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tirfpikachu · 2 months

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here's the thing. and i'll use trans speak for this. afab ppl's connection to their afab-typical bodies, with bio breasts and bio vaginas, will never be the same connection as the one transfems have with their hrt breasts and surgical vaginas.

this is a neutral statement, one isn't better than the other to me. so hold on, i just wanna explain

people who grow up without seeing people like them, who have their body type, get breasts and be oppressed for it, and who in turn grow breasts in puberty, those afab people have a relationship w their bodies that amab people simply do not have. a transfem person is excited for breasts, even a trans teen told "omg kid you get to go on hormones and grow those too someday!!" does NOT have an afab experience w breasts (or vaginas, with bottom surgery). afab feelings about their growth of breasts are complex as fuck since childhood as a thing you just cannot escape, at times excitement but also usually involves fear, fear of men, fear of this random growth that "makes you a woman" (and you've been told since a young age by society that women are bad, weaker, dumber, and have gross or usable bodies) and the fear of having seen older people with breasts be treated like garbage all around you... it can make afab puberty traumatic, while transfem hormone puberty is a celebration and seen as a miracle, beside some nervousness. same with how transfems view their surgical vaginas vs how afab people do, it's radically different. this is why transfem ppl will never truly understand afab experiences. and the reverse, of course, is true as well.

the way afab ppl's eyes view breasts is simply different. for amab people growing up breasts are exotic, unusual, something their natural puberty will not include, and they're often encouraged to fetishize and sexualize them by fellow amabs, including creepy grown amab ppl (usually, but not always, cis men) making misogynistic jokes about afab bodies to young cis boys & young transfems. transfems were in the not-afab camp, and knew they were safe from that bullshit, even if they sympathized with or even wanted to join the afab camp or were bullied for being afab-like

even if they later transition to get boobs as well, and eventually normalize their view of it, it doesn't change that breasts will always be a foreign thing on an amab body, an addition, and i say this neutrally, not to say that amab breasts are lesser. that's just a totally different relationship than the one afab women and afab ppl as a whole have (or have had) with their breasts, and their vaginas too, with unique oppression linked to periods and potential impregnation and pregnancy and all these crazy things afab bodies do that amab ppl, transfem included, will never truly understand. most transfems also haven't had bottom surgery statistically speaking, and with that comes the ability to penetrate with genital pleasure (unlike afab ppl who can only penetrate w fingers and objects, and transmasc bottom surgery afaik isn't the same) and often ability to impregnate. those are risks! risks that afab ppl grew up fearing! most transfems aren't creeps, but they have abilities to do so that afab ppl simply do not have, we should keep that in mind!

and that is why amab people being in any afab spaces where nudity is involved, even partially such as bathrooms, will always be an uncomfortable situation for many if not most afab women, and often transmasc people too, and some post-op transfemmes as well who do not have a penis anymore and relate more to afab struggles. and even if turns out everybody can coexist in the end in nudity rooms, afab worries matter! afab ppl should not be shut down the way they are right now. it should be a nuanced issue

yet instead of respectful discussions talking about compromises afab people are all told to change our conditioning, to totally ignore amab conditioning, to act like transfems are exactly and have always been exactly like afab people and there's no particular risks or power imbalance. and we're threatened w the label of bigot and being shunned and lose all our friends if we still have concerns. not even outright refusal or hatred, just worries and questions and requests!! but nope, that's being bigoted terfy bitches, or naggy theyfabs, just bc we're not accepting right away (DESPITE GENDER NEUTRAL ROOMS BEING AN OPTION AFAB PPL HAVE ALWAYS BEEN OPEN TO) that is seen as just as bad as racism and ableism and afabmisogyny, if not worse. usually worse. bc transmisogyny is always seen as WAYYY worse than the kind only afab ppl face, to the point where afab ppl don't even need to be seen as a uniquely oppressed class nor allowed to have their own boundaries. it's ridiculous

#lay text #tirf #trans #transfem #transmasc #transandrophobia #radfem #radblr

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batbeato · 21 days

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I've talked briefly before about intersex Sayo, but... There's a lot you can read into regarding her relationship with her intersex status and with the perisex expectations she grows up with.

(This post reads Sayo using an intersex lens, as their experiences are analogous to real-life intersex people and can be seen as a metaphor for them, even if Sayo is never confirmed to have been born intersex.)

Sayo grows up with all sorts of expectations centered around the perisex 'AFAB' body: she will have a feminizing puberty, she will develop hips and feminine fat distribution, she will grow breasts, she will have periods, she will be capable of having children. But it goes beyond that - these are not only expectations Sayo has for herself, but expectations that society has for them, as well. People raised as girls are told that breasts and hips and fertility and vaginas will make them attractive to men, defines them as women, and makes them valuable - and thus the inverse is also the case: that without these things, they are not attractive to men, they are not women, and they are not valuable.

This equivalization of sex to gender means that Sayo, as they grow older and do not experience the perisex puberty promised to them, begins to feel unattractive, de-gendered, and worthless. This feeling only grows, and culminates in their self-definition as 'furniture', once they realize that they not only will never experience perisex puberty, but also will never be capable of reproducing. They say that "this body... isn't even capable of love" - "love" as is defined by the capacity to perform (heterosexual) sexual acts that can result in procreation. This can also indicate that Sayo wasn't physically capable of receiving vaginal penetrative sex. If Sayo was born perisex and AMAB (my personal preference), their vagina was surgically created. It may not be capable of pleasurable intercourse, or may not be able to fit a penis at all (or at least, without further procedures, such as dilation). If Sayo was born perisex and AFAB, their injuries and subsequent surgery may have resulted in a similar state for their vagina: one where vaginal penetration is painful or impossible.

(I personally believe Sayo to be AMAB, owing not only to the "man from 19 years ago" but also to Lion's status as the heir and more masculine-leaning presentation, something that would likely have been discouraged or looked down upon if Lion had been AFAB. I also lean towards it because of how AFAB Sayo/Lion has been used in the past to deny and discredit Sayo's trans identity and to enforce cishet norms onto Beatrice/Battler's and Will/Lion's relationships.)

Regardless of Sayo's assigned gender at birth, Sayo, both before and even moreso after the reveal of their past, felt unattractive, degendered, and desexed. In their attempts to claim identities that conformed to the allopericishet patriachy they grew up in, they lived their life as Shannon, Kanon, and Beatrice.

Shannon represents the ideal femininity: she has large breasts, she is submissive, and she is kind and emotionally mature. Beatrice's body, much like Shannon's is sexualized - blonde, blue eyes, large chest, all for the sake of feeling attractive - though she is allowed to express non-feminine behaviors so long as she is not made visible to anyone. Through Shannon and Beatrice, who are both imagined to be perisex ideals, the intersex Sayo is able to reclaim her sexuality, though fear of being sexless remains.

In EP2, Beatrice taunts Shannon with how animalistic the desires of men are - "the black-as-tar lust of that glasses man behind you", "men are flies and maggots that get caught in your scent and gather around you". I believe this is a combination of things: fear of sexual assault, as her mother and potentially grandmother were assaulted; shaming of her own sexuality and desire to be seen sexually; and an affirmation that she is, in fact, sexually desirable. Beatrice, in saying that Shannon is an object of sexual desire, no matter how negatively framed, is affirming that if Sayo presents as a cis perisex woman, she is able to become attractive. She is able to escape being the sexless, genderless 'thing' she feels that her intersex status makes her.

In contrast, Kanon, who is masculine, is not ideal: he does not have large muscles, he is not emotionally mature, and he is effeminate. He is a man, but he is also not one who would be valued in the patriarchal society due to his lack of 'proof' of manhood (in strength, in sexual conquest, in appearance, in partaking in toxic masculinity). He is the closest Sayo comes to acknowledging their status as intersex and gender non-conforming - as someone who does not neatly fit into the biological sex binary or the constructed cisgender binary. And he is the persona who does the "dirty work" that stained his soul long ago, the persona who takes no active action and instead denies Jessica's affection, the persona who does not present himself as a sexual being at all.

The most we have is when Kanon takes out his blade in front of Jessica in EP2: the innuendo there is that he is exposing his status as furniture - his (intersex) body, and (intersex) genitalia - to her. He is displayed as a heroic knight who protects Jessica, thus reinforcing his masculinity (men and the masculine as the protecting force for the frailer, feminine idols). Only in Sayo's fantasies can their intersex body "pass" and fit into the cissexual ideal.

So Sayo finds their sexuality in presenting as perisex: their 'true' intersex self, disabled and degendered and desexed, is hidden away and removed from the perfect Golden Land.

I believe many intersex people can resonate with Sayo's feelings: sometimes to be intersex is to be hypersexualized, to be seen as "having both". But to be intersex can also mean to be degendered, desexed, and othered. It can mean that you are not seen as, or do not feel like, someone capable of being an object of sexual or romantic desire. Our genitals and non-conforming sexual characteristics are "freak shows" that need to be "fixed" for us to be "normal" and to engage in heterosexual relationships, and those efforts to "fix" us may only increase those feelings of being degendered, desexed, and othered.

For me there is something that I deeply relate to in Sayo's perception of their (analogous to) intersex body, and in their attempts to present as perisex in order to "fix" what is "wrong". But in the end, even Kanon, the most unlovable, intersex persona of them all, is loved in the Golden Land.

#umineko #umineko no naku koro ni #umineko spoilers #yasuda sayo #sayo yasuda

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decaying-words · 1 month

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Ambrosia

All chapters Edward Nigma x Reader • 18+ Explicit • 2.7k words TW & tags: Dubious consent, oral sex, broken mind AO3 • All my stories

"Muscles tense and roll under his fatigued and sun-deprived skin, his mouth contorting viciously resembling an enraged snake as he hurls abuse, his voice loud and penetrating, surgically detaching each and every single syllable he uses as if they were ammunition.

He won’t look at me."

Ambrosia

Muscles tense and roll under his fatigued and sun-deprived skin, his mouth contorting viciously resembling an enraged snake as he hurls abuse, his voice loud and penetrating, surgically detaching each and every single syllable he uses as if they were ammunition.

He won’t look at me.

Edward never looks at me when he’s furious with my work, its quality paling in comparison of his own; and he never misses an opportunity to remind me of my weaker position, towering over me with words I haven’t tamed, with expressions I haven’t grasped the meaning of, taking great pleasure, I am certain, in signaling his superiority.

Edward never looks at me and it’s a shame, I say to myself, caressing the dream of his green eyes finally laying on me if only once, be it in a sneer and with disdain, as long as I can penetrate his gaze and contemplate all that he represents. His mercurial temper is nothing compared to my burning desire to be seen and acknowledged; if only he knew how much I need the pleasure I cannot give myself.

The heavy wrench crashes and ruins the egregious sight of what I’ve created in a final act of an humiliation that is threatening in nature. Perhaps should I feel frightened by the pure vigor and ease with which he manipulates and shatters what he desires, but all I can feel is sheer jealousy for the pile of debris laying inert on the ground, for it must have been considered and witnessed before ceasing to exist.

Loose screws roll aimlessly on the patterned floor, wicked parts of the abomination I birthed; if he turned to me he would see my lips trembling in a sentiment he would believe is fear, and no doubt would he feel pleased and satisfied to hold such power over me. If only he knew that what I feel is not fear but sadness, for I also would flounder and writhe on the ground like a rusty screw if it meant he was the one tearing me apart. Would he look at me then, if I confessed my most intimate desire to become a domesticated object, malleable and disposable? Would he ruin me then, if it meant that my ephemeral existence served a purpose, as insignificant as it may be?

Warm and round tears roll down my cheeks when I mouth quasi aphonic apologies that he repeats in a mocking manner, voice falsely high pitched as a simulacra of my own, and my entire being shivers and trembles at the indignity I endure, knowing this will never be enough to fulfill my needs. Defeated and apoplectic, Edward throws his hands in the air, convinced that even primates at the zoo wouldn’t be such a disgrace, expressing his bitter regret about his precious time, wasted and vanished.

I once thought I was more evolved than a primate, worthy of praise and interest; that was before my ridiculous vanity led me to work for the Riddler, a man I once considered an equal. Was I wrong and delusional.

The day we met was the only time he looked at me, with indifference and contempt; I struggled to hide my annoyance back then, certain that I would walk away the very same day. How foolish of me to think I deserved care and esteem when I was nothing but unqualified. A few weeks of heated arguments was all it took to work on my misplaced pride and the absurd desire to be respected, replaced by a voracious design to please and be noticed.

It came to me that the greatest achievement I could reach was to be nothing short of remarkable; unfortunately for me, Edward Nigma held high expectations of his assistants, and none of them before me were ever worthy of his importance. Even then, I carried in my heart the curious hope to finally be the one to surprise and please him adequately, something I had yet to be successful in. The constant disappointment on his face made me question my own value, until a terrible and abhorrent realization came to me: the strong possibility that he might get tired of me, like he did with the others. I still remember the raw panic I felt the first time I imagined the inevitable, clutching my chest in horror, waking up from nightmares, out of breath and drenched in sweat.

It is the same panic I feel right now when Edward turns his back to me, walking to his desk and glancing at plans discarded there, abandoning me. I cannot afford to be abandoned, not when my sole purpose in life is to contribute to his design, when my entire being was made to serve him; what would happen to me then? I scream in terror and run after him, begging him to forgive me, to forgive my ignorance, promising that I would do better, that I would make him proud this time, just don’t leave me, please.

He pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, and the cruel realization of being a nuisance is unacceptable, intolerable to me. My heart aches and beats frantically in my chest, aquiver with extreme fright, as if spiraling in a second state, every fiber of my mind shrieking and breaking, longing for a word, a reaction, anything showing me that I am not completely forgotten. If only he would punish me, flog me until the flesh breaks and bleeds, asphyxiate me with his bare hands until my face turns blue, then I would know that he showed me mercy and not indifference. I cry harder when his fingers drum on the table, his stern voice ordering me to leave and come back once I’m in an adequate state. My heart, heavy and painful, drops and shatters somewhere in my psyche; he sees in me someone improper , unworthy of being in his presence.

There is nothing glorious or noble about me when I grab the hem of his shirt and force him to face me, his fury now renewed, glaring at my shaking hands and inquiring whether I have lost my mind.

Perhaps I have.

No words could ever describe the respect, the admiration, the love I feel for him, but maybe actions can. I sob pathetically when I drop to my knees in front of him, eyes fixed on his disapproving face, begging for his forgiveness in a voice laced with hiccups and despair. I confess my feelings for him, tell him that I love him, that I would do anything for him, and his expression changes to one of horror and confusion. This is not good enough, I think to myself.

My hands grab the belt holding his pants, he freezes in shock for a few seconds before reaching for my wrists with his impossibly strong hands. The warmth radiates in my entire body; it is the first time he has touched me. My eyes go to his calloused hands, his scarred knuckles, and I cannot help but lay my cheek, wet and burning, against the back of his hand. He spits his incomprehension, questioning my motives, but all I can mutter in response is please, please, please…

His eyes are distorted with a feeling akin to fear, mouth agape, his hands still securely locked around my wrists. I shush him, promise that I will make everything better , and I see him swallow thickly, bottom lip trembling. I press my lips on his fingers like one would worship an idol, and hear him shudder. It is difficult to unbuckle his belt when he’s still holding tight, but the lack of true strength and the absence of protest gives ground for the belief that he does not want to interrupt me. His voice is low and weak, only whispering “This is wrong, this is so very wrong…” as I focus on undoing his pants enough to reveal his plain underwear.

My stomach knots instantly, barely realizing the unique and invaluable position I am in, face merely centimeters away from his crotch. Never have I allowed myself to dream of this moment, having always considered myself as an improper match for him, and yet. My heart is open, swollen with the thought of him, ready to explode, and the only way I can properly show him my devotion is to make him feel as good as he makes me feel for tolerating my presence, despite my flaws and inefficacy. Edward yelps, his hands tightly grasping the desk behind him, tense and nervous, when I bury my face in his crotch, inhaling his scent, strong from a miasma of filth and sweat accumulated over the day, or perhaps even days. I wish I could drink this essence, this odor that is so unequivocally his, I wish I could consume his flesh, his blood and feel him inside of me in a way that nobody else could.

I rub my face on the soft fabric, my face and nose drawing the outlines of his flaccid anatomy, while my eyes are searching for his; unfortunately, his face is turned away, cheekbones flushed and eyebrows knitted together, a fist pressed tightly against his lips. There is a cold look on his face when I breathe in the warm fabric and hum appreciatively, the tip of my nose caressing the still soft flesh of his sex. I wonder if any other of his assistants ever got down on their knees for him. I expect not. I expect to be the only one worthy of worshiping him. The thought pleases me.

My mouth presses chaste kisses over his clothed sex, my lips brushing and tasting his now throbbing flesh. Edward whines softly, akin to a terrorized animal, screwing his eyelids shut, as if ashamed of the fact that he’s getting harder. I feel his length swelling, filled with blood as my lips part around it, my jaw opening to better accommodate him. His smell gets stronger too, slightly saltier as well, and I recognize a wet spot near the tip of his cock that makes me salivate. My tongue drags over his still clothed length up to the constricted tip, tasting the pearl of precum imbibing the cotton of his underwear. Edward mutters a curse, but lets me continue. His turgescent organ reminds me of a heart, engorged with blood, almost beating; and I am the one it is beating for.

Trembling fingers hook around the elastic belt of his underwear, while I cover his bulge in featherlike kisses before I release his perfect sex, now hanging low in front of him. There is a slight protest that I accidentally interrupt with a gasp, completely absorbed and mesmerized by the heavenly sight of his shaft, generous in both width and length, the skin adorning a rosy tint and beautiful protruding veins. His reddening glans is only partially covered by his intact foreskin, looking like a tempting and delicious fruit. The smell is strong as expected, filling my nostrils and remaining safe in my stomach, guarding it preciously. If there is anything else more beautiful and perfect than his cock, I have yet to witness it.

Enough of that , he whispers in a voice that does not convince me. My bruised ego is disappointed that I cannot find neither curiosity nor lust in his voice, but I decide to beat myself up later for wanting him to want me , when all I want to do right now is to show him my unconditional and total devotion.

He exhales loudly when I roll the tip of my tongue on one of his purple veins, looking up at him while his eyes are wandering on the ceiling, carefully avoiding my gaze. He tastes heavenly, as expected; it’s salty and musky, and my eyelashes flutter when I swallow a thin layer of sweat, feeling it slip down my throat and going to my stomach. The way he grabs the metal desk turns his knuckles white, and I cannot help but wonder if it is due to restraint, shame or control. The flat of my tongue laps and cleans his length, tasting every bump and crevice. I am consuming him and making him mine, a prideful and undignified feeling that makes my stomach burn; I am worshiping him and tasting all of his glory, dripping in heavy pearls of milky white precum.

His voice contorts into broken moans when I take the sensitive tip inside of my warm cavity, my tongue pushing back his foreskin; I am the only one who can hear those noises, the only one who can see him coming undone this way, the only one who can give him such pleasure. His hand covers his eyes, occulting his gaze entirely as to hide and conceal his arousal; but his body is infinitely more honest, his hips rocking subtly in a pressing invitation to take him deeper. Of course, I do as he desires.

His length slips comfortably down my throat as I progressively take more of him, until I feel my mouth full of him, encouraged by his canorous voice singing unintelligible praises. All my senses are assaulted, basking in his scent, the taste of him invading me, yet this is not enough, this will never be enough for me. Working my jaw to swallow his cock as deeply as possible, fluids start pouring down my chin. My eyelids flutter, my head bobbing up and down his glory at the measure of his curses, a comfortable heat reddening my face. I love you , I think to myself, closing my eyes.

A gentle pressure on the back of my head, his hand finding its way in my long locks. He guides me clearly, giving me a rhythm that he punctuates with the movement of his hips, crashing his pubic bone against my face. Yelps and moans die in my throat when his pace gets too quick for my scalp, simultaneously tugging and pulling at my hair. I choke on his cock, spit and precum pooling on the ground before he grabs my face completely and forces me to stay still. I open my eyes and search for his own.

He looks at me.

There is a storm in his eyes, a look that is close to disgust and contempt, yet also laced with adoration; a look that brings tears of joy to my eyes. Edward starts rocking his hips while I remain still, accepting him in my mouth. It does not take him long before he vigorously fucks my throat, eyes glued on me, never breaking contact. His expression metamorphoses into something immensely more dangerous, feral and carnal. His shy moans turn into animalistic groans when his hand painfully grabs my hair and he ravages my hole. Look at me , he mouths; and how could I ever stop doing so?

His punitive rhythm is erratic and irregular, his grunts grow louder and shakier, and my heartbeat turns frantic in anticipation for what is about to happen. His pupils are dilated, dark orbs covering most of his green Eden, and I am sinking in them, grasping at this intimate contact.

Finally, I feel him spurting long ropes of cum deeply inside my stomach in a loud groan, I feel his cock throb and spill its last drops of essence, coating the walls of my mouth with his strong taste. I moan in an unhidden pleasure, greedily swallowing everything he offers me, sucking his tender glans until there is nothing left to milk.

When he removes his sex and tucks it back in his pants, I am certain that my face is ruined. His eyes are still on me, now less wild and more relaxed, his hands laying back on the desk, looking for what to say next. His breath is labored and strained, mine is in a similar state.

Thank you , I whisper. Edward cocks a brow but doesn’t say anything, only nodding at me. He runs a hand in his disheveled hair, his chest lifting up and down, then clears his throat. “Go now. I’ll see you tomorrow” is all he responds, finally breaking eye contact and looking away. My heart aches for an unknown reason yet I feel strangely serene, like floating on a cloud.

Tonight, I will be dreaming of him. And in my dreams, he looks at me.

#Edward nigma #edward nigma x reader #edward nygma x reader #edward nashton x reader #the riddler x reader #riddler x reader #fanfic #my writing #Edward nygma #Edward nashton #the riddler

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mylittleredgirl · 2 months

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dear hurtcomfortex author

thank you so much for writing for me! i hope you have fun. i'm very easy to please as a reader and love to be surprised! (i love treats, too!)

there were so many more wonderful tags to choose from (and i completed my sign-up 30 seconds before the bell), so in addition to my sign-up tags, feel free to write to any of my general likes below for any requested ship, or other similar tropes as long as they avoid my DNWs.

❤️‍🩹 hurt/comfort likes: aftermath stories | characters who don't expect comfort learning how to accept it | comforting characters heal themselves through the act of helping | comforting each other while hiding/waiting/in fear | cumulative damage (emotional or physical) | hurt character struggles to maintain their dignity… and ultimately regains it | “i should have been there/been able to stop it” | “i'll stay with you” | kindness tailored to the way a character can accept it | made to watch (or can’t stop imagining) | one hurt physically/one hurt emotionally | platonic physical comfort | shared vulnerability | sexual healing | “the last straw” is something small.

⛔️ DNWs: alternate-setting AUs (law office, coffee-shop, etc; small & large canon divergences are welcome though!) | bashing of other characters or past canon relationships | cannibalism | crossovers (except between series in the same universe, like star trek) | hurt no comfort | non-canon nicknames | non-con between requested characters (dubcon ok) | non-sexual bodily fluids in sex scenes | permanent character death | permanent loss of autonomy | spelling out accents (for human characters) | unplanned pregnancy | zombies or blood-sucking vampires (other canon-typical aliens and cryptids are welcome!).

⚠️ opt-ins for common DNWs: i’m fine with sexual violence being part of the story or backstory (including in childhood), as long as it’s not graphic, not committed by major/recurring canon characters, and doesn’t cause irreparable damage (e.g. not "will always feel pain or fear with sex," has to quit their job, etc). i like second-person POV a lot, as long as the “you” is a canon character. i dnw major character death, but death/grief for other people or animals is fine. i’m also OK with body image issues, canon-typical sexism, infidelity, medical/surgical things, mental illness, miscarriage, and torture.

🌃 Stargate Atlantis 🌃 john sheppard/elizabeth weir (hurt either one or both)

(hurting both wasn't technically an option, but i would welcome it!)

these two are made for hurt/comfort. they're both strong and have been through so many wringers. they're terrible at admitting vulnerability, taking care of themselves, and accepting help from others. i would love to see them support each other (well or clumsily) through canon suffering, brand-new suffering of your choosing, or just a hard day at the office. some interesting tag options for them are the "character planned to die but didn't" option (perhaps elizabeth more than john -- i think he's aware in canon of his protagonist invulnerability), "bad guys made them do it" for a darker dubcon take for them to work through together, and "rehumanization" has canon and metaphorical potential for either one of them. please feel especially free to bring your own ideas for these two -- i have rarely met a sheppard/weir idea i didn't love!

⛑ M*A*S*H ⛑ margaret houlihan & colonel potter (hurt either or both); trapper/hawkeye/margaret (hurt margaret)

i'm now up to season five in m*a*s*h and am so so so obsessed, and especially chewing the drywall about margaret. there's so much wrong with her. there's so much wrong with everyone. truly a show for the ages. there's lots of hurt/comfort potential built into the day-to-day premise -- the long brutal days in a long brutal war, the conditions, the stress, how no one ever has everything they need -- as well as the option for exciting war zone drama. anything from slice-of-life hurt/comfort to dramatic action/adventure would be loved!! i would prefer fic that only includes canon from seasons 1-6, since i probably won't have seen all of the later seasons before reveal time, but that’s not a dnw.

margaret & colonel potter: i loveeee the developing surrogate father/daughter relationship here. it offers so much potential for her to heal and grow, and he has such a soft spot for her in return. i would love to stick them in a little peril to see them get closer -- we know they go together into the villages to do medicine sometimes (and he already got shot once), so perhaps something exciting happens on one of those trips? if you'd rather stay low-key in camp, some emotional support that lets her feel seen or lets him get something back for all the one-way support he offers the others would be lovely.

trapper/hawkeye/margaret: there's so much charged (and horny) energy between them, i can't resist. the times they brought her into their circle (even if reluctantly) were so funny and sweet. i’m happy with any level of ship, pre-ship, or “&” friendship here. i have great love for the ongoing frank/margaret disaster as well, so feel free to include him/that relationship in the story or not however you wish (though if you're using him to hurt her, please keep it within the general canon range of damage -- he should definitely not be the perpetrator in the almost-raped tag scenario up there).

regarding the tags for this show: i genuinely dropped the ball here by not including any tags where trapper & hawkeye caused the hurt they're now trying to resolve, because that would be very in character! if you would like to go that route and make them atone for some of their little crimes, i would love it. even if they’re all friends or lovers now, old habits die hard…

🛸 The X-Files 🛸 john doggett/monica reyes (monica or both hurt); john doggett/monica reyes/dana scully (hurt any one of them)

at this point i was panicking about finishing my sign-up, so please feel free to add extra tags! the x-files excels at generating horrifying ways men and creatures can cause harm, and anything within the scope of what happens to agents in a monster of the week ep in canon is fair game (except dnw zombies or vampires). i love the season nine agents and the variable dynamics of longing and need and trust and friendship between all three of them, and the x-files is at its best when the agents are going all out to protect each other!

the tag i have up there is "both captured," but having just one of them captured and the other(s) panicking/coming to their rescue would also be great, or tending the wounds afterwards. some soft comfort after any canon episode or an original case-gone-wrong would also hit the spot. monica is usually the one offering emotional support, so it would be nice to see that go the other way sometimes!

a prompt i always hope someone will fill is “three agents spend the night snowed in with ghosts,” with the author’s choice whether to interpret it as paranormal ghosts or the angsty figurative ghosts they’re all carrying around.

🛰 Babylon 5 🛰 michael garibaldi/susan ivanova/talia winters (all hurt or hurt talia); lyta alexander & talia winters (hurt talia)

i really, really want talia to survive. i think susan and michael would be the most motivated to rescue her, and lyta would be the most capable of cleaning up the damage.

i love telepathy in babylon 5. psi corps is so deeply fascinating and fucked up. lyta and talia get so used and abused from so many directions, and the more power they gain, the less freedom and agency they have. the two of them have the same backstory of briefly interning with the psi corps, and i have always wondered if they knew each other pre-canon, and how that might have impacted lyta after unmasking talia's alter ego.

DNW exception for this fandom: while i usually DNW unplanned pregnancy, psi corps tortures its people in all kinds of ways, including reproductive control. i'm fine going dark for psi corps stories (non-con, torture, etc is all built into canon!) as long as our characters come out alive and there's some comfort, love, support, and a hopeful ending.

that's it!! thank you again! i hope something here was inspiring or at least not too boring. i will be delighted and so grateful for whatever i receive. enjoy!

#dear author #fic exchange

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rain-element · 1 month

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explain to me why do you want to be a woman i really want to know why your like this???

Just gonna roll these both into one here.

For starters, I'm just gonna make a disclaimer that my experience isn't universal, and each person's interpretation of their own gender is a bit different.

Now that that's out of the way, I think I'll start with a rhetorical question. Have you ever felt like there was an aspect of your body, personality, or emotional state that no matter how much you dislike it, it won't go away unless you make drastic, radical changes to your own life? It's kind of like that. I'm not delusional I promise, I understand very well that I was born a man, but I felt no connection to my identity as one. I hate the way my genitals feel on my body, as if I have some sort of foreign or cancerous growth. Like they're not mine. I've never really cared for the traditional portrayals of "what it means to be a man" (especially because nobody agrees on it).

It's like when you were a kid, and your teachers asked what you wanted to be when you grew up. You probably conjured an image to mind of how you imagined yourself in -say- 20 years or so and who you'd define yourself as. This doesn't have to be a rigid image written in stone, since I'm gonna take a good guess and say you didn't become what you wanted to be as a five year old. Our own perception of who we are and who we want to be changes as we experience life and our environment around us shapes and moulds our feelings.

For me, since I was probably around the age of 12-13 I had an image of who I wanted to be when I was older, and it took me a lot of work to figure out why that was an image of a woman. Quite frankly, even today I don't think there's one explicit "why" for the reason I feel that way, but it's a thought that I've considered very much for the last thirteen or so years. Over time, even the image of who I wanted to be has shifted and changed, but now I'm closer to becoming who I want to be now that I've discovered who I already am.

As for the questions of biology and sex, which I'm sure are on your mind, I'd like to dispel some of the fears that (and pardon me for this) I assume you have on the matter. The issue of being trans for me both is, and isn't a sexual issue. Yes, it directly involves my primary, secondary, and tertiary sex characteristics. The problem, however, is that it's more than just being about genitals, or having sex as a woman, or getting my rocks off in girl's clothes. When I put on a dress, I don't wear it to feel turned on, I wear it to feel happy in my own skin, and I imagine wearing a man's clothes would have the inverse effect on you. I wear it to disconnect myself from the image of a person that I don't want to be.

Obviously, sex (the act, not biological) plays an important role as well, since it directly involves my genitals. I know this isn't universal, but I don't enjoy giving penetrative sex at all. I'm not afraid of getting my "axe wound" bottom surgery either, because biologically a penis and a vagina are remarkably similar in structure. All of us were initially sexless in the womb, first developing female sex characteristics, then developing male ones if the right chromosomes are present. The labia fuses to become the scrotum, the ovaries drop to form testes, and the clitoris enlarges to form a penis. The actual surgical procedures are in a sense reversing this by manipulating the tissue of a penis (for mtf, sorry, I don't know too much about ftm) to more closely resemble and function as a vagina.

I think I'm getting a little carried away with myself though. To be honest, I don't actually want to be trans, I want to be a woman and I'm taking the effort to get there. If there was a magical button I could push that would just turn me into a cis girl, I would. If there was a brand new surgery for creating an artificial womb, or transplanting one, I'd get it. I know many other trans women take pride in their transhood and don't want surgeries, want to keep their penis, don't dress femme and so on and so forth, but personally I don't want to have to live in that transient space between genders, and I certainly don't want to keep being a miserable man

Without um... rambling any further, if you have more specific questions I'd love to answer them.

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getmycosoothe · 3 months

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MycoSoothe USA : How do I get rid of toenail fungus ASAP?

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Traditional treatment methods and their limitations

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The key ingredients and how they work to combat toenail fungus

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Success stories and customer reviews

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How to use MycoSoothe USA effectively

Using MycoSoothe USA effectively is key to getting rid of toenail fungus as quickly as possible. This natural solution offers a simple and hassle-free way to combat this stubborn condition. To use MycoSoothe USA, start by thoroughly cleaning your feet and drying them completely. Apply a small amount of the product directly onto the affected nails using the provided brush applicator. Make sure to cover all areas of the nail and surrounding skin. For best results, it's recommended to apply MycoSoothe USA twice daily – once in the morning and again before bed. Consistency is crucial, so be sure not to skip any applications. While using MycoSoothe USA, it's important to maintain good foot hygiene practices. Keep your feet clean and dry throughout the day, especially after activities that cause sweating or moisture buildup. During treatment with MycoSoothe USA, you may begin seeing improvements within a few weeks. However, individual results may vary depending on the severity of your condition. Remember that patience is key when dealing with toenail fungus. It takes time for new healthy nails to grow in fully, so continue using MycoSoothe USA until you achieve desired results. By following these steps diligently and incorporating MycoSoothe USA into your daily routine, you can effectively address toenail fungus without relying on traditional treatments that come with their own limitations.

Comparison with other toenail fungus treatments

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Long-term benefits of using MycoSoothe USA

Using MycoSoothe USA for the long term can provide numerous benefits for those suffering from toenail fungus. By incorporating this natural solution into your daily routine, you can experience lasting relief and improved nail health. One of the key advantages of using MycoSoothe USA is its ability to target the root cause of toenail fungus. While other treatments may only address the symptoms temporarily, MycoSoothe USA works to eliminate the fungal infection completely, preventing future outbreaks. Additionally, MycoSoothe USA promotes healthy nail regrowth. Its powerful ingredients help strengthen and nourish your nails, leading to stronger and more resilient growth over time. Say goodbye to brittle or discolored nails! Another significant benefit is that MycoSoothe USA is easy to use and non-invasive. Unlike oral medications or harsh topical creams that may have side effects, this natural supplement has no known adverse reactions. Simply take it as directed on a regular basis for optimal results. Furthermore, by consistently using MycoSoothe USA, you can prevent reoccurrence of toenail fungus in the future. This long-term protection ensures that you maintain healthy nails and avoid any further discomfort or embarrassment associated with this common condition.

Conclusion

Toenail fungus can be a persistent and frustrating condition to deal with. Traditional treatment methods often come with their limitations, including potential side effects and lengthy treatment durations. That's why it is important to explore natural alternatives like MycoSoothe USA. MycoSoothe USA provides a safe and effective solution for combating toenail fungus. Its unique blend of natural ingredients works synergistically to address the root cause of the infection while promoting healthy nail growth. With regular use, users have reported significant improvements in their nail health and the elimination of stubborn fungal infections. What sets MycoSoothe USA apart from other treatments is its commitment to using only high-quality, clinically tested ingredients. This ensures that you're getting a product that delivers real results without any harmful side effects. Using MycoSoothe USA is simple and convenient. Just apply the solution directly to the affected nails twice daily, allowing it to penetrate deep into the nail bed where the fungus resides. The fast-absorbing formula takes effect quickly, providing relief from itching, irritation, and discoloration associated with toenail fungus. When compared to other treatments on the market, MycoSoothe USA stands out as an effective long-term solution. It not only targets existing fungal infections but also helps prevent future recurrences by strengthening your nails' natural defense mechanisms against fungi. Don't just take our word for it - countless satisfied customers have shared their success stories after using MycoSoothe USA. They've experienced improved nail appearance, reduced pain and discomfort, and regained confidence in showing off their toes once again! So if you're ready to bid farewell to unsightly toenail fungus and say hello to healthy nails once more, give MycoSoothe USA a try today! Rediscover freedom from embarrassment and enjoy sandal-ready feet all year round.

#mycosoothe #mycosootheusa

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heartofcourage · 10 months

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Space Dust

Then we hear the squeaking tires of a second bed coming to a stop in the corridor. A short time later, Neon Red stands next to us. It's daylight inside here, but the only thing my mind can still perceive in this state is the neon red glow. Doors slam shut twice & all the sounds around us. And yet I manage to see that in the operating room, in front of our bed ends, no daylight can penetrate through the windows, except for a few small rays of light through the wooden columns.

The ventilator beeps every second.

My wrists, my head, heavy as lead, will be taken, cabled & bandaged. One of the two nursing sisters asks the other: >> Shouldn't we at least have told Neon Purple before we started?<< >> What's going to happen? The whole thing is an experiment. Let Neon Purple tell us what she saw on her long journey. Let's finish 'em both before Dr. Sable is back.<< >>All right, the other foster nurse adds uncertainly, with dogs crying in the background, a loud laugh from Dr. Sable & screaming monkeys.<< This is followed by an enormous & deep bang. >>She exploded, that's a nice set of new high-heeled shoes & handbags.<< Dr. Sable whistles down the aisle in our direction. I stopped fighting back a long time ago. Contrary to my ability to speak, I can still hear them all speaking very well. Several heads in light blue surgical caps walk at my foot end, while I stand in the even darker hallway together with Neon Red halfway to our beds. A light breeze is blowing across the corridor. We hear animals cry. Somewhere here*. I try to move my fingertips but my body just feels heavy & lightheaded. Someone shouted something, it sounded like a loud one; No! We're starting to get scared. I briefly think back to point 3 in my contract, which states that this is a human experiment on the spot. My hospital bed is starting to shake & the likes of us are now being wheeled completely into the operating room. White light flashes into my eyes at lightning speed. Through the door of the great, cold room comes the plaintive noise of several dogs. The chief doctor's whistle sounds, which I already knew by heart from his melody:>>Bring Neon Red in & finally close this shitty door. The propofol should have an effect immediately, so that Neon Purple shouldn't notice anything anymore, but one thing's for sure, I'm not inside..<< Dr. Sable is getting closer & closer to mine, his grin is getting bigger & he adds:>>not yet.<< He tries to make his team laugh, holds his hand on his stomach & talks about a little joke. (…)

A heavily pregnant woman looks in the direction of the man who is bullying the horse. The road breaks up audibly, crumbling. In a front door of a row of apartment buildings, there is a young woman, about seventeen years old, her name is Sevi, with black, full & long hair, she waves to us over to her, then she disappears & we walk up the stairwell where she lives, all the way to the top under the roof. Big, fat black flies are flying around in the apartment entrance area & it stinks of decay. It’s all so very dirty & we don’t even know why we’re here anymore. My twin sister says:>> Look there!<< Sevi is standing at the end of the hallway in the apartment where she lives with her mother, waving us back over to her. Garbage is in big bags in every room. She smiles at us. >>We should come in.<< A little girl is sitting at a table, intimidated & full of fear, in front of her a big dog baring his teeth & not taking his eyes off her. It’s Neon Red with tubes in her nose, Sevi is sitting next to her & her mother is in front of them. I know immediately that we can’t stay here a second longer & know again why I’m here. Neon Red is in a coma & needs to be led back, back to life, which she can’t do on her own & I don’t know how long she hadn’t made it this far. I step into the eat-in kitchen with my twin sister, the floor creaks & the dog doesn’t take his eyes off Neon Red. Now he has heard us & rushes towards us, but a heavy iron chain & thick spikes around his neck that press deep into his neck holds him back, he howls & is held by his mother with extreme effort to let us slide onto the bench, we wave him away:>>Neon Red I want to lead you back & I think I should tell you that there is no reason to cling to the edge of the table forever. We have to get out of here because life is waiting for you.<< >>I can’t even think about getting up, if he tried he would jump up & tear me to pieces. >>He wants to do that, but he can’t do that, Sevi says, her mother.<< She swings her dog’s heavy iron chain through the low-ceilinged room, in which fat flies are roused from the windows, only to compete to fly around confused over our heads.<<

Both ventilators are beeping very quickly.

Read More on Tumblr: Office_Buero Tumblr. 👈🏼🖲

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henry-and-the-seven-lords · 3 years

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(u can choose for it to be a hc or anything) the brothers go to the dentist with MC and see the process of her wisdom teeth getting removed

Ok! I actually haven't had mine removed, but I have had similar dental work so I am going to base it on that!

So I got REALLY into this for a few days and then I forgot where I was going with it so it turned into headcannons with a super long intro instead of an imagine... Hope you like it!

Warnings: Mentions Dental work, Mentions Needles, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of surgical procedures

Brothers Masterlist | Datables Masterlist

Brothers Reacting to a Wisdom Teeth Removal

MC had been crying out in pain for the past couple of weeks. They had continually mentioned their teeth or jaw being the source of the problem. The Brothers did all they could in the Devildom, but in the end they decided take MC to the human world to see a dentist.

"Well, it looks like your wisdom teeth are coming in. There doesn't seem to be much room left for them, so I would suggest an extraction." The dentist looked at the x-rays and back to MC who was currently surrounded by 7 scared men.

"Extraction!? Ain't no way you are taking anything from my Hum-," Mammon caught himself, "...MC."

The doctor eyed him suspiciously before going back to the x-rays. Lucifer sighed, "Mammon. He is not taking anything. This is going to help MC."

"Will it hurt?" Beel had made his way through the crowd of his Brothers to talk to the doctor.

"They won't feel a thing while they're under. There could be some aching after the procedure, but as long as it is properly taken care of there will be no complications."

The Brothers breathed a sigh of relief after hearing this.

"I'll go through with it." MC pipes up.

The doctor smiles and says, "Wonderful. You can set up an appointment and get the paperwork at the front desk." He then turned on his heel shutting the door behind him, leaving MC and the Brother alone in the room.

"Are you sure this is the best idea, MC?" Levi's voice shakes as he speaks.

"It'll be fine guys. This is a common human procedure, plus I have all of you to help me afterwards." This seemed to easy their qualms. MC went to the front desk and scheduled the surgery sometime during the next week.

Before they knew it, a week had almost passed and the procedure was to take place the next morning. All of the Brothers were frantically running around trying to prepare until Lucifer finally got their attention.

"I want all of you to listen closely," He stood tall and spoke to his brothers now gather in front of him.

"MC is not allowed to eat anything after dinner tonight. They are only allowed to drink water," Beel's face turned sullen, as MC was usually his partner in crime for midnight raids of the fridge.

"The surgery is said to take two hours," Levi's face lit up at the thought of being home early enough to join his team in game and maybe even have MC assist. Only for it to fall again as Lucifer continued, "But before we come home, we will need to pick up some human pain medicine for when the medicine from the surgery wears off."

Asmo seemed quite intrigued with the mention of shopping in the human world, but his thoughts were cut short when Lucifer added, "And we will not be picking up anything else."

Lucifer sighed before continuing, "I have already made a shift schedule for who will take care of MC when we get home. It is in the center of the table." Satan reached for the paper as Lucifer droned on while Mammon peered over his shoulder.

"I will also be giving you instructions on how to change out the guaze and other things to stay away from." Lucifer gave the stack of packets to Belphie who didn't even take one. He just yawned and passed them to Beel.

"MC will be unable to participate in most activities for at least four days. So put any schemes you have on hold until they feel better. Understood?" Lucifer's words were stern as he glared at all of his Brothers.

"Understood." They all groan in unison.

MC, meanwhile, had taken their seat at the table and has began to fill their plate.

Satan grabs his pamphlet and sits across from MC. He quickly flips through the papers before skeptically looking up at them.

"You are confident that this is safe?" He eyes the human nervously as they swallow their food.

"Sure it can't be that bad. Some of my friends had it done and they're still alive." The brothers look between themselves as they all begin to read the possible outcomes of the procedure.

Dinner ends with everyone but MC and Beel leaving their plates mostly full. Slowly they all go their separate ways to their rooms.

When morning arrives, Lucifer wakes everyone up. He quickly goes through the house and rushes everyone out the door in order forC to get to the human world on time. It takes a lot of effort, but the group eventually makes it up to the office in one piece.

Asmo sits next to MC holding their hand and talking to them, "They better not mess up your face. If they so much as make a wrinkle on your skin. I will personally tear them apart."

MC chuckles, "Asmo. They have to have something to keep my mouth open. Don't be so dramatic."

As MC finishes their statement, their name is called and the group goes back with them.

They watch as the dentist helps MC into the chair resembling a torture device as he talks to them.

"You should be out for about two hours, you didn't eat or drink anything correct?"

MC shakes their head no and the doctor smiles before putting on his surgical mask, "Great! Then let's start the procedure."

The brothers gather around MC gently laying their hands on the human's body as the needle penetrates the human's arm.

"I'll be fine guys... Don't worry... One... Bit..." They watch as MC's head slowly lulls towards them. They look at the doctor in fear only to be quickly ushered out by the nurses.

Thankfully, there was a small room where they could sit and watched MC being worked on.

As they watched horror struck their faces.

💙 Lucifer

He really just trusted the process and had no idea what was going to happen.

So when he sees a tube being shoved down MC's throat he is upset and nearly breaks down the glass.

Then he remembers that MC is doing this to feel better and restrains himself.

But only because MC wants this done.

💛 Mammon

Mammon did not like this idea from the beginning! It sounded to dangerous and no one should be taking ANYTHING from MC (besides him).

Definitely was not happy when he started to watch them cut into their gums and blood started to get everywhere.

Lucifer and Beel had to hold him back so he didn't rampage.

Immediately grabs MC when this is all over and does not let them go.

🧡 Leviathan

Levi thought this would be a quick and easy process because it was only going to take two hours.

So they pull out a tooth and that is it right? Wrong.

He is horrified when he realizes they have to cut the teeth out and sew MC back together.

Why would they agree to something so invasive!? Why is this normal for humans!?

💚 Satan

He did a bunch of research and was the reason they went to a human dentist in the first place.

He knew what the entire procedure would entail and even tried to tell MC that it was pretty intense.

But he wasn't going to go against MC's wishes if they wanted to get it done.

Definitely stepped out of the room when it was happening... He didn't want to see it.

💖 Asmodeus

Asmodeus was fine to do anything that MC agreed with, then he saw them pulling their cheeks back and he got angry.

He was quite upset that they were stretching MC's precious skin! They could get wrinkled! And don't even get him started on the tube in their throat.

He wanted to march into the room and stopped them, but he remembered how much pain MC was in and that they needed to get it done.

He will get revenge later. Right now, he is focusing on MC.

❤ Beelzebub

Beel just wants to make sure MC is safe and feeling better no matter the cost or procedure.

So when he starts to see all the terrible stuff happening, he steps out with Satan to get some snacks.

By the time he comes back full, the procedure is over and he can walk in with everyone else as they wait for MC to wake up.

He did save MC one bag of chips... he was worried about them not eating breakfast...

💜 Belphegor

Belphie would be upset at what's happening, but more upset that he can't be next to MC to take a nap.

He definitely cares about them being safe, but he knows they agreed to it and human procedures are weird so he isn't too worried.

He just wants to take a nap and he needs his human pillow.

He will lean on MC's arm and immediately fall asleep whenever he is allowed in to see a groggy MC.

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pooptartselevator · 3 years

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The Talk

A lot of people grow up with a very specific image in mind when they imagine “the talk,” aka the first time they hear about sex from their parents. For me, it means something completely different-- a curse, actually, one that I can’t escape, one that I have no clue who bestowed it upon me except perhaps faulty genetics.

For me, “the talk,” is having to explain to yet another man my eternal, un-asked for dilemma: I can’t have penetrative sex. You see, I was born with congenital neuroproliferative vestibulodynia-- in layman’s terms, that means that from birth, I’ve had a constant overgrowth of nerve endings in the vestibule portion of my vagina. And while some people probably hear that and think, “Nice! Sounds like a great time!” It’s anything but. When the nervous system receives an overload of feedback, it can actually feel excruciating. The first time I described it to my mother as a 13 year old attempting to insert a tampon, I used words like, “knives,” “burning” “fire,” and “acid.” To make matters worse, I developed secondary vaginismus as a result of the pain; to fear pain means to guard via muscular intervention, and to guard means to be in further pain. Years of nortriptylene, gabapentin, lidocaine, cymbalta, physical therapy, biofeedback, and “miracle cure ointments” that I don’t know how to spell couldn’t save me. In September of 2020, I had something called a vestibulectomy, in which a surgeon removes the vulvar vestibule and advances the elastic tissue of the vagina to essentially replace bad tissue with good tissue. While the surgery was somewhat successful and I can now proudly wear tampons, I find myself faced with the same burden as before... I still can’t have sex. I’m not sure what happened, exactly. A lot of vagina-havers come out of the surgical process pain-free. Alas, witches or God or faulty genes don’t remove a curse that easily. Last night, I had to give the talk again-- this time to a guy I really hit it off with several weeks ago.

“I know this is a really weird mood killer... But like, I just need to spit it out in case this is like a dealbreaker, and I hope it’s not weird.”

“Oh come on, I doubt it, what is it?” He asked encouragingly.

(We had been really amping up the flirting the past several days. It was time.)

“So I have chronic pain.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And from there, I proceeded to tell him pretty much everything I just told you, except I did add in a spicy little, “There are other things I can do.” He listened quietly, giving an “uh huh,” and a nod every now and then. And yet, I could see it on his face-- the disappointment that I’ve become very familiar with throughout years of dating and being dumped or gradually un-touched. I’ll give him some slight credit; he tried masking it behind a, “I mean, that’s alright. Nobody’s perfect. We’re creative.”

I know he meant no harm by the “nobody’s perfect” line. He was trying to reassure me that maybe it was something that could be worked around. But as I laid in bed after our phone call, I couldn’t help but feel pretty burned by that comment. I’m fine just the way I am. I didn’t ask for this. This is not my fault. This is not a mistake I made and now must face consequences for. This is a weird fluke; the definition of “shit happens [in the womb].”

The thing is, I want to be loved for everything I am, not despite everything I am.

I guess I just have to keep looking for it.

#vestibulectomy #vulvar pain #vaginismus #chronic pain #pelvic pain #vestibulitis

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newunreadmessage · 2 years

Text

today is a heartbreak anniversary for me

i've found comfort in writing letters i'll never send to you.

believe me, i've thought about sending them to you so many times.

i've even labored over which combination of words would wound you the most, what might penetrate the thick, stubborn armor you wear to shield yourself from anything remotely resembling culpability, the armor that deflects any word vaguely shaped like criticism and all the words you paint as criticism so that you may dismiss them more easily.

but really these letters will never be sent to you.

first, because i don't actually think you'd understand. i mean, you'd pretend you do, because you'd like to think you understand me, but you never did. you'd pretend you understand, of course, because that's what you think smart and mature and sensitive people (such as yourself, you surely think) do. you always did like to think of yourself as an empath. i'm sure you choose to misunderstand what the word really means, in favor of your idea of it. you were always very good at that. no, you wouldn't understand, you'd misunderstand on purpose so you could walk away unscathed like you always do. ever the self-protector. so what would be the point?

no, these letters are for me. for me to continue the arduous, tedious slog that is dissolving the resentment i feel for you.

i write them to remind myself that closure is one-sided and should not be conflated with "justice". to remind myself that closure will never come in the form of a moment where i deliver a perfect, surgical monologue that shatters you, or a message from you in my inbox pleading for forgiveness that i can gleefully dismiss.

there are no consolation prizes in heartbreak. you don't get a trophy for years committed to the cause. there's no scoreboard that highlights my relationship stats against yours. there are no points for all the unsung effort i put in, all the nights spent thinking about how to save us or whether you'd ever notice we needed saving. i mean, should a system exist, i'd have the better score and still lose.

because the ways in which you broke my heart make it harder for me to fall in love again. the ways in which you broke my heart make me feel more vulnerable, make me wonder how i let my judgment get so eroded, make me fear that maybe i should have settled for you and dealt with the unhappiness, that that was the best i could do. the ways in which you broke my heart have made me lament time lost on you and made me terrified of wasting my time on the wrong person. it made me more comfortable being lonely.

but the ways in which i broke your heart only made it easier for you. the ways in which i broke your heart were like missing a step. you feel a little lurch in your stomach that reminds you oops! ought to be more careful next time.

there is no credit given for time and effort served in a relationship. it doesn't fit on a resume, or in conversation unless i want to come across like a pompous blowhard. you certainly wouldn't bring it up on a first date with someone new. "i actually used to be terrible and selfish and short-tempered, but i'm much better now because she suffered through it for years and had the courtesy of telling me for the eleventy-fifth time when she finally couldn't stand it anymore..."

and that's what makes closure so painful for me. embarrassingly enough, i actually do want a tiny medal for what i went through. i want to be acknowledged for all the times i fell on my sword for you. my unhappiness was so quiet for so many years. all the screaming i did in my head never got released when i left. it got stuck there. it somehow had to become even quieter. i never got the chance to be properly, loudly, publicly mad at you. after all of it, i am still doing that part quietly by myself.

my resentment for you is like a balloon. for so long, i've tied it to a string and that string around my wrist, hoping one day i can pull the balloon close to my chest, stab it with something pointy and watch it burst open. but every day i waste waiting for that impossible outcome is just self-administered poison.

so instead, i've opted for the second best option: i've decided to write a list of all the things i regret doing for you and all the things i resent you for. a list of amends that will go un-amended. i write them here in the hope that the further i push them away from me, the closer i will get to freeing myself from pining for the closure i am denied. that instead of preserving that balloon for a day that won't come, i can slip the string from my wrist and let the balloon float far from me...

i regret that i will never hear you tell our friends that you fucked up. not just once, but at every possible opportunity.

i regret that i never told people how you made me feel until it was over.

i regret not doing so out of fear that it would make me sound mean and immature, and ruin any possibility of keeping the friends of yours that i made.

i resent you for being so blindsided by my unhappiness as if it magically appeared one day and was not, in fact, the result of years of your behavior.

i regret that i was so kind and tender to you when i was so entitled to rage and pain.

i regret that i protected you and your ego because it was tidier and nicer to tell people that we grew apart.

i regret that because of this charity, you've preserved so many friendships with my friends and family, when i'm a villain to yours.

i resent you for all the times you made me feel small because you were the small one and needed to feel bigger.

i resent you for making me feel like my needs were greedy and outlandish.

i resent you for treating my needs as optional whims that would disappear if repeatedly ignored.

i resent you for all the times you felt entitled to my body without making me feel loved. that you were too stupid to understand what my lack of enthusiasm meant, even when i explained it.

i resent you for all the times you spoke down to me in front of people i love and people that loved me.

i resent you for all the times you spoke down to me when no one was around just to keep the habit sharp.

i resent you for believing that, in spite of this, you respected me. how laughable you are.

i resent you for all the comments you made about my body and what you would change about it.

i resent you for repeatedly trying to hurt me on purpose.

i resent you for using me as a punching bag because it meant you could bounce back faster when you felt insecure.

i resent you for all the times you took me and the care i gave you for granted.

i resent you for making me feel like taking care of you was me making bad choices about how to spend my time instead of what it really was: an act of love.

i resent you for only showing me love when it was convenient for you.

i resent you for performing your love for me when we were in front of other people and dropping the act in private.

i resent you for not noticing the ways i tried to make you appreciate me.

i resent you for making me feel like i needed to be someone else, someone smaller and more like you.

i resent you for never ever putting me first, deliberately putting things i asked for at the bottom of your list.

i resent you for acting like all the things you did and liked were very, very important, and the things i did and liked were trivial.

i resent you for making me an angry person.

i resent you for calling me angry when i tried to defend myself.

i resent you for all the times you made me cry and all the times i hid my tears from you.

i resent you for never holding me or consoling me when i did cry in front of you. do you know how embarrassing and intimidating it is to be stared at when you cry in front of your lover?

i regret being too afraid of leaving you years earlier.

i resent you for preventing me from moving on because you didn't want me to.

i resent you for being too much of a coward to ever have an honest conversation with me.

i resent you for sending me mixed messages because it made you feel powerful to have me in squirming your grasp.

i resent you for making promises you always had every intention of breaking.

i resent you for gaslighting me about behavior you willingly participated in.

i resent you for treating me carelessly, like a stranger, when i was most vulnerable.

i resent you for crossing my boundaries because you wanted to.

i resent you for being so unbelievably gross, so tactless, so slimy.

i resent you for being entitled.

i resent you for some of my darkest days and for acting like you didn't know.

i resent you for being too stupid because it would feel really, really, really, really, reeeeeally good to send this to you.

too bad...

big, long exhale.

up, up, and away.

#breakup #heartbreak #closure #letter to you #love #writing #late night thoughts #late night thinking #healing #moving on

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nitewrighter · 3 years

Note

How was Genji's first blackwatch mission? Or.. First time meeting Mccree and Reyes?

Paolo the probation officer kept a leisurely pace behind Genji as he wheeled through Zurich headquarters. Paolo was medium height, dressed in the all-black of Blackwatch with multiple tattoos up his arms. He had a mild south Italian accent and had even politely offered to push Genji’s wheelchair, but Genji could already feel the muscles of his remaining organic arm softening and refused. He felt a little exposed compared to the blackwatch agent, just wearing a gray tee and sweatpants whose empty dangling pant legs had been tied off in knots and folded under his leg stumps. They were only just starting to put him in prosthetics, and he was far from balanced when he wore them.

“So...” Genji gave a glance over his shoulder to Paolo as he wheeled, “You’re in Blackwatch?”

“Eh, just a grunt,” Paolo gave a dismissive hand wave, “I was a security guard at the Blackwatch headquarters in Roma.” He chuckled a little, “Much warmer there.”

“Mm,” Genji fixed his eyes back forward and kept up his roll. He would ask more but a part of him knew he wouldn’t get the answers he was looking for out of Paolo. All those answers lay ahead of him. He was more used to the rhythm of the wheelchair than he would like to admit at this point. They got into an elevator and Paolo leaned in a corner, humming as the elevator descended.

Doesn’t seem very disciplined for a black ops division, Genji thought to himself before the elevator dinged and the doors opened to a narrow hallway with two guards standing next to steel doors in all-black tactical gear. They gave a glance to Paolo, who flashed them an ID card, one of them scanned the card with their comm, returning an affirmative beep, and both gave Paolo a nod before pressing a button on the intercom next to the door.

“Agent Montemurro and Candidate Shimada entering,” said the guard before the steel doors whooshed open.

Candidate Shimada, Genji turned the word ‘candidate’ over in his head as he wheeled into a massive underground office space with multiple monitors all over the walls and orange-ish industrial lights illuminating everything. Here seemed to be a mix of agents and office workers, some in varying layers of tactical gear, some in full armor while others just in black shirts and fatigues, some in business casual, all more or less caught up in their own affairs as Genji and Paolo crossed the space. Genji felt a few eyes on him as he wheeled through, and glanced down at the stumps of his legs self-consciously.

“This way,” said Paolo, walking ahead of him, and Genji could only sullenly wheel after him. He scanned the room, too many bodies for him to remember one face, and so many of them glancing at him, glancing down at him as he wheeled across the floor, but he caught a familiar voice, though he wasn’t sure how it was familiar.

“Nah, the intel from the Sharoy mission says that’s all bullshit. Look, get in touch with Agent Mazur and you should--Oh--hey!”

A tall, swaggering figure in Blackwatch fatigues, a cowboy hat and some kind of black poncho suddenly swung in next to Genji’s wheelchair. He had an agreeable squarish face framed by umber brown sideburns. Genji didn’t recognize his face, but he caught sight of a skull tattoo on his forearm that sparked some blurry memories from the night Hanzo attacked him. He remembered being jostled on a stretcher with that tattoo steadying it before falling into unconsciousness again.

“It’s you!” the cowboy said, chewing on an unlit cigar, “Didn’t think you’d be up and at ‘em this early! Look at you, all wheelin’ around..!”

His voice trailed off in an odd way, as if expecting Genji to pick up the conversation. Genji glanced up at him and slowed in the rolling of his wheelchair.

“I’m sorry,” said Genji, “Do I know you?”

“Heh,” he walked alongside Genji’s wheelchair and tilted back the brim of his hat with his thumb, “Oh I’m nobody. But I was spottin’ the doc that night we took you in. Nearly killed you. Full disclosure.”

Genji’s face scrunched up in some combination of confusion and fury. ‘Spotting the doc?’ What?

“Weird night. Think it worked out, though,” said the cowboy, before giving a glance down to Genji. He held out a hand, “Jesse McCree. Kinda got the same deal you’re gettin’.”

Genji glanced at his hand before looking back up at his eyes.He lifted a hand from his wheels to shake McCree’s hand before returning back to his wheels. “Shimada Genji,” he said in turn.

“Oh I know,” said McCree, chuckling and looking forward.

McCree strolled alongside them until Genji found himself rolling up a ramp leading into a glass-walled office where two men were talking. One was as familiar as McCree was, with medium clay-brown skin with scars that danced as he moved and spoke, and large, penetrating brown eyes that offset the soldierly squareness of his jaw. He was talking to a posh-looking man with an ivory complexion and jet black hair and mustache. Both of their eyes flicked to Genji as Genji, McCree, and Paolo walked up to the door of the office.

The scarred man was the first to notice them and leaned, catlike, across his desk to press a button. The doors slid open and Genji and McCree walked in. Genji gave a confused glance to Paolo, who simply gave him a polite wave as the doors closed on him.

“Genji Shimada? Gérard LaCroix. Blackwatch’s attaché to the UN,” a crisp, bright voice, only slightly softened by a Parisian accent, spoke and Genji’s head swung up to look at the voice’s source. The mustached man was standing in front of him, politely holding out his hand. Genji awkwardly brought his hand off the wheelchair’s armrest and shook Gérard’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Gérard went on.

The phrase, ‘good things, I hope’ seemed to be a really stupid thing to say at this point. “I’ve heard about you as well,” said Genji, hoping he had and had just forgotten about it.

“Ah good to hear. So you have a decent idea of what we intend to do here,” said Gérard.

“Yyes,” said Genji, blankly, then after a beat, he remembered his conversation with Mercy, “You need my help to dismantle the Shimada clan.”

“Among other things,” said the scarred man, pushing away from his desk and walking toward Genji, “Gabriel Reyes. Blackwatch commander. I was also on the recovery team bringing you in.”

Genji sat up in his wheelchair slightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask some questions about that.”

“A lot of the answers to that will likely be classified, but I can answer what I can,” said Reyes, folding his arms.

“How were you watching me and for how long?” said Genji, his eyes narrowing, “You had to be, to know when to swoop in like that.”

Reyes and McCree exchanged wary glances, but Gérard cleared his throat. “If I may?”

Gabriel gave Gérard a ‘go ahead,’ gesture and Gérard straightened the collar of his waistcoat. “For the most part, the UN and Interpol had decided to leave dealing with the Shimada clan up to the NPA, but we feared the clan was becoming prominent enough to garner the attention of the international terrorist organization, Talon. We used a light hand. Only a handful of operatives seeded around the city, gauging the internal structural strength of the clan. They’ve since been extracted. The plan was, initially, to detain you on charges of possession, match the drugs in your possession to those our other busts had recovered worldwide, and drag the clan into the light behind you, doing all this in collaboration with the NPA.”

“You were never planning to recruit me,” said Genji. Something tensed in his stomach. Hanzo had always said he was a liability, would he have taken the whole clan down if Hanzo hadn’t killed him?

“Initially,” Gérard emphasized, “When we found out that the Shimada Dragons might be more than a metaphor, that warranted closer observation.”

“So you’re recruiting me for the dragon,” said Genji.

“We’re recruiting you because we have a shared interest,” said Gabriel, “But as far as what we saw the night we extracted you goes… it would be a waste to let it, and you, rot in a jail cell.”

“…so my choice is either help you or go to jail,” said Genji, flatly.

“Not necessarily,” said Gérard, “And… here’s where we get into the messy legal stuff. You could argue for the case that ultimately your safety was compromised by Overwatch’s interference, that one of the agents we had observing you was compromised. As far as all of Overwatch’s records show, there was no such incident of compromise, but you could legally argue that that occurred and Overwatch or the NPA could provide you with the legal representation to argue that case in court. After all, we couldn’t keep eyes on you 24/7, maybe something happened that we weren’t aware of. If you successfully prove your case, Overwatch faces severe scandal and UN inquiry, but then your case gets handed back to the NPA---”

About midway through Gérard’s long ramble on his legal status, Genji had half-tuned him out, glancing over his shoulder in his wheelchair to look at McCree. McCree was still chewing that unlit cigar, leaning against the glass wall of the office. He gave Genji a smirking, ‘Welp’ shrug, as Gérard went on, and Genji frowned beneath his surgical mask.

“And again,” Gérard was still going on when Genji yanked his attention back to him, “We could provide you with legal representation there, but this is a process that could take months, years, even, given how entangled the Shimada clan’s offenses are with multiple governments around the world. Overwatch would be more than happy to accommodate you in that time, provide you with rudimentary prosthetics. So there is a chance of having all your charges dropped, it’s just… an unfortunately small one through at least half a dozen legal systems and a lot of tedious litigation.”

“But I don’t think that’s what you want,” said Gabriel keeping a steady gaze on Genji, “From what I hear, you’re more than eager to take the Shimada clan down.”

“’s better than my deal, anyway,” said McCree with a huff. Gabriel shot him a glare and McCree just gave him a shrug.

Genji met Gabriel’s big brown eyes. Reyes was right, but he was right in a way that made the smoldering coals of Genji’s own fury blaze up inside him again. He did want this. He did want to take the Shimada clan down, but the idea that it might be for yet someone else’s ends infuriated him. This was his vengeance. No one else’s. And he let that rage penetrate through as he stared at Reyes, but Reyes met his eyes with a resigned calm. A patient, weary look of, ‘Noted. Whenever you’re ready to move on.’ And a part of Genji felt that look should have made him angrier, should have pushed him further in to that fire and darkness, but instead Genji felt his brow crinkling slightly. He realized in that moment that he was not the first person the Shimada clan had hurt. And he would not be the last. It only stung deeper for him because that was his family. But it wasn’t his family any more. And there were a few confused seconds of floundering fury where Genji wanted to cuss Reyes out, wanted to storm out as dramatically as his stupid wheelchair would allow, but he remembered his own words to Doctor Ziegler.

“What do I have to do to see my brother’s head on the ground as quickly as possible?��

“There’s plenty of time to--” Gérard started.

“I’m in,” Genji’s voice was flat.

“Good to hear,” said Gabriel with a casual nod.

“But I want direct involvement with every Shimada clan mission,” said Genji, “Every one. If possible I want to be on the main strike team involved with each mission.”

“...after your physical therapy and psychological evaluations, we’ll do everything we can to--” Gérard started.

“You’ve got it,” said Gabriel, matching Genji’s voice in coldness and simplicity.

Gérard cast a sideways glance to Gabriel but Gabriel met his eyes with the same steadiness he met Genji’s with. Gérard cleared his throat. “But of course,” he said, only some slight hesitance in his voice.

“Well then,” said Reyes, the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Welcome to the team, Genji.”

Genji’s eyes flicked between Reyes’, McCree’s, and Gérard’s faces for a few seconds. “...it’s that easy?” said Genji in the silence.

“Well yeah,” said McCree, leaning on Genji’s wheelchair, “First thing you gotta learn, bud: Blackwatch plays by its own rules.”

#overwatch #overwatch fanfic #genji shimada #gabriel reyes #gerard lacroix #jesse mccree #blackwatch

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thorne93 · 3 years

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 31)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2760

Warnings: angst and language throughout, death, torture,

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they walked forward, on their left, a giant window came into view. Only this window didn't look outside. It was tilted away from them at a 45 degree view. A view into what appeared to be an operating room - with you in the center on a bed. You were strapped to an odd hospital bed as you looked up, you saw them and your eyes went wide. You couldn't talk, as this woman had covered your mouth.

You wanted to tell them to get out of there. You'd only recently woke up in this room, but you didn't want them to be here. Whatever was going on, they needed to leave.

"So lovely of you to join us," a woman's voice came over the speaker.

"Who's there? Show yourself," Charles demanded.

"Oh, what's the matter, Professor X? Can't stand not being able to read my mind?" the woman asked again, but this time she did step into their line of sight, right in front of your bed. She looked up at the two men.

Charles recognized her instantly. Stephen, however, did not.

"Rebecca?" he breathed.

"Who the hell is Rebecca?" Stephen asked, looking between Charles and Stephen.

"Typical of the great Dr. Stephen Strange not to remember me," she said. "Just can't fit anyone but that over inflated ego in your head, can you, doc?"

"She's an old student," Charles informed, almost to himself.

"Ah, ah," she warned. "That's not the whole story, is it, Professor?"

"Charles, what is she talking about?"

"Why don't you tell him? Tell them both," Rebecca urged before walking to your side of the bed. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Rebecca, let Y/N go. I don't know what you want, but you can let her go. You can have me," Charles said desperately.

"Oh, how sweet," she said with a pouting face. "I don't think so. I went through a lot of trouble to get her here. Years of watching her, watching you, watching the doc..."

Stephen and Charles traded a look of confusion and worry.

"Tell them about me, Professor," she encouraged. She hit a button and you began screaming through the gag she'd placed on you.

"Alright, fuck this," Stephen said, starting to conjure a portal but nothing was happening. "I don't... I don't understand--" He looked to Rebecca in horrified confusion.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that? Oh, yes. You can't portal your way in here or use the mirror dimension or any of your other cute parlor tricks, Dr. Strange. And, Professor, you don't go about trying to read my mind. I reinforced this room, this whole bunker the same way Sebastian Shaw did on his submarine. You won't be able to penetrate my mind or anyone else's for that matter, so give up."

The two men glared at her, their fear and anxiety spiking.

"Alright, what do you want?" Charles demanded.

"What do I want? I want my life back, but you two made that beyond possible. But what you can give me now... I want to watch you two suffer. So... tell them about me, about how we met, or--" She hit a button, sending more shocks through you, causing you to scream before crying. You glared at her, wishing you could just end her right then and there.

"Okay! Alright! I'll tell them." He sighed. "Rebecca came to me when she was 16. She wanted to learn how to control her powers. She'd gotten into trouble with the law, and I offered to teach her. But things weren't working out well. She can clone herself, and one day, at a store, she shop lifted. It was just a few snacks, but she did it using her powers, and she used them again to evade the police until they finally caught her and brought her back to my doorstep. I tried to ask her what had made her break the law again, when she didn't give me a satisfactory answer, I just wrote it off. But she kept breaking the rules, breaking the law. One night, she came into my study. I was focused on my work so I didn't hear her thoughts..." He drifted off, his eyes cast down in shame as if he couldn't bear it. "She came in trying to seduce me. She put her hands on me, she was dressed scantily. She'd turned 18 a few months prior to this and she must've thought it would be okay to come onto me." He gave her a look of anger and rejection. "I told her I cared for her as a student and that was all. When I rejected her, she became furious. She said that I wouldn't help her better her power, that I didn't care and the school was a waste of time. Given the circumstances of trying to harass me in my office, I accessed her mind." He looked at her, as if trying to get her to remember.

"And?" Stephen urged.

"And I didn't find a girl who wanted to learn how to control her powers, I found a girl who wanted to learn how to evolve her powers. She wanted to learn how to use them so well she'd be left undetected. She planned on moving up from stealing candy bars and chips. She had thoughts in her head of museum heists, bank robberies..."

"I was a bad girl," Rebecca suddenly said as she began pacing.

"Is this true?" Stephen asked, looking at the woman. "You seduced your headmaster and broke the law and you're mad at him?"

She stopped in her tracks to whip her face to Stephen. "I'm mad because I loved him. I thought he loved me. All the signs were there. Just because I wanted to do more with my power, he expelled me."

"With every right," Charles said defensively. "You were planning on killing if you had to, just to use your powers to do harm. I never once gave you the impression that I loved you."

"Oh, don't be so innocent. I saw the way you looked at me. I saw the way you looked in my bedroom at night. You saw into my head all the fantasies I had and never approached me."

"Rebecca, I checked your room because you snuck out after curfew almost every night. I never read your mind except for the night you tried to harass me, and I never, ever, looked at you like any more than a student."

"If that's what you want to believe."

"Wait, so you were expelled from a mutant school, what's the big deal?" Stephen asked. "That warrants abducting Y/N, hurting her?"

"Yes, it does. Charles knew I needed help, but he wouldn't listen, he wouldn't help me."

"I tried, Rebecca, I truly did, but you insisted on breaking the law and breaking the rules."

"You ruined my life. I could've had a good life if I'd graduated, but no, I was 18, with no high school diploma. I had to get a GED. But I tried to move on, tried to forget about how you threw me out like yesterday's garbage, so I enrolled in medical school. That's where Dr. Stephen Strange comes in. World renowned neurosurgeon."

"I've never met you," Stephen assured with a befuddled look, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes.

She let out a laugh, clearly humorless. "Ah, to be so easily forgettable. Not like you, Y/N." She looked back to you and hit that button on the small remote again. Your back arched off the table as you tried to move away from the shocking, but you couldn't escape it due to the restraints.

"Try to remember, doctor," she encouraged. "You wouldn't want a vegetable for a girlfriend." The shocks continued and you felt your eyes rolling back in your head from the pain.

"I--I--I--I don't remember," he stammered, upset, trying to think. "You're not a patient, you're not a family member of a patient, you're not a student--Wait, that's it. Yes you are, or were."

"Ding, ding, ding!" she called out and the shocking stopped. You were glistening with sweat as you took your first breath that wasn't wrapped in pain. "That I was, the was is all thanks to you."

"What happened? What did you do?" Charles asked curiously.

"She was a student, a resident student of mine that had made rounds."

"And? Tell them what else I did," Rebecca urged, walking slowly again around your bed, listening.

"She was a student, but a careless one. I'd ask her to cut right, she'd cut left. She disobeyed me almost constantly. During a procedure, I asked her to do something, and failure to do that almost costed a man his life."

She rolled her eyes. "He was fine."

"Yes, thanks to me, not you," he said angrily, facing her through the glass that looked down into the room. "I told you to tell me exactly what you were going to do, and you didn't do it."

"So what? No one else was doing it."

"Wrong," he deadpanned, irate. "Every one of your fellow students narrated exactly what they did during surgery. I let them make incisions, cut arteries, tie them off, because I believe the only way to learn is to do something under my strict supervision. I asked you to tell me everything you were doing, before you did it. You failed to do that time and time again. You were defiant, disobedient, and flippant. I had no choice to do what I did."

"What did you do?" Charles asked, wondering what could be so horrible.

"I'll tell you what he did," Rebecca interjected. "He failed me on my surgical rotations. He wouldn't sign off on work I'd done. He even went to my dean and gave them a long explanation why they should expel me from the program. And being who he is... they listened."

Charles and Stephen looked at each other.

"You two ruined my life," she all but snarled. "Now, I'm going to ruin yours. I never thought the universe could be so generous, and yet here we are. I have a 2 for 1 special. Two men, for 1 woman. You both love her so much, that much is clear. I've had the pleasure of waiting, watching. Imagine my utter delight when I find out you have the same soulmate."

"Rebecca, Rebecca, wait," Charles begged as he watched her move around the room. "Whatever you want, whatever you need, we can help you."

"The time is over for help! We are way past that! No, when I got expelled from school, again, I realized it was my life mission to destroy you two. You two who had so much. Both doctors, both living it up in fancy homes, both prestigious in your fields. You had so much and instead of helping people who needed it, you turn your back on them. You lie to them. You ruined my life. I could've had everything, but you took it away from me."

"Rebecca, there has to be another way," Stephen's voice said.

"No! There is no other way! In fact, I think this is the only fitting way to end things, don't you?"

"What? No, no, no, no, no," Charles began, pleading. "No, we can fix this. We'll do whatever you ask."

She laughed callously. "That ship has sailed, Professor, but good try. A+ effort." She rounded your bed and went to a cabinet. "No, I think it's time that your life looked like mine, looked like others that you've failed. I think it's time you two lost something you loved."

"Just take us! Don't hurt her!" Charles demanded, his plea erratic and heartbreaking for you. You began crying. Not for yourself, but to see them go through this.

"Oh, no, that'd be too easy. I don't want to kill you two. No, no, that's much too simple. I want you to watch as the one woman you love dies in front of you and your powerless. To feel that you can't do anything at all to save her, to fix your life. You'll get to know how it feels, finally. All your power, money, and status can't do anything. Fitting, seeing as all of that destroyed me."

She smiled as she held a crystal in her hand.

"I'd tell you to say your goodbyes, but frankly, I don't think you deserve them." She put the crystal in an odd chamber, almost like a birdcage and walked back to the back of the room and went into a smaller room, closing the door behind her.

You started to panic, trying to get out of the restraints. Stephen and Charles looked on in complete terror. They had no idea what was about to happen.

"Goodbye, Y/N," Rebecca said before something smashed the crystal in the birdcage. A mist began to fill the room and you fought and fought against your restraints. You wished you could tell Stephen and Charles to look away. They didn't need to see this, but you couldn't say a word. Your mouth was taped shut.

A small, selfish part of you though wanted them to continue looking at you. So the last thing you would see was their eyes, albeit full of tears and anguish, they were still the gorgeous blue eyes you'd fallen for.

You hoped and prayed that even though Charles couldn't read your mind, maybe he could read your eyes. You looked to both men and tried to convey the feelings of love and adoration that you had for them.

All of this happened in the matter of a few seconds, before you knew it, some sort of hard substance was making its way up your body.

You wanted to tell them you'd be okay, you wanted to make them feel better, but all they saw was you being covered in a cocoon of what appeared to be molten rock. They slammed their fists on the window, screaming your name, trying to get to you -- but it was futile.

You were covered with stone, from head to toe. You'd never see Charles and Stephen again, and the last thing you'd seen was them fighting for their life to get to you.

But it was too late. You were gone.

The two men, upon seeing your body covered head to toe in stone, felt their world implode. Charles screamed, incoherently as he turned around, his hands on his head. He slid down to the floor, tears running down his cheeks.

Stephen felt cold all over, as if the whole universe just disappeared for him. He'd faced Dormammu, an entity that was going to suck Earth away, consume it. This didn't compare to that. He felt numb. He knew he should be angry, he should be crying like Charles, but all he could feel was... darkness, an emptiness inside him.

Charles didn’t know how he was going to face another day without you. How he’d face the next five minutes without you. His chest felt tight, as if he couldn’t breathe. You two were just barely starting the journey of your lives together, fully, and now you were gone. Charles couldn’t get enough of you once you met. He hated himself for ignoring you for a year, and now that was a year he’d never get back, and he hated himself all the more. A flurry of anger, heartache, regret, and grief flooded his system. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to stop sobbing.

Stephen felt powerless, uselees. He was a doctor for God’s sakes and he couldn't save the one person who meant more to him than anyone else. He truly didn’t believe in all this soulmate nonsense when the scarring was showing up on him, but it only took a small bit of time near you to see exactly why the universe had cherry-picked you for him. You were strong enough to withstand his anger and his ego. You were gentle enough to get him to calm down and talk about things. You were funny enough to make him double over in stitches when he didn’t feel like even smiling. You were kind enough to make him want to be a better person, to save lives for more than just pomp and show. He wanted to be a good person for you, but also because of you. And now, all of that light, all of the good you did for the world and put into the world was snuffed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier fic #charles xavier #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange fic #stephen strange

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noonmutter · 3 years

Text

Reoriented

It had all been so beautiful. And he’d helped to destroy so much of it. One of the great, glorious star trees now struggled to be seen through smoke and falling ash, and the glow itself guttered and threatened to fade entirely at any moment. Watching his hands wield a great and terrible scythe against sylvar and vorkai and tirnenn without mercy and without relent, Leon could only scream into the uncaring silence. It was all the mask would allow him.

While his body moved forward at the whims of the wicker and bone prison around it, his mind thrashed and bellowed. When he was bored, his captor would speak to him directly, visage appearing out of nowhere and driving him to cower from the horns and jaw in the corners of his own head. Leon hated how he flinched, and the drust slaver knew it, though he’d been convinced that his captive was being cowed by his words. In truth, only the staglike imagery on the thing’s face upset him. The rest was merely more noise. Leon had embraced the ironic invincibility of self-loathing many, many years ago; nothing the drust said could penetrate the armor of Leon’s own inward-facing cruelty.

He remained unwilling to submit entirely, and that was enough for the moment. After the first day or so--it was so hard to keep track of time--he stopped fighting at every single opportunity; he couldn’t keep that up forever even if he wanted to, and conserving his energy for surgical strikes was what he knew best. Leon was a cat, after all; he was merely a cornered one.

It didn’t pay to underestimate a cornered cat.

Nothing would stop him from crying out in horror every time the drust used his body and his druidic teachings to tear apart the Weald or the people in it. With some effort, he channeled that horror into rage, as he did everything else. Rage was fuel, fuel was in short supply, and he needed to hoard it when he could. So he refused to stop watching. But while he watched, he tested and probed. It seemed to amuse his captor to see Leon realize he could make small things happen; a twitch of a finger or an errant blink. By themselves, they were small things, not enough to accomplish anything. But Leon remembered, and he waited, as wise hunting cats did.

They weren’t allowing his body to rest, unaccustomed to the needs of living flesh rather than anima-born bodies and souls. Pumping it full of energy over and over again would probably work for a while, but not indefinitely, and even though he couldn’t control it, Leon could feel his own physical exhaustion. If they kept this up, he would collapse without having to do anything at all. But, of course, being an Ambroce, he simply wasn’t that lucky. His captor came to him again as his body took a much-needed break.

We make our final move upon this grove soon. It is overwhelmed, but not yet overrun. You will help change that. We will strike at the heart of the grove, and you will claim it for me. Once I have that heart, I will empower myself to follow you back through your...ha, “Dream”...to the mortal realms. Ingra Dirus will be the first to live again, all thanks to you and your many mortal friends.

Leon didn’t respond, not even to pretend to weep. He simply remained silent, feigning exhaustion, too tired to be righteous. Though his captor remained to gloat a bit longer, he grew bored quickly and the nightmare-stag vanished once again.

The very moment he was certain he was alone in his head, Leon gathered every ounce of energy he had left to himself and pushed his thoughts out into the Dream at large, aiming it nowhere and everywhere at once. With any luck, someone would hear him, but the drust definitely would, so he had to make it short, make it count.

Stay away. Grave danger. Do not follo--

There was a furious roar like a mountain collapsing on his head, and Leon lost consciousness.

When he came to, he was immediately aware of his muscles burning and his throat gone raw from roaring and bellowing. For a desperate, hysterical moment, he thought he was free and tried to move, only to feel a sharp spike of pain like someone driving a knitting needle into his spine. He had time only to recognize the taste of odd blood in his mouth and see still, furry bodies at his feet.

The stag-skulled drust shimmered into his awareness, and manifested a hand as well, where several thick chains draped from his fingers. They looked immeasurably heavy despite being see-through, and they trailed back past Leon’s line of sight, clinking noisily whenever he struggled or tried to extend his will in any direction at all. With each clink came more pain.

No, mortal, you will not have another chance. You will be my escape, and you will obey. And once I am on solid ground again, I will kill you myself. Take some solace in that--you will soon be reunited with all of those poor, innocent creatures you've slain in the Maw.

To the tune of Ingra Dirus’s vicious cackling, Leon slipped into darkness again, praying his message had gotten out and that no one else he cared about would be forced to work alongside him. Or worse, against him.

But he was an Ambroce, and he was not that lucky.

The next time he woke, it was to another intrusion in his mind, and to the sensation of anger and... uncertainty? From his would-be master. Something was wrong; Ingra Dirus was furious, but underneath it, he was afraid. Wavering. ...Someone was fighting him. That drew Leon the rest of the way back to consciousness, and he became aware of ...familiarity. He knew this intruder. It, too, was afraid, but underneath everything, it was furious, white-hot against the red of the drust’s.

I’m sorry. I hate doing this.

It was also very small. Not as small as his gnomish wife, but...small, and soft, in the way that a steel bar wrapped in foam was soft, and...

Leon? Are you there?

Valarin?! Valarin! You can't be here you can't you need to go Go GO GETOUT--and then he screamed as Ingra Dirus sent another spike of agony through him.

This one is mine, mortal. As are all those other acolytes, all those other tethers to your realm...You will be, too.

The wee elf burned only brighter in the dark of Leon’s mind as the shadows roiled and came to his call, and Leon was the only one who could feel Ingra Dirus flinch. Valarin was unafraid, coldly calm, as one tended to be when one was speaking to a dead man that hadn’t accepted their fate. You can’t have him. Leon will be alive and unharmed as you leave this body. Now go, or I will remove you.

You will try, little sunslinger. Can you bring such a reckoning to a lord of Thros? It was, admittedly, a good showing from the drust. Despite his own palpable fear--and oh, how Leon relished it--Ingra Dirus drew himself up and jolted Leon’s bonds yet again. I do not think so.

And then Valarin vanished, and Leon’s hopes died as quickly as they’d been born. He was sure that the elf had been banished, but as he realized within moments, Valarin had only withdrawn back to reality to deal with the problem from the outside. Once again, Leon’s mind was racked with agony, but this time, he felt it rolling through his physical body, too, spiralling out from his face. Valarin’s hands were on the mask, pulling as hard as the shadows and his own muscles would allow. The mask had become, by that point, fused to Leon’s flesh, and between that and enraged will of Ingra Dirus, it was a struggle.

I will NOT be denied!

Leon felt the drust conjure up more of that oily blue flame to throw at the elf, trying to shake him off. Though he felt and heard the impact, Valarin held on, and the mask was starting to move. Gods, it hurt...

DO IT!!

...but it meant that Ingra Dirus was focused solely on keeping Valarin at bay, not on keeping Leon restrained. It was his only chance, and he knew it. Drawing himself up one last time, Leon pushed through the rolling agony that it caused him to lift his arms--legs? what body was he even in? did it even matter?--and slam his hands (paws?) into the mask from the other side.

When the mask finally tore free of Leon’s flesh, it was with a furious roar from Ingra Dirus and a small explosion of blue and green light swirling together. Leon felt himself fly backward, and his vision swam, then darkened to nearly nothing. Vague, blurred shapes drifted above him, and he could make out no real details to anything, as though it was all too far away, or too small, or both.

His stomach churned and gurgled, and that drew him out of his worried reverie. Rolling onto his side, he heaved and coughed until a sludgy awfulness fell from his mouth and slithered off into the blurry landscape.

Leon didn’t have time to think about that one before Valarin got his attention again, and together, they left the burnt-out grove to seek safe haven and a spot to recuperate. And rest.

And get a shower, maybe. Gods, Leon wanted a shower...

(( @valarin-sunstorm ))

#leon #unbalanced #shadowlands #my writing #valarin

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lo-lynx · 4 years

Text

Masculine embodiment in ASOIAF- aka, what’s up with the eunuchs?

CW: Sexism, cissexism, rape, sex, description of genitalia and bodily functions.

Spoilers: All of A Song of Ice and Fire, and a tiny spoiler from Game of Thrones season 8.

“’I hold the man’s balls in the palm of my hand.’ He cupped his fingers, smiling. ‘Or would, if he were a man, or had any balls.’” (Martin 1996/2011, 194) Ah, classic Littlefinger burn about Varys. In George RR Martin’s world of ASOIAF such jokes are frequent, but when last time when I re-read A Game of Thrones this one joke in Ned’s fourth chapter stuck out. Perhaps it was because I had recently watched the last season of Game of Thrones where Varys comments on Tyrion’s ever-present jokes about Varys being a eunuch (Game of Thrones 2019, 04:27). Perhaps it’s because issues of gender and sexuality interest me in general (see: all of this blog). Regardless, it got me interested at seeing how eunuchs are described in the books. I soon found that the connection between a man’s genitals and masculinity seemed to be very strong. Now, before I go any further, I feel like two disclaimers are in order. 1: I’m not saying that having a penis is necessary to be a man, I’m saying that both our society and the world of ASOIAF seems to think so. 2: I’m not saying that GRRM thinks this either, I have no idea what his personal stance on these things are, but I’m saying that he seems to have transferred these views from our world into his world. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, why focus on this aspect of masculine embodiment in ASOIAF? Well, as I intend to show in this analysis, by analysing how eunuchs are portrayed in the books, I think one can infer quite a bit of how men and masculinity is conceived of in Westeros and beyond. So, firstly I want to give a brief overview of how sex/gender was conceived of in our medieval world (mostly to show how this DOES NOT seem to match ASOIAF), and secondly how these things are conceived of in more modern times and compare this to ASOIAF.

So, before the 18th century or so, European conception sex/gender relied on what has afterwards been called a “one-sex model” (Mottier 2008, 33). This model was very influenced by the Greek philosophical idea that men’s bodies were active, hot and strong; women’s bodies being passive, weak, damp and cold (ibid, 5).

As the historian Thomas Laqueur has pointed out, the classical model of gender involved a ‘one-sex model’: since gender was fluid, men risked becoming more feminized if they lost heat, while women could become more like men if their bodies heated up. The psychological consequences of such beliefs was [sic] that gender did not appear as a stable, biological characteristic, but as an identity that was potentially under threat. (Mottier 2008, 6)

That is to say, during this time sex/gender was seen as fluid, and not a biological fact. As mentioned, this view didn’t really change until the 18th century. Mottier describes that shift like this:

From the 18th century, the traditional idea of the ‘one-sex’ body, which conceptualized women’s bodies as similar but inferior versions of male bodies (with female genitals being thought of as internal, much smaller versions of male genitals) started to be replaced with the idea of a clear biological differentiation between men and women. Male and female bodies came to be seen as fundamentally, biological different, not as part of the same hierarchical continuum. The gender hierarchy remained, however. (Mottier 2008, 33)

From this we can infer then, that during the medieval period in Europe, female bodies were perceived as sort of defect versions of male bodies, not fundamentally biologically different. It was after this model was replaced with the ‘two-sex model’ that men and women were seen as biologically different creatures. This biological difference also began being used as a justification for social difference (and inequality) between men and women. That is not to say that such social difference didn’t exist before that, but it wasn’t though to be the result of biological differences in the same way. In my view, this later conceptualisation of sex/gender is much more in line with how sex/gender seems to be perceived in ASOIAF. Throughout the books there are several references of women being of the gentle/weaker sex, or similar descriptions. One such is in Catelyn’s last chapter in A Game of Thrones when Catelyn tries to persuade Robb’s lords to sue for peace with the Lannisters. The Greatjon then says that because she is a woman she does not understand such things, while Lord Karstark says: “You are the gentle sex (…) a man has a need for vengeance.” (Martin 2011, 770) Such a view, seeing the female sex as gentler/weaker than the male sex, seems much more in line with a “two-sex model” than the “one-sex model” that would’ve existed in Medieval Europe. I shall therefore proceed to explain the male body has been conceived in more modern times.

In general, one can say that the male subject is expected to embody strength, toughness, and have a capability to exercise power over a space (Whitehead 2002, 189). This expectation also carries through to expectations of men’s sexuality, which is why many aging men might start to lose confidence in their sexuality when they can’t live up to this expectation (ibid, 200). This connection between masculinity and strength, virility etc. also impacts the importance being put on having “normal” genitalia. As Fausto-Sterling writes about the male body, from a medical point of view, the existence of a “functional” penis is often considered crucial for manhood (1995, 130). This is taken to the extreme that children born with a penis that is considered too small (even though the size of the penis at birth doesn’t seem to be a good indicator of adult size) will have their genitalia surgically changed into a vagina (for more on surgery on intersex children see for example: Amnesty 2017). Presumably this is partly because the sexual act of penetration is so closely linked to masculinity, that having a penis that is considered “too small” for this is inconceivable (as someone who works with sex education, I just want to add SIZE DOESN’T MATTER THAT MUCH. Just communicate with your partner and figure out what works for you!) Other studies have also analysed the way testicles are perceived in modern society and found that those seem to be closely connected to masculinity as well (Karioris & Allan 2017). The most obvious example of this is of course the phrase “grow a pair”, said when wanting someone to toughen up. Kaioris and Allan also write that fear of castration is often linked with a fear of losing one’s masculinity. This is all to say, that in our society genitalia seems to be very important to manhood and being “a real man”. Now, is this also the case in ASOIAF?

Short answer, yes. One example is of course the quote with which I started this text, when Littlefinger seems to equate Varys’ lack of testicles with his lack of manhood. Another example comes from A Clash of Kings when Tyrion expresses a similar sentiment when comparing himself to Varys: “Yet I’m still a man.” (Martin 1999/2011, 120). But the linking of lack of genitals with lack of masculinity doesn’t stop with Varys, it is also something we see with Theon after his torture by Ramsey. He himself thinks that he is no man (Martin 2011/2012, 566). Later, when Ramsey forces him to be a part of raping Jeyne Poole, he jokes about Theon (not) getting an erection by seeing Jeyne, and then says that Theon is: “Not even a man, in truth.” (Martin 2011d, 582). This equating of (lack of) a penis and testicles with (a lack of) masculinity/manhood isn’t contained to Westeros, however. Daenerys thinks a similar thing when describing the unsullied in A Storm of Swords: “(…) they were no men at all. The Unsullied were eunuchs, every one of them.” (Martin 2000/2011, 314). Speaking of Daenerys, in A Game of Thrones we learn from her chapters that in Dothraki culture, the only ones who ride in carts are those with a disability, women giving birth, the very old and the very old. Oh, and eunuchs (Martin 1996/2011, 373). Here it becomes very clear that eunuchs are seen as weak and unmanly when they are grouped together with pregnant women, old people and those with disabilities. How disability is portrayed in ASOIAF is not something I will go into further here, but I recommend the text “Power and Punishment in Game of Thrones” by Mia Harrison that does explore that. However, it seems clear that those with disabilities are not seen as “real men” either.

So, based on this, we can see that the Westerosi (and Essosi) view of what a man is seems to presume that he is strong, active and virile. It is apparently also very important to have functioning genitalia (whatever that even means). Therefore, those who cannot live up to that, such as eunuchs, are not real men. This is a very narrow definition of masculinity and manhood, yet it unfortunately rings true in our world as well. Not only does it exclude trans folx completely, it also limits people of all genders. We see the consequences of that in ASOIAF when Brianne is excluded from knighthood based on her gender, and in the way people of Westeros treat all of its “imperfect” men. And we can most definitely see it in our own world.

References

Amnesty International. (2017). “First, do no harm: ensuring the rights of children born intersex.” Accessed 1 December, 2019. https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/campaigns/2017/05/intersex-rights/

Game of Thrones. (2019) Winterfell. [TV-show]

Harrison, Mia. (2018). “Power and Punishment in Game of Thrones”, pp. 28-43 in Schatz, J L & Amber E George (Eds.), The Image of Disability: Essays on Media Representations. North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc.

Fausto-Sterling, Anne (1995). “How to build a man”, pp. 127-134 in Berger, Maurice, Brian Wallis and Simon Watson (eds.) (1995). Constructing Masculinity, Routledge, New York

Martin, George RR. (1996/2011). A Game of Thrones. Harper Voyager: London

Martin, George RR. (1998/2011). A Clash of Kings. Harper Voyager: London

Martin, George RR. (2000/2011). A Storm of Swords 1: Steel and Snow. Harper Voyager: London

Martin, George RR. (2011/2012). A Dance with Dragons. Harper Voyager: London

Mottier, Véronique. (2008). Sexuality: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press

Whitehead, Stephen M. (2002). Men and Masculinities, Cambridge and Malden: Polity, pp. 181-204

#asoiaf #got #feminism #cw: sexism #cw: cissexism #cw: sex #tw: rape #idk how to tag this

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i-heart-danchou · 5 years

Text

Stay with me

This is for bottom Erwin week prompt Freeform but I guess it could also be for Bathing so yay I sort of technically did all of them, cool. This is a canon rewrite, and I put some of my medical knowhow into play for this one (I actually did surgery on a cat with injuries similar to Erwin’s XD, he’s fine). Also I quite liked this idea so if anyone’s interested I might keep going with it. ------------------ “Captain Levi!” Floch was panting, sweating, his muscles were quivering as he pulled himself up onto the roof with Erwin strapped to his back. “The commander— he— he’s critically wounded! His side’s been hit, his organs are coming out, I can’t stop the bleeding I… I thought… I thought maybe that injection you had could help.” Levi’s eyes were wide, his mouth ajar, his heart thundering away in his chest. Time seemed to slow for a moment, and he clutched the syringe to his chest. He imagined a future with Erwin as a titan, the colossal titan at that… a monster, a villain, a human being so unbelievably dangerous that no one would dare get close to him. He imagined the light in Erwin's eyes getting dimmer and dimmer, the more of himself that he sacrificed to humanity. No. The choice was obvious. “Eren.” He muttered. “Give me your gas, all of it.” Eren was crying, obviously very confused. “Captain?” “I said give me your gas!” Levi practically threw the syringe at him, not wanting to waste one more damn second. He replenished his fuel supply and strapped Erwin to his back. A hospital. A hospital. They had to fucking get to a hospital.

He didn’t care about Bertholt, or Armin or whatever fucking drama was going on in Shiganshina, he had to help Erwin, he didn’t have any fucking time.

Obviously carrying 92 kilograms of dead weight made the gas canisters tremendously less efficient, but Levi couldn’t think about that.

Come on… come on…. “Stay with me, Erwin. I’m getting you help, I’m going to get you better.”

Erwin groaned in pain, or maybe in delirium, and his head flopped forward onto Levi’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you.” Levi whispered. “I’m gonna get you home.”

He found a horse just at the entrance of Wall Maria— a runaway, perhaps? There had been so much chaos, he wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t managed to keep all the animals together. Thank fuck, thank fuck. There weren’t enough trees between here and Wall Rose to get him home, he’d need this fucking horse— Erwin needed this fucking horse.

He mounted the beast, secured his commander, and galloped as hard as he could. “Stay with me, Erwin. Look at that beautiful sky.” Levi had never known fear like this. Every second he wasted Erwin’s pulse was getting weaker, and it made him sick to see the commander’s blood seeping down the horse’s side.

“Stay with me.”

They charged to the wall and Levi sent up a signal flare a good 500 meters before he arrived. The gate needed to be open, he didn’t fucking have time for this. “Commander Erwin is wounded! I need help!” He called out, and he watched as the garrison scrambled to let him back into the walls. Eyes went wide when they saw the state of the commander, and a group of medics descended to help.

Levi was loath to let Erwin go, even into the hands of qualified professionals who would try their best to help him. He followed, he followed, and he ordered them to be careful. “Please.” He whispered as the doors of the operating theater swung shut. “Please help him.”

Hours passed. Levi sat with his head in his hands, titan blood all but evaporated off of him, Erwin’s blood caked and dry in his uniform. Please. He was begging the universe. Please let him be alright.

A surgeon emerged by nightfall, blood soaked through his sleeves, speckled on his glasses, his hair limp against his forehead with sweat. “Captain Levi.” He said somberly.

Levi stood up, his heart in his throat. The doctor was hesitating, and Levi felt the acid burning in his mouth. “Out with it.” He hissed, his eyes narrow.

“The commander is… alive.”

Levi’s lip twitched. Why was he hesitating? What was he so afraid of?

“He suffered extensive damage to his abdominal wall, including full thickness lesions penetrating into his abdominal cavity. There was damage to his small intestine, portions of his bowel, and one of his kidneys. We’ve cobbled his intestinal tract together as best as we could, but there was barely enough muscle available to close the abdominal cavity. We’ve taken a graft from his leg, but it may not survive. He’s experienced significant hemorrhage and was in severe hypovolemic shock at the time of presentation. He… may have irreversible brain damage. He may not know you if he wakes up, and he is likely to be less intelligent than he was before this happened. If he survives the night, there is an extremely high probability that he will develop septic peritonitis. If that happens, there is not much else we can do. His intestinal repairs may also fail, which will only worsen and compound matters. He may not be able to use the toilet properly anymore. He probably won’t ever walk again.” The doctor licked his lips. “If he makes it to the end of the week, he has a fair chance of survival. Do you have any questions?”

Levi put a hand on the wall to steady himself. What had he done? He’d condemned Erwin to a life worse than death… a life without his mind, his mobility, his… his dignity, even. Why had… what…. He swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can I see him?”

“No. I’m sorry captain, his infection risk is too high right now and… and you are heavily contaminated from the battle. I would recommend you go home for some rest. Things will be more clear in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Levi snarled. “I’m not.”

The doctor was weary. “Fine. There are showers that you can use, if you wish. Ask one of the nurses to assist you.”

The tatters of the SC returned in time, to thunderous cheers and celebrations. Levi wasn’t with them, and he didn’t care to be. His place was with Erwin, and he would reap whatever horrible consequences resulted from his choice. If Erwin needed to be cared for forever, if he needed someone to feed him, to bathe him, to wipe his fucking ass he would do it. All of this was Levi’s fault, and nothing would tell him otherwise.

Hanji joined him at the hospital, a thick white gauze plastered over her eye. “How is he?” She asked cautiously.

“Bad. They think he has brain damage. He’s crippled. Everything is fucked up. He’s probably going to die in horrible pain.”

Hanji was quiet. “Why didn’t you give the injection to Erwin, Levi? Why did you do this?”

Levi glared at her, his anger easily melting into grief and pain and remorse. “He didn’t want to be a monster.” He offered lamely. “He deserved to see the truth.”

Hanji put her arm around Levi’s shoulders and hugged him as tight as he’d allow. “He did.” She agreed. “We’ll just have to see what happens.”

Erwin didn’t die that night, nor the next morning. Levi was allowed to sit with him provided he followed the hospital’s sterility protocols, and he sat beside Erwin in a white gown and mask, watching him writhe in agony as his recovery progressed.

He was pale, clammy, unresponsive, his pupils dilated and his groans heartbreaking. Even in his delirium there was no respite from his agony, and Levi’s hair was standing on end. “Can’t you do anything?? Give him something for the pain, at least??” He demanded, his eyes wild.

“He’s on the best medication we have.” The doctor explained. “We’re trying to control the fever, but this is a natural part of surgical recovery I’m afraid. I’ve heard he’s quite strong.”

“The strongest.” Levi assured him, casting a wayward glance at Erwin’s recumbent frame. “The greatest man I know.”

“Then he will fight, he will endure, and he may survive.” The doctor patted Levi on the shoulder. “Support him however you can, captain.”

Levi did everything he could to keep Erwin comfortable. He fluffed his pillows, he wiped his forehead, he even helped to change his bedpan. While Erwin fought to stay alive, Levi sat beside him and whispered in his ear.

“We took back Wall Maria. Humanity’s first major victory, and of course you led us. They got to the basement, Erwin. They found out the truth. I’ll tell you everything when you wake up.”

About four days in Erwin opened his eyes once more. Every movement was strained and agonized, but it was obvious he was doing his best to conceal his distress. He sat up with some difficulty, but he managed. His eyes scanned the room and he smiled when he saw Levi.

“Levi..” He managed.

“Erwin.” Levi breathed. He knew him. Erwin knew who he was. “Say something smart.”

Erwin laughed then, only a slight chuckle but it was enough to send him into a spasm of agony, gripping at his side as he doubled over in pain.

Levi’s eyes widened with alarm, and he rubbed Erwin’s back until he was through the worst of it. “Fuck, Erwin. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Erwin took a few moments to catch his breath. The pain must have been excruciating, and Levi could see the whites of his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He was visibly shaking by the time he righted himself, his face pale and slicked with sweat as he leaned back in the bed. “What happened?”

“You got badly wounded by the beast titan. Floch found you, he brought you to me. I got you to a hospital.”

Erwin nodded slowly. “And… the mission?”

“A success, Erwin. We did it, we took back wall Maria. We got to the basement. It’s all thanks to you.”

Erwin smiled then, and shut his eyes once more. He was so weak, dammit. He was so exhausted. It hurt to see him like this.

The doctors kept Levi away for a while then, citing Erwin’s exhaustion and debility. He needed some rest, and frankly Levi did too.

He still didn’t want to leave the hospital, but it seemed like Erwin had rounded a corner and hopefully wasn’t in danger of imminent death anymore. Hanji caught up with him at the barracks, grabbing his elbow as he barged into Erwin’s room. “How is he?” She demanded.

“Awake. He seems all there too. He’s not recovered yet, obviously, but…” Levi wasn’t a man who allowed himself to be optimistic, but the hope in his heart was creeping in whether he liked it or not.

“He’s… going to want to be commander again, I presume.”

Levi hadn’t thought of that. “Probably. It’s who he is.”

Hanji looked very sad. “He can’t, Levi.” She had a copy of Erwin’s medical report in her hand, and Levi wondered if the doctors had dumbed down how bad it was for him. “He’s going to need help for the rest of his life. He can’t be an active member of the military.”

Levi’s hackles went up. “So— so we throw him away? Because his body can’t keep up anymore? After all these years, after everything he’s lost, we just— we tell him to fuck off cause he’s wounded?”

“Fuck Levi, no.” Hanji rubbed at her eyepatch. “We just have to be realistic. There’s a whole world out there, wanting to kill us. We need a commander who can actively attend combat and make choices on the field. Erwin is brilliant, he’s the best commander we’ve ever had but… Levi… he can’t anymore. He can’t.”

Levi’s blood felt cold. “We need him, Hanji. Humanity needs him. You can’t tell him we don’t need him anymore.”

Hanji put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him. “Of course we need him. But we have to be realistic.” She bit her lip. “I’ll be commander, and he can be my advisor. He’ll remain on staff and I’ll be able to provide him with support workers if he needs them. Do you want me to tell him?”

Levi shook his head. “No. He should hear it from me.” She was right. Of course she was right. He had hobbled his commander, and his penance would be eternal.

Erwin took the news better than Levi expected, but then again Erwin was extremely intelligent and he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course he knew he couldn’t be commander anymore. Of course he did.

“That’s very generous of Hanji to offer.” He said eventually, his hand running gingerly up his side. “I’ll continue to help humanity in any way I can.”

Erwin was using the formal commander language that Levi hated, but he felt it wasn’t his place to stop him. Of course Erwin would keep fighting, not allow himself any time to rest. He deserved a cabin by a lake, he deserved to retire and have a statue made of him in the town square of wall Sina. But Erwin never stopped, and Erwin never rested.

Despite his injuries, he kept moving, no matter how hard it was. Erwin never, ever complained. Levi was silent as he watched Erwin double over in pain when he ate something too rich for him, and he was silent when Erwin quivered from the exertion of trying to stand to relieve himself. He offered a shoulder to support him, a hand when he needed it, and he kept his eyes forward. No matter what else happened, he would preserve this man’s dignity.

He helped Erwin into a wheelchair and pushed him through the hospital when he was finally discharged. The sun was warm and soothing, the air was crisp and beautiful, and Erwin smiled as the gentle beams of light hit his skin.

It was awful to see the top of Erwin’s head like this. To be so much taller than he was, that Erwin was banished to this chair, unable to push himself forward at all by himself. He swallowed his distaste. It was worse for Erwin, and Levi refused to make this about himself.

During his convalescence, Hanji had made some changes to the barracks to make them a little more accessible for Erwin. His office had steadying bars screwed into the walls, the desk was adjusted so his chair could fit beneath it, and the bathroom was completely redesigned with his comfort in mind. His bedroom had been refurnished as well; his bed softer and more comfortable, his sink and shelves shortened, and someone had thought to put a carpet and fresh flowers in too. It felt homier.

“Not bad.” Levi commented, wheeling Erwin through so he could see the four square walls in which he would endure the rest of his life. “I bet you’ll come up with some great war strategies here. We’ll really need you from here on out.”

Erwin said nothing and licked his lips. “Levi— I…”. His nose went a touch pink. “I’m really sorry but— I need…”

Levi nodded and hooked Erwin’s arm around his shoulder. He needed the toilet, and he hated to ask for help like this. “I’ve got you.” Levi reminded him. “You’d do the same for me.” He helped keep Erwin steady, he helped him open his trousers, he looked away from his cock while he pissed.

The relief on Erwin’s face was endearing, actually, and he sat back into his chair with a pleasant sigh. “Thank you, Levi.”

Erwin was at rock fucking bottom, and it made Levi feel sick.

Levi nodded at him and wheeled him to his desk. ‘Do you hate me?’ He wondered, ‘for what I did to you?’ “I got Eren’s father’s books for you. Three volumes of answers for you— about beyond the walls, about the fate of humanity, about everything. You were right, Erwin. You were right.”

Erwin smiled and passed his hand along the spine of the tomes, he seemed… content, at least. Levi didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath as he watched Erwin begin to read. This was Erwin's dream, his everything… he wasn’t sure what he would have to live for when he finished reading those books. So he distracted himself, he made them both some tea and set the cup down beside his command— his advisor.

He was quiet and respectful while he watched Erwin devour the information, and he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous.

“A whole world of humans.” He said thoughtfully. “A whole world of different places and cultures… kept beyond our reach because of a curse in our blood. Titans come from our people, from across the sea, and are used to keep us within these walls. Fascinating.”

Levi was glad, Erwin seemed… happy, kind of, with the information. “A whole world against us.” Levi added lamely. “Then again, you’ve always been good at beating the odds.”

Erwin smiled then, humility and sadness crossing his features. “I suppose that’s true.” He gingerly touched his healing abdomen, flinching ever so slightly as he touched a sore point. “Levi… what will you do?”

He was taken aback by the question. “I… I want to stay with you.”  Erwin took a sip of tea slowly and carefully, presumably not wanting to upset his stomach. “It’s alright, Levi. I don’t want you to waste your life here.” His voice was kind and gentle, his eyes were distant.

There was a terrible implication beneath Erwin’s words; that his own life would be a waste. That there was no future for him, no happiness, no value. “It’s not a waste.” Levi said immediately, but Erwin gently touched his hand to stop him.

“It’s a waste of your talents and your abilities. You’re a combat genius, Levi. They’ll need you at the front when we go to war.”    Levi had never really disobeyed Erwin before, but he was certainly considering it now. “Erwin.” He said tersely. “It’s my fault you’re like this. I want to help you. I want to be with you.”

“Levi…” Erwin’s eyes were so warm, and he put his hand on top of Levi’s. “You put so much on yourself. It’s not your fault I got wounded. It’s not your fault the beast titan threw rocks at us. You saved my life, Levi. You let me see the truth for myself, you helped me make my dreams come true. Even in the worst moments, I never blamed you. I’m grateful for this gift that you’ve given me, and I don’t intend to squander it.”   Levi turned his hand over and squeezed Erwin’s fingers. It was perhaps the most intimate thing they had done together, and he hoped it read loud and clear.    Erwin smiled, and delicately threaded his fingers with Levi’s. “Do you remember when we first met? How I said we’d save humanity together?”

Levi nodded, his heart racing.

“I still want that, Levi. And I know you can help make that happen, but not if you’re stuck here looking after me. I’ll be alright.” To prove the point, he shakily stood up on his own two feet and slowly, carefully, painstakingly hobbled to the nice plush bed and sat down. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Levi… come here, please.”   Levi obliged, approaching the bed with uncertainty.    Erwin lay down and gestured for Levi to join him. Of course Levi did, and he cuddled up to Erwin’s side, trying his best not to upset his healing muscles or skin. “Erwin… I don’t want to leave.” He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself for getting emotional.

“I know.” He said gently. “And I won’t make you. I won’t judge you for following your heart.” Erwin’s smooth fingers were stroking his muscles, and he leaned into the sensation.    Levi imagined foreign invaders arriving on their island… maybe with flying machines, maybe with titans, he imagined them destroying the barracks, imagined Erwin getting crushed to death inside. This war wasn’t over, their fight was only just beginning. Erwin was right, Levi could do so much more if he fought than if he allowed himself respite. “No, Erwin. You’re right. They’ll need me in the battle. I’ll do it.”   Erwin’s smile was sad and distant. Levi wondered if he would miss being in the fray. “I… I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back, Levi. I know you’ll survive. I know you’ll come back to me.”

“Okay.” He promised. Because Erwin was always right about this sort of thing.

They didn’t get naked, they didn’t have sex, they didn’t do anything except hold each other that night. Levi doubted Erwin would have sex in a meaningful way ever again, but it didn’t matter. He pressed his ear against Erwin’s chest and greedily absorbed the steady sound of his heart beating.    “I’ll come back.” Levi promised. “When this is all over, I’ll come back. I’ll bring you more of those photographs, new inventions, maybe a medicine for your body I— I’ll help finish what you started.” He kissed Erwin’s neck and breathed him in. “Erwin… I…”

“I know, Levi. Me too.” His voice was a soft rumble, and Levi arched his neck up so they could kiss.

Levi burned the moment into his mind, a soft safe place for him to remember in the coming months and years of conflict ahead of him. Erwin was alive, he was waiting, and he’d be there when Levi came back. That beautiful bright smile would keep him going, give him a reason to keep fighting… he would return to those open arms and find peace.

Levi would fight until his body could take it no longer, and Erwin would wait for him. And one day, he hoped, the world wouldn’t need them the way it did now. They would hang up their swords and find somewhere peaceful to rest.

#bottomerwinweek2019 #bottomerwinweek #bottomerwin #my stuff #levi ackerman #erwin smith #eruri #canon rewrite #i can't tell if this is a happy ending #fandom's all like i wish erwin lived and i'm all mwahah let's see how i can make that awful #i heart masochism i guess #i also like using these really long specific hashtags that will never be used again and are therefore rendered useless #hashtag hashtag

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