#Cat Urine Out Of Clothes

[petcatandkitten]

The Best Way to Remove Cat Pee Odour from Clothes and Bedding

Cats frequently urinate outside of the litter boxes. Litter box issues affect roughly 10% of cats at some point in their lives. It's critical to eradicate cat poop odor as soon as possible and completely. The scent of cat pee gets stronger the longer it sits. Your cat will most likely go back and urinate there again if the odor is strong. Cat urine contains a variety of germs in addition to uric acid. This leaves behind a potent smell that keeps coming back. Urine from male cats and older cats typically smells harsher. Read More...

#Cats #Animal #How to Get Cat Pee Smell Out of Clothes & Bedding #What neutralizes the smell of cat urine? #The Reasons Why Cat Pee Smells So Bad #How to Get Rid of Cat Pee Odour on Clothes and Bedding #kitten #pets #feline

[ecoorganic]

how to get rid of cat pee smell

how to get rid of cat pee smell

The best ways to get rid of cat pee smell If you have a cat, chances are you’ve dealt with the occasional issue of cat pee smell. It can be tough to get rid of, and if your cat keeps peeing in the same spot, the smell can become overwhelming. But don’t despair! There are a few things you can do to get rid of that pesky cat pee smell for good. First, make sure you’re cleaning the spot…

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?

My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.

They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.

My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.

Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.

However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.

The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.

I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.

I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.

I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.

TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.

WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #unsanitary cw

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 5 | SR

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Once you sober up, you and Spencer start to learn a little more about each other. But when things get heated between you, Spencer becomes distant.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - this chapter goes into some gritty detail about a past sexual assault / rape in form of forced oral sex (please tread lightly), blood, injuries, hangovers, talk of sexuality, talk of break ups, past death of a parent, past physical abuse, swearing, tears, making out, brief suicidal thoughts, rape statistics, PTSD, brief mentions of past drug addiction, Maeve and Cat Adams, vomit.

WC - 6k

Chapter 5 - Gunpowder and Led

When the phone rang for a fourth time, Spencer felt himself relenting. It was sitting in the open palm of his right hand, vibrating against his skin. 

The first three times he’d seen the flash of his name on the screen he’d quickly looked away, ignoring the sound, ignoring the vibration. 

But it just kept ringing. 

By this time it was dark, nearing ten pm and to say he was exhausted would be stark understatement. 

After getting you back to the ranch he went straight to the stable. It took somewhere in the region of a half hour to get down from his horse given the amount of pain he was in from riding to and from town. 

When he’d finally gotten down and freed Willow of her saddle and gear, he’d limped back towards his lodge where he’d left you with the key and told you to go sit down. 

He expected to find you on the couch or maybe even on the porch still. Instead he’d found you curled up in his bed, sheets tucked up to your chin as you snored quietly against his pillow. 

A cursory glance at the room and the clothes strewn around the floor told him you no doubt wore little more than underwear beneath the sheet.  

It probably shouldn’t be such a big deal, but Spencer’s mental hang ups had only gotten worse due to his social isolation. He was more of a germaphobe now than he’d ever been, at least with regards to humans. 

Horses, he didn’t mind. It didn’t phase him at all when Willow or Frank or Wilbur ate from his hand and left behind their saliva. He didn’t even blink at having to scoop up their faeces or clean out piles of urine soaked hay. 

But humans were another thing entirely. 

The most physical contact he’d had in two years was at the hospital this morning when the nurse had fitted his cast. She wore gloves of course, which alleviated some of his anxiety towards the situation. 

But now there was a person in his bed. His sanitised safe place for which no one else had ever breached. His cleanliness extended to the point he made a habit of changing his bedsheets every couple of days and he had planned to change them tomorrow in any case. 

He would certainly not be able to sleep between those sheets now another body had inhabited them. It played on his mind as he left you to sleep. He briefly considered waking you but the damage was done now. 

He tried to occupy his mind by going about his daily routine, which was made much more arduous given his incapacity. He started by taking the three horses out to their pen so he could clean out the stable. Usually he could take all three at once but his limited movement and use of only one hand meant he had to take them one at a time. 

He hitched up their reins and one by one led them up the hill towards the large, fenced off area which was located at the edge of the ravine which ran the length of the northern side of his land. 

Willow first. Then Wilbur. Finally Franklin.

The ache in his knee and the throb in his thigh multiplied with each trip up and down that hill and by the time the stable was empty he barely had the energy left to clean it out. But he pushed on, despite the pain and despite his lack of motivation.

It took well over an hour for him to successfully clean each of their paddocks but at least it meant his three horses had longer to strut around in the field because there was no way Frank and Wilbur were to be ridden today. 

Once he’d cleaned it out, filled their troughs and replenished their water, one by one he led the horses home. By this point he had to go and pop another couple of Tylenol and sit down for ten minutes with a mug of honey and lemon tea. 

After he did much the same with his six cattle. Their own barn was part of their enclosed area, they had access to come and go as they pleased through the open door as they spent most of their time eating the grass. 

All six, four cows and two bulls, were already outside which made his job a little easier. He cleaned the barn, replenished their foods and water while they meandered of their own volition. 

When he was finished he leaned against the fence and watched them for a while, smiling a little as he thought back to that conversation with JJ. 

“And what would you do with cattle?” 

“You know, look at ‘em, pet ‘em…I hadn’t really thought about that. But I’ll figure it out.” 

Looking at them and petting them was pretty much all Spencer derived from his cattle after all. He did take advantage of their milk supply every once in a while but didn’t particularly relish the milking process so it wasn’t habitual. Mostly he just liked to watch them. 

If he had a favourite it would be Cupid. She was the runt of the group, much smaller than her companions. He had named her such for the heart shaped black splodge around her left eye. Cupid’s brother Sampson was damn near twice her size and they fought like cat and dog. 

His other girls, Daisy, Annabel and Jasmine were also much bigger than Cupid but they were all amicable with each other. His final bull, Duke, was the biggest of them all, broad and thick and the darkest of blacks in colour. He looked terrifying and Spencer had been extremely reluctant in purchasing him. 

But then Duke had looked at him with large, doe eyes and licked Spencer’s hand in such a calming manner that Spencer had instantly fallen in love with the older bull. 

He stood leaning against the fence for some time, just watching them roam about, munch on the grass, interact with one another. 

As companions he preferred horses but to just sit by and watch he favoured the cattle. He found them mesmerising for reasons unknown to him. 

They were inquisitive creatures, majestic in their own right. And something about them just utterly fascinated Spencer. 

He missed another call from Penelope throughout the day and received another text from Luke which was much the same as the other. 

He would contact someone, eventually. He just wasn’t in the head space to talk to any of his old team after the past few days. 

After completing his chores he checked in on you and found you still asleep. Not wanting to wake you he grabbed a change of clothes before limping back up to the other lodge to clean himself up. 

He could tell you’d used the shower and so had to clean and sanitise the tub before he dared use it. He’d hold off on changing your bedsheets in case you decided to stay for longer but he did feel compelled to make the bed again to his standards. 

Once clean, he ran a bath, not having the energy to shower. While the tub filled he stripped out of his clothes, groaning in pain when he had to shimmy his pants off. 

Not entirely unexpectedly, the outside of the gauze was coated in blood as was the inside of the pant leg of his jeans. 

He sat on the toilet and unravelled the soiled bandage cautiously. He had another first aid kit in this bathroom so at least he’d have a clean alternative once he was bathed. 

He used a wad of wet tissue to clean the wounds before his bath so as not to be soaking in a pool of his own blood. It smarted and he ground his teeth in response. 

Lowering himself into the tub wasn’t an easy thing to do but he managed. And once he was down he relished the feeling of the warm water caressing his limbs. 

He kept his casted arm hanging over the side and lolled his head back against the porcelain, letting his eyes flutter closed and trying to force relaxation upon himself.

It must have worked because when he opened his eyes again it was two hours later and the bath water had long turned cold. 

He checked in on you once more after his bath, ate a small bowl of cereal for dinner and made another mug of honey and lemon tea which he sat drinking on the porch with his phone in his hand as it rang a fourth time. 

He inhaled sharply through his nose, slowly exhaling as he counted to ten. His hand shook a little as he raised the device, pressed the button to answer the call and put it to his ear. 

“Hi,” he croaked out the word and awaited their greeting whilst a throb pounded at his temple. 

There was a small stretch of silence on the other end, or maybe he just perceived there to be. But soon enough a voice he hadn’t heard in months flitted its way to Spencer’s ear.

“Oh man, it’s so good to hear your voice, pretty boy.”

***

You awoke with a start, your heart hammering diligently against your chest and gasping for air. You felt like your lungs had been filled with water, deprived of oxygen. 

Your eyes shot open as you sat upright in the unfamiliar bed. You blinked into the dark room, trying to focus yourself, find your bearings. 

Taking deep breaths to try and return your breathing to normal, shapes started to form. After a minute or so ascertained you were in Spencer’s bed. 

You rubbed your eyes, an almost gentle thrum in your head and the lingering taste of whiskey on your tongue reminded you of your precious activities. 

Images of the 11th Street Bar, of Cole and Boone and Butch came back to you. Spencer on Willow’s back, yelling, swearing, fighting. 

You groaned and let your hands fall back to the bed. You’d said some things to Spencer that would be hard to retract. You’d called him out on his medication, asked him about his mental health issues, trying to pry into an area of his life which was absolutely none of your concern. 

You’d called him a jerk, a self righteous asshole, told him no one wanted to know him. You’d projected your own anger and frustrations onto him, the nice, handsome man who in spite of his injuries had mounted his horse and come to get you when you were drunk and a danger to yourself. 

“You want to be a petulant child, fine. I offered you a place to stay. I can see you’re running from something, whether it be real or imagined I don’t know. But I was trying to help you because god knows I’ve been there. And no one helped me. 

“I know what it’s like to feel as though the world has turned its back on you and I thought, hey maybe we can be of assistance to each other. But if you’re going to be like this then you’re on your own.”

It was becoming clear that you and Spencer had a lot more in common than it would seem at face value. He wanted to help you because he’d seen himself in you. You had no doubts that whatever he was running from was far different to your own demons, but nevertheless there was a kinship between you.

And you’d gotten drunk and belligerent and potentially ruined what could have been a budding friendship. 

You got out of bed in the face of your growing headache. You noticed as you got to your feet you were wearing nothing but your panties and bra. Your clothes were thrown around the room in a very haphazard fashion and you scrambled to collect them and redress. 

Padding your way out of the room, there was a light on but no one to be seen. You went to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water which your dry mouth was thankful for. It went some way to extinguishing the taste of whiskey left behind. 

The kettle was on the stove and judging by the steam rising from its spout you could only assume Spencer wasn’t far away. Hugging your arms around your body, preparing yourself for serious grovelling, you headed over to the door. 

Through the glass pane in the wood you could see him sitting in one of the rockers on the porch, cradling a mug in his good hand, a cell phone balanced between his shoulder and ear. You held your breath, stayed extremely still. 

“Thanks for calling Morgan, it was good to talk.” Spencer sighed into the phone, not sounding as though he meant his words at all. “You can tell Penelope that I’m okay and I will try and call her as soon as I can. Yeah sure, thanks. Bye.” 

You watched his shoulders slump as he hung up the phone, sitting back in the rocker and closing his eyes. The moonlight bathed his skin, illuminating the slight sheen of sweat on his pinched brow. 

Swallowing thickly you gripped the doorknob and opened it before stepping out onto the porch. His eyes quickly opened again and he turned his head to the side, regarding you with what could only be described as disdain. 

You hesitantly walked closer, dropping down into the chair next to his. 

“Who’s Penelope?” You couldn’t help but ask. 

Spencer let out a dry chuckle, clearly not at all surprised to find you’d be listening into his conversation. 

“A friend. An old friend.” He brought the mug to his lips and sipped the tea.

“The same friend who’s text got your back up this morning?” You sat forward, leaning your elbows against your knees. 

“No,” he shook his head, looking out into the darkness instead of at you. “Part of the reason I ended up out here was because of an ex of mine. I was in a bad place and I was, uh…not good…not good. I pushed them away, I forced their hand. It wasn’t a shock when they walked away but it still hurt. And I knew if I hung around I would never get over that heartbreak and so I came out here, partially due to wanting to put distance between us.” 

His eyebrows were furrowed in his own confusion. He didn’t know why he’d offered that information so readily to you and in a strange way it felt something akin to nice to get it out. But it also made his stomach coil, hollowing his chest. 

He brought the mug to his lips again, not being able to look to see your reaction because he didn’t want to know what you were thinking. 

“So your ex is who texted you?” You drew the conclusions, watching the side of his face as he nodded gently. 

“Yeah, that was him.” He exhaled shakily.

“Him?” Your eyebrows pinched together. “Huh, I totally missed that about you.” 

Spencer slowly turned to you, your lip curled up in a wry smile. He puckered his own lips, wondering how much of himself he was willing to give to you. 

“I’m not…I mean I am, but I'm not?” He pulled a face. “I don’t really like defining myself. I guess if you had to put a name to what I am, the closest thing would be bisexual or pansexual I suppose. But I don’t really like to categorise it.

“Sexuality is just a spectrum, right? Some days I’m at one end and some I’m at the other I guess. He was my only serious relationship but I’ve had encounters with women too. It’s funny really, as someone who usually likes to have a name for things, to put into words exactly what things are, this is just one area of my life I’ve never felt the need to define.” 

You listened intently, nodding in agreement and offering him encouraging smiles. He took another sip of tea when he was finished speaking and rolled his lip between his teeth. 

“What’s his name?” You asked softly but then followed it up with, “only if you want to tell me of course, I don’t mean to pry.” 

Spencer nodded with a deep inhale, chest puffing out as he did so. 

“Luke. Luke Alvez.” He spoke wistfully.

Your brows pinched together as a strange familiarity accompanied those words. It was the same feeling you’d had when you’d seen the latino man in Spencer’s photograph. 

“Uh, is he one of the ones in the photograph on your desk? Dark hair, goofy smile?” You croaked. 

“Yeah that’s him.” Spencer nodded sadly. 

Interesting. 

You couldn’t place the feeling, couldn’t tell what it was about that face and name that was so familiar to you. But there was certainly something to it. For now you would park the idea, circle back to it another time if needed.

“I’m sorry that you broke up. You wanna, uh, talk about him?” You leaned further forward on your elbows. 

Spencer took another sip of his tea before bending with a small groan and putting the mug on the ground next to his chair.

“Not especially, no.” He spoke as he sat back up but then… “We dated for about two years I guess, all in all. Truth be told I thought he was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. On our third date he told me he was gonna marry me one day. Being with him was the first time I’d ever felt safe in my entire life. I loved him, I have no doubt about that but I sometimes wonder if my feelings for him were partially formed out of trauma bonding. 

“He was an ex army ranger, most definitely still suffering some residual PTSD. I have suitcases full of my own baggage and I guess we became closer because of it. I was the first person he ever told about his nightmares he had about his days in Iraq. He was the first person I actively and freely talked to about my addic…that doesn’t matter. 

“He was like a bandaid in a way. I thought we were fixing each other's broken pieces back together but in reality we were both too far gone. And then something happened to me and there weren’t enough bandaids in the world to hold me together. And I probably destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me because of it. 

“I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this. I hate talking about myself and my past. But I guess you should know, if you were planning on hanging around or whatever at least you have a little glimpse into who I am. I’m not going to lie to you and say I’ll open up more in time if you do stick around because I probably won’t. But you’re the only person I have ever spoken to about Luke and I hope that’s enough.” 

You could see the slow swell of discomfort blossoming on his features as he spoke and you knew it had nothing to do with his physical pain but a mental one. Your heart was thumping against your rib cage, taking in each word with precision, mulling it over and storing it away. 

It was a nice feeling that he trusted you enough to tell you all of this. His confession was like a warm mug of tea on a snowy day, the sunshine at the end of a rain storm. You wanted to return the favour, to let him know how much you appreciated his candour. But much like him you kept your cards close to your chest and needed to pick your words carefully. 

“I, uh, I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen.” You sharply inhaled. “My dad died when I was a little kid, I barely remember him if I’m honest. And then my mom remarried when I was ten. The guy was a douche, a drunk, and beat my mom six ways to Sunday. As I got older I started standing up for her and in retaliation he turned his anger on me. I protected my mom from his beatings but had to pay the price of taking the brunt of them myself. 

“It was what it was, you know? It was never gonna change. A few weeks after my sixteenth birthday I ran away from home, never looking back. I got the hell out of dodge before I did something dumb like fight back. It was what I needed to do for myself but in doing so I’m sure he turned that aggression back on my mom.

“I still feel the guilt every single day of my life even all these years later. Few years back I found out my mom had passed away. Supposedly she suffered a brain aneurysm after falling down a flight of stairs. What a load of bullshit. He pushed her, I know he did. He killed my mom. If I’d stayed it might never have happened. That son of a bitch murdered my mom and I blame myself.” 

By the time you were finished a couple of tears were spilling down your cheeks. And despite his aversion to touch, despite his germaphobic tendencies, Spencer found himself leaning closer to you, cupping your cheek in his good hand and brushing at the tears with the pad of his thumb. 

Much like Willow did, you nuzzled your face against his hand, closing your eyes as you succumbed to the pain. 

You briefly thought over his own confession, specifically the part when he said, being with him was the first time I’d ever felt safe in my entire life and understanding in that moment exactly what he meant. 

As Spencer held your face and continued to wipe your tears as they fell, this was the first time in your life you'd ever felt safe. 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He whispered and your eyes fluttered open. 

“You’re the only person I’ve ever told.” You confessed. “Maybe it’s true what they say.”

“What’s that?” He regarded you curiously. 

“About misery loving company.” You chuckled dryly and Spencer did the same, hand still on your cheek. “If it’s okay, I think I might hang around a while. And I promise to be of help around here, I’m not looking for a hand out.” 

“Sounds good to me. My misery for one is certainly enjoying the company.” His hand was still cupping your cheek, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to tear it away. 

All of his aches, pains and gripes had faded away, both the physical and the mental. The only thing on his mind was how beautiful you looked and how he wanted to do everything within his power to make all of your own pain go away. 

When his eyes flitted over your lips it had been an entirely subconscious action. But once they had, he found himself chewing his own lip and inching his face closer to you. You mirrored the motion, leaning further forward in your chair as your eyes started to close. 

Within seconds you felt his chapped lips ghost over your own, barely touching you as though he was testing the waters. For a moment you thought he might pull back, not dare go any further but you were grateful when his lips then crashed heavily against yours. 

A moan escaped your mouth and Spencer was quick to edge his tongue between your parted lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close to you as he deepened the kiss. 

He tasted sour like lemons and a hint of mint. You imagined you tasted like the remnants of whiskey but he didn’t seem to mind. He hungrily explored your mouth with a desperate neediness and you allowed him to. You’d allow him to do whatever he wanted. 

His hand that was on your cheek snaked around to the back of your neck and pinned you against him. His lips were rough and dry but you didn’t mind at all. His fingers threaded into your hair at the base of your neck and you moved even further forward until you were practically between his thighs.  

A muffled moan left his lips and was swallowed down in your own mouth as tongues and teeth messily moved together as the kiss grew more heated by the second. 

You sat back a little suddenly but kept your lips connected. You moved your hands to his shoulders and helped the both of you to your feet. Once standing he pushed you back up against the door to his lodge. His body flush against yours you could feel a hardness in his slacks pressing into your thigh. 

He caged you against the door with his hips, rutting into you slightly for the friction. He was hard, harder than he had been in a long time, not quite fully erect but he was certainly getting there. 

He washed his mind of any thoughts that didn’t directly pertain to you and how your lips felt as you kissed him. He didn’t want his intrusive thoughts to ruin this, he wanted the freedom to claim back something he’d lost in -

- Prison.

At the same time that thought washed over him, one of your hands manoeuvred between your bodies, over his chest, down his stomach and then finally pressed against the outside of his slacks. 

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 

You felt him going limp in your hand almost instantly. And then he tore himself away from you, taking a shaking step backwards on the porch and slapping his hand to his forehead. 

You were still up against the door, panting from the lack of oxygen as you watched him start to pace, limping as he went.

“Uh, is everything okay? You weren’t, uh, enjoying that?” You asked, rolling your swollen lip between your teeth. 

“What’s wrong, Spence? What’s happening? Why aren’t you, uh…aren’t you enjoying this?” 

“I, uh, I just…I’m not ready.” 

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry if I rushed you.”

“Spence? Did something…did they do something to you in prison?” 

“Fuck,” Spencer whined, shaking his head violently. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

You pushed yourself away from the door and came to his side, grabbing his shoulder to try and stop his pacing. His eyes shot up at you and he stilled, a look of terror in his eyes from your uninvited touch. 

“Don’t touch me! And don’t talk to me about that place.” 

“Spencer? You know you can tell me anything. This is a safe space, baby.” 

“Don’t touch me,” he whined, stepping out of your hold. “Please, don’t touch me.” 

“Did I miss something? What is happening?” You let your arm fall to your side. 

“I’m so much more fucked up than you will ever know.” He winced at his own words. “This is…I can’t…Friends. We can only ever be friends, okay?” 

It wasn’t strictly a question, you knew that. And even if it were it only had one feasible answer. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, wondering what on earth had happened to this man for him to react in such a way. 

You had your suspicions, it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out why one might be so touch averse unless he was the one controlling the situation, why someone might panic when they were touched in such an intimate way. 

You would never ask though, and he would probably never tell. So instead you started to nod, taking a step back so as to give him the space he needed. 

“Friends, Spencer. Friends is just fine.” You agreed. 

He looked at you as though he didn’t believe your words but after a few moments he nodded too. 

“I should…sleep. I’m exhausted. Tomorrow? I’ll…tomorrow.” He struggled to get out a full sentence but you understood anyway. 

You stepped aside so he could get to the door and watched him open it and close it again behind you. You heard the click of the lock and within seconds the light was shutting off, leaving you standing on his porch, bathed in darkness. 

***

In spite of his mental and physical exhaustion, Spencer couldn’t sleep. How the hell could he sleep after that? 

He didn’t even try because he knew it would be fruitless. Instead he did what he normally did when he couldn’t sleep: he cleaned. 

He started by stripping the bedsheets and tossing them in the corner of the room to be washed tomorrow. He replaced them with clean ones and made the bed so neatly you’d be able to bounce a quarter off of it. 

He got a bucket of bleach water, a scrubbing brush and some rubber gloves. On his knees he meticulously scrubbed every inch of his wooden floors with his one useable hand.

The pain in his leg was excruciating from his knee to his thigh. It hurt so much he barely registered the ache in his back or the throb of his broken arm. 

But pain had been his goal. It was his own form of punishment to himself for his earlier actions. You’d been vulnerable and he’d taken advantage of the situation, almost letting himself fall over a ledge he swore he’d never go over again. 

Intimacy was not on his agenda, not now and not ever again. He didn’t need sex, he didn’t need the closeness of another body, not anymore. Not after what he’d endured in prison. 

By definition, he had been raped. By the FBI definition of the word, that is what he’d experienced. 

Oral penetration by a sex organ of another person without the consent of the victim. 

Two inmates had pinned him by each shoulder to a wall whilst he was forced onto his knees. A third had forced Spencer to perform the act of fellatio on him. 

And in his abject terror, Spencer had gotten an erection which was noticeable to them all after the third man pulled away from his mouth and ejaculated over Spencer’s prison scrubs. 

They’d laughed and jeered at the obvious tenting in his slacks which he tried to hide behind his hands whilst stuttering out his logical explanation. 

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!” 

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.” 

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!” 

Two nights later they’d returned and one of the men holding him down the first night had forced himself on Spencer, using Spencer’s mouth as a means by which to get off. Again he also hadn’t finished down his throat but, like the other man, all over Spencer’s shirt. 

A week later, it was the third man’s turn to force himself upon their weaker inmate. 

The first time he’d considered biting the man’s phallus. But of course he knew that would cause greater retribution and he would no doubt be killed. 

But by the third time a part of him wished they would kill him instead.

In his years at the BAU he’d had to deal with hundreds if not thousands of these types of offenders. The act of one man assaulting another man in such a manner was a way to assert their power by putting other weaker, beta males in their place. 

He knew the profile, he knew the statistics. He could recite them verbatim. Fourteen percent of reported rapes were committed against men. In the US, one in seventy one men are victims of sexual abuse. Thirty percent of gay or bisexual men had reported experiencing a form of rape in their lifetime. 

For the first time in his life, statistics didn’t help him. The autonomy of being just a number didn’t stop the nightmares, the eventual PTSD. His life had forever been changed by those three men who had made the conscious decision to inflict sexual violence upon another human being. 

He could still smell them, the musky scent of sweat that filled his nostrils, making it hard to breathe. He could still taste them on his tongue, feel the frantic thrusts as they hit the back of his throat. 

The tears that had seared down his cheeks as he was forced to comply, the ache in his chest of knowing he would never bounce back from this. 

They used him for their own sexual gratification and display of dominance. They’d ruined his life for some sick and perverse power play. 

Because of this ordeal, Spencer was no longer able to achieve or maintain erections without the guilt and confusion sucker punching him in the chest. When Luke had tried to initiate intimacy after his release, Spencer had panicked, dissociated and grown violent. 

And it didn’t get any better over time. 

Luke tried to help him despite the fact Spencer wouldn’t tell him what he’d dealt with in prison. But Luke knew, without having to hear it from Spencer’s lips. 

It was obvious in the way he wouldn’t let Luke touch him unprovoked, and if Luke did touch him, specifically his genitals, Spencer froze and whatever tumescence he’d been able to achieve instantly vanished. 

Eventually Luke couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to help Spencer but Spencer didn’t want his help. And after the younger man had grown violent, Luke didn’t think there was anything he could do for him anymore. 

Spencer had almost grown content in the knowledge he’d probably never be able to have sex again. It didn’t really bother him that much, not until now anyway. 

Your kiss had reminded him what it was like to feel close to someone, to have an intrinsic connection with another person. It had made him feel wanted and not used. It made him feel worthy of human affection for the first time in a long time. 

Your touch had not been unwanted, not at first anyway. The simple gesture of your hand outside his pants had sent a wave of pleasure coursing through his body, like a jolt of electricity. 

But then he saw their faces. Those three men who had caused irreparable damage to the very fibre of his being. Those men who had used his mouth, the same one he was kissing you with. 

His walls had gone flying back up so fast he’d gotten whiplash. But he knew now, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that he was never going to get over what happened to him at Milburn. And the pain of that realisation was more crippling than any physical ailment. 

Over the years little pieces had been torn from his psyche. His fathers abandonment. Gideon’s abandonment and later his death. Tobias Hankel and his subsequent drug addiction. 

Maeve. Cat Adams. Prison. Rape. 

Piece by piece it fell away. Little by little until there was barely anything left holding him together. The string had frayed and weathered over the years and now it has snapped entirely. 

He continued scrubbing the floor through the pain. At some point tears started hindering his vision, rolling down his face and mixing with the bleach water. 

The longer he kept it up the more pain he was in and his stomach started to coil with the extent of it. Out of nowhere a wave of nausea hit him and he was suddenly vomiting all over his newly cleaned floor. 

He continued this vicious cycle for hours: scrub, cry, vomit, repeat. 

Eventually it must have gotten too much for him because the next thing he remembered was waking up on his bedroom floor to the distinctive smell of bleach assaulting his nose. 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @ssa-uglywhore27 @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @justreadingficsdontmindme @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @spencer-reid-wonderland @kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[goatcheesecak3]

Warm

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x gn!reader

Includes: fluff, implied ptsd

Summary: coming up to the one year anniversary of the jigsaw trap incident, your boyfriend, Adam, had been struggling to sleep, so you buy him a hot water bottle to see if it helps.

You packed your overnight bag, ready to head to Adam's apartment. To call this a rough patch would be an understatement, Adam was doing terribly. It was coming close to one year since his horrible ordeal with the jigsaw killer, and the closer he got to that date, the worse he felt. Perhaps it was muscle memory off the brain, or something of that ilk? As though Adam's mind held onto the fear he felt this time last year, as though every little thing around him brought him back to that bathroom. His nightmares, thought they had never gone away fully, were back with a vengeance, tormenting him at his most vulnerable. As he would lay in bed hoping and praying that slumber would be his escape, he would be transported back there. That's why you'd been staying with him more often.

After calling him earlier that day, Adam had filled you in on his most recent appointment with his psychiatrist. She'd recommend a plethora of techniques to help him, but the one that stuck out to you most was warmth. Back in the bathroom, the horrors Adam had been subjected to were accompanied by freezing cold and damp conditions. Barefoot, with only an ill-fitting tshirt and jeans (which were sodden, due to the fact that he'd woken up in a bathtub of ice cold filthy water), Adam had nearly frozen to death in that room. He didn't often talk about his experience, but when he did, the temperature was something he brought up constantly. He would recount how he could see his own breath in front of him, how his toes went numb from the cold, how he would sit, curled in a pitiful ball, shivering and sniffling as he waited to die.

In light of this, you had made a purchase for Adam; a novelty hot water bottle in the shape of a cat. You'd tried to find a plain one, because though Adam had a boyish charm to him, you were afraid he might find the childish design patronising. But, as luck would have it, nowhere seemed to sell hot water bottles that weren't some variation of pinky and fluffy, an animal or a pink and fluffy animal. The safest bet in your opinion was to opt for a black cat - Adam did like cats after all.

You sent him a text, "be there in 20 :)" and headed off to his apartment.

Upon arrival to his apartment building, you were reminded why he never could sleep well in that place. Even someone without the trauma of a jigsaw trap would find sleep hard in that building, the way it always stank of urine, the eerie creaks and clunks of the ancient elevator, the dingy hallways and the stairwells so dark that even on a bright summer's day felt as though you'd just stepped into hell itself. You made a mental note to ask Adam to move in with you soon (which you'd wanted to do for a long time, but hadn't in fear of rushing the relationship) just for the sake of getting him out of there.

Once you'd climbed the staircase, not feeling lucky enough to chance the death trap of an elevator, you finally reached Adam's apartment.

Knock knock

The door slowly opened, just a crack, and you could see a timid Adam sigh with relief as he saw you stood there. The door closed again and you heard the chain rattle as he took the door off the latch, and then it opened once more.

Adam looked awful, to put it bluntly. Bags under his eyes, his hair a mess and his clothes stained and tattered.

"Sorry for the.. well.." Adam gestured to himself as you entered, "I haven't been doing too great".

You gave him a sympathetic smile while he hastily locked the door back up.

"You're still the most handsome man I know"

Adam rolled his eyes playfully, "Don't humour me, I haven't slept in three days. I know what i look like"

You sighed and made your way over to the sofa, picking up a dirty sock off the cushion and tossing it aside.

"Come on, sit with me Mr grumpypants, I've got you a present" you said, patting the seat next to you.

Adam approached curiously, his eyes ever so slightly squinted in suspicion. He sat next to you and peered into your bag as you rummaged through it for his gift.

"Okay, I know this is gonna seem silly, and I tried to find a plain one but this is all they had," you preemptively excused yourself as you searched through your belongings, "but I really think this might help with your sleeping"

You finally pulled the hot water bottle out of the bag and handed it to Adam.

You sat in silent anticipation, watching him stare at the peculiar object in his hands with a blank expression. After what felt like an eternity, he softly spoke

"It's... a cat"

"...yeah..."

He looked at you, the tiniest, most adorable smile on his face

"... I love cats" he said quietly.

Relieved, you felt a huge grin spread itself across your face. You kissed Adam's cheek and his smile grew to match yours.

"You fill it up with warm water and cuddle it at night, it's good for sleeping" you explained.

"Oh yeah, I've heard of those" he beamed, still clutching it tightly.

"How about you get changed into something comfy for bed" you suggested, "and I'll fill it up for you?"

Adam nodded and handed you the hot water bottle "just make sure you take good care of Mr whiskers while I'm out of the room, he's my son now and I can't have anything bad happen to him" he joked as he headed off to his bedroom to get changed.

You laughed and shook your head as you filled up "Mr whiskers". It'd been too long since you'd gotten to see that playful side of Adam, and oh god how you'd missed it. You still loved the smart ass, sarcastic side of him, but the genuinely sweet and silly part of him had been dormant these last few weeks, he hadn't been in any mood for it - and who could blame him? He was going through a tremendous amount of suffering, but his little "Mr whiskers" comment gave you some hope that you might have lightened the load, even just a little bit.

When you entered the bedroom you found Adam stood in his boxers sniffing a tshirt that he'd most likely found on the floor. He pulled it away from his face immediately and cringed at the smell.

"I uh... haven't gotten round to doing my laundry" he excused once he saw you

"What are you like" you chuckled, as you tiptoed around the dirty boxers and socks that were strewn over his floor.

"Just sleep in your boxers, I'll take some of this stuff to the laundromat in the morning" you said, having finally made your way over to him.

"Come on, Mr whiskers is tired" you said, handing him the hot water bottle and nudging him to get into bed.

When you and Adam had first started dating he had always been the big spoon, and a lot of nights he still was, but nights when he wasn't doing too well there was nothing he loved more than just being held. This was one of those nights, and so he lay with his back to you, curled into a ball, clutching the affectionately named "Mr whiskers" to his chest. You slipped in behind him and gently wrapped your arm around his body, pulling him in as close to you as you could.

His back was cold against you, and his feet felt like ice cubes- but you didn't mind. Tonight was all about Adam, he needed a good rest more than you at this point, and for the first time in a while, it looked like he was actually going to get it.

"You comfy?" You whispered

"Mhm" he mumbled softly, shuffling back to get even closer to you.

You leaned forward and placed a few small kisses on his cheek and neck, as he happily nuzzled his hot water bottle.

"Night big guy, I love you" You breathed

"Love you too," he muttered, already half asleep.

That night, as if by some miracle, Adam slept through the entire night - not a single nightmare. Now there's not a night that goes by where Mr Whiskers isn't an integral part of Adam's nighttime routine.

A/n hello! Sorry I haven't been active for a little while, I've been working on a screenplay, so I haven't had as much time for writing fics! Also!! Follow me on tiktok @/b3lfryb4t for more saw stuff :^))

Replies and reblogs are very much appreciated! I thrive on your validation lmao

Requests are open! Check my pinned post for details and masterlist! <3

#adam faulkner x reader #adam faulkner stanheight #adam saw #saw adam #adam faulkner #adam stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #fluff #fic #saw #saw 2004 #sawposting #adam faulkner stanheight x reader #x y/n #x you #x reader #leigh whannell

[czenzo]

Overcome

[ao3]

summary:

“Neil.” If the tone of his voice wasn’t already alarming, the way he stared at King certainly was. Sir was curled up on Andrew’s left, head resting on his thigh. King lay on his other side, stretched out as if to wake her sleeping limbs, but was unnervingly still. Her little face winced in clear discomfort, and her breathing was erratic. Neil kneeled by their bed. “Something isn’t right.”

King falls ill and needs urgent treatment. The stress takes its toll on Andrew, but Neil is there to hold him up.

words: 3,495 rating: G

note: did I write this to cope while my own cat went through a medical crisis? perhaps. he’s doing better now though :)

contains descriptions of animal illness and discomfort, vomiting, and talk of (animal) death. I promise there's a happy ending, though! these guys deserve it

title taken from Overcome by Nothing But Thieves

—

Andrew was the first to notice something wasn’t right with King.

While Neil started his mornings with a long run, Andrew preferred to stay inside, swaddled in comfortable clothes, a book in hand, a mug of strong coffee at his bedside, and two cats draped across his lap.

When Neil returned, desperate to scald himself in the shower before inhaling breakfast, Andrew didn’t greet him. He was sat upright in bed, book forgotten in his lap. All he said was, “Neil.”

If the tone of his voice wasn’t already alarming, the way he stared at King certainly was. Sir was curled up on Andrew’s left, head resting on his thigh. King lay on his other side, stretched out as if to wake her sleeping limbs, but was unnervingly still. Her little face winced in clear discomfort, and her breathing was erratic.

Neil kneeled by their bed. “Something isn’t right.”

The look Andrew flicked him silently scolded him for stating the painfully obvious, but Andrew’s gaze was back on King in a split second.

Moving slowly, Neil raised his hand to King’s nose. Her nose twitched and, upon recognising his familiar scent, she let out a high-pitched mrrp and allowed him to stroke her head. She relaxed a little as Neil’s blunt nails scratched behind her ears, but still lay stretched out and rigid.

The second Neil’s hand dipped past her neck, she threw a fit. Claws were out in an instant; Neil received three shallow, uniform cuts at the base of his thumb. The hiss she gave didn’t sound like King at all; both King and Sir had always been calm, mellow cats. The pure panic emanating from her was completely unknown territory for all of them.

Andrew’s face was carefully blank. He reached for Neil’s phone, which had been discarded on the nightstand, and silently handed it over.

The emergency vet line talked him through the necessary checks. Was she an outdoor cat? No, she stayed indoors. Has she been eating and drinking well? Drinking, yes, eating, not really, but that wasn’t particularly unusual (Sir had always been the pudgier of the two). Does she appear to be in pain? Yes, that’s why I called. Does she have any visible wounds? Neil scanned her body. No. She spends all day sleeping, she couldn’t have injured herself. Any vomiting or diarrhoea?

King convulsed once. Twice. She dragged herself up onto her front legs and heaved, bringing up the breakfast Neil had kindly put out for her before leaving for his run.

“Yes,” Neil said dryly.

“And when was the last time she urinated?”

Neil looked to Andrew, who frowned as he thought it over, before minutely shaking his head.

“Not sure. It’s been a while.”

“Take her to your local animal clinic as soon as possible,” the nurse said, loud enough for her urgent tone to be overheard by Andrew. He tensed.

Neil idly scratched King’s chin; it helped ground both of them. “Is it serious?”

“It could be. She needs a physical examination. Are you able to get her one ASAP?”

“Yeah. We’ll drive her down now.”

Getting King into her carrier was a herculean effort that resulted in both Andrew and Neil sporting an array of new scratches up their arms. Getting Sir to calm down was almost harder—she realised something was wrong soon after Neil put the phone down, and was simultaneously trying to check on her friend and get some human reassurance.

Closing the door on Sir’s round little face was tough, but both Andrew and Neil wanted to stick with King. If one of them waited at home, the anticipation for an update would have gnawed away at them.

Andrew being quiet wasn’t unusual, but his silence during the drive to the vet had a different kind of weight to it. He was never one for braking a sensible amount to go around corners, but today he did so even less. He had them in a parking space and killed the engine five minutes before the GPS said they were supposed to arrive.

After they gave the receptionist the rundown on the odd symptoms and the phone call, King and her carrier were whisked away down a winding corridor for an examination.

Neil frowned. “Can’t we go with her?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said with an apologetic smile. “It’s more efficient if you wait here. She’s in good hands, I promise.”

Just as Neil was about to rebuke, Andrew turned on his heel and made a beeline for the waiting room. After a moment’s hesitation, Neil followed and joined him on the chairs with padding so dead it felt like sitting on a rock.

Part of him wanted to say something along the lines of She’ll be fine, but not even he fully believed that, and he was sure the reaction it would evoke from Andrew would be unpleasant. King had behaved like an entirely different cat that morning.

Andrew was still saying nothing, so Neil used the silence as a chance to pull out his phone. Nicky had formed a habit of regularly asking for cat pictures. Neil wanted to give him—and by extension, the rest of the Foxes—the heads up that something wasn’t right with King, and to hold back on mentioning the cats to Andrew for the time being. Nicky’s reply was immediate and contained an unnecessary amount of frowny faces.

Neil slid his phone back into his pocket. “We should give them that last tin of tuna when we get back.”

Andrew slid him a cool glance. It was a carefully constructed look, designed to fool outsiders. Neil was not an outsider. Andrew had his hands clasped in his lap; Neil hovered one of his own over the tight knot of fingers.

“Yes or no?”

Andrew opened his hands in response. Neil easily slid his into one of them, intertwining their fingers and holding firmly. Andrew’s grip was tight and unrelenting as Neil’s thumb rubbed soothing circles into his skin.

Purposefully avoiding watching the clock meant Neil had no idea how much time had passed by the time a nurse emerged from the back with an update. Her sympathetic face said she was going to start with some fluffy time-wasting to ease them into the actual news.

Neil held up a hand before she could start. “Just tell us straight.”

The nurse was startled, yet appeared a little relieved she didn’t have to hand-hold them into it. “Your cat has a blocked urinary tract. It’s”—she hesitated, then remembered Neil’s words—“serious. She needs immediate treatment, or her chances of survival will be dangerously low.”

“Do whatever you need to,” Neil said. “We don’t care about costs.”

“A blockage this bad means she needs to stay overnight. We’ll sedate her, insert a catheter, and keep her under observation. It will not be cheap.”

“Like I said, we don’t care about costs.”

A beat passed before the nurse nodded. “Okay. The receptionist will have all the relevant paperwork for you before you leave.”

Andrew spoke before Neil could. “Can we see her?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said remorsefully. “We need to keep her as calm as possible. Her treatment will be easier and more efficient if you wait.”

The vice-like grip on Neil’s hand tightened in a way that said Andrew fucking despised that reasoning; King was always calmest in Andrew’s lap with a hand scratching her chin. Instead of vocalising this, however, Andrew resumed his silence.

The nurse waited awkwardly for a few moments more before she realised she wouldn’t be getting anything else from either of them, then disappeared back behind the door marked STAFF ONLY.

Neil waited at Andrew’s side until he stood to head for the desk and retrieve the paperwork.

Andrew drove them home while Neil leafed through the stack of papers and handouts filled with medical jargon. He assumed they’d head straight home to distract themselves with Sir’s company, but Andrew screeched to a halt in a supermarket parking lot, left the car, and then returned with two pints of ice cream. Neil didn’t comment on it.

Sir greeted them with a barrage of happy chirps and ankle headbutts, oblivious to the absence of her furry other half. Ice cream cartons still in hand, Andrew dug a spoon from a drawer then disappeared into the living room. After hearing Andrew dropping onto the sofa like a dead weight, Neil shuffled the papers in his hands around to scoop up Sir and follow him.

Andrew had tucked himself into the far end of the sofa, one shin tucked under a thigh as he picked at his fraying jeans. Neil dropped the papers on the coffee table and sat beside him, leaving a respectful amount of space yet staying close enough to still be a comforting presence. Sir leapt out of his hold and wedged herself in the space between their thighs, purring like an engine as she tucked herself in tightly.

Andrew didn’t hesitate to reach out and run his fingers through her thick fur. She eagerly leant into his touch.

“It would have killed her if left any longer,” Andrew said, voice so soft Neil almost didn’t hear it over Sir’s happy chirping.

Neil glanced at the papers. It shouldn't have surprised him that Andrew had already memorised the key information within them.

“We caught it early,” he said in return. “And we have the money. She has the best chance of survival.”

“It is still not guaranteed.”

“No,” Neil agreed. “But we’ve done all we can.”

The scratching of Sir’s head slowed. Neil leant towards Andrew. “Yes or no?”

When Andrew looked at him with dark eyes and heavy lids, Neil realised just how exhausted he was. The day had already taken its toll, and they were barely into the afternoon. Andrew tilted to the side and rested his head against Neil’s shoulder; Neil raised an arm to wrap around him. In this position, Sir was being pressed even tighter by their legs, but the increased purring said she was elated over this.

King’s absence was stark and impossible to ignore. A small voice in the back of Neil’s mind noted that one day, this would be their new normal—Sir and King were not bound together for life. One would have to leave before the other eventually, leaving Andrew and Neil with one cat and a cat-shaped hole in their lives.

Neil shook the thought off and rubbed his thumb against the jut of Andrew’s shoulder just like he’d done to his hand in the waiting room. Andrew pressed his face further towards the crook of his neck and exhaled deeply. A kiss pressed to his unbrushed blonde locks made him relax a little more.

Waiting was all they could do; the receptionist assured them they’d receive a call the second there was an update on King’s progress. In the meantime, they had Sir to keep them company, along with—

Neil’s eye caught the ice cream sitting on the arm of the sofa. With a man and cat pressed into him, reaching over them for one of the pints was tough, but Neil made it work. He pried off the lid, balanced the spoon on top, and placed it on Andrew’s lap. It didn’t take long for Andrew to dig in.

For background noise, Neil dug out the remote from the depths of the sofa, turned on the TV, and was greeted by the Exy news channel Kevin had put on when he visited a few days ago. Though part of him wanted to keep it on, he switched channels for Andrew’s sake. Picking a random one resulted in an antique roadshow-type program geared towards pensioners lazing in their homes at midday on a Saturday—not particularly engaging, but it swallowed the room’s suffocating silence.

Andrew looked at the TV but didn’t appear to actually be watching it as he scooped ice cream with one hand, carton held firmly between his thighs, and stroked Sir with the other. Aside from massaging Andrew’s tense shoulder, Neil stayed still, wanting to keep his family close to him for as long as they needed it.

As what looked like the world’s most ancient teapot was put up for auction, Andrew licked the spoon clean of the first tub’s remnants and let the empty carton drop to the floor. Presumably, Andrew bought the second one with the intention of it being Neil’s, but he quickly dropped that pretence and cracked it open in his lap. He was kind enough to raise the first spoonful to Neil’s lips, and Neil took it obligingly. Smiling, he pressed another kiss to Andrew’s head.

Andrew shamelessly made quick work of the second pint, too. It didn’t come as a surprise; since the chaos with the Moriyamas had died down, Andrew had mellowed a little. He still kept up his apathetic front, especially when it came to Exy. But he began putting more effort in on the court (which Neil found, honestly, devastatingly attractive), embraced his new domestic life with Neil and their two cats (two, permanently two, not two about to decrease to one), and gained a few pounds. Kevin still worked him hard so he’d built some more muscle, too, but not even Kevin Day could pry Andrew’s sugar-coated diet from him, and as a result, Andrew had filled out more. Solid sturdiness and enviable strength hid beneath a layer of softness. The cats loved kneading it. Neil loved putting his hands and lips all over it.

“He is making some awful financial decisions,” Andrew said, motioning to the TV with his spoon. Neil blinked and looked up to find someone had purchased the decrepit teapot for a truly ridiculous amount. Sir chirped, and Andrew moved the spoon to point at her. “She agrees.”

Neil wasn’t sure when he drifted off, lulled to sleep by the tiring morning and Andrew and Sir’s comforting warmth, but when he cracked open his bleary eyes, the clock told him they were well into the evening.

At some point, he’d lowered backwards to lie on the sofa. Andrew lay on him, a heavy but pleasantly grounding weight, head still tucked into Neil’s neck. Sir had disappeared. Neil guessed she’d probably relocated herself to their spacious bed.

Reaching for the remote to turn off the still-droning TV roused Andrew. He let out a small groan and raised his head. Neil greeted him with a kiss to the forehead, then, when Andrew lifted his head further, another to his lips.

Andrew’s were chapped. As he scrunched his eyes, his tongue darted out to wet them. “What time is—”

The harsh din of Neil’s phone ringing cut him off. Both Neil and Andrew scrambled upright; Neil beat him to it and picked up the phone without checking the ID, already knowing who it was.

“Hello, Neil Josten? You’ll be glad to hear the blockage was successfully removed,” said the gentle voice of the receptionist on the other end. “We’ll still require her to stay overnight for close monitoring and to introduce her new medicine to her system, but if she continues to improve like this she can be discharged by noon.”

Andrew was close enough to Neil to hear it all. The tension in his frame visibly dissipated, and Neil felt a similar way. Once he hung up, his relief soon led to a headache, and he wanted nothing more than to lie back down with Andrew and sleep it off until the time came to pick King up. A rumbling from his stomach reminded him he hadn’t properly eaten all day, however, so he reluctantly hauled himself off the sofa and into the kitchen.

Andrew remained in the living room and didn’t ask for anything, but Neil put together a plate for him, nonetheless. Though Andrew’s rebellious diet gave way to a gloriously kissable physique, he was still an Exy player—maybe, one day, a pro—who needed his fair share of protein, nutrients, and all the other stuff Kevin drilled into their brains when they entered the campus cafeterias, so Neil plated up his food accordingly. Sir reappeared upon hearing someone in the kitchen, so he gave her dinner too—half a tin of her favourite tuna.

The look he received when he handed Andrew his plate was, admittedly, a little amusing, though Andrew still ate it all. With solid news on King’s treatment and recovery, both of them were considerably more at ease. They ate together in comfortable silence before relocating to their bedroom. Andrew tugged off his jeans and crawled under the covers, positioning himself so Neil could tuck himself into his side.

Just before he dozed off again, Neil felt a sudden weight at his feet that moved upwards, step by little step. Sir eventually nestled into the dip of Andrew’s waist, stretching her paws out to press against Neil—it was an odd position that couldn’t have been very comfortable, but Sir seemed content to precariously balance on Andrew’s side if it meant getting to stretch out and claim both him and Neil.

When Neil’s alarm went off the next morning signalling him to clamber out of bed and get ready for his run, he cut the grating noise off with an aggressive slap and curled back into Andrew. Skipping one run wouldn’t do any harm—his presence was needed more right here, where he could hold Andrew as he stirred awake, ghost kisses on his neck, graze his shin with his foot, and give Sir all the chin scratches she desired.

Andrew wrapped his strong arms around Neil and kissed him deeply, slowly, lazily, perfectly. Many words were communicated with that one kiss; on any other day, it would have progressed into more. Today, though, they had to get dressed to pick King up, and besides, Sir soon put a stop to their sleepy makeout by crying out for breakfast—her incessant yowling was a fantastic mood killer.

On the drive over, while it was clear Andrew was still keen to get there quickly, he was less reckless with the accelerator. The receptionist greeted them with a bright smile, passed on the news of their arrival to the relevant people, and soon the nurse from yesterday emerged with King in her carrier. Andrew took the carrier from her. Neil resisted the urge to poke his finger in the slats. While having King back with them was a huge weight off their shoulders, Neil—and from the way he hadn’t completely relaxed yet, Andrew too—wouldn’t be able to put all of this behind him until they were back at home and had resumed some sense of normalcy.

More paperwork. Medical bills. Four different medications and a printed-out schedule for the following two weeks. Instructions to keep a close eye on her, alert them if anything changes, and bring her back after completing the medications to run some check-ups. Andrew surely had it memorised, though Neil felt so overloaded with information he struggled to keep up. The main takeaway, however, was this: despite only a third of cats surviving what she had gone through, King had made it.

“She’s a champ,” the nurse grinned. “Easily the loveliest patient this clinic’s seen in a while.”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth twitched. Neil clocked it as a proud father moment.

Like yesterday, Andrew swung by a supermarket on their way home. Instead of returning with ice cream, however, he came back with several tins of tuna, multiple pouches of cat treats, catnip, and a variety of new toys. Neil smiled knowingly as Andrew tossed the bag into the backseat beside King’s carrier (in which she snoozed peacefully, still sleepy from her morning dose of meds).

Upon seeing the stash of goods, Sir practically exploded with excitement that came out as one long, continuous yell as she followed them into the kitchen. She only stopped when Andrew gently placed the carrier on the floor and opened it up, nudging a bleary King out onto the tiled floor. It was then that Sir seemed to realise King had been missing for a while; the sudden influx of attention from both Andrew and Neil must have distracted her. Now, she greeted King with many headbutts, tail flicks, and so much sniffing that Neil was concerned about how much fluff would end up in her lungs. King grudgingly accepted it, even when Sir licked the freshly shaven patches where the vets had inserted needles.

From where he was still crouched next to King’s now-empty carrier, Andrew exhaled heavily. Neil placed the array of cat supplies on the counter and crouched down to join him.

Andrew intently watched King and Sir nuzzle one another. Neil mimicked Sir to grab his attention by nudging Andrew’s shoulder with his head.

Andrew huffed. “You’re not funny.”

Neil pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “She’s home, now. She’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Andrew said quietly. “She’s home.”

#aftg #aftg fic #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #king fluffkins #sir fat cat mccatterson #czenzo.fic

[clownwrites]

Home drinkin.

Johnny/Kenshi blurb

alcohol mention/Fluff/No warning

Kenshi didn't drink often, even before his blindness, he couldn't spare the luxury of that kind of vulnerability.

 The sounds of Cage's living room light up his memory, a cacophony of morphing faces he'd come to familiarize his hearing to. 

Barakka spoke carefully to the cat that made his acquaintance in one end of the room, a conversation had in the kitchen on the far side between farmers and the like casual company. Lui Kang sat beside Kenshi with a drink for himself "you've taken in quite a home" he smiled toward the star, who sat opposite of them both in a recliner, carelessly flipping through tv channels.

"Not my favorite by far, but yeah" Johnny agreed "easier to keep up with. Ken likes it." he noted, pointing towards the swordsman with his remote

Kenshi smiled at this "yeah, I don't end up tripping into your arcade room trying to take a piss now"

Lui snickered before sipping at the crude plastic red cup he was given, as many other fighters that had filled the room. Johnny described the clothing between all of them "like attending a Galactic Renaissance ball" So the image of Lui sitting beside him, sipping on a solo cup in luxury silk caused Kenshi to share in the humor. 

The chatter through the night had become sort of a blur for Kenshi, not that he went unacknowledged, just that he had little to offer as everyone's speech began to slur into comfortable giggles and tripped up dances to the "weird earth music" Johnny had put on. 

The cacophony of chatter and music began to slowly trickle out the door, "thank yous" and laughs sparkling behind Kenshi's eye wrap as he joined in their goodbyes. Few of them stayed behind to clean the mess, but even those few followed suit.

There was this dense emptiness as the night ended, not of sadness. Just suddenness of silence, except for Johnny, who's hands clattered amongst the dishes. 

"Don't you have a dishwasher?" Kenshi asked, leaned against the island

"Yeah" Johnny shrugged and admitted "but the house got too quiet." 

 Kenshi hears Johnny stop, turning off the faucet to wipe his hands dry on his jeans. 

"Noticed you didn't drink or nothin during the party-" he started, sliding a heavy bottle of presumably liquor across the countertop.

 "I wanted to offer you some but I didn't wanna make you feel singled out for not drinkin." 

Kenshi smiled appreciatively "I never drank much before and I'm not sure how well I'd fair when I can't see." He wiped his face and sighed "I also didn't wanna find out and look like a Jackass in front of everyone" he admitted  "I can't imagine I've got a strong liver."

Johnny snorted "Oh come on" he stepped away to grab two shot glasses, Kenshi heard a distinct crystal clink against the marble underneath him. "Okay this, my friend-" Johnny boasted, popping open the same bottle of liquor that slid in front of them, as he poured two shots, "-this is where I peer pressure you." 

Kenshi laughed as he heard the smile in Johnny's voice "this stuff will give you a smooth buzz, I won't make you down anymore than this if you at least let me see you buzzed" 

The swordsman sighed, resting his head to 'stare' in Johnny's direction "okay" he agreed "and if I get anymore of this, make sure I don't slam into a wall"  Johnny carefully puts the shot glass into Kenshi's hand, and holds his own glass, clinking them ceremoniously as he winked "I'll even aim for you at the urinal bud" 

-

Kenshi found himself stumbling beside Johnny, 4 shots of whatever it was, sloshed his senses and painted a warm smile across his face. He never bothered to ask at the first glass, Kenshi trusted Johnny implicitly, even when the sour taste sizzled behind his ear drum. 

Kenshi needed to keep his arm around the star, to pull him in as much as he could to support his way through the house, both having wrapped an arm around each other's waist and walking as if sharing a hip. They'd spent hours walking around the house, the blind man only listening to Johnny's almost poetic way in describing the home around them, from the painting in the halls, to the details of his new curtains.

 "did I tell you about my new curtains?" Johnny giggles "here man, touch these fuckin curtains they’er so cool" 

By the window, they both stood as Johnny pulled and shoved the length of fabric In Front of Kenshi and waited for his free hand to find it. And Kenshi did, expelling terrible disgust at the texture, silk and embroidery which snagged against the calluses on his hands "oh gross it's sticking to me" And regardless of how terrible they may have felt, the star never lost his enthusiasm in detailing the floral designs into Kenshi's ear like a frat boy reiterating Oscar wilde. At some point he'd leaned forward from Johnny's rambling to touch the window just beyond it. 

Cold glass under his fingertips when he asked "is it night time?" 

"Yeah" Johnny smiled 

"Describe the stars to me"

Johnny looked past the curtains and scrunched his nose, there were no stars above New York, the skyline was in a constant state of dusk, polluted by the lights of the city, tho they stood so far above it. "Uhm okay." Johnny clicked, sighing, he thought to lie to Kenshi this one time. The sincerity in the swordsman's voice placed a warmth in his chest. 

"They're like holes poked through iridescent tulle layered onto silk…" he started, looking towards Kenshi, "they sparkle as if daylight is shining through them, like each layer of blue and purple is shifting between itself. It bleeds into a gold skyline of city lights."

Kenshi snorts "You make it sound like a romance novel" 

Though his jab doesn't prevent him from indulging the experience; by laying his head against the celebrity's shoulder "I was half expecting you to describe yourself, actually, when I asked."

Johnny smiled "I could've " he admitted "but that would've been too easy. You deserve to hear about something really worth looking at again."

The swordsman shook his head, slipping his arm upwards and resting it on Johnny's back he digressed "I think I'd be okay looking at you forever if it meant I could see without my sword again." Johnny lays his head against Kenshi's, whos voice laments loss of his sight and curses the stillness of his memory.  "Don't wanna have a pity party" Kenshi seethes "sometimes it just dawns on me."

"Could be the alcohol talking too." Johnny assured "stuffs good at weighing you down." There's a promise on his mind, something he's always intended but could never quite put to words

"Best I can do is make sure my words make the memory of sight disappointing enough that you'll never care to see again." 

And followed the moment Johnny could feel an assuaged smile against his shoulder. 

"Thank you, Johnny."

#johnshi #johnny x kenshi #mk1 johnshi #not rlly proof read but proof read lmao #clown writes

[fagboysub]

77 Ways to Humiliate a faggot slave

Humiliation is an important part of every faggot’s training. When a Man humiliates a faggot, He’s teaching him:

• humility – a faggot must remain humble and not allow his ego to get in the way of his ability to serve and obey Men, who are naturally superior

• respect – a faggot must learn to show appreciation and esteem for Men

• obedience – a faggot must learn to cede all control to Men

Plus, it’s just plain fun to embarrass or shame a faggot sometimes — and faggots exist to amuse as much as they do to serve.

Unfortunately, faggots actually enjoy being humiliated. Therefore, it can sometimes be difficult to imagine new ways to humiliate them. With that in mind, I’ve created the following list of 77 ways for Men to humiliate Their faggots. Go forth, Men, and have fun playing with your faggot slaves!

1. Forbid Your faggot slave from entering Your Home on two legs – he must always drop to all fours and crawl in.

2. Make him kiss Your feet as soon as he sees You and just before he leaves You.

3. Forbid him from wearing clothes in Your home – Your faggot slave should always be naked in Your presence.

4. Make him wear chained nipple clamps like a woman.

5. Make him wear a leash and collar in Your presence. Or, even better, out in public.

6. Forbid him from making eye contact with You.

7. Forbid him from using furniture at Your house.

8. Put him on a timeout, standing naked in the corner facing the wall for a period of time.

9. Place him on his knees in front of a mirror in his faggot gear: collar, nipple clamps, chastity device, wrist & ankle cuffs – force him to stare at himself while he recites a faggot mantra like “i am a faggot slave. i crave humiliation and degradation. i serve Men because They are superior to me. i exist to lick Their Feet and drink Their Piss.”

10. Spit in his face especially if it’s a loogie and make him keep it there to dry. Forbid him from wiping it off. Bonus to do it in public and he is forced to wear it all day.

11. Give him an enema and then take him on a walk around the neighborhood with it still in.

12. Clip a clothes pin to his tongue and make him say “i am a faggot” 10 times until he’s drooling all over himself.

13. Have him make animal noises for You on command: “Bark like a dog!” Or, “Meow like a cat!” Or, “Show me what sound a pig makes!”

14. Forbid him from using toilet paper. Instead, pre-mix a cleaning solution for him to use — Your piss, perhaps, mixed with dish soap — and store it in a spray bottle labeled “fag bath” or “cunt cleaner.” Make him display it next to the toilet in his home, where any guests are sure to see it. Bonus points for filming him spray his hole and clean it with his hand.

15. Discipline Your faggot regularly – for example, spank his ass before he leaves after a training visit. Remind him that he deserves it.

16. Make him clean Your Home and do Your laundry – to further humiliate him, make him wear heels, a bra and panties.

17. Make him wash You, shower You, towel You dry, etc. his shower will consist of Your Piss.

18. Make him service & clean Your feet with his mouth – especially if Your feet are dirty.

19. Make Your faggot slave pay You – charge that faggot for the opportunity to serve You and to receive the humiliation he deserves.

20. Require him to send You tribute gifts from Your amazon Wish List.

21. Strap a dildo to his face and have him fuck You until You cum.

22. Require that he massage Your body until You are properly relaxed; punish him if does not make You fully relaxed.

23. Make him eat Your ass.

24. And when he’s eating Your ass, rip a fart in his faggot face.

25. Instruct your faggot to buy You a rim seat – then make him rim You for hours while You play video games, watch movies, etc.

26. While lounging on Your couch, push Your underwear down around Your ankles and make him lay on the floor with his face in there.

27. After you fuck him, hose him off with Your Piss.

28. Train him to be Your urinal.

29. Make him sleep on the floor next to your bed.

30. Train him to sleep in restraints and/or locked in a cage.

31. If You wake up before Your faggot, wake him up by farting directly into his face/mouth.

32. If Your faggot wakes up before You, instruct him to wake You nicely by licking Your feet seductively, then service Your cock to completion.

33. Photo and film the faggot slave when he serves You and post the files on a site dedicated to his humiliation.

34. Lock his cock in a chastity device.

35. Make him sign up for Keyholder service: You lock up his little dicklet in chastity, You specify the time he’s locked up, he mails away the key and he has to pay for it.

36. Send him out with his chastity device locked on, then make him change at the gym, the swimming pool, the beach, etc. so others see it.

37. After months in a chastity device, switch it out to a smaller one so his dicklet shrinks even more.

38. Make fun of his tiny dicklet, and that it’s locked up.

39. Make him sit on dildos while You watch and laugh at him.

40. Make him wear a butt plug and send him to the gym to workout — ensuring that he changes and showers in the locker room with the butt plug still in.

41. Cum on his face or in his hair, then send him out to run errands for You; make it clear that he’ll be severely punished if he returns and You discover that he’s wiped the cum off.

42. Call or text him at will and order him to piss his pants and send You a picture of it. If You do it when You know he’s out in public — at a bar, perhaps, or on the train during their evening commute home from work — even better.

43. Make him use the urinal in a public mensroom with his pants around his ankles; or, if he has to shit, make him do so in a stall with the door wide open.

44. Stand next to him at the urinal when You’re out and about; turn and face him so that You piss on him instead of in the urinal. Laugh, and make him walk around with Your piss all over him.

45. Forbid him from using the restroom for the day and make him wear a diaper, instead. Let him know you’ll be inspecting the diaper later, so he’d better make use of it.

46. Make him beg permission to use the bathroom; if approved, forbid him from standing or using the seat – he must always sit directly on the porcelain bowl.

47. Make him piss outside like a dog – or shit in a cat box; use a garden hose with cold water to wash his dirty cunt.

48. Require that he always keep the door wide open when he’s using the bathroom at home.

49. Whenever You need to use the toilet — at home or in public — escort him in with You and make him lick it clean for You so you have a pristine place to relieve Yourself.

50. Make him wipe Your ass. Either with toilet paper or with his hand.

51. If You choose to feed him, always serve his “food” in a dog bowl and make him eat it kneeling like an animal on the floor next to You while You sit and eat Your dinner at the table like the Man You are.

52. Piss or cum into his food; make him eat it while You watch.

53. Make him serve as a piece of furniture — a footrest, perhaps, or a coffee table on which people can set their drinks — during Your next party.

54. Outfit him with an ashtray mouth gag and station him on Your patio for smokers to use during Your next get-together.

55. Lock him in a cage naked during Your next party and let Your guests ogle at him like a zoo animal.

56. When out in public, forbid him to walk in front of You.

57. Make him address You as “Sir” in public. He should already be doing it in private, but addressing You that way in public will take Your power dynamic to a whole new level. To kick it up yet another notch, make him call You “Master, Sir.”

58. Perform an unannounced strip search and/or cavity check in an unexpected time or place — out at a bar, for instance, or in the parking lot when You’re out running errands.

59. Reprimand him in public when he does something bad.

60. Spank him in public.

61. Make him kneel in a public restroom with the word “toilet” written on his forehead.

62. Handcuff him in places like bars.

63. Make him wear a T-shirt out to a gay bar or sex club that says “i’m a faggot,” or “slave,” or “pussyboy,” or “cumdump.”

64. Take him to the bathhouse with messages like “breed me” or “i drink piss” or “cocksucker” written on his body in permanent marker.

65. When out in restaurants together, order his meal for him – make sure it’s low calorie and small portioned while You order a full meal. Make him pay. For added fun, make it very clear to the hostess, server, and all staff that the faggot doesn’t even need a menu, You’ll be ordering for him and that he’ll be paying.

66. Make him give himself an enema while You watch.

67. Spontaneously order him to jerk off to completion in front of You or others while locked in chastity; punish him if he doesn’t complete in a specified period of time.

68. Make him service a set of number of Your Friends with video proof that is submitted to You before a specified time period – add more Friends to his to do list if he doesn’t finish in time.

69. When You introduce him to Your friends, make sure he’s naked, collared, chastised, plugged and on his knees so Your Friends can see what a faggot he is. For bonus points, make him “confess” something like, “Hello, i’m a faggot, and my cunt is filled with cum right now.” Or, “Hello, i’m a faggot slave, and i drink piss.”

70. Take him into a photobooth and make him pose for pictures with Your cock in his mouth, then walk away and make him leave the pictures for the next patron to find — not knowing who will find them or what they’ll do with them.

71. Make him approach a stranger at a bar, in a bathroom or at a sex club and beg for their cock, piss or cum.

72. Loan him out to Your Friends – to clean Their homes, drink Their piss, receive Their spit, service Them – or just to have them verbally humiliate him.

73. Force him to cook dinner for You and Your Friends, and then be Your waiter. Make sure that he’s on his knees at Your side, ready to serve when needed. To add to the humiliation factor, make him buy the food, take orders and clean the dishes/kitchen.

74. Force him to service Your friends when They visit Your home – Your feet, Your cocks, Your holes while You all watch movies, talk, enjoy Yourselves. To amp it up, keep telling him he’s a faggot slave and take pictures of him servicing all of You.

75. Make him drink Your piss, kneeling at the trough at gay bars or similar; let Your friends know that he’s available for urinal service.

76. Place an ad for free blowjobs on craigslist – force him to suck off any of the ad respondents and film it.

77. Take him to festivals such as Dore, Folsom, Wet n Hot as a slave – naked, hooded, collared, plugged and chastised. Amp up the humiliation by removing the hood.

[thekoopalingsandstuffs]

SPEWART

☆The Optimist

18 years old

Bisexual

Middle name is Jackson

Is in charge of making wedding dresses for brides

Has Cyclic Vomiting Sydrome, (CVS) which causes him to throw up out of nowhere, multiple times a day

Eats twice as much food as a normal person, so if he throws up, he won't lose ALL of the nutrients

Also, isn't at all picky when it comes to food, but tries to avoid spicy things, or anything else that will potentially hurt when coming back up

Has the lowest bed on the triple bunk-bed. This is so he can quickly and easily get out, and go to the toilet or a nearby trash bin if he wakes up, needing to puke

Surprisingly, is the most graceful skater out of his siblings

Is an absolute sweetheart.

Extremely empathetic, and is definitely the best person to go to if you are upset

He wants to grow his hair out, so it's as long as Hariet's is

Despite being the oldest, is an absolute crybaby, and a complete scaredy-cat. But it certainly doesn't bother his siblings!

The other Broodals are extremely protective of him. If you are the person who frightened him/made him cry, they will kill you

For unknown reasons, all of his bodily fluids (Puke, blood, spit, urine, sweat, tears, etc.) Are purple

Depending on which fluid it is, it can stain into/onto surfaces much worse than a normal human's bodily fluids would

Like, entire outfits will have to be thrown away, because you can't get the stains out by washing them. This is why Spewart often wears darker clothing. Constantly throwing away, and buying new clothes is expensive!!

Enjoys knitting and sewing clothes for fun

While he can't save his own clothes from being thrown out, he can save his siblings' completely tarnished clothing by sewing them back together

Occasionally questions his gender identity(?) >I dunno, I'll look more into it later-<

Isn't very good at art, but recently got interested in origami

Doesn't have the same interest in animals as Hariet does, but really likes chain-chomps. Well. Chain-chomps really seem to like him, too!

Very shy

Was WAY too shy to do any performances when he and his siblings were wedding entertainers. But he'd still try his best to help them get their stuff set up

#broodals #spewart broodal #headcanon

[ace-for-eddie]

Part 4

Eddie and Hopper sat on the porch waiting for Wayne to arrive. 

“Listen Munson. I know we haven’t always been on the best of terms.” Hopper started.

Eddie hummed, feeling himself tense up.

Although Hopper had been instrumental in getting his name cleared of the murder charges, they hadn’t really had many conversations since. And any before usually involved Hopper reciting the Miranda rights and Eddie being shoved into the back of the police car. 

“But uh… while I won’t hesitate to arrest you again.” Hopper pointed his finger in Eddie’s face. The front door swung open as Joyce walked out onto the porch.

Hopper cleared his throat and continued. “I can tell that you’ve grown up a lot, kid. And the shit this town has dumped on you isn’t right. I will do everything I can to help you in this. And if you aren’t sure what to do with this little girl… your little girl, you can… you can always come to me one Dad to another.”

Hopper placed a strong hand on Eddie’s shoulder, sniffed then nodded before walking back inside.

Eddie was stunned and simply nodded in shock. 

Today was getting weirder and weirder, and given Eddie’s standard, this was next level intense. 

Joyce smiled warmly and took Hopper’s place pacing a soft hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

He took a deep breath, “...okay.”

Wayne arrived in his beat up pickup concerned that Eddie was sick, hurt or had gotten into trouble somehow. He was not expecting the news that he was basically a grandfather.

He teared up a little, then started laughing. Loud. 

“Shit Eds, I didn’t think you…” he stopped realizing Joyce Byers was beside them. “I didn’t think that girl… was your type,” giving Eddie a knowing look.

Eddie huffed a laugh. “She wasn’t. But I was still figuring things out 3 years ago. And it’s okay Ms… I mean Joyce already knows I’m gay. She’s safe.” 

Wayne smiled at Joyce. “Thank you for being here for my boy Ms. Joyce.”

“Of course! It takes a village right?” She smiled. 

“Speaking of which. When can I meet my grandbaby?” He asked. “Is it okay if…if I call her my grandbaby?”

“Wayne, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Eddie smiled and hugged his uncle. “You’re gonna love her. She’s amazing…” Eddie led the way to introduce Evelyn to her Grand-deddie Wayne. 

Of course, Wayne instantly fell in love with the sweet child, reading her another book as she nuzzled against his side on the couch.

Eddie found El and Will at the table in the small kitchen and pulled up a chair.

“Hey guys, uh thanks for helping so much. Wow, this is so weird.” He ran his fingers through his hair. 

“She is very sweet. And she likes you a lot. You are a good Dad Eddie.” El smiled. 

He just smiled and stared at the table. “Thanks Supergirl.”

“Have you told anyone else?” Will asked curiously.

“Uh…no not yet. Please don’t tell anyone though okay? I want it to come from me.”

“Of course. It’s not our story to tell.” Will smiled at Eddie using the same phrase Eddie had used when Will came out to him in recent months. Eddie offered to be there to talk if he ever needed anything. He knew how hard it could be to be gay in such a close minded town. 

“I should probably tell Henderson soon though, so he doesn’t shit himself if everyone else knows first.” Eddie sighed. “Can I use your phone?” 

“Of course.” Will stated.

“Are you going to tell him on the phone?” El asked.

“Yeah, why not?”

“It seems like something to tell friends in person.” She replied. 

“Uh… yeah I guess so. I’ll see if he can come over.” Eddie didn’t know if he’d have the energy to deal with Dustin Henderson and a toddler today, but figured it would be worse to wait.

The phone rang a few times before Claudia answered and brought Dustin to the phone. Eddie invited him to come over to the Hopper-Byers house and waited on the porch with Will.

While Eleven and Joyce took to washing Evelyn’s clothing which reeked of smoke and something like cat urine. Joyce threw some of the pieces away immediately and decided she’d be making a trip to the children’s section at Goodwill the following day. 

Dustin Henderson was dropped off at the cabin and took the steps two at a time.

“So what is so important you need to meet me at Hopper’s cabin?” Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Well, Henderson. I just wanted to congratulate you on becoming an uncle.” Eddie smiled his snarky grin while Will tried not to laugh and choke on the soda he was drinking.

“Eddie, what the hell are you talking about? I’m an only child.”

“Ouch man, didn’t know you thought so low of me. Wow. Okay nevermind.” Eddie put his hands up in defense.

“Oh, well, yeah you’re like my brother. But what do you mean… uncle? Did you get a dog or something?”

“Ew, no. That’s too much responsibility.” Eddie grimaced. “I got a kid.”

“You got a kid?”

“I got a kid.”

“Where did you get a kid Eddie?” Dustin was starting to get tired of this bullshit.

“Well DustyBun, when a guy and a girl…” Eddie started and Will just about fell off his chair.

“Shut up. What the hell did you drag me out here for?” Dustin stomped.

“No, I wanted to tell you I have a kid. A daughter actually. Her name is Evelyn.” Eddie beamed. 

“You’re… you’re serious.” Dustin started to smile. Eddie nodded.

“How? When?”

“That’s a longer story…” Will stated from behind Eddie. “Sit down.” 

Dustin peeked through the cabin window to see Eddie’s uncle Wayne sitting on the couch napping with a toddler and his eyes grew incredibly wide along with his smile.

“You want me to be… her uncle?” He teared up.“Yeah, man. Just feels right.”

“Holy shit…tell me everything.” Dustin plopped down to hear about Eddie’s news.

#eddie munson is a dad #Deddie Eddie #dustin stranger things #will stranger things #el stranger things #hopper stranger things #joyce stranger things #wayne stranger things

[dwellordream]

“…Francesco’s account reveals that he had some understanding of Islam, but what he says is also at times incorrect and insulting. Towards the end of this work, he includes a section called The Contrasts, where he sets out to explain what made Muslims different from European Christians. This really is only one person’s views, one that is shaped by his own religious faith and that he was an outsider living in the Middle East. Here is what he writes:

When they pray they turn to the South towards the Tomb of Mohammed while we turn to the East and the Jews to the West.

In reality, Muslims pray toward Mecca, while Jewish people would have prayed in the direction of Jerusalem.

The men do housework and carry water and weave, and the women do the trading.

The women carry burdens on their shoulders and the men on their heads.

The men eat seated, the women standing.

Fathers are bound to feed their daughters but not their sons; and more the bastard than the legitimate.

These four points, and others further on, reveal much about what Francesco really thinks is different and wrong with Arabic people – to him they are too feminine, and women are given roles and rights that should only be reserved for men.

The barbers when at work sit and the clients stand.

They drink all day except when they eat.

They continually wash their hands, and their hands are always dirty.

This seems to be a reference to the Islamic practice of washing one’s face, hands, arms, and feet before prayers.

The women wear only one dress, the men wear three or four.

We take off our headgear in sign of respect, they take off their shoes.

The women wear trousers, and the men go without them.

In Lent we eat during the day and they fast during the day and eat like beasts all night.

This refers to Ramadan, a month-long celebration for Muslims where they fast during the day and will have feasts after sunset.

We address a letter when it is written, they begin with the address.

We urinate standing, they squatting as females.

We like dogs, they cats.

Having pets was common in the medieval world, and while the reputation of dogs and cats vary in different parts of the world, in neither culture it was universally so.

We drink wine, they water.

We are guided by the sun, they by the moon.

This is probably a reference to how the European calendar was solar-based, but the Islamic one is lunar-based.

We eat from on high, they from the ground.

We sleep undressed, they, men and women, dressed.

We value horses, they mares.

We girdle ourselves over the clothes, they under.

They write from right to left, we the reverse.

They wear linen, we wear wool.

Francesco does not take into account the differences in climate between Europe and the Middle East.

They sell chickens by measure, and fruits and vegetables they sell by weight on the balance.

They carry to market birds in a sack and figs in a cage.

We despise imbeciles and they revere them as saints.

Perhaps Francesco is referring to Sufi practitioners, who follow a more mystical path of Islam. Moreover, he seems to be oblivious to how his own Franciscan order was derided by many of his fellow Christians.

Slaves with us are servants, with them lords.

Later on Francesco has to make a detailed explanation of who the Mamluks were, and offers a less-than-accurate history of their rise to power in Egypt and Syria. Many enemies of the Mamluks often disparaged their origins as slaves.

Men give dowry to the wives, and we do the opposite.

Francesco also offers more details on this, finding this way more “just, reasonable and proper’ then the Italian practice where the parents of the bride had to offer a dowry to obtain a marriage. He explains why: “First, it would be a means whereby many poor girls could marry, who through poverty cannot marry, and so remain single in danger of sin and cause sin to others.”

We repudiate the wife, they the husband.

His sister also wanted to know about how wives can repudiate their husbands, by which he means they divorce their husbands, and Francesco responds by explaining this can happen in cases of abuse, neglect or abandonment. Divorce was actually fairly common in medieval Egypt, and both men and women could initiate it.

Men go barefooted, the women wear light shoes.

The men are beautiful; the women are most ugly and small.

The men wear clothes cut low, the women cut close to the neck.

The men wear a veil on the head, the women a cap.

The men never spit, the women do.

The men like cats, the women dogs.

Francesco sums it up by concluding “if they could they would walk backwards just to be different from us.”

Francesco’s list is very surprising – one would expect that this Franciscan friar would write about religious differences – instead, it is often just about daily life and trivial topics. However, there is often an underlying view that traditional gender roles were not being followed by medieval Muslims. More than a dozen of his contrasts involve women doing or wearing something that goes against what he thinks should be the proper way as found in Francesco’s homeland.

Not everything that Francesco finds to be different is to him a bad thing, and his view of Muslims isn’t always negative (at times he is far more critical of other Christian sects that lived in the region). But it is telling that he views the differences as somehow being in opposition to his own culture, as if it was somehow planned to be that way. One wonders how perplexed Francesco would have been if his travels took him to more distant lands and cultures.

This list is perhaps even more revealing in how much it shows the differences between medieval people and us. Francesco Suriano would see our modern-day lifestyles and habits as being very much ‘the other’, critiquing the way we dressed, ate, and slept. Who knows how upset he might become to learn that some people had pet fish!”

- Peter Konieczny, “The Differences between Christians and Muslims in the Middle Ages”

#medieval #christian #muslim #religion #history

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Hello and happy Sunday! I hope everyone is having a lovely weekend. It’s crazy hot here so we will be heading to the beach soon. ⛱🌞🌊

I’ve got another snippet from chapter 4 of Depth of Reason. Baz and Simon are playfully rehashing past events and Simon ends up with his foot in his mouth. Here’s way more than six sentences:

“I think you’ve got top billing in the prank department, for the pole cat incident,” Baz says, pulling me out of my own head.

“My crowning achievement,” I say, lifting my mug in mock cheers.

Baz scoffs. “How on Earth could you think that? It urinated all over your clothes as well.”

“Collateral damage,” I say, shrugging.

“You really are incredibly thick, Snow.”

“Okay but what about the way you constantly flirted with my girlfriend for three years. I know you weren’t really interested in her.”

He raises an eyebrow in question. “How could you know that?”

“Because you’re gay!” I practically shout, stating the obvious.

He looks a bit taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

Fuck. Fuck. I guess he hasn’t outright told me that. How do I explain knowing that without giving away that I’ve stalked him on Instagram far too much.

“I mean,” I gesture at him with my hand, as if his outfit (and, well, everything about him) explains it. (And honestly, it kind of does.)

“Plus, you know the World of Mages is small. You’ve come up over the years.” I busy myself with drinking my tea and praying it was the least creepy thing I could have said.

Thank you for the tags today and Wednesday @fatalfangirl @captain-aralias @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @whogaveyoupermission @bookish-bogwitch @ivelovedhimthroughworse @palimpsessed @artsyunderstudy @yellobb @martsonmars @confused-bi-queer @nightimedreamersworld @cutestkilla @facewithoutheart @johnwgrey y’all are so talented and it’s always a delight to see you work! 💛

Additional tags to @whatevertheweather @aristocratic-otter @frjsti @raenestee @moodandmist @toonysart @ionlydrinkhotwater @onepintobean @forabeatofadrum @bazzybelle @castawaypitch @angelsfalling16 @takitalks @stardustasincocaine and anyone else who wants to share 💛

#snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #carry on fanfiction #cobb 2022 #depth of reason #my writing

[arcane-sync]

I'm just... not in a good way. Kind of in a very bad way, actually.

Still dragging my way through school. Which is fine at this point. No new struggles there. Just... several house problems have come up as well, and my husband has done fuck all to address them. I am moderately germaphobic, so it is very literally difficult to do certain tasks. Yet I find myself doing the litter, cleaning the dishes, and hell, even some plumbing. The sinks have been draining slowly, and cleaning the drain traps has been an actual nightmare. I asked him to at least clean out the bucket I used and put on the back porch. He emptied it, but he didn't rinse them out with the hose. I've had to do construction and handyman work. I need to figure out how to drain the hot water heater. Plus normal stuff like cleaning the counters, the floors, the toilet. I CAN do these things, even with the phobia, but it is so, so mentally taxing. Plus the litter and dishes are supposed to be his chores, and he complains about them not getting done. He just... doesn't do it. Says he doesn't have time, doesn't fit into his schedule.

The cat has been misbehaving as well. She has decided my husband's clothes are a good place to go bathroom. And my husband is loosing his temper over it, which is... very literally triggering me. My dad would lose his temper with our cats growing up and kick them across the room. My husband isn't hurting our cat, but it still triggers me that he is getting angry with the cat for doing cat things. It's not her fault. It's our fault for not training her properly and/or not seeing to her medical needs. He has been complaining about this for weeks, but he hasn't fixed anything. I finally decided to just schedule the vet appointment myself. He bought cleaning supplies to deodorize her messes, but he hasn't used them properly. He just throws the clothes in the washer without running it, making the washer smell. I should mention I am ALLERGIC to cat urine. He KNOWS this. I have asked him to clean these things. But again... doesn't fit his schedule. He just gets mad about it instead. I am just trying to keep up with the problem as best I can.

My physical health is struggling, mostly because the air quality is terrible where I live. It is causing several different health issues to flare.

Counseling has been... hard. Good progress. Amazing progress. I have met a few new parts. But with that comes... well... difficult memories. Difficult emotions. New things I do not know how to deal with. New parts to take care of. I need to publicly state I am not ashamed of them or what they've been through, because I know they fear that. It is just... hard. For me and them.

Since my mental AND physical health is flagging, older mental health issues are beginning to rear their heads again. Stuff that I usually have a handle on. Self harm just to make everything... stop... slow down for a while. I have an old eating disorder rearing its head too. I've never known exactly what it is, never been diagnosed. I'll go days at a time without eating. And when I do, there's a 50/50 chance I'll keep the food down. Sometimes I'll throw it up due to disgust with myself for eating, and sometimes its due to distrusting the food, that it is somehow contaminated (and that is 100% a trauma thing, growing up in a house with food that was frequently infested. Don't know if those instances count as flashbacks or not).

I am... scared to admit to struggling. Not with my relationship with my school now. It's pretty clear that any signs of mental health struggles will be confronted with great bias. Hell, even my marriage problems. That is one of the areas they drilled me on, saying that a poor marriage was a sign that I was unfit for the program.

I find myself missing the psych ward. The permission to just... focus on myself and my own recovery.

I am... not okay.

#as marriage problems #tw animal abuse #tw self harm #tw eating disorders #Skye rambling #Azure rambling #She who refuses to be named rambling #VV rambling

[of-another-broken-heart]

It feels real pointless to write anything at all anymore.

Everything is the same. But crumbling. Rotting. Like me.

This morning I couldn’t get to the toilet in time. Well, that’s a lie. I got to the toilet just fine. My bladder didn’t give a shit. It gave piss. And it did that virtually the instant I stood up. So the only thing keeping me from becoming and ambulatory urine waterfall was the force of my thighs smashed together, blocking the route.

And you know what’s real hard to do when you’re crushing your legs together as a makeshift piss dam? Removing your pants.

So it went fucking poorly and I ended up using my clothing as a towel to clean up my own mess. Thankfully no one else was home/awake to witness my mortification.

And then. I’ve been so fucking tired today. I slept, but not as much as I’d hoped or wanted. But I was hungry. We don’t have much. I spent money I shouldn’t have to buy dinner last night, so i shouldn’t have even BEEN hungry. Stupid poverty cripple should be fine eating once per day.

But no, I was hungry. So I tried to make one of the packages of farro we got, from the Full Cart boxes I think. No one else here will eat it. Because it’s new, it’s different, and it’s not plain. One of the flavors is Porcini Mushroom, the other is Butternut Squash and Kale. It cooks with just boiled water. Butter if you’re feeling fancy.

Well. I wanted to feel something besides miserable and exhausted. So I put some butter in the water, and set it to boil. And had myself another bathroom break. This time without any bladder betrayal bullshit.

But I took too long. The water boiled over, and because it had butter in it, I set a cute little stove fire. The whole house got smokey. No actual harm done. Just made a 24-minute task take an hour, instead. Just made a “boil water; add food; wait” project into an hour-long cleaning and self-berating frenzy, instead.

I considered just throwing out the water (with butter in it). I don’t deserve to eat anyway.

I already wasted some butter by letting it boil over and light on fire beneath the burner. I better not waste anything else.

So I set the farro to cook on the back burner instead, and went and opened up the doors and turned on some fans to clear out the smoke from my kitchen fire.

I sat and did nothing. One minute. Two minutes.

Intolerable.

I got up and pet the cats. Another minute.

Done.

I walked out to the mailbox. Hobbled, really. No shoes. Left knee might never get any better than it is. Left ankle doesn’t seem keen to get any better, either. Just a little more permanent disability. No big deal. It’s only my mobility. Who needs that. Five minutes.

Back inside. Still 15 fucking minutes on the kitchen timer.

Time crawled. The food finished. I turned off the fans, closed the doors, the smoke exorcised.

The farro was fine. It wasn’t what I wanted. I was still hungry.

I am still hungry. I hate it.

#personal #food mention

[omoghouls]

Bunny you make a post about Ed crying and I’m summoned like a moth to a flame… It’s just my favorite… Poor baby… Crying in Stede’s arms with snot dripping from his face, Stede rubbing his back trying to soothe him tells him it’s okay and just to let it all out… And before Ed realises it he’s relaxing his muscles on instinct and… well…

YaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAA ILYYYY omgg

Men crying is just, the best- Ed having been holding back allll those emotions and tonight, just the smallest thing goes wrong. Maybe he drops a tea cup,and Stede is going to grab a cloth to safely pick it up but he looks up and sees tears just streaming down Ed's face ;0;

The tea cup can wait! Stede goes to Ed, amd Ed just, climbs onto Stede's lap (bc he is part cat) as Stede pets Ed's hair, the other hand rubbing circles into the other's back, shushing him

"Shh it's alright, dear, this isn't about the tea cup now is it?" And Ed just shakes his head with a sob and Stede just hums, continuing to hold the other man close.

"That's it, let's get it all out, it's alright."

Stede rest his head on Ed's shoulder, his brows raising when he feels a warmth spilling over his lap and how Ed has gobe from shaking to completely frozen.

"Ed? Dear are you-?"

Stede really doesn't have to ask as it becomes very obvious as the urine dribbles down the chair. Once the stream dies down, Ed is honestly sobbing even harder now because he just wet himself, letting his body do this on Stede-

"Oh! Oh Ed it's okay, I'm not upset! When you gotta go as they say! Don't you feel better, no more wees all held up in you?"

All Ed can do is nod while he hides his face in Stede's neck, letting Stede fret over him while Ed's sob slowly turn to hiccups.

Once Ed is able to lift his face away from Stede's neck. Stede cups his jaw and gently wipes up Ed's face.

"Now there we are. I say a nice, relaxing bath is in order, sound about right, love?"

Ed nods, rubbing at his face, mumbling out an apology for pissing himself all over Stede. Stede just kisses Ed's nose, telling him it's alright, these trousers needed a wash anyways♡ what matters right now is Ed, and getting that yummy lavender soap ready ;w;

#m #omorashi #omocute #fandomo #stede bonnet #edward teach

[the-crying-king]

Personal rant-

I cannot WAIT to live without dogs again. I havent lived with a dog in years. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs, but my roomates dogs are driving me CRAZY.

1st. Everything is always covered in SO MUCH HAIR. EVERYWHERE. ALL THE TIME. its on my clothes, its all over the floors, the furniture, the bathroom, THE KITCHEN AND MY FOOD. I want to vomit when i see dog hair in my food.

2nd. They're so overstumulating. One of them is a big dog who is overweight and needs to be groomed because he belongs in cold climates. So he pants CONSTANTLY. I can't stand hearing humans breathing let alone a dog 24/7.. the other one barks SO loud at literally everything. I jump easily and ive never had a dog that barks.

3rd. The smaller one is ALWAYS trying to start fights. She bullies the bigger one, and tries to be a bitch to my cat?? Honestly I hope my cat teaches her a lesson when she doesn't listen. Don't. Fuck. With. My. Cat.

4th. They keep eating my cats food. She has a TINY BOWL, 3 bites and they've eaten it all. I dont have a lot of money and my cats food is very expensive.

5th and final. - THEY'RE SO GROSS. My roomate doesn't always take them out and one of them is pretty old and slightly incontinent. The amount of dog piss all over the floors... i stg, then it isn't even cleaned up properly. Then the piss towels used to just "dry it up" get thrown into the bathroom CLOSET ON THE FLOOR OR IN THE BASKET. keep in mine my roomate hardly ever does laundry. So there will be like 5 or 6 piss towels just STEWING IN THE CLOSET. YOU OPEN THE CLOSET DOOR AND IT JUST REAKS OF URINE. I fucking hate it so much. My towels to shower are in there. Do I rly want to dry off with a towel that smells like dog piss after a shower? NOPE. Then after it has rained they come inside from a walk with muddy paws and the nasty wet dog smell.

I love dogs, but jesus fuck these ones are driving me crazy, I try so hard to keep everything so clean. Every. Single. Day.

#personal vent #dogs are driving me crazy #why is everything so nasty