#he has pneumonia again :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

autismserenity · 4 months

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know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

#covid isn't over #covid 19 #disability rights #disability advocacy #wear a mask #covid conscious #covid cautious #mask up #wall of words #public health #health care

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thesporkidentity · 8 months

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That's it I give up I don't care that it's 430 I'm going to bed and nothing else is allowed to happen

#personal whining #my brother has covid again because sure why not #at least he doesn't also have pneumonia going in this time

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 4 months

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Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family.

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash.

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints.

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping.

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation.

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face.

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed.

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!?

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since.

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example.

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied.

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile.

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you.

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake.

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message.

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound.

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you.

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face.

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him.

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…”

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips.

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement.

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly.

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered.

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again.

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed.

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #dean x reader #by mind empty just fictional people #by jean

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satansappendix · 1 year

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I am experiencing emotion

#soap spoilers #idk im feeling a lot of complicated emotions right now #my bastard of a dad is in the icu again #he just had surgery like three weeks ago to try and repair fistula (basically a hole) in his esophagus from the last surgery #to remove his cancer because he had esohougus cancer #well apparently because of the fistula he keeps getting pneumonia and it was so bad he had to be intubated #so the docs said that it will keep happening and it will likely be worse and his right lung part f it isn't re inflating #so the only options it sounds like to maybe save his life is to do a really risky surgery and remove more of his esophogus #and part or all of his right lung #and if they don't do the surgery he will likely die from pnuemonia pretty soon anyways #so my mom is his medical proxy and is trying to decided what to do for him because hes sedated and wont wake up before surgery no matter wh #im feeling im not sure angry? sad? anxious fearful? i dont know bad im feeling bad #but i don't know how to like deal with this?#i hate my father he has hurt me emotionally so much #but i still feel wierd about losing him #he takes issue with me being queer he has illuded to that much #and he was never there for me ever my whole life sure he was physically in our house but not emotionally there #the first time he ever asked me what i wanted to do with my life was when i was 16 and he got fucking drunk #he never really came to any of me or my siblings music preformances #he came few times that i remember but it was when there was free food #and its not like he wasn;t able to come he was off work every fucking day by fucking 2:30 #my mom who works nights came to like all of my concerts #he yelled at me one time when i fell off the sea wall as a kid (fell onto the ground next to it not the sea) because i got hurt #my mom told me its becuase he cared but that doesn't make any sense it never has #he threw my brothers fan out the fucking window one winter because he had it open #he has broken so many of our thing when he would just get so fucking angry #he pulled our kitchen cabinets down in a fit of rage when we were remodeling the kitchen because he got made #he screams at us he yells at us he calls my mother a bitch he cant even be nice to his fucking mother #he blames my brother for everything wrong he calls him a theif and some many nasty things #hes a major hypocrite he calls my brother a drug addict for smoking fucking weed while doing the same fucking thing

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allwillbecomeclear · 1 year

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#please ignore #my aunt died today and my uncle might not last until Christmas #he has refused a feeding tube and has a UTI and double pneumonia #he's becoming a skeleton and i probably won't get to see him again #he also has Parkinson's

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angustully · 1 year

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#the past week has been a rollercoaster of thinking mean thoughts towards my dad bc im frustrated w the current situation im in re: my car #and then him texting me & my sisters on saturday that he was in the hospital all week with pneumonia #and me being extremely upset and disturbed by that bc it felt like i had caused that to happen #to now feeling frustrated and mean again because im over the car issues ive moved past it i have so much else to stress about but now its #on his timeline so hes getting annoyed w me that i dont answer his texts right away or that i dont have it in me to fucking care anymore #i am seriously...... so seriously at my limit right now. i got an email from sallie mae that my monthly payments would go up in january #as if im not paying them an arm and a leg already i just seriously want to die

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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Hii i recently discovered your account and i am devouring all your marauder works! They bring me so much comfort and just ahh i love the way you write! I really like emt!marauders and i was wondering if you maybe wanted to do a fic with them and a reader who has health anxiety?? And maybe she gets sick or something and they help her calm her thoughts and fears and just take care of her?? Only if this is something you would want to write ofc :) have a lovely day!! 💗

Thank you lovely <3

cw: health anxiety

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Here you go, m’love.” James sits between you and Remus, holding your tea towards you with the handle out. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You grab it quickly. “Jamie!” You suck in a thoughtless breath, setting off your cough. “Don’t—don’t burn yourself!”

You set the tea down before you spill it, James patting between your shoulder blades while you cover your mouth with a tissue.

“Easy,” he says. “I wasn’t holding it for long, don’t hack up a lung on my account.”

Remus doesn’t disagree, but he takes the offending hand and kisses James’ fingertips lightly.

You take a breath as the fit settles, picking up your tea with a quiet thanks and continuing to read on your phone.

“What’re you looking at so frownily?” Sirius asks, tilting his head where he’s sprawled out on the armchair.

“Just reading,” you murmur, but he casts a suspicious look to the other two on the couch. James leans over, peering at your screen.

He laughs. “Sweetheart, you know this stuff will only stress you out,” he says, leaning his shoulder into yours amicably. “You’ve gotta trust us, we’d be able to tell if it was anything serious.”

“WebMD?” Sirius asks.

“Healthline,” Remus replies, craning his neck to see behind James.

“I know,” you ignore the other two, replying to James, “but I was talking to my grandma today and she—” Sirius groans, letting his head loll back against the cushion. “—she said this is exactly what it was like when she had pneumonia.”

Remus looks at you evenly. “How old is your grandmother?”

You take a sip of tea, hiding behind the rim of your mug. “Eighty-six.”

He gives you a weary half-smile. “Pneumonia is a lot more common in older adults, dove. And your cough doesn’t sound like pneumonia anyway.”

“But how do you know?” you ask anxiously. Remus’ features tighten a bit in sympathy. “I just don’t want to have it and have no idea, and then it gets worse and worse and worse.”

James takes your hand in his. “That makes sense, angel, but—”

“And then while I was looking, stuff was also coming up for whooping cough, which sounds horrific—”

“You don’t have whooping cough,” Remus says.

“But what if I do?” Your voice scratches a bit, and you try to breathe more shallowly to avoid a fit. “Because if that’s what it is, then it’s super contagious and you guys shouldn’t even be around me. And you can start throwing up and—” Your cough catches up with you, and you cover your mouth, eyes watering. Remus and Sirius both wince, James’ hand finding your back again. It’s nice, when you’re sick and miserable like this, to be around people who are so accustomed to it. Who will reach for you instead of cringing away.

“It’s okay,” James murmurs, palm big and heavy between your shoulder blades. “You’re fine, sweetheart, just take a minute.”

When it ebbs, he passes you your tea silently. The honey in it coats your throat, the warmth soothing the ache in your chest.

“I just don’t want it to be more serious than we think,” you say weakly. “There’s a lot of things it could be that are worse than just a cold.”

“Baby,” Sirius says firmly. “Look at me.”

You lower your mug, finding your scariest boyfriend considering you with his usual intensity. He tilts his head to the side, brushing a piece of dark hair behind his ear.

“Did you have your jabs when you were little?”

You feel your brow pucker worriedly. “I think so.”

His tone gentles a bit. “Then you can’t have whooping cough, darling. We all get vaccinated for it when we’re small.”

You don’t want to argue with him, but your eyes flit back to your phone. “Actually, it says we can still get it even if we’ve been vaccinated.”

“But not nearly as bad,” James says, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “You’re right, it could seem like a regular cold in that case, but it really wouldn’t turn into anything worse than that. None of the vomiting or anything like that.”

You swallow, nodding. “Okay. Okay, that makes sense.”

“We know there’s a lot of things a cold could turn into,” Remus says. “Trust me, dove, we know. The reason we’re not worried is because we also know exactly what those would look like if they did turn up, and we could get you to the hospital at the first sign of something serious. Also, the serious things are less common than you might think.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason it’s called the common cold,” Sirius jokes, shooting you a wink.

You smile back, partly for his sake and partly for yours. Remus fixes you with a soft, open look.

“I promise to tell you if we notice anything,” he says, slowly, making sure you hear the weight of every word. “Do you want to talk about pneumonia?”

You nibble your lip, unsure.

“If you’re still worried about it, we should talk about it,” James says. “We don’t want you to just be stressed out and silent, angel.”

You blow out a careful breath. “Okay. I’m coughing up dark mucus and have a fever, which seems like pneumonia. How do we know it’s not?”

“Pneumonia could have mucus or no mucus,” James tells you, as though reciting from a textbook. “And as for your fever…” He takes your face between his hands, pressing his lips firmly to your forehead. “My gauge tells me it’s still not that severe.”

You grin at his antics, ducking your head when he goes for more so that he’s forced to confine his affections to your hair. He makes a gleeful sound of protest, grabbing you around the middle to get you closer.

“Don’t knock her tea,” Remus warns.

“I can run you through the checklist we sometimes use before testing for pneumonia,” Sirius offers. You nod, and he launches in. “Do you have shortness of breath?” You think, then shake your head. “Chest pain? Sweating or shaking? Fatigue—well, fatigue is a yes, right? Don’t worry, doll, that’s a symptom of everything—Chills? Nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea?”

Your mouth puckers in distaste at the last few, but you shake your head to all of them and Sirius spreads his hands magnanimously. “There we go,” he says. “If you were in an ambulance right now, we’d be telling you not to waste time on getting pneumonia tests done.”

“Plus, your cough doesn’t sound like it,” Remus adds, somewhat smugly.

“Okay,” you relent. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” James sweeps a thumb over your ribs, stamping a kiss on your temple. “You can’t help worrying about these things. We just wish the internet didn’t give you so much material, you know?” His eyebrows go up a bit in the middle and he strokes your side again, more gently this time. “You should be allowed to focus on getting better, sweetheart. All this anxiety doesn’t make for great rest.”

You let yourself sink into his side, cradling your mug in your hands. “I just don’t want to badger you guys with questions all day.”

“We don’t mind,” Remus promises you.

“And I’d like to think we have a bit more experience under our belts than healthline,” Sirius scoffs. The teasing look he sends you lets you know his derision isn’t for you. “Anyway, what does healthline say you’re supposed to do if you have pneumonia?”

You scroll down a bit. “See a medical professional.”

“Well, lucky you.”

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blingblong55 · 7 months

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Matilda- Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Photo creds:@ave661^

Based on a request:

Ghost finding out his s/o has a bad family, who she doesn’t keep in contact with but talks shit about and is like. Pretty open about how fucking awful her past was? if it’s too much I get it but like- I used to love your angst posts :3 they were so yummy! --- F!Reader, 18+, angst, comfort, family issues/trauma, mentions of SA/rape, mentions of eating disorders, toxic!family, mentions of child abuse, so...trigger warning!! ---

A/N: this is me trauma dumping so I'm sorry if it isn't perfect

Simon knew, he knew well that you weren't so open to starting a family with him for reasons he knew best to respect. But, one day, without him even realising he asked the question, you sat down and told him the story your teary eyes held for so long. As he listened to you explain the stories, he noticed how he wasn't speaking to his wife but to the little girl, his wife once was. The one who was left in a cruel world to people who shouldn't have had kids. "So, they...abused you?" He carefully asked and when he noticed you pause, he knew the answer you didn't. "I...I don't think so," your soft words spoke.

Nothing about the way you were treated seemed especially alarming 'til now

"What I know is that they were mean, evil to me. I was a kid...how was I to know right from wrong so easily?" You held his hand, support you failed to have as a child. Then, you told him the story of a young R/N. "I don't remember the exact age, but I could've been 5 through 8. I was there, he took me to his room, I thought we were going to play and he said we would so would I have known, you know?" Your innocent voice spoke the fear he held. "I don't remember much of that day but in glimpses, if I look too deep, I can see his hands between my thighs, and how he...well...you know," you couldn't explain, it was like a knot in your throat prevented to cause your heart more harm. "And you didn't tell your parents?" His voice is soft. You shake your head, "No, I...as a kid, they never believed what I said," you chuckle out of coping with it all.

"There was one time when my older sister tried to suffocate me, I didn't do anything to deserve it, all I did was watch cartoons and she annoyed me but I knew best and didn't feed into what she wanted from me." You pause and wipe some tears away. Your gaze never fell on his, afraid to break down too easily if you stared at the man who became home to you so long ago. He was that, he was comfort and home and you knew that if you stole one glance, you would be sobbing the stories. Your hand held his tighter, he knew well it was for comfort. "She pressed the pillow tight on my head, I was sick and my stupid lungs couldn't take the fact I had pneumonia, so of course killing me would be easier," you chuckle again. His gaze never left your delicate face and even he had to admit he cried as you told him these stories.

After a long sigh and pause you continue, "I somehow pushed her off me and ran to my parent's room, knocked loud and when my dad opened the door I swore I finally felt safe until I didn't," You know he was ready to ask why but you just laid your head on his shoulder. Looking off into the distance you continued, "My sister told them I pushed her, told her that I hated her, which is not true because hate is strong and she is my sister," you shake your head. "I cried when they didn't believe me, and had a panic attack in their room. and when I backed into a corner as my mother and father yelled at me...that's when they took my sister to the hallway and my mother stayed with me, she tried to hug me but I didn't need none of that...not from her." His hand rubbed your arm, knowing what you needed from him. You wipe some tears away, your breathing hitches and he wraps both arms around you. "I didn't hurt her Simon, I swear I didn't but no one believes me, no one," you whisper the last part. "I know you didn't, my love," he kisses your head and continues to rub your arm.

"I believe you, I'll always believe you before anyone else," he reminds you. "I...my mother gave me water and sent me to my room, told me to just sleep it off," you stop and cry. "Oh my love," he whispers and carries you onto his lap. The pouty frown broke his heart more and more. The cosy home he and you made for the years of your life, warming up his belief that slowly, he will replace all those bad years. The fireplace radiates heat on the snowy winter day. "In this world, I'll always believe you, no matter what, okay, my love?" He looks down and you nod. "That's my girl," he says and places a blanket over you both. "Do you want to continue, my love?" He asks, rubbing your back with his warm touch.

"I do," your voice is small. It was best to open about this and then burn it and let the ashes fly away than to keep it locked in for eyes to see. "I...as I grew up, I knew I had no place in that house. My mother shamed me for my body, and so did everyone in my family." Your head nuzzling onto his chest like a cat finding comfort. "So, I starved myself to be the perfect daughter. I did try to be perfect, I tried to get an I love you, a simple smile or hug." He nods, understanding where you came from. "One time, my mother grabbed my stomach, she told me I was fat and looking back at how I was at that age, I...I was healthy, nothing was ever wrong with me, nothing," you repeat in a whisper.

After a long time of comfortable silence, you speak again. "As I grew older, they made me feel terrible about all of me, how I dressed, if I did my makeup, my hair, my body, the stretch marks that decorated my body, all of it and even I wasn't allowed to have one bad day, not one." He shook his head and in that instant, he understood why all those years of loving you, you always avoided starting a family conversation. You were afraid to be like them, to persist in a cycle of never-ending trauma. He knew you loved him, he knew how much you yearned to be a mum, to watch him and you become parents and do foolish things for and with your child.

"I never understood why I was so insecure over my thighs or why I hated when people touched them, but as I grew older and noticed that I was...you know... I..um.." You could never be admitted, never say you were raped as a child, not when you were scared to acknowledge it again. "I know love," he responds so you don't torture your heart anymore. "But...when I realised what happened to me, that's when it all hit me and there was a time in my young life that I knew I would never forget," you kept holding onto his torso. "It hadn't been long after what that...person...did to me when my mum and sisters pinned me to the ground, they knew then that I disliked people touching my thighs so they pinned me to the ground and touched them," you shake your head, trying to forget the moment. "They...th-they touched my body as I cried and begged for them to stop and not once did anyone stop or help me. My father walked by and he...he just laughed and kept walking...how...how can you do that?" You cried. "How can a parent do that? I was a kid, Simon...a child," you broke down.

"And don't get me started on why I felt like Christmas was just not a happy holiday anymore." Your mind went to a past Christmas, your family yelling, your father accused of his cheating, never denying, just lying and yelling at your mother. You hid in a closet, grabbed headphones and played music loudly. Hours passed and your mother saw fear within her eyes as she cried to you, why can he love me? she asked as she cried, you played strong. Your father drove away, leaving his family scared and cornered in a bathroom, crying as they listened to stories.

"My dad used to hit me, well, my entire family really," you confessed. His eyes widened, he knew they were bad, but not this bad. "My dad had a belt he used to hit me with, my mother and sisters used to watch. One time, they added more fuel to the fire as they told him more lies to get me into more trouble, part of me thinks they loved to watch me cry and get hit." You so innocently say, "When I was a kid and even as I grew older, my mum and dad would hit me and tell me they did it because they loved me." He shook his head, "Never...never in your life do you dare think that way. If I even dare to lift my hand at you, you leave me, my love. Because no matter how much you or I love the other, abuse doesn't equal love," he cups your face. You nod.

You learned one thing from Simon as he listened, that he was calm after the bad storm. He had his troubles, yes, but never would he be like them. He and you healed the other after all those years of a bad life you lived. You and him, sunshine to the other even in the darkest of the night. He has become light and a new beginning. Family. And as you admire the soul who can tell which smiles you are faking, you know that the little girl in you is finally safe. She has packed her dolls and sweater, moved to the countryside, grew up and fell in love with a man. A man who is home, a man who became the grown-up little R/N runs to when scared. For he is home, he is light and he is love. He is your man, your safe place and the one you find comfort in.

I don't believe that time will change your mind In other words I know they won't hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go

"No more," he told you, you looked up at him in confusion. "No more?" you asked and he shook his head. "From this day on, you are not their blood, you are a Riley, you are R/N Riley and never will you be associated with them." He cupped your face. His tone was stern as he tried to make you listen to him. "They are not family, my love. They are strangers you lived with. And me...I am your family, we don't need another shit Christmas, we can...hm...we can have dinner here, or maybe get takeout and watch your favourite movies all day and night. Hey, who knows, maybe that Santa Clause man will come in the night as we sleep and hopefully you've been nice my love because I want him to bring you some good gifts," he chuckles as he cups your delicate face. You laugh a little, "Hey, look who's back, that cute laugh of yours my love," he kisses your lips and pulls you to him, closer than you already were.

You can start a family who will always show you love You don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own

In this lifetime, you will learn many things and you will meet many people. Most of which will come and go. Those who stay, you may ask? Well, they become a family, maybe not a biological one but it's not blood that relates two strangers. It's memories, it's understanding, growing, living and loving. Family is him, family is the old lady or that professor you bonded with. Family is people who make you feel safe and at home. For if you are lucky, in this life you will find your Simon Riley. The person who wraps you in a warm blanket and loves you a little more when you hate the reflection in the mirror. And if you get even luckier, you will find that not only will it be Simon Riley who heals your old wounds and covers them in kisses and caresses. You will find yourself, maybe in ten years, getting covered in glitter, mud, and stickers and having the walls of your home drawn on by Simon's child. The love child that was created on a warm Christmas morning. The same one that wakes you up at six in the morning to go and see what the big red man brought them for Christmas.

And if you are lucky enough, you will find peace. The same one you looked for since age 5, the same one you cried for throughout the years. Maybe it won't come this year, but if you are patient enough, you will find it and when you do, appreciate it because you cried for it many moons ago.

You don't have to be sorry, no

A/N: the tears I shed as I wrote this made a river. Anyway, thank you for letting me dump years of trauma with this one, love you all <3

Tags:

@ghostslillady @liyanahelena @sans-chara @siwwayouu @allaboutirem0 @just3rowsing @mothcelestial @blankk3

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hawnks · 7 months

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Alpha!Nanami/Omega!reader

Word count: ~2,800

warnings: a/b/o typical sexism, abuse of authority (from side character), mention of leg injury

……………………………………………………….

He brings the storm with him.

You learn him in whispers, along with a bevy of myth and rumor. He drifted here from the East. His clothing has been mended at least a dozen times, but his shoes are sturdy, expertly crafted. He makes no noise when he walks — hardly any noise at all. Rōnin, not samurai. And you can’t trust a man with no honor.

He killed his old master, I heard.

No, he was exiled.

Maybe he killed his master because he was exiled.

“He’ll be gone tomorrow once the rain lets up,” the innkeeper says, cutting off all further speculation. “Now, mind your work, not the guests.”

Beside you, someone grouses, “He chose a funny season to wander, if he’s afraid of the weather.”

…

The rain does not let up.

It puts everyone in a sour mood. The streets turn viscous and tacky, the air brutally cool. You draw the short straw, sent to fetch the days meat in the early morning, a long trek to the fishmonger that leaves you drenched down to your underwear.

It takes twice as long as usual — you lose your sandal a few times in the muck — and when you arrive the stand is vacant. The old man had come down with pneumonia.

Frustrated, you take the long way home. They can wait for the bad news, and you’re so soaked a few extra minutes won’t make any difference. You catch the eye of a few of the daimyō’s men, leering at you from beneath awnings, snickering as you walk by.

“Wanna hear a joke about wet omegas?” one of them calls to you.

You grit your teeth and keep walking.

You deliver the news about the fish to the innkeeper at the door to her room, so you can dart out again before she has a chance to say anything. God forbid she sends you out on another errand.

Soaking, furious, you change into your uniform, and begin your shift at the tavern.

The work is tedious, but decently lucrative. You like to talk to travelers, learn what’s happening beyond the boundaries of your town. It’s hard to put into words what you get out of this, hoarding information like you’re starved for it. Maybe the sheer notion that there is someplace else. That this town and its people are not the only things in the world.

The comfort of knowing away is still possible.

You expect to ask the rōnin the same, starry eyed questions, regardless of how the other server is avoiding him. It might even be enough to salvage this shitty morning.

But you don’t get a chance to ask him where he’s from, what he’s seen. You open your mouth to say something, and choke on air thick with the scent of wisteria.

He meets your gaze.

He won’t look away.

Your wet hair drips on his table.

You can’t feel your fingertips.

Shoving yourself away from the table so hard it rattles against the floor, you excuse yourself in a mumbled tumult. You recruit the other server to take over your tables for the rest of the morning. You must look as awful as you feel, because she doesn’t even question it as you retreat back to your room, throw yourself under the quilt. Close your eyes and pray for your heart to settle.

The one thing the gossip didn’t prepare you for — an alpha.

…

Another day of storms. Another morning you draw the short straw.

Another day you limp home through the mud, empty handed.

The soldiers don’t leer today. Instead, the daimyō is waiting for you. It feels like he’s always waiting for you, that he could swoop in any moment, as quick and ruthless as a hawk.

He’s said he could follow your scent straight to you, no matter where you’re hiding. Sometimes you believe it.

He’s leaning against a wall under an awning, but you know the casual stance is deceptive. He can be fast when he wants to be.

He calls your name, an inferred order to come.

You pretend you didn’t hear, keep walking.

He’s standing straight now arms at his side. Ready. Your insides feel leaden. It takes all your willpower to keep moving forward. To disregard an alpha is one, painful thing. To disregard the daimyō is simple insanity.

Water blurs your vision. You can’t tell from the corner of your eye what expression he’s making. Sometimes he finds your insolence humorous.

Sometimes not.

Just a dozen feet further and you’ll be at the bend in the road.

“You should greet me,” he says. Quiet, but you’re so hyper-vigilant, there’s no way you could miss it.

“Good morning, My Lord,” you whisper to your feet.

He doesn’t step out into the rain, but his voice follows you around the corner. Teasing, condescending. “That’s a good omega.”

He could kill you for your bad manners. A servant, ignoring their lord. No one would question it, no one would dispute it.

But then — he would be killing the only omega in the whole town.

As much as he resents your disobedience, he would resent the loss of you even more. An alpha must have an omega, he told you. That is his right.

Chin tucked and scurrying, you don’t realize you’re on a collision course until you’ve already run into the man. The impact sends you tumbling to the ground.

Through the buffer of the downpour, it takes you a minute to recognize him. His scent.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says. “I apologize.”

He bends to offer you a hand up. You just stare at his outstretched palm. Silent. Reeling.

You wait for him to give an order. Demand you take his hand, or that you come to stand on your feeble legs all on your own. It’s simply an alphas nature to wield their power like a cudgel, to bend everything and everyone to their will.

And now you have two of them to deal with.

Another moment of stillness. Your breath steams. Your pulse drowns out all other sounds.

He kneels.

Like this, on the same level, you can see the color of his eyes. So perfectly brown they’re almost black.

“Are you alright?” he says.

His voice is staid and calm. Not demanding. Not cruel. It — confuses you. You don’t understand what he wants from you.

You rise to your knees, shoving him with all your strength. He doesn’t budge. He remains solid and upright beneath your hands. You can feel the muscle, the innate strength. He’s warm, beneath the wet clothes. So incredibly warm.

You wonder if he could soothe your chill. You wonder if the touch of his bare skin would burn.

With a gasp, you tear away, appalled and mystified by your own reaction.

He stays kneeling as you rise and step away. He stays as you rush home, the scent of wisteria heavy in your lungs.

…

The innkeeper is displeased with your performance, of late. She gives you a stern warning that you shouldn’t let your “licentious nature” interfere with work.

“I don’t know why I agreed to take an omega on,” she sighs. “Not like you’ll be around for much longer, anyway.”

You wince. “Am I fired?”

The old woman laughs. “No, no. Not yet, anyway.” She waves at you, a full body gesture. A reference to the omega in you. “You’ll be wed to His Lordship soon, anyway. You won’t have to worry about the toil of work anymore.”

You excuse yourself shortly after.

…

The days are a monotony. Even the fear is so commonplace you lose track of it. The daimyō grows impatient with you. He calls to you from the shelter of the awning, each time a little bolder, a little less demure about his intentions.

“You know, I have a bad habit of breaking my things when I get bored of them,” he tells you. “I wonder what other tricks you have to keep me entertained.”

You hang your clothes to dry every evening, and the drip becomes a steady cadence, like the ticking of a clock.

This is your life.

The rain.

…

The decree is issued that afternoon. Marriage.

You’re to report to the royal estate before sundown, along with everything you own. You will not be coming back.

You pack your bag; you take the road out of town. With the city at your back, you’ll have to pass through the outskirt woods. Then across the river, a dangerous gambit when the water is this high, but that just means you won’t be followed.

You can’t imagine the consequences if they catch you.

The path grows looser the further you go, the mud deep, silt as slick as ice. Arduous and exhausting. And dangerous, too.

You don’t realize your footing is off until it’s too late. You slip, land badly. You cry out before you can stop yourself.

You struggle to your knees, get one of your legs beneath you. A shock of pain has you tumbling down again.

You can’t stand. You can’t run.

Just moments after you fall, a shadow overtakes you. And a man, looming, familiar, crouches before you.

“I heard your voice,” he says. “Can you walk?”

You shake your head, timid, overwhelmed.

“Pardon me,” he says, before hefting you up into his arms.

The ease he does it with is startling. An alpha’s superior strength.

He brings you to a small hunting cabin. Clearly abandoned, but decent enough. It’s dry, and a small fire is going in the hearth.

There’s no furniture except for a rudimentary pallet, which he sets you down on.

“May I?” he asks, hands hovering above your stockinged leg.

He takes your silence as answer enough, unrolling the material gradually, trying not to disturb your injury. He inspects it briefly, pressing carefully. You wince, he stops.

He reaches for his bag, retrieving a small tin. “Your ankle is sprained,” he tells you. “You should return to town in the morning.”

“I need to leave,” you return absently. “I have to get past the bridge.”

He frowns.

“The bridge has collapsed. The river is impassable.” He had tried to leave that morning, only to face the same dilemma. He considers you leg. “Besides, you won’t make it very far.”

The reality of your situation dawns on you, a slow tide of dread.

You missed your chance. You’ve lost your only opportunity at freedom.

You yank out of his grasp, dragging yourself across the floor, to the corner on the far side of the cabin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you—“

“No. No.” You gnash your teeth at him, feeling wild with fear, unable to see past the dark curtain of it. “I have to go. I can’t be trapped in here with you.”

He raises a hand, a placating gesture, but all you see is motion, canting toward you. An alpha. A threat.

You grab whatever is closest. You throw it at him.

The stick doesn’t even hit him, but that doesn’t stop you. You throw everything within reach.

He just waits for you to give up, but soon enough he realizes how stubborn you can be.

“Enough,” he says. His voice fills the shack, not loud, but indomitable. The undeniable command of an alpha. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would appreciate if you would offer me the same courtesy.”

You drop the stone you were going to hurl at him, suddenly incapable of aggression. You feel — groggy, but less terrified now. Very nearly calm.

His pheromones, you realize.

The notion that he’s using them on you should incense you, but you can’t muster it. You close your eyes, exhausted.

Eventually, after long minutes of tepid silence, he murmurs, “I was here first, you are aware of that, right?” His tone is almost — sullen.

And for some reason, that very human show of petulance is enough to thaw you.

You laugh.

You can’t stop. You laugh so hard it’s hardly laughter anymore. It’s so intense it makes your ribs hurt, brings tears to your eyes.

It feels like the first time you’ve been able to think clearly in weeks.

When you finally calm to a few soft hiccups, you lay down and throw your arms out. Passive.

“Alright, swordsman,” you say, “Fix me.”

He’s slow to approach you, cautious of another rock coming at him. But you remain still.

His touch is gentle, so soft it’s like he’s barely handling you at all. He retrieves the tin of salve you kicked out of his hand, and begins to apply it. It’s cool, slightly astringent. Beneath that, the scent of wisteria.

His fingers are just as warm as the rest of him.

It’s over before you can get used to the sensation of him touching you. He pulls away, returns the tin to his bag. “That will help with the swelling. You should still avoid putting weight on it until it heals.”

“Thank you,” you force yourself to say.

You think you hear him chuckle.

…

Night blooms, full and dark.

Despite your anxiousness, the waiting has grown tedious. Unbearably so.

“Is there anything in that bag to alleviate boredom?”

He glances at you for a moment. Hesitating.

Finally he reaches inside, pulls out a small binding. He passes it to you.

A book of poems. You recognize the shape of the sentences, some of the words. You wonder what use a swordsman has for literature, but the swordsman is full of surprises evidently.

Th pages are worn, the edges soft from thumbing.

“I can’t read,” you say. You look at him. Expectantly.

You hold the book out. He takes it, slowly, gingerly.

He reads.

He’s not much of a performer, although you didn’t expect him to be. It’s clear he’s not used to reading aloud, but he knows these passages well. He’s tone is even, with little inflection. The words come out perfectly paced.

They’re love poems. Not flowery or decadent, but earnest, gentle.

It seems at odds with what you know of him, what you’ve assumed from his status, both as a rōnin and an alpha. You’re not sure what to make of him anymore, how to reconcile the image you built of him in your head and everything you’ve witnessed here.

His swords are leaned against the wall beside him, sure proof of a history of violence.

The question comes, unbidden. “Have you ever killed someone?”

He pauses, glances at you. He searches your face for something, the fear that should accompany those words. But your expression is blank.

Silence, fraught with the tense memory of how you ended up here. What were you running from? Why? He must understand, to some extent. No one reaches desperation without pretext.

“Yes,” he says, simply.

“If I asked you to kill someone,” you murmur. “If I paid you…”

The implication feels enormous within the tight confines of the cabin.

“I don’t believe that’s what you want.”

“What do I want?”

“To not be put in a position where you have to make that kind of decision.”

That makes something in your chest feel tight, on the verge of snapping. Another thing you can’t wrap your head around. Another emotion you can’t name. Uncomfortable, but not frightening. Not like before.

You feel displaced, unmoored.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not being nice,” he says. “You need help. I’m in a position to provide it.”

And that seems wrong to you. Just because someone has the means doesn’t mean they’ll offer them, certainly not freely. Especially not when someone is a such a burden.

“I’ve never met an alpha who’s kind to an omega just for the sake of it,” you say despite his denial.

He mulls that over for a moment, head cocked as he decides how to respond.

“I didn’t know you were an omega until tonight,” he says, quietly. “I had my suspicions, but…”

“Were my bountiful charms not enough to tip you off?” You snort at his blank expression, too polite to disrespect you with an answer. “Why now?”

“Your scent. It’s…subtle. Easy to miss, especially under these circumstances.”

“What do I smell like?”

He smiles, for the first time since you met him. It softens his severe features, makes him look younger. Less world-weary. “You smell like rain.”

He continues reading as the sky continues to churn, until you can hardly keep your eyes open, just barely holding on to the soft thread of words.

“Sleep,” he says gently. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Despite yourself, you believe him.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #HAPPY FOUR AM #here’s this <3 #I knowwwww there’s like a thousand typos in here I just know it #I wanted to finish this tonight I felt compelled to #also I’m so sorry if u actually know stuff about history I am just making stuff up as I go <3 #JSJSJDJDJDJD #anyway……#one of the stranger aus I’ve written #cw: a/b/o #tw: a/b/o

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fortunekookie07 · 1 month

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Alright, I am redeeming myself with this one! All the sappy mushy stuff coming your way!

Confessions in the Rain

Zayne had to admit to himself that he was tired. He couldn't even remember how you had gotten to this point in the first place. It was like the universe had set you to forever misinterpret him. Yet there you stood, face red in anger and eyes watery from un-shed tears.

"Why don't you just admit you hate me already, Zayne? I don't understand how you could even say that to me. I'm doing the best I can." Ahh there it was, a single tear had escaped your control and was rolling down your cheek.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. "Don't bother, I know when I'm not wanted. You've made that painfully clear. I'll look for another Doctor!" You're almost shouting by the end of your words as you spin around and run from his office.

You run right past the nurse's station, ignoring them all staring at you. They'd never seen you anything but cheerful in the years you'd been coming. One of them even stood up hand reached out, but you're already gone.

The receptionist tries to stop you as well, but you don't hear her warning that it is pouring outside. You don't care. You have stopped paying attention to your surroundings. Eyes too blurry to see clearly anymore. Whether from rain or crying you don't know.

As you're about to step into the parkinglot you miss the edge of the sidewalk and go sprawling to the ground. Scraping your palms in the process. You land with a grunt. Your palms are bleeding now, but still you don't care. You sit up on your knees crying harder.

You're still sitting there crying when splashing footsteps come in your direction, and your name is called. "Come on, get up off the ground. It's pouring out here. You could catch a cold or pneumonia." Zayne has come after you, of course he did. He had a reputation to maintain after all. "No!" You yell back at him, swatting his hands when he tries to help you stand.

"If I'm sooo much trouble, then don't bother anymore. I'm not your responsibility. Just go away!" You swat his hands again. "You silly girl," Zayne says. softly grasping your arms and forcing you to stand. He holds you to him. Not minding your squirming and attempts to push him away. His voice rumbles in your ear as he speaks again. "Why do you always misunderstand me? You've been like that since we were kids." You freeze at his words, tears still sliding down your cheeks and washed away by the rain.

"Wh-what?" Your voice is shaky from crying. "I have never cared that you cause me trouble, trouble me more. Turn my entire life upside down. I don't care, as long as it's you. Let me take care of you, I've always wanted to." He pauses for a breath. Zayne has never said so many heartfelt words to you before.

"I just wish that you would not take what I say the wrong way. I decided to become a cardiac surgeon for you. I wanted to find a cure for your heart condition. You are the drive behind my every action. Don't you know that yet?" You look up into his hazel eyes, burning with the intensity of his emotions.

"I'm always worried about you, you're job is so dangerous, but you disregard my worry and dive headlong into danger every day. I know I can't stop you or hold you back. Just don't push me away again." He's pleading now. Zayne has never, ever done that for anyone. You try to squash the feeling in your heart again. You have always suppressed your feelings, certain he would never return them.

"Why, why would you go so far for me? Is it because we're childhood friends?" Zayne closes his eyes and drops his head a long sigh coming from him.

"You're so silly, why are you so silly. Fine, I'll spell it out for you then." He takes a breath, "because I love you." He looks into your eyes with finality. There is no way you could possibly misunderstand that.

Tears well up to your eyes again. "Y-you do??" Zayne gently grabs bot side of your face. He rubs circles on your cheeks with his thumbs as he stares into your eyes. "I've always loves you, ever since we were children." He says quietly. You grab his tie and stand on your toes pulling him down to your level before you can kiss him.

Zayne is surprised, his eyes going wide before he returns the kiss. After a minute you pull back and smile. "I love you too."

You're both completely drenched by the rain and the receptionist was standing in the entrance with a scolding look and towels. When you finally start back towards the hospital she's fussing about how wet you both are and the water you're tracking across the floor.

She wastes no time throwing towels over both you and Zayne and ushering you into bathrooms to have a warm shower and put on dry clothes. Despite all this, you can't get the silly grin off your face. Your heart is elated, and you feel like you're soaring high above the storm clouds. You hope that you never come back down from this feeling.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace zayne x reader #lnds zayne #lnds #lnds reader #mushy stuff #mushy #sweet #confession

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sunny-mercya · 1 year

Text

Parents Regret

Batfamily x Male Child Reader | Slight AU

Masterlist

01. New addition

Adopting you had been a spurt of a moment for Bruce. Something he hadn't planned to do nor did there were a properly rationally process of thinking about it.

It had been during a round of Patrol, when Bruce had heard a sound from an alley. Checking it out, he found a cardboard box and inside was you. Laying in there, almost deathlike, crying out for anyone and drenched wet from the rain. Bruce picked you up in a instant and brought you the Children Hospital.

That was three days ago and now Bruce was yet again in the Hospital, waiting for the Nurse to bring you. The Doctor had informed him about your well-being and current health.

Besides the obviously signs of malnourishment and possibly shock trauma, you were as healthy as a three year old could be. Though the doctor advised to keep you warm, huddled up in blankets, to avoid a possibility of Pneumonia.

«Mr.Wayne? You'll have to sign a few papers before you can take the little one. Also, additional we would like to ask you to name him, in case of emergency and the sort of.» The Nurse tells him, handing him the papers.

A name for you? Huh, so you were born nameless and not registered. Then it would much easier to get Custody rights for you. While signing his signatures, Bruce thought for a bit, racking his brain for a fitting name for you.

[Name] Wayne. Yeah, that name sounds about right for you. Perhaps he could add one or two middle names too, but not right now—later, middle names are need to be chosen wisely.

Bruce smiled when he finally could hold you in his arms. Holding his index finger out, which you grabbed tiredly. He nodded along to what the nurse tells him about medication and check-ups.

~~~

Jason, with the rest of his siblings, was sitting in the living room, waiting for Bruce. Whatever surprise Bruce had planned to bring home, Jason hoped it was either food or Joker's head. Anything else he didn't care for.

Whatever the surprise was, it had to be something big and important, when Bruce let them have a day off from school today.

They acknowledged when Bruce had stepped in, giving a short greeting and resuming back to what they were doing; watching TV. One of the few shows they all could agree on to watch.

«I would like you to all welcome your new brother, [Name].»

Bruce watched with slight amusement how at first they all mumbled a "yes" and "that's nice".

«WHAT?» like a chorus they shouted it, whipping their heads towards Bruce and looking at the bundle in his arms.

Dick was the first one to get out of his perplexing state. Jumping up from the couch, with full excitement and hopping towards Bruce—taking his new sibling, a baby sibling even, from him and into his own arms. Cuddling the small human and cooing at him.

Dick found you adorable, so damn adorable—the way you blinked at him owlishly, with dopey tired eyes. Never wanted to let go of you and chatting you up already.

«What's the meaning of this Father?!» asked Damian, scoffing and glaring. A new sibling? Doesn't father has already taken in enough strays over the years?

«If you all would calm down for a minute and let me explain.» Bruce sat down on of the armchairs.

And explained he did.

To be honest, Jason rarely sides with Damian or shared the same opinion, but this was one of the few moments he does.

The anger rises in Jason, glaring at the Brat in Dick arms with much hatred as Damian does. They, he, doesn't need a new sibling. Another unnecessary addition to this—in his humble opinion, dysfunctional family.

Like does Bruce wants to raise you as another Robin? To ruin your mental health too? To bring you to deaths door, like how he did with Jason. Or perhaps, Bruce saw you as some sort of publicity accessory.

Either way, Jason doesn't care. Ready to get up and leave, to get some fresh air and blew off some stream of pent up anger. Cassandra stops him, shaking her head in a way to tell him to sit back down.

«You don't expect us to act all lovely dotting now or? If you so desperately want to adopt that brat here, sure, but I won't babysit or to any sort of that shit. Seriously Bruce, yer just fucking insane now!»

«Jason! Don't say such things!»

«Oh, piss off Dick! It's the truth! Bruce's what? 45 years old? Almost 50 and he wants to raise a child in that age? That's ridiculous!»

«Should I have just left [Name] in the alley?» asked Bruce, trying not to raise his voice at Jason.

«No. But there are orphanages or foster care to bring him. Why should we have him anyways?» it was Damian who answers.

«He needs a family, Damian.»

«We're already enough of a family! We don't him!»

A shouting had erupted.

~~~

Dick had left the room before they all, mainly Jason and Damian, begun to shout. He didn't want you to hear this. So Dick decided to walk with you through the manor, to show you everything.

«You will love it here [Name]! Jay and Damian will come around to love you, trust me, they're just a bit grumpy at first.»

«Aah, Master Dick, do you want perhaps show the young master his new room?» asked Alfred, spooking Dick a bit, because he hadn't heard the Butler at all.

«Room?»

«Yes, Master Bruce had set it up some days ago, it's upstairs.»

Dick followed Alfred, rocking you a bit as you looked a bit fussy.

«Say Alfred, what's your opinion?»

«Well, I certainly don't mind little [Name], he brings some new life to this manor, but I admit Master Bruce could have discussed it beforehand. We're here, I will prepare a bottle for the young master.» with that being said, Alfred walks away.

Dick grins down you, excited to see your room.

«Ready? Can't wait to see your room too! It probably looks really cool and –»

Dick stoped when he had opened the door. To be fair and honest, Dick didn't expected that Bruce would know how to decorate at all, but this? This was a utterly disappointment. Only the bare necessities furniture, no colours on the walls and about two stuffed toys.

«Yeah know what, jellyfish? We're gonna go shopping on the weekend and I will spoil you rotten with Bruce's money.»

#male reader #dc comics #batman family #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfamily x male child reader #male child reader #jason todd #dick grayson

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romanarose · 6 days

Text

About a Girl: Chapter 1

Beautiful header by my beloved @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Joel Miller x Trans!Fem!Reader (Nickname, Blue)

Series Masterlist : The Last of Us Masterlist : Full Masterlist

Summary: Joel is a simple man. He goes to work, he takes care of his kindergarten age daughter, he tries to make sure Tommy doesn't die and occasionally Tess comes over. He works on Frank and Bill's farm with Tommy, Tess, and another coworker, Max. For his birthday, Tommy drags Joel out to a local grunge band's show, music he knows Joel hates. Joel is surprised to find Tess's girlfriends best friend, a girl they all call Blue because of the blue in her hair, has caught his attention.

What he doesn't know is she is trans. When he finds out, he's very confused, not because he judges her, but because he's not sure what it means for him. Does it make him gay? What does trans even mean? He's very confused. Still, despite all the confusion Joel has an open mind and he just knows that he has a lot of feelings for you and he wants to try. Joel goes on a journey of learning, not only what your trans identity means but also how to take care of himself, how to set boundaries, and learning he doesn't need carry the whole world on his shoulders.

Joel loves country, is as yeehaw as they come. Blue loves grunge, and looking as edgy as she can get by as a school teacher. Can you and Joel make it all work with the one thing that bonds them both together; flannel?

Warnings for whole fic, not chapter by chapter: 18+ ONLY!! I cannot warn against everything, but these are major themes. Joel is a lil ignorant but not out of hate. He just doesn't know. He's trying his best. There will be smut. Penetrative sex, all of the anal play, oral. There will be transphobia from other people. Addiction and alcoholism. QUICK child neglect not by Joel but I promise, Sarah is fine and is having a great time in life. Fetishization of women attracted to women by a shitty guy. Will update as needed. Again, this is adult content. Expect adult content.

Immersivity: Reader is transgender, AMAB female, reader has had gotten bottom surgery, not top, and is on hormones. reader has visible hair and a blue streak in hair, but not described. Could be braids, could be natural hair, whatever. Header is for aesthetics only. Reader is about Joel and Tommy's height. Let me know if i miss anything!

A/N: I am not a trans woman, but I am trans. I am doing my best research! If I got something wrong or accidentally say something offensive, please tell me! Same with Sarah's hair. I learned a LOT about black hair care from living with my black roommate for 2 years, and watching a lot of youtube. Again, if im incorrect or offensive, let me know and ill correct! I just want Joel to care about his daughters hair <3

TRANS LIVES MATTER! TRANS YOUTH MATTER! TRANS ELDERLY MATTER! TRANS WOMEN MATTER! TRANS MEN MATTER! NON BINARY TRANS MATTER!

It all started with Tommy, as most adventures do. Joel was certain Tommy would make sure to mention that fact during his best man speech.

“You have got to get out more. You’re making me stir crazy just watching you sit at home.”

Joel rolled his eyes, packing Sarah’s lunch. He was happy to throw in some plums, Sarah’s favorite fruit, that he got from the food pantry. Since Sarah started kindergarten and he didn’t have to pay for nearly as much childcare, things had gotten less horrifically tight financially but now he was playing catch up. Catching pneumonia last winter had drained his little savings with an ER visit. Joel desperately wanted to not rely on charity, but he also didn’t want Sarah to go without.

“How would you know, you’re never even home.” Since getting out of the army, Tommy has not adjusted well. Joel was happy to let him live in the house he built for his ex-fiance on his parents land they gifted when Sarah was born. Tommy was a help with Sarah and was good company when he wasn’t out partying.

“Hey.” Tommy looked a little offended. “I’m here plenty. Just ask Sarah.” Sarah adored her uncle.

Joel sighed. “You’re right.” He wasn’t. “But I ain’t going. I can’t afford that, and I’d like to spend my days off with Sarah.”

Tommy tossed a cosmic brownie from the box he bought into Sarah’s lunchbox. “Come oooooon. Sarah loves the babysitter, and one night out won’t traumatize her forever. I’ll pay for the sitter, I already got tickets and I’ll even cover your drinks.”

Joel would rather the money go towards Sarah’s next dental appointment, but he couldn’t tell Tommy where to spend his money, and he knew there was no saying no to his brother when he gets like this. “How many bands are playing? I ain’t sitting through three openers, Tom.”

“Just one! You’re coming!” Tommy ran out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time before Joel could protest. “Sarah! Guess who gets to hang out with Jessica tonight!” Joel could hear the sound of springs bouncing as Sarah cheered and called out if the bed breaks, Tommy’s fixing it.

After getting Sarah dressed, he sat her down on a chair in the kitchen and looked at the clock. “Only got time for a ponytail, baby girl.” Joel had figured out some simple hair care for thick hair he wasn’t quite equipped to work with. Before Sarah was born, he didn’t know how to do a single braid. Joel had practiced a little before Tommy had to chop off his hippie curls for the army but he still was lost in a lot of ways. 2 years ago, Joel must’ve looked particularly lost in the ethnic hair aisle with Sarah in the cart and a kind woman guided him to some hair gel, argan oil, and an edge brush, scribbling a few instructions on some scratch paper. That’s what's gotten him through this far. Joel kept thinking he needed to reach out somewhere or maybe find a book… but with what time?

Kayla, Sarah’s mom, wasn’t much help either. Kayla was mixed and absolutely inherited the polish side as far as hair, where Sarah got her late grandma’s genes. Kayla wanted to chemically straighten Sarah’s beautiful curls last year when she had her over Easter, but Joel put his foot down. When she was older, if she wanted to do whatever she wanted with her hair, braids, relaxed, wigs, she could but there was no way he was letting all those chemicals into a 4 year olds head just to make it “easier.” Joel could handle it.

She looked cute with her little puffball on the top of her head, anyway.

“TOMMY! LETS GO!” Why was Tommy harder to get out the door than Sarah was?

Little hands tugged at his shirt. “Daddy I want coffee.”

“No baby”

“Why?”

“It’s not good for little kids.”

“Uncle Tommy lets me have coffee.”

Joel sighed loudly. “Of course he did. Well, Sarah, that’s an uncle thing, I don’t know what to tell you. TOMMYYY!”

Tommy’s heavy footsteps clomped down the steps, dashing out the door. “Come one Jojo, whatcha wait’n for?”

How did little kids have so much energy in the morning? Tommy included. Sarah was chatty as ever on her way, talking excitedly about the eggs in the classroom's incubator. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but he was busy trying to figure out what bills he still owes. It was only September, one month into not having to pay out the ass for Sarah’s daycare. Was he even gonna be able to catch up at all before the summer comes? Her mom said she wanted to take her for the summer, but she was single right now and slightly more involved. When she finds a new man, she suddenly becomes much less interested in her child. Joel didn’t want Sarah around strange men all the time either.

“Daddy? Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?”

Tommy nudged Joel, calling him name for Sarah’s attention.

“What?” Joel said, not unkindly but perhaps a little too harsh than he wanted to speak around his daughter.

“Happy birthday daddy.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, wincing at his prior tone. “Thank you baby. I’ll bring home a cake, how about that.” He felt like he could cry, snapping at his sweet girl for trying to wish him happy birthday. He was so bad at this.

Both children in the car cheered.

Joel dropped Sarah off with several kisses on her forehead, then ran off to the truck. He might just be on time if he speeds a bit. He didn’t speed with Sarah in the truck, he was less careful with Tommy.

“Just in time!” Tess’s voice greeted them in the farm house. “You guys eat?”

She knew the answer. Sarah’s kindergarten had a free breakfast program, leaving Joel and Tommy on their own and god knows they didn’t take proper care of themselves. Luckily, they had great bosses.

Joel, Tommy, and Tess all worked for Bill and Frank on their farm. Joel had stumbled on this job shortly after Kayla left and God, what a blessing. Bill and Frank had trouble finding help being the only gay farmers on the planet to felt like, but Joel wasn’t really in a position to deny a good paying job, not in this economy, not with a baby who barely had a mom around anymore. This was before Tommy came back from the army, and Joel’s parents dead a few years prior. He was alone.

That’s where he met Tess. She was something else. A woman working as a farm hand alone was surprising enough, but she was the first openly bisexual person Joel had met. Hell, she was the only the third gay person he knew of and the first woman. He’d lived a sheltered life. Still, Joel didn’t really see an issue with none of it. Wasn’t his business what two grown adults did, that was his thought on the matter. Not that he really had enough time to have thoughts on much of anything other than keeping Sarah and Tommy alive. When Tommy came back, he started working on the farm too.

Tess slid the men some pancakes, stating she knew it and went ahead and made extra.

Frank entered the room with something in his hand. “Wait!” He placed the item, which Joel saw was a candle on the the pancake.

“Oh, no, you guys don’t gotta-”

“Shut the hell up, Miller.” Bill entered the room with a pack of cigarettes in one hand and a lighter in the other. He lit the candle, and then a cigarette.

Frank took it out of his hand, putting it out under the sink. “If you absolutely must smoke, you’re not smoking inside our home.” He then turned back to Joel. “Happy birthday, Joel.” The forth employee, Max, enters the farmhouse and then embarrassingly, Franks leads everyone (except Bill) in a very shitty rendition of happy birthday.

“Hey,” Tess nudged Joel as she attempted to fix the clutch without calling Bill up. “You coming tonight?”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Tommy convinced me. He also told Sarah it’s my birthday so now I gotta bring home cake and do a bit of the birthday thing with her. I was hoping to avoid it another year.”

She laughed at that. “Ah come on! It can’t be that bad.”

“She’s not, it’s my birthday that is.”

“I know.” Tess patted his back.

Joel and her worked in silence for a moment, but he figured this was as good a time as any. “Hey uh… so. You and Tommy.”

Tess smirked, but didn’t look at him. “What about my dear friend?”

“Well uh, that’s just it…” Joel cleared his troat, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just, you guys been spending a lot of time together, and I’m just… well you know he’s at tough spot right now…-”

“When isn’t he?”

“Right. Well. I’m just wondering… Well.”

With a chuckle, she put down the wrench and turned to look at Joel with a smile. “You’re wondering if Tommy and I are an item.”

Cringing hard enough his eyes were closed, Joel nods.

“Don’t worry about your baby brother, he can handle himself.”

“Can he?”

“Joel. Look at me.”

Joel forced his eyes open.

“Tommy and I fuck sometimes to blow off steam, don’t act you’re much different.”

“It was one time!”

“It was 4 times, glad to know that I’m that forgettable.” Tess continued with her teasing before Joel could protest. “Listen, I know you’re worried about him, but Tommy and I aren’t interested in dating each other. It’s just for fun sometimes. Tommy puts up a tough front but I’d eat that boy alive.”

Finally, Joel laughed. Yes, she would.

Tess went back to work. “Besides, you’re meeting my new girlfriend tonight, birthday boy.”

Joel was exhausted, washing his hands and forearms and face before leaving to get Sarah. He tried to stay as clean as possible for Sarah. She didn’t need to know how hard he worked for her.

“Hey Joel, I get to watch Sarah this fall don’t I?” Frank asked as he sauntered into the kitchen.

Joel tried to protest, as he did every year, but it was merely a formality to be polite. He couldn’t afford childcare in the late hours it took to get harvest done. Hopefully it wouldn’t be so bad now that Max was hired on, he didn’t see Sarah hardly at all harvest. Joel would come back to the farmhouse to find Sarah asleep on the couch with Frank, who was no help with farming. He handled the finances and paperwork, and functioned as a babysitter in pinches. Joel was forever indebted to the couple, inclduding Bill despite his facade of toughness.

“Nonsense Joel. I look forward to seeing her every time.” Sarah fucking loved Frank. He was teaching her painting and how to have a proper tea party, real tea and all. But with a lot of sugar.

Speaking earnestly, Joel tried to express his appreciation. “Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Frank clapped Joel on the shoulders, sliding him a card. “Thank you for everything you do. We really value you. I know Bill doesn’t say it much, or at all, but we appreciate you here.” He walked off, knowing Joel would protest the $500 cash inside the card.

“Daddy! Daddy! I made a friend!” Sarah exclaimed excitedly, running up to her father still covered in her paint smock that quickly transferred the red and blue onto Joel’s jeans.

“Is that so? Who is it?”

Sarah pointed to a little brunette girl sitting in time out. “That’s Ellie! She’s in trouble because she pretended a block was a gun.”

“Oh.”

At home, Joel went through the evening routine with Sarah, Tommy having gone with Tess to pre-game. He fed her as much of the macaroni she’d eat, bathed her and made sure to make things as easy for the sitter as possible. When Jessica came over, a nice local teenager that was great with Sarah, he briefed her as he tried to clean up the kitchen.

“Daddy? Where’s the cake.”

Goddammit of course he forgot something. He just can’t do anything right, can he? He was a shitty dad, a shitty brother, a shitty boyfriend, a needy employee-

“Where's the birthday boy!” Tommy burst in, followed by a group of people, some he knew, some he didn’t. With him was Tess carrying a cake.

“TESS!!!!!!” Sarah shouted, but went more for the cake she carried.

“Hiya, love bug!” She patted her ponytail. “Ready to sing happy birthday at the top of your lungs?”

Hadn’t she had enough happy birthdays? She must’ve known he’d forget the cake. They hadn’t been pregaming at all, they were making him a cake.

Tess hands the cake to Tommy, then gestures to the women next to her. Dark skinned, tall, her hair in… locks? Were those called locks? He was cooked. He needs to learn hair. “This is Talia, my girlfriend.”

Talia smiled brightly, extended a hand which Joel shook. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Tess talks a lot about you Tommy and Max, it’s nice to put faces to the names.”

“Please, Joel is fine. I may ache like an old man, but I’m not one yet.” Joel joked with a soft but tired smile. He turned to tess. “Max coming?”

“Yup.” She shot him a look to be nice. Joel wasn’t fond of max. Good worker, shit head of a person. Joel knew he couldn’t really blame all Tommy’s shit on bad influences, but Max didn’t help. “And this,” She gestured over to another woman who he had just been too flustered to notice until now. “Is Talia’s best friend.”

You were absolutely fucking stunning, unlike anyting he’d ever seen in his life. Tight white tank top, tight leather pants and a leather jacket. In your hair was a streak of vibrant blue. Your eyes connected with his and for a moment, he forgot about all the other people in the room.

“Oh, um, hello,” Joel shook your hand when he snapped out of it, repeating your name.

You smile at him. “Actually, most people just call me Blue.”

A small voice from Joel’s hip. “Is that because of your hair? Why is it blue? Are you sick?”

“Sarah! Don’t be rude.”

Chuckling brightly, you promise it’s okay and crouch down to Sarah’s eye level. “I’m not sick. I actually dye it like that.”

“But why?”

Internally, Joel groaned, thinking you’d take offense at the line of questions Sarah’s certainly had ready, but you just answered. “Well, I think it makes me look pretty, just you’re cute hair style makes you look pretty.”

Sarah lit up at that. “My daddy did it!!!”

“He did? That’s so awesome! You have such a nice daddy.”

Sarah nodded in avid agreement. “He’s the BEST!”

Joel couldn’t help smiling at that. He always felt like he was failing her, but she loved him regardless. “I can’t do a lot, but I’m trying to learn. I can do a mean ponytail.” Joel caught Tommy smirking at him.

Once the babysitter took Sarah to wash up for cake, Talia quietly spoke to Joel, still attached to Tess's arm. “Tess told me her mom isn’t really involved. I’d love to help you learn how to care for black hair.”

Joel felt his heart drop. “Oh shit, does it look terrible? I really tried but I don’t even know where to go and-”

Talia cut him off with a laugh and a hand up. “No, not at all! It looks very healthy. I just mean if you’d like to learn how to do more, especially as it gets longer.”

Always embarrassed to ask for help, he always swallowed his pride for Sarah. “Yeah, yeah actually I’d really like that… I’ll play yuh, don’t worry I wouldn’t make you do it for free-”

She attempted to say he didn’t need to pay, but Tess told her it was useless to try and fight. Joel figured the bonus from Bill and Frank could pay for Sarah’s dentist cleaning and the rest he could pay Talia.

After a terrible happy birthday and saying goodbye to Sarah longer than really necessary, Joel was dragged out of the house to go to some shitty local grunge bands show for his birthday.

Joel fucking hated his birthday.

Thank you thank you thank you!!!!! I can't beleive people actually wanted to read this!!! We need more trans rep in this fandom <3

First chapter setting things up, then one chapter per week for 6 weeks for my Oscar/Pedro pride event!!! each chapter 2-7 will follow themes of the week until the happy end <3

MEET THE OC'S

Talia Monroe

Tess's girlfriend, Blue's bestfriend. Talia is joyfriend and high energy. She offers to help Joel learn black hair to properly care for Sarah.

Max Waltz

Works on the farm with Joel, Tommy, and Tess. Tommy likes him, Joel hates him, Tess ears towards liking him but tries to keep him in check. Max is a generally barzen man, hates his wife, is loud and annoying to Joel.

Kayla Carter

*no face claim right now*

Joel's high school sweetheart and ex-fiance, Sarah's mom. Kayla is in an out of sarah's life, lives out of town and is only around when its convinient, leaving Joel with alone.

I don't do tag lists for one shots but I do still for series so

How to keep up with the series:

Follow About a girl series on tumblr

follow @romana-updates and turn on notifications

Ask to be tagged!

I really enjoy writing this series so I hope you like it too <3

KISSES

Please remeber to reblog or comment or engage in some way <3 community keeps us all writing and drawing

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @ashleyfilm @bumblepony @snnyc @casa-boiardi @del-ightfulling @joelsoftie

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peachesofteal · 9 months

Note

oh the image of Simon holding Darling while Johnny holds Bee in the latest baby trap installment 🥹 I just want so much more of them just being there trying to support Darling while repenting for their mistakes, even when she fights them the whole way

🍄

Beautiful mushroom anon is referencing this.

The guys are so... annoying. Concerned. Loving. Doting. I hate them. I love them. I could write an entire fic of this angst/pining/let us help you mess. I want them showing up at every beck and call, every whim. Groveling. Crying. I want it all. (I will also probably write it all for disco baby because that's the one that's going to be a full fic.)

18+ MDNI / baby trap au / dark and mature themes

"I'm here, I've got ya." You murmur, patting Bee's back while you hold her over your shoulder, trying to bounce her just a bit, enough to get her to burp. The movements work fairly quickly, and then you're leaning back again, foot rest coming rising under your feet and tucking your giant fleece blanket up around your waist with one hand.

"Need help?" Johnny asks, and you shake your head.

"No." Be nicer, they're being super helpful. You can't help but eye him with suspicion while he smiles shyly at you, perched on the opposite end of the other couch in your living room, fingers tapping together with nervous energy.

"Do you want to try to eat some lunch?" Simon sits a tray down on the cushion beside you, a plate with a sandwich and your favorite fruits already sliced up, along with a peanut butter smoothie. He's deposited your water bottle, refilled, on the side table next to you, within arm's reach if you need it.

Bee coos with a sleepy smile, pressing her face to your chest and you blow out a breath. She's going to fall asleep on you, again.

You could give her to one of the guys...

No. Just because they come over here, and take care of you, and wait on you hand and foot, doesn't mean you forgive them.

You do not forgive them.

The peanut butter smoothie calls to you, it's perfect consistency, perfect taste something you haven't had in so long, since before you left them. You want a sip, or to just down the whole thing, you want-

A cough scrapes across the bottom of your lungs.

You turn your face away from Bee instinctively, but you're not strong enough right now to really hold her from your body, and your shoulders tense as you try to draw a breath. Fucking pneumonia. Fuck.

"Take-" you croak, and Simon reads it, scooping the baby from your arms before you start to shake with the effort of your wheezing. It makes you lightheaded, and dizzy, and your eyes blink slowly after the fit is over, trying to get your equilibrium right.

Suddenly, you're exhausted. All over again. It's frustrating, increasingly so, and your patience has run thin. It's overwhelming, and frightening, how you could have gotten this ill, and now- now you're crying.

"Oh, darling." Johnny whispers, and you shake your head.

"'m fine." you sob out a protest. Jesus Christ. You are pathetic. This is so embarrassing.

"I know ye are, I know." Neither of them move, waiting, holding their breath. They don't want to push you, don't want to encroach on your very established boundaries, so they'll wait, which is even more frustrating at times, because it feels like they're trying to draw you out, push you to your limit even if that's not what's happening. "Please, can... can I help? Do ye want to go lay down?" Johnny's inched closer now, close enough you can see the sparkling blue of his eyes, his sweet and concerned face that watches every movement you make.

The dark of your room sounds so nice, so much easier, and you nod miserably.

"Alright, come on. I've got ye." He coos, and then wraps an arm around you, plucking you from the couch like Simon plucked the baby from your arms. "Bee's right behind us." He assures, because he knows you'll flip out, and sure enough, you hear her sleepy babbles over his shoulder. "We're all just gon' have a bit of a rest, yeah?" Simon situates her in the bassinet in your room, while Johnny places you slowly onto your bed. He hovers, watching while you peel back the covers and snuggle yourself down into them, turning on your side until you can't see either of them.

The baby monitor is deposited on the pillow next to you, while Simon murmurs something about being just outside if you need them.

Whatever. You roll your eyes but something, something very small, very far away in your heart, echoes with a ping of gratitude, and you and Bee drift off for an afternoon nap.

#peaches asks #🍄 anon #peaches writes #baby trap au #soap x reader x ghost #ghoap x reader #soap x ghost x reader

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