rattled. All he had wanted was to help people!

Escape should have been easy. He was a god: escape should have been EASY!

He thought they may have been drugging his food.

None of his powers were working as strong as they should have been, some not working at all, but he still had his wail. Danny pulled in as large a breath as he could manage as the feeder person frantically booked it out of the room. Every screen shattered under his scream, plunging him into blissful silent darkness. A soft sigh slipped out. Relief. Finally relief. Seconds later the screens rotated and brought a fresh barrage of misery.

The basin overflowed.

___

Bruce was happy with the new medical company at first. Goodness knew Gotham needed a miracle when it came to the overflowing hospitals and untreatable illnesses caused by rouges and pollution alike.

They came in and started producing serums, pills, vaccinations, creams, you name it they had it, that could cure nearly anything. Terminal disease? Taken care of. Joker gas? A breeze for their formulas. Fear Toxin? No sweat. It had taken a while for the company to gain a footing with Gotham’s mistrust but once they had it, they were selling cure all’s at a truly staggering rate.

Bruce had first heard their reputation when one of the actually tolerable moms in the PTA raved about how her daughter was taking some pills and apparently getting sick much less frequently and less aggressively. He had briefly considered trying to get something for Tim, even.

But the problem was that this new company was too good at healing things. Just because Gotham needed a miracle doesn’t mean they exist and would show up out of nowhere. No, this was just suspicious.

Tim and Barbara had begun to dig through the company’s entire digital footprint and it was as if the company truly did just suddenly exist. Bizarrely there was no crime related to them. Not that they had found yet anyway.

He didn’t like this. People were getting better, which was great, but something in his gut told him this wasn’t right. How was the Ameliorate corporation coming up with cures and treatments for every illness, disease, condition, and toxin that ever existed? It very well should have taken centuries of research and development but there wasn’t anywhere near that long of a history to justify the turn out.

“Master Bruce?” He snapped out of his thoughts to a fresh cup of tea being set beside him. Alfred was frowning at him.

Bruce grumbled out a sigh. “Thank you, Alfred. Is Tim-?”

“He is still sleeping. I assume it will be quite a time before he wakes, given how long he was up.” Alfred nodded to the batcomputer. “Is there any progress?”

Another grumbly sigh. Bruce ran his hands down his face before responding. “None. I don’t understand it, there’s no possible way this company could be doing what it’s been doing. Not enough time or research facilities.”

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, there is a facility not in their records? One they don’t wish for people to know about?” It took a moment for the words to set in but when they did Bruce lunged to the computer for another round of exhaustive research.

It took hours.

Finally, Bruce had managed to find allusions to another, much larger, much older facility. It seemed to be somewhere near Illinois, Michigan, or Wisconsin. This facility seemed to be more for containment than research however.

Strangely that’s the only thing he could find. Unfortunately, it was also time for him to go into Wayne Co for some meetings. With slight reluctance Bruce sent what he had to Barbara before stepping away from the computer and making his way from the cave.

There was another big event at the museum soon and the owner and CEO of Ameliorate would be attending. Perhaps he could lay on a thick layer of Brucie charm. It was a long shot, but he would keep it as a fallback plan just in case. No matter what, Bruce knew he had to find out what was in that containment facility.

[fairly-linked]

Presence (Twilight x GN!Reader) 🖤✨

A/N: Two fics in the same 24 hours??? Am I okay??? Yes, I'm on vacation. I have energy to write lmao. Eat it up while you can folks. Enjoy! 💖💖💖💖💖

TW: Mentions of depression, self-isolation and general stress on the reader.

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Twilight noticed you'd been a little... off lately. A lot of things had happened over the last few days, and everyone was a bit on edge; the whole team being ambushed around almost every turn, you having trouble keeping up due to some kind of medical issue he wasn't understanding (which terrified him, of course, though he'd struggle to hide it for fear of overwhelming you), and not to mention Wars' and Legend's near constant bickering over trivial matters due to all the stress... But your breaking point seemed to come when the postman delivered a letter to you.

He'd watched as you read it, everyone else watching on as well as it seemed like the emotion drained from your very being. It worried him beyond words. His heart shattered at the sight of you so visibly... emotionally numb. And he'd asked if you were alright, but he knew he could only do so much-- he'd never want to push you.

So instead, he did what he thought was best: he managed to convince the Old Man to let the chain stay at an inn for a few days to give you time to recover from... whatever was going on with you. Twilight soon learned that even though Time didn't show it, he also seemed troubled by your sudden change in demeanor.

He was very thankful now more than ever that the Old Man was a good one at heart. If he hadn't been, the Rancher knew he wouldn't have let you rest.

So here they sit, him and the Old Man, together with the rest of the chain in the inn's dining hall for dinner. The only empty chair was yours, he noted with growing anxiety. You hadn't shown your face all day today...

"...Are they still asleep?" Time questioned him softly. "...This isn't good. They shouldn't be alone when they're feeling like this... It only serves to make things worse in the long run," he sighs.

Twilight nodded. He knew you had a habit of isolating when you weren't feeling your usual self, but... skipping all three meals today was unacceptable. He stood from the table suddenly, without finishing his own food; he'd been so worried about you he couldn't eat much of it anyway.

"I'm... I'm gonna go check on 'em," he states firmly, unable to mask the concern in his voice.

To his surprise, the Old Man didn't try to stop him; Time simply nodded, speaking softly.

"...Why don't you fix them a plate and bring it up? I know they may not want to eat, but even something is better than nothing. They need their strength..."

The Rancher nodded again, fixing you a a decent portion and bringing it up to your room.

When he reached your room, the one that the Old Man was kind enough to let you share with Sky (someone he knew wouldn't bother you)... He paused, his ears twitching slightly at the sound of soft sobs coming from the other side. His heart broke, and a lump formed in his throat; he was so worried about you. He hated to see you in such a state... Nevertheless, he knocked softly.

"(Y/n)? ...Can I come in...?"

The crying hushed immediately, and your shaky voice reached his ears. "W-What do you want...?"

He paused, trying to think of the best way to respond.

"...(Y/n), we're worried about you, darlin'. Can I come in please?"

...Silence. He sighed; he knew he shouldn't barge in on you, but--

"...Fine..."

He let out a sigh of relief at your answer. He opened the door softly, carrying the plate of still-warm food; the room was dark. No lights, the curtains were drawn... Oh, you poor thing, he thinks to himself.

"...I'm turnin' on the light, sweet thing," he says, flicking on the light and watching as your figure huddles deeper under the blanket. He sighs, setting the food down on the nightstand and taking a seat beside you on the bed.

"...Can I ask what's been goin' on with you lately? You've been so sad, and it worries me to see you like this, hun. It worries all of us..." he says softly, placing his hand on your hair and rubbing the top of your head softly with his thumb.

He could've sworn your voice broke a little as you speak again in a softer tone than ever. "...I don't wanna talk about it..."

He sighs, but nods. "...That's okay, darlin'. I won't push you to talk if you don't want to..." he mumbles, still stroking your hair.

"...Can I at least stay here for a bit? I haven't seen your pretty face all day, sweetums."

He hears you sniffle, but he can see you nod. It's hard to make out at first, with your figure huddled deeply under the comforter, but he smiles when he realizes you'd said yes.

He shifts, now sitting cross-legged on the bed beside you, his hand remaining on your head. He sighs, thinking about what he could do to make you feel better.

...He'd be lying if he said he didn't wish you were roomed with him for the night. He wants to make sure you're okay, but he also knows that Sky is perfectly capable of being there for you should you want it.

...And he says 'want', because goddesses know you definitely need it.

"...You feel like eatin'?" he asks softly, voice remaining low as he leans a little closer. He sighs again when he hears you mumble a weak "Not really..."

"...Yeah, I figured..."

He sighs for what now has to be the eighteenth time. He wants you to eat; he knows you haven't all day, and it's past 5 PM now...

"...I know you don't want to, doll, but... could you at least take a little bite? For me? Pretty please?" he asks as sweetly as he can muster.

He hears you sigh, and for a split second he's worried he's pushed you too far; but to his pleasant surprise, you sit up, reaching for the plate.

Heh. Can't say no to me, can you lovebug?

He smiles; the way your hair's all messy and the tired look on your face makes you cute, but in a heart-breaking sort of way. He watches intently as you slowly pick up the fork, poking at the food; and his smile grows more as you finally take a bite.

He places his hand back on the top of your head. "Good pup," he chuckles softly, laughing a little more as you huff at him.

You must've finally realized you were hungry, because he sits in silence for several minutes as you manage to finish off a little more than half the plate.

"There you go," he says softly with a tender smile. "Feelin' a little better?"

You nod, setting the plate back on the nightstand and pulling the blanket back up to your shoulders.

"...You're free to go back to sleep if you want, darlin'. I just wanted to check up on you," he says, subconsciously leaning a little closer to your face as his hand drops to your shoulder. "...Do you want me to stay here, or should I leave?"

"You can stay..." you say softly. He's overjoyed at your response, grinning like a lovestruck dumbass (because he totally is. Not that he's admitting it or anything. Not at all.)

"...I can do that. But you're cuddlin' with me whether you like it or not, lovebug."

He laughs as you huff again, rolling your eyes this time. "Fine..."

His grin only grows, lying down and pulling you down with him. Gently, he pulls your head onto his chest, resting his hand on the top of your head as he noses your hair.

"See? I'm not so bad," he chuckles softly.

"I guess not..." you sigh, and he runs his finger through your hair.

"...Don't worry, sweet thing. Sometimes you just need someone else to take care of you when you can't do it yourself....

"...And I'll be that person if you'll just let me. Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing, darlin'. I'm here..." he says tenderly, stroking your hair.

He's so warm and his presence is so comforting, it's not long before you're on the verge of sleep again. A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest.

The last thing you note in your half-asleep state, is that you could've sworn you felt his lips on your forehead.

"Sleep, little lovebug. I'll be here when you wake up."

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Tagging friends so they see and maybe are proud of me lmao

@trippygalaxy @the-cucco-nuggie (you might like this one. I know how much you like hylian jacob black from twilight)

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[greatstormcat]

Snow Angels

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x f!reader

TW: MDNI 18+, rough sex, brat taming, p in v, enemies to lovers

Tagging @whinesandwhimpers as they asked so politely for this to be written

You hated the cold, you always had, so being sent on a mission to the arctic in the midst of winter was not something that put you in a good mood. Worse than that though, you were sent with him…. Sargent Fucking Garrick. You didn’t get on with him at all. You had jumped at the chance to go on a mission with the 141, your skills as a sniper being needed as their own sniper was down with an injury. Lt Riley had suffered a broken wrist and was on medical leave, so Capt Price had requested your CO lend you to them as you were said to be as good as Ghost. What you hadn’t bet on was being partnered with someone you actively despised.

There was a rumor you were being watched to join the Taskforce, so you really wanted this to go well, but far you’d pissed Sgt Garrick off at every single turn. You’d questioned every order, putting your own thoughts and ideas forward at every opportunity because you couldn’t keep your trap shut. He riled you up in every possible way in return, being condescending and arrogant. You’d never had this issue with anyone before, it was bizarre and irrational, but pissing him off gave you some weird kick you couldn’t put your finger on.

That said, you completed the mission perfectly, taking a shot that probably even a ghost himself would have balked at. The pair of you needed to get to your exfil location which meant spending a night in a safehouse before being picked up. It was a small shack, long since abandoned but done up for this exact requirement so it was inconspicuous and good to a few people hiding for a few days in bad weather. You fiddle with the small oil heater and manage to get some warmth into the single room. You eyed the single cot with annoyance.

“Go get some sleep, I’ll take first watch. We’ve got a long wait before we get out of here,” Garrick ordered.

“I’m not tired, I can take watch,” you said without thinking, arguing yet again with his direct order.

Gaz snapped, rounding on you and shoving you into the wall, his hand clamps around your throat and hauls you onto your tiptoes as you try to maintain your airway. You grab at his arm instinctively and move the kick out at his knee to break free but he steps closer, pressing himself against you and you go still, eyes going wide as you look into his eyes. His teeth are bared in a snarl as he leans in towards your ear.

“One more word out of your fucking mouth and I will personally make you sorry,” he snarls, the feel of his breath against your skin coupled with the feel of him pressed against you only stokes the fire in your belly. You do the stupidest thing possible.

“You don’t have the balls,” you goad him, and you see the moment his pupils blow out wide. Fire floods into your veins as you see what’s about to happen written across his face. You opened your mouth to speak, but his mouth crushes against yours without mercy, his hands grabbing at the straps to your vest and yanking them viciously to unfasten them. Once it hits the ground he is tearing at the zip at the front of your snow suit and yanking it hard, you help him pull it off your shoulders to avoid serious bruising as you hear fabric making distressed sounds in his need to get to the body hidden beneath it.

Fire burns in Gaz’s dark eyes when he manages to uncover the skin of your neck and its mere seconds before his lips are on it, kisses and teeth searing across the patch of skin while he holds on firmly against the wall. Your hands move to touch him and he grabs your wrists, slamming them into the wall above your head.

“Don’t move,” he snaps and bites at your neck, making you mutter a curse and jerk against him as his body presses you into the wall from shoulders to hips. The moan that bubbles up in your throat betrays you completely, and he pulls back, staring into your eyes with his own dark, desire filled intensity.

“You’re nothing but a brat,” he tells you, cocking his head to one side. He adjusts his grip on you, rolling his shoulders slightly to ease a little of the tension your bickering had caused to build over the course of the mission. “This is how this is gonna go: you are going to do exactly what I tell you to do. No arguing, no questioning.”

You nod mutely, your body thrumming with anticipation and the liquid heat of arousal. He strips you completely letting you feel the cold air of the room, only bothering to kick off his outer layers before manhandling you down into the small cot, his weight covering you while he grips your wrists tightly above your head again. He forces your knees apart easily, only a token amount of resistance put up by you at this point, and you stifle a moan as he settles between your thighs putting his warm, heavy body against yours. The material of his clothes rough against your bare skin, prickling you and making you squirm against him, which is when you feel his hard on pressing through the fabric against your core.

He kisses you again, hot tongue licking at the seam of your lips in a greedy demand which you comply with. You can do nothing to stop the way your hips grind up against him, your arousal seeping into the front of his thin thermals while you rub yourself against his clothed cock. It doesn’t take long before he pulls away from you lips and releases his hold on your wrists so he can free his cock from it confines.

Gaz grips his veiny, thick cock, a lump forming in your throat as you see the size of it and tremble. You hiss as he rubs the head of his cock through your heated folds, your cunt clenching around aching emptiness in anticipation. Your hips roll, trying to coax him into pushing forward but he doesn’t move.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He taunts you, using his hand to move his cocks through your wetness, bumping against your throbbing clit purposefully to watch you twitch. “Beg me,” he says. “Beg me to fuck you.”

You rebel, glaring your defiance but before you can speak he presses the fat, spongy head of his cock against your clit and your words die on your tongue. The ache inside you worsens.

“Garrick….” You moan, it’s all you can do.

“Beg me, or you get nothing more than watching me jerk off all over you,” he threatens, and you know that bastards would do it too. You have a choice to make, play nice and get your rocks off or continue to argue and get left with the worst case of blue balls of your life.

“Garrick…” you whisper, hate roiling in your gut. “Garrick, please fuck me.”

The grin on his face when you say those words is too much. “Fuck y….” Your words wither as he thrusts into you, slowly, deliciously. He stretches you open like no one else ever has and fills you completely, verging on the edge of too much to take. Your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth falls lax as you gasp.

“That’s it, Private,” he said, his normally deep voice even more so now he was balls deep in you. He grins wickedly as he feels your muscles tighten around him when he addresses you by your rank. “Oh, you like that? You like me calling you by rank” he asks as he pulls almost all the way out of you, causing you to whine at the loss of his cock. He stills, waiting for your answer.

“Yes,” you whisper, hating the way he has you under his thumb suddenly.

“Good girl, Private,” he croons and slides his cock back into your body, your breath leaving you in a whimper.

“Is this how I shut you up, Private? I just need to give you some dick?” He asks, and when you don’t answer fast enough he puts a hand around your throat and snaps his hips into you harder. “Answer me,” he orders, your eyes going wide as you look up at him hovering over you.

“Yes, Sargeant,” you cry out, grabbing at his forearms to steady yourself. You feel yourself melting under him as your pussy drools with arousal, leaking around his cock and making the most obscene wet noises. You can’t hide your reaction to him, and he knows it.

“Harder… please… please, Sargeant,” you beg, your defiance scattered to the winds now. All you know is you need more of him, and he feels you soften, go plaint and malleable in his hands as you give yourself over to him completely.

“Fuck, yes baby,” he whispers and pounds into you, leaning down over you, arms caging your head, and letting you wrap your arms around his neck to hold on. His hips move at an impossible rate, grinding his thick length into you over and over again, while he smothers you with his warm body. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, clinging to him as he fucks you raw, your walls spasming and pulsing around him, his public bone rubbing the wet fabric of his thermals against your engorged clit.

“You’re gonna come for me, understand?” He says into your ear. “You’re gonna come on your Sargeant’s cock like a good girl,” he makes it an order, and suddenly you feel the tension in your gut change in answer to his words. All you can do is mewl and nod your head against his shoulder. Your orgasm tightens your muscles, your soft inner walls gripping onto his cock, molding and pulsing around its thickness perfectly. Another few hard surges of his hips had you screaming as you came apart, your back arching off the creaking cot before Gaz uttered a guttural groan as he emptied his thick load into you.

Heavy breaths echoed in the silence that felt while you both came down from such a dizzying high, and a moment of panic gripped you as you wondered what would happen next. Your fears were swiftly quashed as a soft kiss was pressed to your cheek, and another, making you turn your face to catch those lips with your own.

“I never thought I wanted a brat, guess I was wrong,” he smiled, grabbing a blanket from beneath the cot to cover you against the chill as he held you.

[creepypasta-darling]

Creepypasta Mental Illness Headcanons

MASSIVE TW: TALKS OF MENTAL ILLNESS, SELF HARM, AND UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS. PLEASE CONTINUE WITH CAUTION, OR IF YOU ARE NOT IN A GOOD HEADSPACE, PLEASE IGNORE.

Tim/Masky

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Schizophrenia, Substance Depenency Disorder

I've said this before, and I will say this again: Tim is a whole different person from Masky. Tim is someone who I believe is more fearful and is prone to being sheepish until he blows up in anger. Masky on the other hand is a Protector, who shields them from pain and takes most of the blows. Tim has reason to fight for his freedom from Slender, and has even gone to great lengths to hide his identity from people to protect them against The Operator. Masky believes that in order to keep them safe, she must do what Slender says. She takes great pride in being part of the top 3 and being someone to rely on. She also takes pride in caring for the mansion and the people around her.

They both must have a pattern, or else everything and everyone they know will be on the verge of death. That is what happened in Marble Hornets, that is what happened in their childhood, that is what will happen now. This is also why they are addicted to Marijuana and prescription medication. However, it is for different reasons. Tim is addicted to prescription medication due to never wanting The Operator to have control over his life again. Masky is addicted to Marijuana due to the anger issues she feels deep inside, and has found that is the only way for her to think rationally.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Brian/Hoodie

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Schizophrenia, Social Anxiety Disorder, Insomnia, Amnesia

Much like Tim/Masky, Brain/Hoodie has to have a pattern so no one will die. This is also why he started the ToTheArk channel during Marble Hornets, to warn them before it was too late due to Jay. He takes great pride in being anonymous, it's almost like he's playing God. He can control who will live, and who will die just by his routine. Obviously, there's more to it. But not in his mind. Never in his mind.

He also has a lot of social anxiety, due to Marble Hornets. This gives him ample sleepless nights where he has nightmares of his past. He can't remember them when he wakes up, but it destroys him inside. He has no memory of his childhood due to it as well. When the Slender Sickness took over his mind, he lost a lot of memories. The only person in his life he remembers vividly is Tim. Everyone else he feels is part of a simulation, they are there but they have no personality. He can't understand why he can't form connections with others. He just knows they're out to get him.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Kate the Chaser

Social Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Schizophrenia, Insomnia, Amnesia

The things that keep Kate up at night from her past is haunting. She remembers bits and pieces, but most importantly her sister and the screams of the people she held dear. The windows, the doors, everything. She must check them all night long. She keeps herself in the dark so she can no longer feel the pain. She keeps herself secluded because of all of it, doing the same routine so no one else suffers how she did.

This leads to her taking longer to complete missions, forgetting people close to her, and suffering a lot of trauma because of it. To the point she sometimes forgets who she is at all. All she knows is that if Slender gets too close to others, she will be at fault. To her, it's all her fault. She can't separate herself from the monster in her mind, the monster under the bed, and even the monster in the forest. Although like Tim she has run multiple times to live a normal life, it all becomes ruined. She'd rather protect the world than try to do things for herself. She can't handle the pressure, and has a lot of self injurious scars to show it. She'd never say it though. She can't.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Rouge

Kleptomania, Schizophrenia, Prolonged Grief Disorder (PGD), Insomnia, Amnesia

She is in a constant state of panic and grief, she has lost so many children and she has suffered in ways that no one should. Due to this, she keeps her distance, and suffers from serious self injury and dark thoughts. Even though she doesn't realize it. She doesn't even know she does anything of the sort. She'll wake up to bloody sheets and people crying, but has no idea why. The dark thoughts just merge with her own, she can't even remember when they started. People try to help her, but she doesn't even realize she needs help.

Due to being in the woods, she has grown a hoarding mentality. She takes things from convince stores, grocery, even things she doesn't really want or need. The idea of getting caught is so foreign to her that she just never notices the people yelling at her to put it back. It even got to a point where cabin mates were locking their things and hiding it in ditches. She just thinks of how she can survive, and how she wants to live normally. Keeping these things will give her a joy for a little while, and even though it's short lived, she'd rather that then suffering anymore.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Nurse Ann

Antisocial Personailty Disorder (ASPD), Insomnia, Amnesia, Kleptomania, Schizophrenia

This girl is as standoff-ish as they come, often getting into fights with other housemates or simply having a cold demeanor. As a child she had conduct issues, which seemed to go away in her teens, only to return after her passing in her 20s. She had struggled with making genuine emotional ties with people, and even sought to make friendships more like partnerships due to the extent of her conduct issues. When she had fallen in love with the doctor at the local hospital she worked at, it was the first time she had even let someone into her life at that point. She had even removed her family from her life. But the doctor wasn't as good as he seemed, and how she is just as standoffish as before.

Like with Rouge, she has a hoarding mentality. She feels as if she has to take and take and take in order to survive due to her rapid decay of her body. She mostly takes first aid supplies and sewing needles and thread. Sometimes though she'll take things just to do something nice for herself.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Observer

Kleptomania, Antisocial Personailty Disorder (ASPD), Insomnia, Amnesia, Schizophrenia

I feel like this guy has the mind of 10 Einsteins. He's extremely calculated and has analyzed every situation in his head before it happens. Because of this, he doesn't really get along with a lot of people, but can convince them he does. It's all an act, he plays the part well, and he'll have you thinking how he does soon enough. He's very good at persuasion and will weave the conversation into ways he wants very easily. It's how he survived for this long, even before the events of TribeTwelve.

This is also why he gets away with a lot of shit. He steals quite often, and although part of him feels bad, he always thinks if it was really a problem people would catch him. He's so delusional he doesn't know people catch him all the time and just take it back. He struggles a lot with sleep, always has, ever since he was young. It causes him to have moments during the day where he legit just passes the hell out. Straight up. He'll faint and be gone for a couple hours only to come back and act like nothing has happened.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Kevin

Schizophrenia, Insomnia, Amnesia, Trichotillomania, Dysthymia, Anxiety Disorder

Poor Kevin. All he wanted to do was go to school, and now he's stuck in this Slender mess. He tries so hard to keep the little memories he has, but due to the Slender sickness it just escapes him. He can remember only his childhood, but the memories of his friends and older past fades so quickly.. He never remembers what he was doing or how he ended up here.

He just knows when he sleeps he's asleep for what feels like minutes, and when he's awake it feels like months. It makes him tear his hair out and picks his skin due to the stress. He struggles with body dismorphia and image issues due to the excessive picking and plucking. He does, however, try to get better. Even if it's while fighting the monster that has entered him.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

HABIT

Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), Insomnia, Amnesia, Dysthymia, Hypersexuality, Schizophrenia

This guy is so disoriented and so in love with himself, everyone else is so stupid and merely a vessel for him to manipulate, use, and destroy. It's scratch your back you scratch mine, but in a much more sinister way. It's more like you scratch my back I run my claws against yours until you bleed. Doesn't mean he can't be compassionate. Sometimes a little too much. When he loves, he adores, but when he hates, he loathes. If you catch him in a good moment you can see he honestly does care and tries to help, even if he knows the outcome won't be in your favor. Honestly, he's doing them a service if you think about it.

Everyone should praise him for it. Everyone should worship him as much as he worships himself. He's the only one with the cure to your ache. He's the only one with the answers. What do you mean he doesn't find satisfaction in humans? Sure he does. When it involves him dominating them in any way he can. Take that as you will. But he has so much darkness hidden behind the whimsical, behind how cruel he can be he sees himself in every victim, every love, every hate. He sees himself. He hates that and that's why he does it in the first place. He has a bad "habit" of picking his skin when he possesses someone for too long. It makes him itch thinking of the past and he hates that it gets to him so much. He's like a child, huge anger and no outlet. He doesn't even know why it hurts him so bad.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Evan

Bipolar Disorder I, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Schizophrenia, Insomnia, Amnesia

He has no idea what's going on. One minute he's extremely there, in the moment, watching everything around him. He feels great, everything's great, he's with his friends and they are great. But then he looses his consciousness. All of a sudden he's watching through someone else's eyes, watching everything burn and fall apart. He's watching him hurt those he loves. He forgets what it's like not feel this bad. He doesn't remember his childhood or even the previous week. He feels so much guilt and shame, he isolates for what feels like months.

He's so caught up in staying away, he doesn't even see that he is growing angrier, and angrier, and angrier. He loses sleep over just the thought of everyone he's ever fought for, only to be left alone. When he finally returns, it's almost as if he's a new person. He never lets his anger out towards others, and it's all internal. The anger turns into grief. Grief over all he's lost due to his own outbursts. He's always been like this, but every time he feels so hurt and so alone. But everyone can see it. He is not okay. Until he is. And everything is great again.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Firebrand/Noah

Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Schizophrenia, Prolonged Grief Disorder (PGD), Insomnia

Some days he can't handle the pain. It's like there's a gnawing ache inside of him, he just wants it all to end, he wants this to be different. He misses Milo with such a heavy heart, it's almost maddening. He can't let go, that's the only person who understood him. He's the only person who stood up for him. The pictures, the letters, the voicemails. It's almost like he's there. Noah never feels like it'll go away. Grief lasts for lifetimes, and in every one of his nightmares he just sees the blood, the screaming, the anguish. he could have done more. He could have protected him. He could have understood. He can't let go of that.

It's such an overwhelming feeling, that it feels like it becomes permanent. He wakes up and barely goes to the restroom, he barely eats through the day, hell, before all of this stuff with Observer and Habit, Kevin was taking care of him most of the time. At least making sure he was alive. Noah occasionally has a moment where he doesn't dwell on it, and those days are like heaven. He can brush his teeth, he can watch TV, he can get his life together. But it's only for a little while before those thoughts creep back in again.

P.S. ALL PROXIES HAVE SCHIZOPHRENIA. THAT IS THE DIAGNOSIS BUT REALLY IT'S SLENDER SICKNESS.

Eyeless Jack

Antisocial Personailty Disorder (ASPD), Social Anxiety Disorder, Binge Eating Disorder (BED), Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Major Depressive Disorder (MDD)

Let's face it, before Jack even became a demon he had trauma up the ass. He was riddled with anxiety since he was a child and grew to hate people. He was often bullied due to his appearance and race and he never quite got a grip on his emotions from it, choosing to believe that people aren't worth the effort to care for. He can pretend he likes them, but in all honesty, he just doesn't care. His childhood was full of fighting parents and the pressure to be the perfect Asian American child. The American Dream was pushed so far down his throat, he could barely think. He learned being quiet and separating his emotions was easier than dealing with the pressure. He was never that bad, right? I mean, if he never did drugs, or drank, or went to these elaborate parties and just did what people wanted and did what he wanted after, it was fine. He wasn't damaged. Well. At least he thought so.

After the ritual, he became so hungry. He was plagued with hunger pains, and he would eat until he couldn't breathe. After eating the cult he tried to just live off animals and garbage from the forest that outskirted the school. He was too embarrassed to go back home. He looked like a monster. When he finally gave into his cannibalistic cravings, however, he would gorge himself sick. He felt so guilty for it. He never wanted this. Every time he eats he feels like he's watching the people who hurt him, imagining it was their organs instead of the person he's eating. It got so bad that he started to try to fast, to try to get rid of the thoughts. He tried exercising until he could barely walk. But it only made it so much worse.

Jeff

Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Insomnia, Substance Depenency Disorder, Alcohol Use Disorder, Trichotillomania, Hypersexuality

Jeff is the type of guy who doesn't believe what he did was wrong, no, he did them all a favor. He's saving them from the pain of life. He's giving them a new start. They should be grateful that the last thing they see is someone as handsome as him. He's the only one who is good enough. He's good enough, right? He'll make you see he's good enough. He's the only one who can make you feel anything, pain or pleasure, and you have no reason to deny it.

What's hidden underneath though is a sad, sad man. After what happened at his parents house, he lost control of himself. For a while he was delusional, went on what seemed like an endless killing spree, stealing, stalking, doing anything he could to escape what he had done. But then one night the feelings from when he was a kid came back. He couldn't sleep. He could barely move, he was crying all the time. He was drinking until blackout, and started heavily using heroin. He would look in old mirrors and just see someone hideous. He tried to fix it. He tried to fix his hair, but ended up tearing it out. He goes back and forth between these two facades often of himself, almost in a trance.

BEN

Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Kleptomania, Trichotillomania

BEN was just a kid when he died, and he didn't really know anything about the world. The only thing he knew was that it was boring. Unfortunately, he would end up acting up in school because of it. He couldn't sit still, he has racing thoughts, and he would take and do things just because he thought about it. This didn't really sit well in the system, and he jumped from one school to the next often. Eventually, he had to be homeschooled, where everything took a turn for the worse.

When the abuse started happening, BEN tried to outrun it. He tried to leave the house on multiple occasions, but was caught by neighbors just trying to help out and his family who knew he's run to the arcade. He would steal cars and figured out how to hack gas station pumps to get credit cards and gas to try to run. He started to dissociate a lot, becoming almost paralyzed by it, pulling his eyebrow hairs and his eyelashes until they were bare. This unfortunately carried on into his afterlife as well.

Jane

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Schizophrenia, Prolonged Grief Disorder (PGD), Insomnia, Dermatillomania

Before Jeff had done what he did to her, Jane is very meticulous about her life. She woke up at 7 am, she made breakfast for her family, she'd walk to school and made sure not to step on cracks, she did her homework by 8 pm and went to bed at 10 pm. This was her whole life, she never changed.

That is until Jeff did what he did. She became obsessing over her locks on her doors and windows, and her routine became more strict. Her body refused to sleep until everything was secure, but it was always never enough. She started to hear voices and see shadows in the corners of her eyes, telling her she had to start all over or else he would get her. She started feeling bugs on her skin, and would pick at thr skin to get rid of the feeling. Eventually, her whole life revolved around Jeff and what Jeff had done. She had so say, no free will, And that's why she hates him so. He ruin her appearance. He ruined her family. He ruined her mind. She can't rest until she knows he's six feet under. She can't be free until then. But even then, was she ever free?

Nina

Bipolar Disorder II, Schizophrenia, Insomnia, Trichotillomania, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Hypersexuality

Nina whole life had always been a rollercoaster. When she was a child, she was diagnosed with Schizophrenia, which created a ripple in her family. She became the sole caregiver to her brother, and they were tied from the hip. Which she could say the same about her parents, though. They stayed together, but they couldn't agree on what was best for Nina. Eventually, they gave up entirely on the other, and in turn their children. This made Nina hide her feelings a lot, and she ended up taking a particular kind eye towards serial killers and mass murderers, seeing them as a way out. She started picking her hair and messing with her features to better suit one of her idols, Jeff the Killer.

When she was 14 she was diagnosed with Bipolar, which just made things worse. Her already paranoid outlook became more protective of her brother, in turn almost making her the parent. She would get into physical fights, never taking blame, which passed to her brother. They would bounce off of each others emotions often, causing a greater rip in the household. She would go from extremely angry, depressed and sadistic for weeks on end to kind and nurturing, which prompted the diagnosis. When she was 18, She started to idolize killers more and more, until she would stay up reading their stories and watching court cases until it was the only thing she could think about. She began stabbing her pillow, imagining how they must have felt. It was almost orgasmic, and she started plotting for her own story soon. Well, until things didn't go to plan.

Liu/Sully

Bipolar Disorder I, Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Insomnia, Substance Depenency Disorder

Liu already had mental illness before Jeff had killed their family. Liu was 9 when he was diagnosed with OCD and Bipolar, often getting angry and acting out at home due to his family dynamic. His parents were always catering to Liu, trying to calm him down and make him better, but he never wanted that. He just wanted Jeff. He was the only person who ever understood Liu. They often would stay up late at night, talking about their dreams. Jeff even told Liu he would get him out of here, and he would live with Jeff, and all of the problems they'd face wouldn't matter. Liu believed that.

Until Jeff tried to kill him. It was a night that Liu had gone to bed early, which was out of his routine. Due to the trauma that Jeff caused, Liu gets flashbacks often of Jeff on top of him, stabbing pains and blurry vision. That's when Sully came around. He's a Protector alter Liu had. When Liu started to get flashbacks Sully would come out and act normal, act kind and generous, until they were in a safe space. However, it wasn't as safe as Liu hoped. Sully often indulged in Marijuana and cocaine, and refused to take meds for Liu's mental illness. This caused Liu to become addicted as well, which distorted his thinking tremendously.

Jason the Toymaker

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Kleptomania, Prolonged Grief Disorder (PGD), Hypersexuality, Substance Depenency Disorder

It's no secret that Jason has BPD and Kleptomania. Anyone who came in contact with the guy came to learn he has a tendency to "borrow" things from people he particularly likes. He also gets physically violent when called on his behavior, and has a very hard time distinguishing grey areas in people's actions. It's all bad or all good, never an in-between. He has very poor image of himself despite his efforts to appear flawless, and tends to self injurious behaviors because of it. It heals very quickly, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have to do patch jobs from time to time.

Because of Amelia, he grieves in very odd ways, and for very extended periods of time. Despite moving from victim to victim hastily, he keeps every one he has turned into a doll. He tries to make them to be the perfect friends, and even pretends they banter with him and have their own mind. People have tried to help him disconnect from his make believe reality, and he has tried therapy before. He doesn't feel like it works, however, and had gotten an addiction to Benzos and cocaine because of it. He is an energy vampire, and finds himself at parties and social gatherings a lot, feeding off the energy. He's tried harder drugs before, and drinks quite often, but in his words, "it's not the same as just swallowing a pill and having your world be better for a few minutes."

Candy Pop

Binge Eating Disorder (BED), Bipolar Disorder II, Prolonged Grief Disorder (PGD), Insomnia, Night Terrors, Hypersexuality

Candy Pop is honestly a dire situation, that people just don't know how to react to. There are two separate souls fighting every day all the time to be the front mask. Night Terrors is his own demon, and has his problems on his own that nobody really knows. The end of. Candy Pop, however, used to be so fun loving and happy, before all this mess. He still has heightened areas of manic episodes, which is more like his true self, but then he has periods of complete meltdown that makes it really hard for people to like him. This, along with the fact that he has years upon years of torture and guilt within him, makes for no reason for him not to have his own night terrors and Insomnia when he can sleep.

The guilt and shame also comes out in weird ways, in him having many sexual partners but only really craving his beloved who passed away, eating until he physically gets ill for days, and progressing to self injurious behavior and activities makes up his free time most of the time. The people who see him suffer are only those closest to him, and try everything in their power to make sure he's distracted. But they have their own problems, and when he needs to take off steam, he'll find a way. It's terrifying how he has become his own inner monster, in a sense.

Bloody Painter

Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Amnesia, Hypersexuality, Social Anxiety Disorder

Due to excessive bullying in his younger years, Helen never really learned that people could not be jerks. Early on, even before the massacre, he kind of only interacted with people if it meant something was in it for him. In fact, he did this even outside of school. His parents never knew, but he would meet up with strangers to take care of his business. It gave him a sense of self worth and esteem.

However, outside of these interactions, he was very quiet, lonely, and isolated. He never felt like he could talk to anyone about how he felt, and although he persevered, he still has issues with trusting people and letting them in. His depression from isolation comes in rages, where after he gets out his frustration, he feels peace again. After the massacre, He had lost all memory of what life was like before the massacre, not even remembering his own last name. He has yet to remember.

Judge Angels

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Dysthymia, Social Anxiety Disorder

Dina had a lot of trauma growing up in a house where no one truly listened nor was able to understand Dina. Constantly being isolated from other kids and being kept on a leash, being told that she would be ridiculed and mocked for her appearance, has made her dislike the thought of people entirely. Mix that with her father's physical and verbal abuse did not help the situation, either.

When her mother passed away, Dina had lost the only person who had genuinely tried to help. She didn't just lose her mother, but her only friend as well. She had a deep hatred towards men specifically, and it takes a long time for her to see the good in people. Having frequent panic attacks over eyes on her and always feeling like the center of attention, she also feels quite isolated and empty. She has very strong rages that are extremely violent and easily turn to disaster. She also has an addiction towards self injury, and picks at her skin, especially around the nape of her neck and her hips. It was so bad, in fact, when she had met Helen, he had to patch up her left hip, because the skin was hanging by a shred.

Clockwork

Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD), Bipolar Disorder I, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Major Depressive Disorder (MDD)

Natalie is not someone to mess with, and she makes sure it's known. She was diagnosed with the majority of her illness as a teen and has been on meds galore. But nothing really seemed to help calm her nerves enough to take the edge off. Everything Natalie does is due to fight or flight and extremely routine. She's been fighting for her life for years, and when she finally got free from that fear of running out of time, she snapped. Hard. Before, if she had flashbacks, she would isolate herself for weeks at a time, doing nothing but homework and drawing. Now, she makes it everyone's problem, often telling people in graphic detail of her emotions not with calm words, but with violent threats.

However, this doesn't mean she's all fighter. You can often catch Natalie sitting by herself. If you can catch her in the right moment, she is somber, often lost, like a little girl waiting for her parents to be home. If she cries in front of you, it means you are the closest thing to a friend she has ever had. And if she actually talks about the abuse, she'll tell you how she wants out of the life she is living and wants to return to a normal life, but she doesn't want to go to jail. If anyone has any chance of getting better, it's Natalie. She has years of therapy under her belt and has gone through so much trauma that she has faced on her own will to get better, that if anyone put their mind to it and actually got out successfully, it would be her.

Laughing Jack

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Dysthymia, Hypersexuality, Anxiety Disorder

Unfortunately Jack has dealt with traumatizing situations in his early use, and has never gotten help for it because, well, he's an entity. So of course he is riddled with anxiety. He listened to abuse in a box for years, getting abandoned from the person he was made to be with. This causes him to have very violent anger outbursts that sometimes prevent him from being let into the mansion. This is part of the reason he has dual housing.

Also it's probably a shocker to most when they learn of his Hypersexuality, but Jack was in a home full of sexual activity and abuse. It had gotten to a point where when he's super anxious or having bad flashbacks he'll pick his hair, but not in the places people would expect. Jack is a toy, sure, but an anatomically correct one at that. He has a tendency to pluck his pubic hairs and hairs on his armpits, which is an ode to Issac. (Issac had done this in his time alive, away from Jack, but the more distorted Issac got the more distorted Jack got. Jack ended up with a lot of traits he can't remember where they started from due to this.)

Julius The Dressmaker

Anorexia Nervosa, Substance Depenency Disorder, Alcohol Use Disorder, Bipolar Disorder II, Antisocial Personailty Disorder (ASPD)

Julius has had enough of people, in all honesty. He's found how to manipulate people's perception of him into positivity, although in all honesty his demeanor is cold and standoffish. When he's having episodes however he's very energetic, almost as if he's floating on clouds. All his past partners get extremely freaked out by it, especially with the mix of substances he uses. His moods are always 100%, and he often has violent tendencies.

At one point they thought he had a conduct disorder as a child due to the inappropriate interactions people had with him. He's either extremely violent or flattering, and goes between praising you to degrading you in seconds. He's extremely harsh on himself as well, going from loving how he looks to thinking how absolutely revolting he is. He has always hated how he looked, and had texture issues, and ends up forcing himself to be extremely malnourished and fragile. Although he won't admit it, he is considerably more weak in terms of strength, and if it wasn't for him being a demon, most people would have possibility to overcome him.

Killian

Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), Orthorexia Nervosa, Substance Depenency Disorder, Alcohol Use Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Hypersexuality

Killian has had a rough childhood, to say the least. He often has flashbacks and night terrors of abuse he can barely remember, due to blocking them out unintentionally in his teen years. Because of his childhood, he not only began to hang with wrong people early on, but began to have distorted self image. Everyone has always loved his looks, so he uses his looks as a way to prey on people. Constantly having sex and disregarding people for his bad behavior, he believes although he is disrespectful and disgusting, he is the closest thing to God, and people should praise him for being who he is.

Also the mix of substances and alcohol makes this perception worse. He believes he's so much better than others, but then he thinks he is the embodiment of evil. Although these thoughts consume him regularly, he tries to push them down, again, unintentionally. It comes out in ways that are strange to him. Everyone loves his looks, but he must have a structured schedule to stay looking good. Forcing strange food rules and refusing to eat outside of them, usually ending up forcing his partners to follow them as well or degrading them when they eat something outside of his own rules. Although he is much healthier than his peers, deep down he's hurting from things he doesn't know he's hurting from.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Fight Through the Pain (Part 2)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader

Word Count: 4011

TW: Angst, Whump, Burns, Injuries, Pain, Broken Arm, Love Confession, Hurt/Comfort, Pain Medication

Notes: A HUGE thank you to everyone who supported Part 1! The response has been amazing and it really means so incredibly much to me!

Part 1, Part 2

Top Gun Masterlist

Rooster… It had been a faint sound, feeble and hoarse, but he had heard you whisper his name across the coms. You were alive. For now at least. And Rooster was determined to do everything in his power to keep it that way even if that meant risking his own life.

He had seen the look of pain that flashed across your face as the missile that was aimed at his plane suddenly slammed into yours instead, and he had managed to catch a glimpse of your limp body as it hung beneath your parachute after you ejected. As much as he had screamed into the coms for you to turn on your beacon, as much as he kept insisting to the others that you were alive, part of him didn’t believe it. So, the second he saw your location beacon flicker to life on his radar, his heart leaped in his chest.

Now, as he ignored everyone’s incessant calls for him to return to the aircraft carrier, he was circling the area around your beacon. It seemed luck was on his side because, while he was unable to spot where you landed amongst the trees, he was able to find an old service road that had been recently cleared of snow. It wasn’t his best landing, and he knew takeoff would be tricky on the uneven surface, but at least it was something he could work with.

His engine didn’t even have time to sputter to a stop before he was out of the cockpit and jumping to the ground. The signal from your beacon had placed you not too far from here, but as Rooster sprinted towards the location, he saw no sign of you. A million thoughts spiraled through his head. Maybe you had been captured. Maybe the beacon had fallen off your suit and malfunctioned, turning on by itself. Maybe he wasn’t going to reach you in time, wasn’t going to have the chance to tell you….

But just then, he spotted something to his right. You were laying on your side with your back towards him, crumpled at the base of a tree with your parachute tangled in the limbs high above you. As he rushed to your side, he noticed your entire body was shivering but whether it was from the cold, the pain, or some sort of shock, Rooster couldn’t tell. Normally this fact would have worried him, but at the moment, he was just relieved for a sign that you were alive. As carefully as he could, he eased you onto your back, before gasping in alarm.

Your helmet had blocked the majority of the flames from reaching your head and face, but the rest of your body hadn’t fared so well. Normally, the flight suits were able to provide some protection against fire, but for some reason (maybe the heat intensity or just an issue with the suit) it hadn’t stopped the flames from burning through to your skin. Large sections of your flight suit were burned away, and Rooster could see your scorched skin poking through. Some places didn’t look too badly damaged, yet others looked severely blistered and bright red. Your hands were the worst since your fingerless gloves had offered your fingertips absolutely no protection. They were swollen, puffy, and red with nasty-looking blisters running all across each finger. He couldn’t imagine how much pain you must be in at the moment, and it had all been for him.

“Mav,” he called into his coms, his voice breaking even as he struggled to remain calm. “I found her.”

“Jesus, Rooster. I told you to let a rescue team come for her. There’s nothing you can do in a single-seater plane, and you just put yourself in more danger.” Maverick sighed, “But you’re there now. You need to try and find someplace the two of you can hide until help can arrive.”

“I-I don’t know if I should move her. She’s hurt and it’s…. it’s bad, Mav. I don’t…. she’s alive but unconscious and she’s burned really badly. I’m guessing 2nd, maybe borderline 3rd degree burns in some places.”

Mav swore under his breath. “Are you at least in a place that is somewhat hidden from above?”

Rooster looked around. “Not really. I found an old service road to land on about a quarter-mile from where she fell. She’s in the middle of a bunch of trees but that area is still pretty open.”

“Okay. I know it might be tough to move her, but you need to get farther into the tree coverage and as far away from your plane as you can. We’re trying to figure out a way to get her out of there so just sit tight and be safe.”

“Got it. But Mav….. hurry.” As the coms fell silent, Rooster knew the planes would soon be out of range. The two of you were on your own.

Glancing down at you, Rooster thought about what Mav said about finding cover. So, he grabbed your arms as carefully as possible and began to pull, planning on carrying you to a safer location. Instantly, however, you let out a blood-curdling scream as you bolted upright, your eyes snapping open. Rooster glanced down in horror to see the bone in your arm practically breaking through your skin. As carefully as he could, he eased your bone back into place and you collapsed back against his arm, panting heavily with your eyes once again closed. Rooster wasn’t sure if you had slipped back into unconsciousness or not. Gently, he lowered you back down into the snow and ran his hand soothingly across the strands of hair sticking out from your helmet as he muttered, “I’m sorry, Bee. I didn’t notice your arm. I’m so sorry. It’s okay…. You’re going to be okay…”

You were now shivering harder, the look of agony still screwed across your face. But you slowly opened your eyes, giving them a few seconds to focus through the pain. When you finally recognized the man in front of you, your lips twitched upward just the slightest bit.

“Rooster…..” His name was little more than a breath on your lips, but a surge of relief roared through his chest at the sound.

He trailed the back of his knuckles across your cheek, and you gently leaned into his touch. “Yeah. Yeah, Bee, it’s me.”

Slowly, you moved your lips a few times as if working up the strength to speak. But eventually, you managed to croak out, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Rooster grinned, “I’m here to rescue you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a bang-up job so far.” You moaned again as you shifted your arm. “Fuck!”

“I’m so sorry, Bee! I was so focused on your other injuries, I didn’t see your arm. How bad is it?”

“Bad,” you said weakly. “But at least the burns are mostly numbed from all the snow. Now it’s just a mild agony instead of a living hell.”  You tried to flash him a small, playful smile, but it just ended up a pained grimace.

Rooster stared down at you with tears in his eyes as he ran his fingers across your skin at the edge of your helmet. “Why did you do this? Why did you take those missiles for me? You could have died. You almost did.”

“Couldn’t lose you. Saw ‘em heading for your plane and…. Didn’t think, just did. Like Mav said.” Your words were growing heavy as if each one was a struggle to pass from your lips, but your gaze seemed more focused than before. “I couldn’t- couldn’t watch you die.”

“But you think I could watch you die instead? Because I can’t. For those few minutes when I thought you’d….. I hadn’t felt that kind of pain, that kind of fear since my mom died. Don’t you get it? Bumblebee, I-”

But before Rooster could finally admit to you how he felt, a plane roared directly overhead. Rooster threw himself over you, careful not to put pressure on your wounds while still protecting you from the threat above. His face was now hovering directly above yours, your lips now just mere inches from his. Despite the apparent danger, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them.

Leaning in slowly, he whispered once again, “Bee, I-”

“Sounded like ours.”

Your observation snapped Rooster back into focus. “What?”

“The plane. It was a Hornet. Know that sound anywhere,” you said softly, your lips so close Rooster felt the air shift as you spoke.

Reluctantly, Rooster dragged himself away from you and glanced towards the sky. After a moment, the plane flew by again and he could see you were right. It was one of your team’s F/A-18s. But this time it came in lower and slower as if it were coming in for a landing. Right around the spot Rooster had landed…..

“I think that’s our ride.” Rooster glanced down at you, still slightly shivering on the ground. “Do you think you can walk if I help you?”

You shook your head slowly. “Roo, I’m barely hanging on right now. I can’t….”

You struggled to explain but Rooster hushed you, “Shhh. It’s okay, I get it. Don’t worry, I’ll carry you. But…. It’s a little bit of a hike and it’s going to hurt. Do you think you’re up for it?”

“Do what you have to,” you mumbled, eyes drifting closed slightly.

Rooster nodded before sliding his arms under your back and knees. Already, you were flinching at the movement, but Rooster knew things were about to get a lot worse. “Okay, on the count of three I’m going to lift you up. If you feel like you’re going to pass out, don’t fight it. Just let it happen. If you’re unconscious, hopefully, the pain won’t be as bad. Are you ready?” After a small nod from you, Rooster took a deep breath. “One…. two….. three!”

This time as he lifted you, you managed to hold back your screams, yet Rooster could see the pain radiating through your body. Your eyes screwed shut tightly and the muscles in your neck tensed as you clenched your teeth forcefully together. Rooster could see your fingers involuntarily trying to grip at your flight suit which only added to your pain as your swollen, burned joints attempted in vain to bend.

Rooster finally got you settled into what seemed like a comfortable position, and you collapsed against him, all the tension leaving your body as if whatever strings had been holding you rigid were suddenly cut. Your head, heavy from still wearing your helmet, rested against his shoulder as you gasped heavily trying to catch your breath. Eventually, your breathing returned to somewhat normal, and Rooster saw your thumb twitch upward in a poor attempt at a thumbs up. Without a word, he started his trek back to his plane.

As he approached the road about five minutes later, he saw the two-seater F/A-18 had just landed on the same service road as him, stopping a few hundred feet behind his plane. When the canopy swung open and Rooster recognized the pilot inside, he slowed to a stop in disbelief. “Hangman?”

The blond grinned as he undid his harness and took off his helmet, before dramatically jumping to the ground. “Good afternoon, ladies, this is your savior. Welcome to your direct flight the hell out of here.”

Slowly, Rooster began approaching the plane once more. As he drew closer, he could see the moment Hangman got his first real look at you. The cocky grin slipped from his face as it went white as the snow around him and he whispered, “Jesus.”

Rooster just nodded, knowing if he tried to open his mouth right now, he wouldn’t be able to hold back the sob that was threatening to tear from his chest. On the walk here, you had moaned and cried out in pain every hundred feet or so as your burned skin brushed up against Rooster or your arm shifted positions slightly. He had silently prayed that you would slip back into unconsciousness, but neither one of you had been that lucky. So now, he just walked past the stunned Hangman and over to the plane as he tried to keep from breaking down.

However, as he approached the ladder, he realized he had a problem. He couldn’t climb up to the cockpit with you still in his arms. But before he could figure out what to do, he felt a soft nudge at his arm.

“Here, hand her over while you climb the ladder then I can pass her up to you.” Hangman offered out his open arms. Rooster eyed them for a moment, reluctant to let you leave the safety of his embrace. However, as much as an asshole Hangman could be, he knew you would be safe with him, especially for just the moment it would take him to climb up.

So, as carefully as he could, he eased your trembling form into Hangman’s arms. You let out another low moan as your eyes flickered open, and it took a moment for you to be able to focus on the man now holding you. But once you did, your lips curled up slightly as you realized who it was. In a hoarse whisper, you said, “Hangman. Thanks for not living down to your name…. for once.”

The pilot grinned. “Yeah, well, we never definitively established which one of us is the better pilot and I wasn’t going to have people say I won by default.”

You chuckled weakly as you croaked out, “Think this’ll give you an advantage, think again. I’ll be back kicking your ass in no time.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Rooster cleared his throat as he reached the top of the ladder and Hangman’s eyes darted towards him. Once again, you were passed between the men, resulting in more moans and groans of pain. But Rooster managed to lift you into the backseat of the plane and get you settled in.

As he carefully buckled you into the harnesses, your eyes flickered to his. Struggling to speak, you managed to whimper, “Thanks for coming for me.”

He leaned his head against your helmet. “You saved me first. And I couldn’t just leave you out here alone.”

“Roo…. I-” But you faltered as you tried to get the words out, your breathing slowly becoming more and more ragged.

Rooster smiled softly as he attached the spare oxygen mask to your helmet and positioned it over your mouth, silencing your attempts to speak. “It’s okay. You can tell me when we get home. Just…. rest. We’ve got you from here.” You nodded softly and closed your eyes.

As Rooster dropped back to the ground, Hangman leaned in and murmured, “I didn’t realize it was that bad. She’s gonna need some serious medical attention and fast.”

“Yeah, I know. So, you need to fly as carefully as you can. She’s hanging on at the moment, but I’m afraid what high Gs or trick moves might do to her. In addition to the burns, her arm’s broken and there might be more broken bones or internal injuries. I’ll cover you the whole way so if there’s any trouble, let me handle it first.”

Hangman thought for a minute then shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

Rooster stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean ‘you don’t think so’?”

The other pilot gestured to the plane you were currently strapped into. “You take that one, bring her home safely. I’ll cover your back in your plane.”

“Are you sure? You’ve already done enough seeing as you didn’t even have to be here. The single plane is going to have to provide offense and defense for the other one, meaning it will be at the most risk. I can’t ask you to do that. I’m the one who insisted on coming back for her.”

“Yeah, and we both know why you did. We all heard you over the coms earlier.” Rooster’s face grew bright red as he realized everyone had heard him confess his love to you before your beacon had turned on. But instead of teasing him as expected, Hangman just said, “Face it, you’re not going to be able to focus if you can’t keep an eye on her yourself. Besides, out of the two of us, I’m the only one who has a confirmed air-to-air kill so I’m the better choice for this. And most importantly….. she needs you right now, Rooster, not me.” Rooster still eyed him skeptically, until Hangman finally threw up his hands in frustration. “Fine. I also hate flying the two-seaters. The balance just feels off and I don’t feel like I have enough room. So, if letting you fly her back means I get the single-seater, then go for it!”

That sounded more like the Hangman he knew. Yet, Rooster saw the way he looked at your broken form. Despite his often selfish or self-centered attitude, deep down Hangman was a good guy and right now it seemed he was willing to give any excuse necessary to get Rooster to take the two-seater like he knew he wanted. So, Rooster just nodded his thanks and climbed into the front of the plane you were in.

As Rooster settled in and began examining the control panel, he heard your voice coming weakly through the headset, “Rooster…. Don’t worry ‘bout me. Do what you can to make it out of this.” He tried to protest but you cut him off. “You’re the pilot. Something happens to you, I’m done. Least one of us needs to make it. So, do what you have to… Make it back…… Make this pain worth it………” Your voice trailed off and Rooster thought you had passed out again. That was until he heard you whisper one final sentence. “And Roo….. I love you too…….”

Rooster whipped around in his seat to stare at you, but he could only watch as your head slumped against the side of the plane. You were still breathing but he was afraid that might not be the case much longer.

He turned back to the controls as he started the plane up, but his mind was solely on your last words. It wasn’t just that you said you loved him, it was that you loved him too. Had you heard his confession over the coms before your beacon turned on? Had you been able to figure out what he was trying to say out in the woods? Did you notice how he leaned in for a kiss just before Hangman’s plane had shown up? And, however you knew, were you just saying what you thought he needed to hear right now? With a sigh, he started easing the plane forward, praying that he would get the chance to ask you these questions.

Luckily, the ride back had been smooth thanks to Maverick and the rest of the team. They had circled back and provided extra air support in addition to Hangman so even when a few Su-57s had shown up, Mav and Hangman were able to take care of them without Rooster having to take evasive maneuvers. When he had landed on the deck and opened the canopy, he had been met with a respectful silence. All the men and women working on the deck who usually would have been celebrating and cheering had just stood silently as Rooster unbuckled your harness and lifted you down to Hondo. Without the plane’s oxygen, your chest had been scarcely rising anymore, and your body was completely limp. After he quickly climbed down, Rooster had taken you into his arms once more and quickly, solemnly carried you to the medical bay.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, he heard a cheerful roar coming from the other side as Hangman’s plane landed. And even now as he sat outside your room as the doctors worked on you, he could hear the celebration still going on above him. But they should be celebrating. The mission had been a complete success and the target had been destroyed. And yet, how was he supposed to be happy about that while you lay here fighting for your life?

A few hours later, one of the doctors emerged and filled him in on your condition. They had treated your burns as best as they could at the moment, but you were going to need further care and probably a few skin grafts back on shore. But they had managed to set your broken arm and you didn’t seem to have any other broken bones. You were awake and asking for him, so the doctor led Rooster into your room.

Rooster was amazed at how much better you looked compared to when he had been rushed out of the room. Your burns were covered in gauze and bandages and there was a cast running from your wrist to your elbow on your left arm. But your eyes were wide open and there was a huge smile on your face as he walked in. “Roo! There you are!”

Rooster eyed you suspiciously. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay. I’m fantastic! Whatever pain meds they have me on at the moment are amazing! I barely feel anything at all. ‘Course I’m also seeing two of you right now but…” You giggled lightly and Rooster couldn’t help but smile as he settled into the seat next to your bed.

“The doctor told me your prognosis. It’s not great, but at least they don’t think you’re in any serious danger anymore.”

“All because of you.” You laid your thickly wrapped hand over the top of his.

Rooster shook his head. “No, it’s like I said before. I was just repaying the favor. You were only in this position because you risked your life to save me. So, thank you.” He gazed into your eyes for a long moment before sighing. “Bee….. did you hear me on the coms right before you turned your beacon on?”

The goofy grin on your face dropped. “Oh, God. Was I not supposed to? I-I thought…. Yeah, I heard you. It’s what gave me the strength to fight through the pain and turn on the beacon. Because I-I had to tell you…. But what are you saying? Did you just tell me that in the heat of the moment? Did you not really mean it?”

“No! No, I mean it.” Rooster took your hands gently in his, careful not to put too much pressure on them. “I just… I wasn’t sure if that was why you said…. If you really meant…”

The smile returned tenfold to your face. “Yeah, yeah, I meant it too. It’s why I did what I did. It’s why I would die for you. I love you, Rooster.”

“I love you too, Bumblebee.” Rooster leaned in to press his lips against yours, but you stopped him.

“Roo, I want to kiss you, so bad. But, um, do you think we could wait?”

Rooster felt slightly hurt but said, “Yeah, sure. Can I ask why?”

“I really want to remember our first kiss as something special. However, at the moment, I don’t think I’m going to be able to recall any of this once the meds wear off. Including this entire conversation.” You looked at him sheepishly.

Rooster shook his head and gave you a teasing half-smile, “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to remind you how much I love you. Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Until you never forget it.”

You grinned. “That sounds like a great idea. But you know, I am very forgetful. It might take a long time to get that message to stick.”

Leaning over, Rooster placed a soft kiss on top of your head. “As long as it takes, and for every day after that.”

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[epigstolary]

Big Deal

TW: Medical treatment and discussion of health issues.

Look, I get that you think I need to lose weight. I’m not oblivious. I’ve seen the worried looks you think you’re hiding when I ask you to bring me a fourth portion, or when you have to tell me you couldn’t find the shirt I wanted in a 9xl. I get it. But I really do think you’re making way too big a deal out of it.

Especially when you’re the one who helped me get to this size. I remember a lot of messages from you, back when I was still under 300, about how big you were going to make me, how you didn’t have any limits, how you’d love to see me get immobile and have nothing to do but eat and get even fatter. You pushed more than your fair share of cookies and doughnuts down my throat while you were fondling my growing belly; and you were perfectly happy to explore the rolls and folds spreading over my lap while you were making sure I had chips and soda and plenty of empty calories within reach to grow them even more.

And I’m sure you’ll remember, you certainly didn’t seem to worry about me or my health during my early gains. Where were your objections to me picking up the gainer shake habit, lounging on the couch drinking a two liter of the stuff for an entire weekend? I definitely don’t recall any. In fact, all I remember is how horny you were to see me starting to struggle under my new weight, carrying around a paunch that was hanging lower down my bulging thighs by the day, hauling around a growing ass that was straining my jeans more and more as time went on. I think you even told me how sexy it was when I started getting red-faced doing minor chores around the house, how your chubby little piggy didn’t need to worry about getting out of breath — that all it meant was I’d been doing my job of eating and resting very well.

But I could tell you were getting worried once my hips and thighs were too wide, the fat covering them too thick and bulbous, to fit in the passenger side of your car anymore. Once it started to become genuinely hard to find any clothes I could literally fit into, let alone look good in. Suddenly, there was a lot less food around a lot more of the time, and a lot less talk about how wonderful I’d be as an immobile blob. Instead, you started talking about going on walks together — walks! As if you were actually interested in my fitness all of a sudden. And as if there’s any chance of me hauling these hundreds of pounds of blubber and cellulite, this belly hanging down to my knees and crowned with two plump tits, any further than the driveway. We both know I’m not walking anywhere — waddling, more like — unless there’s a buffet at the end of the trip. Someplace I can settle down on a couple chairs, pull down my elastic waistband to give my belly overhang some desperately needed relief, and have you bring me about ten plates of food so I’ll have the energy to haul all this thickness back to the car.

And yeah, I know what the doctor said. I need to exercise more and eat way less. “All the weight puts you at high risk. Heart attack and stroke is only a matter of time. Blah, blah, blah.” He’s been saying all that since I was 250 and he wanted me to get a gastric bypass to cure my sinus infection. You know these doctors are all fatphobic and won’t even think about anything else once someone’s the least bit overweight. You never hear him talking about how my bad cholesterol hasn’t gone up hardly at all since I broke 400, or how my blood sugar is still barely prediabetic, do you? Nah, he just can’t stand to see a fat person prove him wrong by not being on the verge of having a coronary. He’s probably disappointed that I’m still able to get around at this size, instead of stuck in a hospital bed getting lectured by someone like him about my poor choices every day.

What’s the matter, are you uncomfortable now that you have to deal with the reality of a partner who’s over 700 pounds? Now that you have to grasp my forearm flab and heave backward to help me get up any time I need to get out of bed or off the couch? Does it make you self-conscious that whenever I walk or move or stand, I can’t help but breathe in raspy heaves with the effort of maneuvering more bulk than most people could ever hope to carry? That I’m going to make us the center of attention wherever we go? That the same people judging me for going out in public with fat hanging out of the biggest clothes I can find are probably judging you too for allowing it to happen? If I can handle strangers staring at me and whispering to each other about how a person like me can “let themselves go” so badly, you can sure as hell suck it up and help me get around.

So skip the lectures, the hand-wringing, and the bullshit about being concerned about my health that’s probably in the back of your mind. This is what you signed up for. You wanted a fuckable lardpile of your very own to keep blowing up, and that’s exactly what you got. Sorry it’s not the consequence-free orgy that I guess you were expecting, but it takes a little work to maintain a body like mine. And anyway, deep down under whatever angst you have about our situation, I know you still want me ballooning over a half-ton. Splayed out in bed, arms and legs too swollen with fat to move, belly flowing out past my knees, anchored in place by a massive ass with nothing to do but gorge and try to keep myself entertained. You can’t help wanting it, can you? Whatever worries you may have about where things are going with me — I can see your eyes light up just at the thought of it.

Now, how about you clean up those McDonald’s wrappers, get me a refill of my Coke, and pop a couple of those frozen pizzas in the oven so I can get started on lunch. Sound good? And bring me a couple aspirin, too — I think I pulled the muscle in my shoulder again…

[ecoamerica]

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