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#I get a flea infestation on my bed

bogleech · 3 months

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With most insects and things I can understand that they have a place in the ecosystem, but I have trouble understanding the same thing with bed bugs. Are they just like. Kind of domesticated ticks? How did they end up almost solely indoors (to my understanding)? I had them in my apartment a while back and it was a pretty traumatizing experience. I know they don’t carry diseases like mosquitos and are really more mentally/emotionally harmful than physically harmful.

I saw your post about how we should be thankful the world isn’t so sterile that there’s no living thing left to harm or inconvenience us. And I do agree! But I think bedbugs are the one thing that I have trouble fully grasping that concept with. It’s harder to see the bigger picture with something that occurs in such a small and personal space, I suppose.

I can't find the post where I launched into this before but tiny bloodsucking animals ("micropredator" is growing as the preferred term over lumping them in with "parasites" per se!) exert a lot of important pressures on their host animals; everyone knows predators change how animals eat, sleep, mate, nest together and migrate, but so do the things that just "annoy" them, like having fleas! Additionally "micropredators" work together with predators and diseases in regulating population balance, and by taking nutrients non-lethally from their hosts, they help redistribute energy back into circulation! A little flea or tick or bed bug collects a little blood protein from a bear, it gets eaten by a spider or it dies and rots, and now that bear's protein energy is back in the food web well before the bear has passed on! All throughout that bear's life, its blood is "becoming" all these little pesky bugs that then become food for other things! When it comes to bed bugs, which are closely related to stinkbugs, assassin bugs, aphids and other "true bugs," they adapted to live in bird's nests, bat caves, rodent dents, anywhere juice-filled vertebrates come home to and rest, and the ones that feed on us are so closely related to a bat-specialized species you can only barely tell them apart:

The "bat bug," however, can't utilize human blood well enough to maintain an infestation on human hosts alone! They fully require bats!

We aren't sure when some bat bugs branched off and started traveling with humans, but we do know that they used to be MUCH MUCH EASIER to deal with. Perfectly ordinary pesticides used to clear up a bed bug problem just fine. That changed when we invented DDT and tried to use it to wipe them out altogether. It's one of the harshest synthetic poisons ever developed, and it kills through just an ion channel in the animal's nervous system. By drenching North America in DDT for years on end, we "seemingly" wiped out bed bugs and a few other things, but really all we did was give a few generations of human beings a bunch of new chronic illnesses and give a few generations of insects a mutation that makes them resistant to not just DDT but lots and lots of other poisons.

Bed bugs basically destroy people's lives but never naturally evolved to be that good at it; it's just another result of capitalism ignoring the warnings of the scientific community. People died rich off DDT before they ever had to care about its after effects.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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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

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kyleknight · 1 year

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bed bugs: something I hope you never have to see irl

Hello there. I just spent about $800 or more dealing with and getting rid of bed bugs (and my infestation was thankfully not bad at all) so Im making this post to hopefully help someone else out there.

What are they?

horrible tiny bugs that are masters of hiding that come out at night and suck human blood (although they can bite pets)

they are good at hiding but they can’t really burrow down into things, so they tend to hide in folds and creases of your mattress and box spring

they can only suck blood and inject anticoagulant to make you bleed. they dont have claws or pincer mouth parts, so their only defense is hiding when they’re not eating

they do lay eggs but they don’t lay a ton of them. if you catch them early enough, then there might not be too many bugs in your home

How do they get in my house?

it only takes one to start an infestation. they can be picked up just about anywhere, but the more likely places are associated with high volumes of travel: hotels, buses, trains, airports, and sometimes even hospitals, nursing homes, or day cares

they sometimes come in on luggage, personal bags, or shoes, hide until they feel comfortable, and then seek out people, which they can track by body heat and air exhalation

How do I know if I have them?

if you are getting insect bites on your arms, back, and legs which are not the little red spots of flea bites and also not the small swollen spots of mosquito bites. bed bug bites tend to swell up a lot across patches of skin, especially if you’re allergic to them (which most people are)

basically they look like rashes or welts and they can be VERY itchy

also, if you inspect your mattress and box spring and you notice tiny little spots of blood on the edges, it’s a fairly clear sign

the actual bugs are very small and hard to spot but sometimes you can find their eggs, which are also tiny and white in color, in your dryer lint

Can I get rid of them with sprays?

unfortunately no. any of the sprays you can buy at Walmart or any other store are useless unless you are spraying the bug directly. the only method of completely eradicating them for good is to contact an exterminator and have them handle it. the sooner the better

if you do see them, you can spray them, but doing so will only be scratching the surface of the actual infestation

Do I have to get a new mattress or new bedding?

as long as you thoroughly wash and dry all of your bedding, you don’t have to get rid of anything. make sure you dry on high heat to kill anything that might potentially be hiding in it

also a VERY important thing to get is a zipped mattress protector. put that on your mattress and your box spring and the bugs will never be able to get through it. you can sleep comfortably again. it HAS to be a zipped protector that completely encases the mattress

and vacuum your floor. vacuum it and empty the vacuum immediately. throw the contents away, tie it all up tight in a trash bag, and take it to the dumpster right away

I truly hope that nobody reading this ever has to go through what I went through. It’s frustrating not being able to sleep because you’re so worried you’re going to get bitten by tiny bugs you can’t even see. It’s not your fault if you get them; it only takes one to start a serious problem.

But if you do suspect them, act on it as quickly as possible. The worse it gets, the more expensive it is to treat your home to eliminate them.

Take care!

#Im going to blaze this because I would like for my experience to help someone out there #my experience was not great but its finally over and I feel happy in my home again #bugs #ok I fixed the typo so gonna try this again

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combinationskin · 6 days

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my new roommate is a pain in the ass. her dogs have fleas and its turned into a full blown flea infestation and im the only one who cares and wants to get rid of them.. she said she “must not be allergic” and hasnt noticed any bites. they are everywhere, in the carpet, clothes, bedding, no matter how much i wash and vacuum. i can feel them on me constantly and am so itchy and cant sleep

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davyjoneslockr · 1 year

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i wish you would write a fic where mista kisses anasui on the lips. sorry. don’t answer this one

Sorry didn't catch that last part. I can do that.

Mista and Anasui Kiss on the Mouth. By Davy "CaptainsQuarter" Joneslockr.

The year is 2011. Mista decided to go on a nice vacation to Florida; however, due to a series events now commonly referred to as "The Busch Gardens Affair," he now finds himself in a high-security Florida prison.

Mista's biggest problem right now, though? Well, obviously the thousands of dollars in property damage he's racked up. But his second biggest problem? His cellmate is... kinda cute?

His name is Nabisco Anus Yuri, but his friends call him "Anasui," and his American friends call him "Anastasia." Being decidedly not American, Mista calls him Anasui. Anasui, in return, calls him Mista, because that's his name.

"Mista," Anasui says, sitting across from Mista in their flea-infested bunk bed, "have you ever kissed a man before?"

"Sure," Mista replies.

Anasui nods sagely. "I haven't. Because I am heterosexual."

"That's cool. I've kissed a lot of guys because I'm not heterosexual. I even dated a man once."

Anasui leans closer, his heterosexual curiosity piqued. "What was that like?"

"Pretty cool. Until the main villain of our part killed him at 17, sending my life in a downward spiral and ruining my chances at getting close to others forever."

"Woah. Just like Jolyne's dad. That's so hot."

Mista gives him a thumbs up. He does not know who Jolyne's dad is, because he did not read JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders. Part skipper.

And then they lean in very slowly, like two ants crawling across a very large kitchen floor, or perhaps the truck I got stuck behind while driving home from work today. Their noses brush together gently. Mista feels Anasui's breath ghost over his lips -

Oh okay. Yeah never mind. Mista and Anasui sit in a room together in dead silence and do absolutely nothing. The end

#is this the first mista/anasui fic. idk too lazy to look it up. i hope so #jjba #guido mista #narciso anasui #anamis #mistasui #<- idk what the ship name is anymore #i wish i could say this will all make sense when i discuss the fortunate son au on this blog more. but it will not. hope this helps

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asebizutsumi · 1 month

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I Am A Cat's Eye — 1: Un malheur ne vient jamais seul

Summary —

After losing everything and everyone in his life due to the Mysterio incident, Peter Parker begins his new life in college. Unbeknownst to him, the cat that appears at his window after patrol is more than just a flea ridden stray.

[Platonic] Peter Parker x reader.

Misfortune never comes alone, and Peter Parker knew that better than anyone else.

After Mysterio revealed his identity to billions of people worldwide, consequently putting his friends and family in danger, he understood exactly what this saying meant, and after trying to repair everything, he just brought more misfortune upon himself and ruined everything.

Now he lives in a small, rundown apartment in NYC, trying to reclaim the life he was supposed to leave behind. It was like a dog chasing its own tail, but never succeeding.

Police sirens and incomprehensible chatter fill the city's nocturnal atmosphere. The young hero sits upon a rooftop. Patrol started a long time ago, but surprisingly, there hasn't been any major criminal activity all night long in the oh-so-friendly neighborhood of Queens.

Unusual.

""There isn't anything going on right now. Maybe I should go home earlier," the boy contemplated. "It's a school night. I better go home." He then swung back home. Reaching his window, he noticed something on his windowsill. It was small and furry. He reached to touch the fur ball when it suddenly turned around, revealing a small cat. It looked malnourished and dirty.

“"Hey, little guy," Peter tried to soothe the kitten. It hissed at him. "Calm down! I'm not gonna hurt you, little dude." At that, the cat seemed to calm down a little but still stayed in an attack stance. Once the cat calmed down, Peter tried to pet it again, this time succeeding, but the feline didn't react positively nor negatively to his touch, it seemed too tired and weak to move for now.

“"Stay here, I'll get you something to eat." Peter felt guilty for leaving the poor kitten outside in the cold, but he couldn't risk a flea infestation in his already shabby apartment. Once in the kitchen, he got some leftover chicken from the fridge and went back to feed the cat. When he got into his room, he saw it.

The cat.

The flea-ridden, dirty, malnourished, and sick cat.

In his bed.

He couldn't have left his window open, could he?!

He did, and now he needs new bed sheets.

The reader's cat and "human" appearance is based off Izutsumi (Dungeon Meshi), but I'll make their descriptions as ambiguous as possible.

I'm writing everything that comes into my head on the go, so this might not be good. 😭

thank you for reading!

CHAPTER 2 — to be added

#peter parker x reader #mcu x reader #avengers x reader #post no way home #cat hybrid reader #mutant reader #peter and reader will have a sibling relationship #peter needs a break #Sheena Ringo reference lol #I Am A Cat's Eye #my first fanfic #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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bumblebeerror · 7 months

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I hate when I can’t tell if the bugs in my bed are real fleas because I’m trying to get rid of the infestation of them or if they’re fake fleas that my brain is making up because I really really hate the specific sensory experience that is fleas crawling on me

#fleas

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 years

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The Scrappy Huntress

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, and The Scrappy Huntress. 😉

Summary: The Winchesters might end up with a new member of Team Free Will.

Warnings: None. Only fluff. Figurative and literal fluff. Very brief mentions of blood.

Word Count: 1.5k+

A/N: So, I've been struggling with my mental health a bit lately and I've been having a hard time finding inspiration to write my next chapters for my series.

So, chatting with my daughter, I told her I wanted to write something super fluffy for Dean and she suggested Dean and a kitten, and this idea grew almost immediately, so I wrote it.

Hoping that getting out smaller drabbles like this will kick start inspiration! I'm sorry to those waiting for chapter updates!! They're coming, I promise. ❤️

The beautiful dividers here and below were created by @talesmaniac89 . 💓

Masterlist || Tag Lists

"Just leave it, Sam! If you pay attention to it, it's never gonna go away." Dean scowled down at his giant baby brother, who'd compressed his massive 6'4 frame down into a crouch in order to pet the scrawny kitten that had taken up residence just outside their motel room door.

Sam shook his head and looked up at Dean. "It's been outside since we got here yesterday, Dean. I don't think it's being fed. It's obviously a stray, let me bring him in and give him a bit of food and water."

"No!" Dean said vehemently. "I know you, Sammy. You bring that damn thing in, and before you know it, we'll be putting up lost posters and spending the next week searching for owners."

Sam just let his eyes plead for him and Dean was quickly outdone by a skinny black cat and big puppy dog eyes.

"Ugh!" He growled angrily. "Fine, bring it in, give it some milk, then back out it goes."

Sam scooped up the kitten quickly before Dean could change his mind and walked into their motel room.

"Most cats are lactose intolerant, milk might upset his stomach," he argued.

"How do you know it's a he?" Dean asked as he followed Sam into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Huh." Sam said, contemplating. "I don't actually know."

He turned the kitten upside down to check and the fluffy feline let out several long mewls at the undignified treatment.

"I was wrong, it's a girl." Sam corrected himself. Turning the kitten right side up, he scratched her ears for a moment as compensation for his rude behavior.

"Who's a pretty little girl?" He questioned nonsensically as he nuzzled her soft fur.

Dean rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed, leaning his shoulders against the headboard, still dressed in his big brown leather coat and boots.

"Feed her and put her back outside so we can get back to figuring out why two perfectly healthy men have dropped dead out of nowhere in this town in the last week. I'd like to finish up and get back to my very comfortable bed."

He slapped his hand down against the lumpy motel mattress aware that he'd gone soft ever since they'd found the bunker a few years ago.

"You know, I was thinking..." Sam began and Dean rolled his eyes.

"No." He answered curtly.

"You don't even know what I was gonna say!" Sam protested.

But Dean was already shaking his head. "I know exactly what you were going to say, and there's absolutely no way we're taking that flea infested thing home with us."

"She's not flea-infested." Sam defended her. "And she could make sure we don't see any more mice scurrying down our hallways."

"No, instead we'd just see a little runt kitten running around that we'd have to feed and take care of. We're not exactly home-bodies, Sam. Who'd look after the thing when we're on the road?" He shook his head again. "We're not taking it home."

Sam pouted slightly. "She's a 'she' not an it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. So if SHE can't drink milk, what are you going to feed her with?"

"I'm gonna run over to that little corner store down the street. They probably have cans of cat food." Sam answered as he brought the kitten over to Dean.

Sam tried to pass the kitten to him, but Dean held his hands up, palms out. "No way, I'm not holding that thing, it's gonna pee on me, or scratch the shit outta me."

"SHE is not going to pee on you, and dude, are you telling me you're seriously afraid of the world's tiniest claws? Man, you fight werewolves!" Sam said, incredulously.

Dean frowned and lowered his hands allowing Sam to set the tiny ball of fluff there.

"Yeah, well I shoot werewolves. You telling me I can silver-bullet her if she starts scratching?"

Sam shot him a look and Dean huffed out a sigh. "Kidding, kidding. Sheesh."

"I'll be fifteen minutes, tops. I bet you can keep her from attacking til I'm back." Sam said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean said waving his brother out the door.

As the door closed behind Sam, Dean looked over the tiny black cotton ball that he had gripped in his hand.

He adjusted the kitten slightly, not wanting to squeeze too hard. He could feel it's tiny little ribs beneath his fingers, and it's heartbeat slamming fast against them.

Dean's face softened slightly. "Its okay, I won't really shoot you, promise." He said quietly.

He readjusted again so the kitten could sit fully in his palm, and he could hold it in place with his other hand.

"Man, you really are a runty little thing, aren't you?"

The kitten blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. "I thought cats had green eyes." Dean said out loud, unable to stop the compulsion to rub his thumb over the cat's tiny head.

As he did, a sudden rumbling purr started up and when Dean petted her again, the kitten chased his thumb, rubbing up against it and then nibbling on the end.

Dean snorted with humor as she rolled onto her back in his hand, batting at his fingers with all four feet.

"Ooh, you're a scrapper." He moved his fingers forward to pet her black and white speckled belly and chuckled in spite of himself as she spread her four paws wide before closing them tight around his hand and "attacking".

He ferocious bites turned quickly into licks, her rough tongue scraping across his callused fingers. She let him pet her belly for real, and soon she was purring very loudly and falling asleep on her back, outstretched in his hand.

Dean continued to stroke her belly and found himself relaxing deeply as he listened to the, soothing rumble coming out of the tiny little creature.

He held her like that until Sam came back with the cat food and woke her up so she could eat and drink.

The brothers chuckled together as the kitten scarfed the wet food, emitting endless "threatening" growls while she ate.

When she was finished, Dean merely rolled his eyes as Sam pulled out the small tray and bag of litter he'd bought, "just in case" Dean agreed to let the kitten stay in the room over night.

"It looks like it's gonna rain, she'll drown out there." Sam reasoned. "Look, we'll keep her safe tonight and then bring her to an animal shelter tomorrow, okay?"

Dean was still frowning, although both of them knew he was going to let the kitten stay.

"Fine." He said with a sigh.

They spent a couple hours working on the case. They thought maybe they were hunting down a crossroads demon, collecting early on demon deals, but they needed more info. They just knew both victims had been newly wealthy and died very suddenly under strange circumstances.

As they looked things over, they were occasionally distracted by the little furball tearing around the room, attacking their shoelaces and puffing up to hiss at the "other cat" in the floor length mirror that hung on the outside of the bathroom door.

Despite his reluctance to encourage his brother, Dean couldn't help but laugh when the kitten's fur stood on end, and she arched her back, jumping sideways and then bouncing around on her back legs.

Finally deciding to call it a night, the boys took their turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Dean called dibs and bounded in there before Sam could complain that two grown men shouldn't be relying on dibs to decide things.

When it was Sam's turn he decided to jump in the shower, taking a bit longer, since there was no one waiting on him. Going second had its perks.

When he finally came out, clicking the bathroom light off, he chuckled softly to himself at the picture in front of him.

Dean was sprawled out on his stomach, lightly snoring. One knee was bent, and his arms were wrapped around the pillow he was laying his head on. Curled up in the crook of his elbow, the little kitten was fast asleep as well, no doubt enjoying the warmth of the soft breaths Dean was emitting.

Sam shook his head. He knew Dean would cave, they were definitely taking that little fluff ball home with them.

***

Hours later Dean woke up to the sound of loud scratching and he moaned and buried his face further into his pillow.

"Sam, make that stupid cat stop scratching!" He mumbled out sleepily to his brother. There was no response and the scratching continued.

Finally he sat up, angrily turning to Sam, planning on waking him from his comfortable sleep and forcing him to deal with the misbehaving kitten.

But as he looked over at his brother's bed, his blood ran cold. Sam lay, seemingly paralyzed, his eyes the only part of him that was moving, shooting around the room, panic-stricken while blood seeped from his nose and mouth.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out as he leapt from his bed. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him uselessly before jumping up, throwing on the lights and starting to search for a hex bag; this had to be witchcraft.

As he started looking through all the cupboards and under the bed, he began to feel himself stumble. It felt as though all his muscles were stiffening up and he crashed to the floor, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth.

He looked over to where the kitten was still scratching at the cheap wood paneling in the room. He tried to pull himself over, but he felt his arms become wooden and he couldn't move.

All he could do was watch as the kitten scratched a hole in the worn paneling, and batted at something inside. With a growing sense of disbelief, Dean blinked slowly as she snagged her claw in the top of a hex bag and then tossed it into the air as she shook it free of her claw.

She then pounced on it, batting it back and forth. Finally she attacked it fully, wrapping it up in her paws and kicking it hard with her back feet.

As she gave a particularly hard kick, the bag tore open and the contents spilled out.

Suddenly the sensation zoomed back into Dean's arms and legs and he coughed up and spit out the last of the blood that was in his mouth. He crawled quickly to the hole and pulled out a second hex bag, whipping out his lighter and burning it. He stood up and tossed the burning pouch into the bathroom sink as he heard Sam coughing and shifting around in his bed.

Dean leaned against the bathroom doorframe, sagging slightly, his muscles still a bit weak.

"You good, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Dean wiped away the blood that had dribbled down his chin, watching as the kitten batted at some of the bones that had spilled out of the hex bag, seemingly disappointed that her fun toy had popped.

He shook his head and turned to Sam with a grin. "Told you taking that kitten in was a good idea."

***

Late the next night, they were getting ready to head out. They'd dispatched a mother-daughter witch team that had been grifting rich guys and taking all their money before slipping them a hex bag and a slow death. Apparently they'd figured out there were hunters in town and decided to do away with them the same way.

As they packed up the room, Sam scooped up the kitten. They'd been too busy all day to get her to a shelter, so she'd just stayed in the room and had seemed to make herself very at home.

Sam set her down on Dean's bed and she bounced over to his green duffle bag and climbed inside. As Dean turned back to shove in another pair of jeans, she circled around two or three times before snuggling into one of his plaid flannels, half tucking herself into the pocket.

Dean let out a sigh and carefully tucked the jeans in beside her.

"So..." Sam prompted. "Shelter?"

Dean shot him an unimpressed look. "You know I'm not sending the cat that saved our lives to a..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "...an uncertain future."

He let out a put upon sigh. "Nah, this scrappy little huntress is just coming home with us I guess."

Sam beamed. "But what about when we're away?"

Dean shrugged into his leather jacket and carefully picked up the sleeping kitten before he answered.

"Well, who knows, maybe she'll like car rides. I'll make her cozy and see what she thinks." With that he tucked her into one of the upper, inside pockets of his thick jacket.

She let out a small mewl. "Whatcha think, Huntress?" Dean asked, petting her head and smiling as she yawned and then nibbled his finger.

"She says she's a badass panther, and she's good."

Sam chuckled. "Does she?"

Dean nodded as he shouldered his duffle bag, careful not to jostle the sleeping kitten in his pocket.

"Yep, and when we can't take her with us, Cas can cat-sit."

1. Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

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2. Dean Winchester Fics Only.

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3. Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

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@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

#dean winchester #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester

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klaudia2646 · 5 months

Text

Michael got here on Thursday, thanksgiving evening at about 7 pm. We hang around and made sure the dogs still remembered each other and got along well. I personally didn’t think they were going to have problems, they knew each other when we were in Arkansas.

Friday morning we hang around for a while then went to get a blazer for Michael as he has a couple of interviews lined up for this coming week and he needed one. Then we stopped by Old Navy as they had great sales but what I had seen in an add (on Facebook) was really false advertisement, it was full prize, and it was a madhouse so I was happy to get out of there. I did see a pair of nice pants I really like but didn’t want to mess to try it on and to stand in the very long line to pay. I’ll go back this coming week.

In the afternoon after David had started preparing the turkey and some of the other dishes, Michael and I had to take Orissa to the vet as she seemed to be in lots of pain. We thought that maybe her tail had broken. It was not, she got a shot and the vet prescribed her some pills that will help her. Very also said that she was covered in fleas 😑 so we got some Next-guard, that’s what we give Walter and Lou. Meanwhile, she’s sleeping on the bed with Michael. We don’t let our dogs on the bed. I’ll have to wash in hot water everything when they leave and I’ll have to treat the mattress cause I don’t want a flea infestation.

KJ came and we ate Thanksgiving dinner, it was a feast. Everything was great. Te stuffing was dry but it tasted good. I did remember later that we didn’t get the jello salad that David made the day before. We always forget something. We were hoping that KJ and Michael get along well. They were very polite with each other but I didn’t see any sparkles. On Saturday we’ll go to the Christmas Tree Lighting downtown with KJ.

Right now? It’s 2:15 am and I may had slept for 45 minutes and woke up. Can’t go back to sleep. So here I am in the living room, in my recliner with a blanket. I may read for a little while and hopefully I’ll sleep a bit.

#11/25/23 #2:17 am #23f and flurries

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 2 years

Note

Can I request a female reader who was separated from the gang after Blackwater being reunited with Arthur? Just the sweetest fluff of them finally being together again, thanks!

Only Just A Dream

Warnings: Violence, alcohol and minor use of drug$

Word Count: 5,803

A/N: Yo this one was an absolute blast to write. This idea certainly tugged on my heartstrings a bit and my imagination ran wild...anyway nonny, sorry for the long wait and I hope you enjoy!

Arthur’s eyes opened up for the fifth time that night.

He blinked a handful of times, his sight adjusting to stare up toward the canvas of his overhang.

Another night full of dreams of a time once past. Golden rays of sunshine and warmth. The scent of flowers and perfume. A vision of beauty standing before him, a smile on her face.

The image of you.

It burned behind his eyelids, imprinting to his subconscious for all eternity. Hell, how could he forget what you looked like?

He sat up in his cot, peering out at the sight of the completely silent camp. Everyone else had gone to bed. Not a soul was stirring. It was still long before the sun was due to rise.

He sighed quietly. It’d been a chore to even find a way to sleep for the past few weeks. Despite having been on the run, despite settling in a new place and rebuilding what they’d lost, despite finally having a breath of fresh air, nothing seemed to settle Arthur.

Reaching for his satchel, he dug out a photo. Worn at the edges and creased in certain places, the image of you was still crystal clear. You, standing next to your horse with a smile of contentedness as you leaned against the neck of your steed. It was taken some months ago, but he still remembered that day as if it were yesterday.

Arthur’s stomach twisted in a sharp stab of sorrow. He could still remember your last moments together. You met him at the street corner on the edge of Blackwater, him relaying the plan in hushed tones and coded conversation while you listened intently. He promised he’d be back before you knew it. A sweet kiss on the lips. The scent of your favorite perfume overwhelming him for just a split second before he broke away from you.

You weren’t a part of the so-called “grand” scheme that Dutch and Micah were running, so as far as he knew, you were going back to camp.

But you weren’t there.

Everything happened in a blur afterwards. In the rush to grab only the essentials and get the hell out of dodge, he hadn’t seen you. He frantically and desperately tried to search out for a sign, only to be pushed forward in haste by the others. Escaping into the north without as much as a backwards glance, disappearing into the trees and the craggy mountains beneath the eyes of the law. Gunshots and flashes of crimson, the loss of others, the world spinning around him.

He swallowed hard. He refused to believe the worst case scenario. Pinkertons infested the town like fleas, combing through to find anyone left behind. But you were smart. You were quick. You knew how to fit through the tiniest of gaps like a mouse escaping a hungry hawk.

That thread of hope was the only sanity he clung to these days.

Going back to Blackwater would be suicide, he knew that. But damn if he didn’t want to storm the fronts just for an answer. Alive or dead, he just wanted to know, to ease his turbulent mind, even if it meant to mourn. Mourning would have been better than this painful state of unknowing.

Standing up front his cot, he could no longer stand to lay there and fester within his own thoughts. He quietly made his way across camp to his horse, who stood wide awake amongst the stallion’s sleeping companions.

“Hey boy,” Arthur murmured as the horse’s ears flicked toward him. Pulling a carrot from his satchel, his steed willingly ate it. “How ‘bout a bit of a ride?”

Within minutes he was saddled and ready to go, taking off into the near pitch-black woods serving as a natural barrier for the camp. The moon opened the way for him past that, illuminating the vast rolling hills and plateaus of New Hanover before him.

He wasn’t even sure where to go, but anywhere to take him away.

Trotting along the path, the atmosphere was almost silent. The calls of coyotes in the distance and the occasional hoot of an owl reminded him of how late it was. Valentine soon came looming amongst the horizon, the snowcapped mountains of Ambarino in the distance. Memories of Colter flashed vividly, and he was slightly thankful you weren’t with them to experience that.

Unless you were somewhere worse—

“I need a drink,” he mumbled to himself, spurring his horse into a gallop. Valentine wasn’t his first choice; especially after the stirring he’d caused with Lenny recently, and starting a bar fight even prior to that. Hopefully the law will turn a blind eye.

The putrid scent of sheep and pig manure filled his nostrils immediately upon passing by the stockyards, though paid no mind as he continued up the muddy road. A sharp right turn and he found himself on the main street lined with shops and other businesses. Despite the ungodly hour, there were still others about; women of the night luring men into the hotel on the corner and drunken fools yammering about something or another.

Arthur stopped his horse at the hitch in front of the saloon, tying the reins and giving his steed a pat before trudging up the front steps, easily avoiding as another man stumbled through the double doors, sloshing a beer in hand.

It wasn’t full, nor not nearly as empty as he expected. Perhaps the night was younger than he thought. Either way, time was not of importance to him. He trudged up to the bar and ordered a beer, whilst the bartender gave him a wary look.

“I ain’t here to start trouble,” Arthur assured him halfheartedly, sliding a quarter across the tacky surface. The bartender just shrugged and passed him a full amber bottle. He took a swig, barely tasting the bitter liquid as he hunched in his spot.

The ambience filling the stale air soon muted the further Arthur downed his drink, and another. Patrons continued around him as he remained at the bar, his thoughts wandering to a different plane as the alcohol slowly dug its claws in.

He rolled one of the now empty bottles back and forth in his hands, watching as the dull golden sheen against the glass warped with movement. Countless visits to saloons, whether it was a ploy to pickpocket some drunken fools or just to unwind, he never could think of a time where he didn’t enjoy every waking minute with you at his side.

There had been a moment in Blackwater, a night much like this, stolen between plotting heists and sneaking under the noses of the law. He sat sprawled against the stiff wooden chair with a drink in hand, exhausted after a long day. You took the place across from him, radiant as ever despite the subtle mud stains upon your skirt, hair loose and wild, crowning your face. Rosy cheeks and a grin from ear to ear as you recounted quietly on how you’d managed to procure a few thick billfolds from an unsuspecting wealthy traveler. Pride laced your voice, the grin on your face absolutely beaming.

He couldn’t get enough of your smile. Your laugh; chiming like church bells on a Sunday morning. The conversation didn’t last much longer; too entranced by your beauty. He decidedly traded simple words to worship, guiding you to the bedroom above, driven by liquor and lost in a tangle of limbs and sloppy kisses. The memory echoed in his mind. Sometimes he would consider his blessings, branded as an outlaw for two decades meant tactical awareness of his surroundings. It was some damn miracle he hasn’t been caught yet, having evaded the taut ropes of a hangman’s noose for what felt like borrowed time. It only made sense to avoid establishing relationships outside of what he would consider familial.

Until you weaseled your way into his seemingly stone heart, cracking the epidermis of long since fossilized scars to reveal an ache —a need—for something he’d buried long ago. It almost surprised him how easily he was able to fall for you. Far too gorgeous for words and a spitfire attitude, yet easily felled in a manner of peace. It seemed surreal that a person like you could exist, and by some higher powers luck to fall into his lap. He hardly believed that you found him even remotely loveable.

But now, you were gone.

He pressed the neck of the bottle to his lips, disgruntled by managing to forget it was completely empty.

Rather than hailing down another, he stood up abruptly, immediately aware of the uncomfortable pressure radiating from his lower abdomen. He stalked towards the back of the saloon, paying no mind to a young couple necking each other pressed against the wall, blissfully unaware of the bustle around them.

The door gave way with minimal effort, aiding relief from the heavy air as a cool breeze gusted through the alleyway. He stepped out, glancing around for a quiet, private spot to relieve himself. He ventured toward the back end of the building, the distinct smell of the nearby pigpen soon invading his nostrils. After a cursory glance to ensure his solitude, he stopped at one of the support beams and hastily unbuttoned.

After taking a much-needed moment, the thought of another beer created an unrelated bitter taste in his mouth. The buzz he was currently sporting did absolutely nothing to shield his mind from those intruding thoughts. He huffed to himself, deciding this spontaneous trip had been a waste of time. Valentine wasn’t a town he’d linger in for much longer than necessary, yet he detested the thought of crawling back into his cot to be met with a replay of his previous dreams, teasing him relentlessly like a songbird resting on a branch too thin to hold the weight of a prowling cat.

Searching fingers grasped a hold of the cigarette pack within his satchel, pulling one out to place between his lips. He struck a match against the heel of his boot and lit, pulling the earthy flavors into his lungs. It provided a sense of calm, even though momentary, he leaned against the cool wood, eyes turned toward the night sky, curls of smoke reaching toward the heavens.

It was oddly serene standing out here. The muted racket continuously ongoing in the saloon behind him hardly a bother. A whirlwind of thoughts finally sedated for the time being. The stars were bright and beautiful, twinkling like fireflies against a cobalt expanse. He had forgotten the last time he enjoyed the sight of nature before him.

The butt of the cigarette soon fell to the ground, embers flattened and extinguished by his boot. Now, there was nothing left for him here.

He turned, stalking toward the alleyway again. The next destination was unknown, but all he wanted to do was mount his horse and get moving.

By now, the inside of the saloon had fallen upon deaf ears. Aside from the ambling townsfolk on the main street, he was engulfed by near silence. Footfalls were muffled by the damp ground, though the jingle of the rowels still sounded with each step, louder than he realized.

Instilled with a sudden gut feeling, Arthur quickened his pace. Shadows gave way to the light ahead, and he was close. His awareness increased twofold. Hairs standing on end along the back of his neck with the realization there were more footsteps than his own.

He knew better than to run. Instead he turned to face whatever imminent threat bestowed upon him. A silhouette—no, two, standing just a few feet away.

He was all too familiar with this game. These were not harmless patrons hanging around for drinks, these men were here for an entirely different purpose. The subtle stiffening in their shoulders once Arthur faced them had been the telltale giveaway.

“Gentleman,” Arthur spoke, keeping his voice light.

“If it ain’t Mr. Morgan!” the closest one expressed, the Irish accent heavy. “Fancy runnin’ into you out here!”

O’Driscolls. His hand twitched toward the revolver at his hip. “And I’ll be leavin’,” he said firmly. “Hope our meetin’ didn’t inconvenience ya.”

“Oh, won’t you stay for a drink or two?” the O’Driscoll sneered, stepping closer as the other followed suit. “We’ve got a lot to discuss!”

“Do we?” Arthur countered, taking a step back as his palm fell to the grip of his gun. “Don’t make it a habit to discuss anything with you boys.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” his opponent warned. “Bad business stirrin’ up trouble ‘ere, especially now.”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, when the saloon’s side door opened. His attention momentarily diverted to the newcomer, a man rushing out full force toward him. Arthur managed to dodge just by a hair, the wind breezing by as his attacker instead met open air, briefly struggling against the momentum to turn around.

His fingers closed around the revolver, yanking it from the holster in the blink of an eye. He aimed toward the attacker. Out of the corner of his vision, the others drew their weapons, all fixed on him.

“Now now, we can play nicely,” the supposed leader of the trio purred. “No need for any bloodshed tonight. Make no fuss n’ come along.”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Arthur growled, “I’ll tear all you apart ‘fore you lay a hand on me.”

His finger hovered over the trigger, though a gunshot right now would surely hail the law upon them at an almost instant. He had to decide quickly on how to escape this predicament without drawing attention. Turning his back to them opened an opportunity for them to attack, and heading forward meant capture, or death.

“Your choice, Mr. Morgan,”

Arthur was silent, heart racing as he weighed his options. He inwardly cursed himself for letting his guard down, too lost in his own thoughts to recognize the threats lurking in the shadows. He considered taking the first shot, perhaps at the third man, and empty some bullets toward the first two in hopes to cause enough to a distraction to get away, slip into the night, and pray no lawmen would chase.

The secondary option would be to fistfight his way out, a feat of which he wasn’t foreign to. Three against one would be tricky, at most. The strings of fate were playing against him.

The side door swung open a second time, the slam resonating enough to pull the attention of them all. Another man stumbled out with a bottle of liquor in his hand, side-stepping into the open with a gargled groan.

It was just the distraction Arthur needed.

The O’Driscoll beside him was quick, but he was quicker. Arthur swung his left arm out, fist connecting with the soft tissue of his opponent’s nose—a warm explosion of blood followed shortly thereafter. It was enough to stun him, and Arthur turned his focus on the other two.

The leader was ready, meeting Arthur halfway with an attack of his own, having an advantage of being a half-second faster, knuckles colliding with Arthur’s cheekbone. The pain was nearly dizzying, Arthur reeled in the spot before quickly blocking another punch, though the force was enough to fling the revolver out of his grip. His dominant hand now free, he swung forward, immediately landing a matching wound.

Sudden pain radiated through his lower back, immobilizing him for longer than he intended. The one he punched first had managed to recover and took the opportunity to attack. He spun around to throw another punch—and missed as the man ducked from his attack.

An immense crack of pain exploded on the back of his head. Arthur let out a grunt, stars erupting in his vision as his knees buckled, falling to the trodden dirt beneath him. He rolled to peer up at his attacker, the second O’Driscoll standing over him with a wicked grin, and Arthur’s own gun clutched within his hand.

Anger pulsed through Arthur’s veins. He attempted to scramble to his feet, only to have the toe of a boot aim a kick directly into his stomach. His breath completely left his lungs, inhaling dirt and coughing on the clods.

Sinister laughter hung over him like a rain cloud. The O’Driscolls surrounded him, taking turns to land any shots for a split second of vulnerability. Arthur squirmed on the ground, quickly trying to find any open window of opportunity. He only had his knife on him, sheathed beneath his hip. If he could manage to grab it—

A sharp sting made its presence on his face as a spur dragged across, slicing the delicate skin open. Drops of blood landed in his vision, obscuring the already difficult sight of any escape.

“Shoulda just complied, Morgan!” the leader chuckled. “Then we woulda gone a little easier on ya!”

The laughter increased at that. Arthur gave a sharp, rattling cough before taking in a breath of air. Turning his clear eye toward his attacker, he rasped, “Fuck you.”

This ceased the cackling. Even in the dim, Arthur could see the twisted smile form on the leader’s face. “Fuck me?” he repeated gleefully. “No no, Arthur Morgan, fuck you!”

A heel connected with Arthur’s stomach, bringing forth a howl of pain from the outlaw. Then came multiple, aiming randomly, bruising exposed skin, landing strikes relentlessly.

“After the mess you n’ your friends left in Cumberland Forest, you deserve—“

Whatever he was going to say next, was instantly cut off with a soft thud, a similar to a knife sinking into a slab of cheese. A small gasp followed, and Arthur watched as the O’Driscoll suddenly fell forward, landing face-first onto the open space next to him. The unmistakable gleam of a throwing knife stuck out from his back, dark blood quickly pooling beneath the jacket.

The remaining two were rendered speechless, clearly in shock by the sudden death of their leader. Arthur’s eyes swiveled toward the origin to see another silhouette standing just past the end of the building, poised, ready to strike again.

This newcomer’s form seemed to be slight; unlike the burly men surrounding him. A breeze stirred their clothing, their hair; long and wild. At that very moment, the little cloud cover cleared from the half-moon above, giving faint illumination to the sight before them.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat as soon as he laid his eyes directly onto your face.

Your face, twisted with anger, your lips curled over your teeth in a silent snarl.

It seemed like time slowed down. From the second the leader fallen until now seemed like an eternity, now suddenly rushing in like a freight train. Arthur pushed himself back up to his feet, taking advantage of their distraction to strike. He slammed his fists into the nearest, knocking them flat, the satisfying ache of his knuckles colliding with their face barely registering when the third tried to lunge.

The swivel of another throwing knife slicing through the air kissed his ear just as he dodged, watching as the knife sunk into its target, though landing non-fatally, sinking into the meat of the bicep. As the O’Driscoll cried out in pain and stumbled, Arthur yanked his own knife from its casing, leaping forward to bury the blade into his opponent’s neck, sinking down to the hilt.

He was immune to the gurgling, the sickening sight of blood spurting from the now severed jugular. The O’Driscoll’s eyes brightened in pure fear; the realization of perishing. Arthur yanked the blade out, both seething and satisfied as this piece of filth dropped to his knees, desperate to speak yet only made the sounds of pathetic choking, clothes dyed deep scarlet, before exhaling his last breath.

Arthur’s chest heaved, heart hammering, boiling blood quickly reduced to a simmer. He observed the carnage around him; three bodies, bloodied and bruised, sprawled like some sort of sickening art display.

And then he remembered.

He wiped the blood pooling by his eye. Turning to look toward you again, silently hoping it hadn’t been a hallucination. You hadn’t moved from your spot, hands at your sides, the ever-growing breeze caressing your tresses, framing your ever so gorgeous face in the silver moonbeam.

It were as if you were an angel.

He spoke your name, softly, as if speaking too loud would somehow destroy the image placed before him. Had this been another dream? Did those damn O’Driscolls knock him silly into pleasantry?

Your lips flickered into a smile. Though it seemed a sense of urgency washed over you as you glanced left and right before locking to him again. “You got a horse?”

He nodded.

You tilted your head and flicked it toward the outskirts. Let’s get outta here.

Arthur didn’t have to be told twice. He whistled quickly, and his stallion trotted around the corner just a short moment later.

---

Flames crackled within the worn fireplace, casting its orange glow within the small homestead you had led him to. It was deep in the woods, surrounded by nothing but the local wildlife. Arthur wasn’t exactly sure where he was, having only listened to your direction in haste of leaving Valentine without a second glance. The ride itself was mostly silent, aside from your guidance as you clung to him from behind, too focused on ensuring safety.

The heat of the battle quickly fizzled from his veins afterward, and he shivered, standing close to warm himself. He watched as you moved around the cabin, collecting a washbasin and a rag, along with a small assortment of vials. Lastly, you grabbed a chair, dragging it toward him and planting it firmly next to him.

“Sit,”

He did so wordlessly, his mind too scattered to even speak—to think—of anything other than still wondering if this were a dream.

You stood in front of him, eyes golden in the flickering flames as they swept over his body, brow furrowing in concern. “They did a number on you,” you say quietly.

“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t had before,” he murmured in response, surprised by how raspy his voice sounded.

You hummed, the corner of your mouth twitching into the slightest of a smirk. Bending down to place the supplies at your feet, you dipped a clean rag into the washbasin and wrung it out before standing upright. You gently placed it against his cheek.

He couldn’t keep himself from wincing, the spur digging into his flesh all too fresh. And real. Pain was real.

This moment was real.

He stared, holding still as you cleaned the wound. The tenderness if your touch, the slight tickle of your breath, the scent of your floral perfume still present amongst the copper tainting his nose.

“I thought you was dead,”

You grimaced at his statement, dipping down once again to rinse the rag, the clear water gaining a slight reddish hue. As you straightened back up, placing it upon the side of his neck. “C’mon now, Arthur. You know me better than that,” you joked quietly.

“I thought you was goin’ back to camp, but I didn’t see you at all,” he sighed, forehead crinkling. “Where were you?”

“The general store,” you answered simply, dabbing the rag across his Adam’s apple. “Wanted to surprise you with a good meal when you returned. That’s when I heard the commotion, saw all the Pinkertons heading toward the docks. I knew something went sour.”

The vivid memory of gunfire, the shouting, the swarms of lawmen coming upon them flashed through his mind.

“I knew I couldn’t get back to camp, just in case one of them saw me,” you sighed, gingerly dragging the rag along his jawline. “So I hid, made my way into the stables, listened to the outside. Had to be two or three days I was in there, hiding in the hay, eating apples and oatcakes before I was able to slip out during the night, found our campsite destroyed and my horse gone.”

“We had to leave in a hurry,” Arthur explained. “Barely grabbed anything, got chased up North into the mountains. Lost some along the way…” he trailed off, tilting his head to remember the fallen. “Was a complete mess. I tried lookin’ for ya, but I couldn’t,” he peered up to you again. “I’m sorry.”

A sullen smile stretched across your lips. “I’m glad you didn’t, you would have been killed if you tried,” you pointed out, placing the rag down. With both hands free, you reached for his shirt. Dirtied, bloodied and torn in some places, you slowly unbuttoned with soft fingers. Once his union suit had been revealed, you peeled off his suspenders and the now loosened shirt. His arms straightened out to help, pulling another wince as pain made its presence once again.

You were right, yet the guilt still gnawed at him. He shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts. “How’d you get outta Blackwater?” he asked.

“Wasn’t easy,” you mumbled, now working on the holds of his union suit, slowly revealing his beaten torso. “Had to keep myself outta sight when every wall was plastered with our faces. Slept in barns and under porches, stole food where I could. Had to be two weeks before I finally I found a merchant that I bargained with and hitched a ride up to Strawberry. Been there for the past few weeks.”

“Strawberry,” Arthur repeated. “Then I suspect you might’ve seen Micah.”

Your nose wrinkled at the mention of Micah’s name. “Saw him being carted off into the jailhouse. Didn’t hear why, but I’m sure that fucker deserved it,” the scorn in your voice was plain.

Arthur chuckled at that. His top half was now bare, the sleeves of the union suit dangling loosely on either side of his waist. He was definitely worse for wear, filleted and discolored on the ribs in the beginnings of bruising. You began work on his chest, which thankfully wasn’t nearly as dirty as his face was. “Lenny came in all panicked ‘cause that fool landed himself in there. Dutch asked me to break him out,” he bitterly mentioned. “I’d rather let him swing.”

You hummed again in agreement. “Heard him rambling one night about something eastward, wasn’t much, but it was enough.”

“That’s how you ended up in Valentine?”

You nodded, tenderly patting at a superficial wound on his side. “Just arrived yesterday. Found this place rather than shacking up in the hotel. Kept an ear out for anything that sounded familiar. Heard in the saloon that you caused a ruckus,” you gave him a knowing look.

Arthur reached for the back of his neck, feeling somewhat sheepish. “I s’pose I can’t avoid that,” he muttered. “Trouble seems to find me.”

“More like you start the trouble,” you rebuked, though with a jest. You shot him a quick grin. “You leave your marks, Arthur Morgan, in more ways than one.”

He met your grin with a slight smile, though unsure how to truly respond. Instead, he watched as you cleaned the remainder of his wounds. He breathed steadily, slowly, becoming acutely aware of the knot in his ribs from where they kicked. He flinched as your palm rested over it, resulting in your hand retracting as if being bitten by a snake.

“Sorry,”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’d be worse off if you hadn’t shown up when ya did.”

“Then I should’ve shown up sooner,” you say with a frown. “When I heard the commotion, I didn’t think much of it, until I heard one of them say your name,” you dropped the rag in the washbasin for a final time, the water now a cloudy crimson. “At least these wounds ain’t too deep.”

“Guess I was lucky you were ‘round then,” he said quietly, giving you a half smile.

Though reluctant, you smiled back at him, this time grabbing a vial from the floor and a dull silver spoon. Yanking off the cork, you poured clear liquid into the spoon, holding it up to him. “Morphine.”

Normally he’d detest, knowing how easily someone could become dependent on the substance (all thanks to a certain Reverend). But if it meant the next few hours of painless rest, one dose wouldn’t be terrible. He took the spoon into his mouth, face slightly contorting at the bitter medicine as it slid past his tongue. You then grasped a jar, opening to reveal a salve, dipping your fingers to produce a substantial helping. You began to place it along the wounds peppering his torso.

“Where’d you get all this?” he inquired curiously.

“The doctor in Strawberry, I worked as his assistant for a bit… and, well, helped myself to a little of his medicine cabinet before I left,” you explained, wiping away some excess. “Can’t be too careful nowadays.”

He fell silent again. You moved back up to his face, dabbing small globs of the salve amongst the smaller cuts on his face before focusing on the largest one. His skin felt taut with the now scabbing blood, the following soreness now beginning to settle. Your touch was feather light, slowly smoothing the last of it from your fingers. There was a faint wrinkle present between your eyebrows, creased with concentration as if performing a delicate surgery, or painting something complex.

For the first time he noticed a small smear of dirt just below your left eye. Perhaps you wiped your face after starting the fire, perhaps it’d been from hours ago. He reached up and placed his palm against your cheek. Plump and smooth and warm just as he remembered, sweeping his thumb across the curve of your bone to remove the blemish. Your eyes softened as your own hand rested on his forearm, lips parting as if to speak again, yet no words were uttered.

“I missed you so much, sweetheart,” he murmured to you.

Your eyes closed, leaning into the comfort of his palm. “I missed you too,” your voice was low, trembling. “All I wanted to do was find you, didn’t care how long it took.”

He thought back to all those sleepless nights, tossing and turning and damn near worrying himself sick, obsessed with even wondering if you were alive. Had it been the same for you? Countless weeks of separation and fearing the worst, hoping and praying to whichever higher power would listen to meet again.

His other hand rose to caress the other side of your face, trapping you between his fingers. Your eyes opened again, bright and loving. Eyes that he thought he’d never see again.

“Arthur…”

He drew you in close, and you met him halfway with a sweet kiss. Your lips were soft and gentle, just as he remembered, though it were as if no time had passed. You moved with him, never breaking contact to slide into his lap as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. His left arm hugged your waist, caging you snugly against him, wounds be damned. He needed to feel you again.

Delicate fingers slinked through his hair, tingles erupting and cascading from his head down to his toes.

It seemed like both an eternity and a brief moment before you finally parted from him. Foreheads pressed together, he breathed in your scent, your essence, as if it were both the first and last time he’d even have the privilege to do so. He could get drunk off it if he could.

Leaning back, he peered up at you, the firelight glowing upon your locks, glowing like a halo. His own personal angel, straight from the heavens.

“I ain’t ever seen someone so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands roaming across your back. He was vaguely aware of how heavy they felt.

You smiled down at him, a tender touch sweeping across his jawline. He blinked from your touch, though his eyelids stayed closed for a second longer than he intended.

He was tired. His body was exhausted, yet the lingering pain was slowly disappearing. He could fall asleep right now.

“Morphine’s kicking in,” you murmured, moving off his lap. Your hand found his to help him to his feet, and he stood albeit a little off-kilter. You led him over to a bed in the far corner of the cabin. It was small and plain, although large enough to hold the both of you. “Rest.”

The movement was enough to bring Arthur back to reality for a brief second. “Join me, darlin’,” he mumbled to you, squeezing your hand to emphasize. There was still a small knot of worry that this is all just a dream.

You giggled quietly in response. “Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” you say softly, reaching to remove his gun belt and laying it to rest upon the wrought iron footboard.

Soon he was settled comfortably, you all but having to tuck him in as the morphine further dulled his senses. It were as if he was in a dream-like state, similar to being drunk but not quite. Either way, the pain had been scaled down to an absolute minimum. The mattress beneath him could have been a cloud for all he knew.

The fluffy down pillow cradled his head, coaxing him further into unconsciousness. You lay beside him, tucked comfortably within the crook of his body, fitting perfectly against him like pieces to a puzzle. His lips pressed against the back of your head, his arm draped along the curve of your torso, hand pressed loosely against your abdomen, caging you to him.

Truthfully it was more of a chore to share a bed with you, more often than not. His little cot back at camp hardly provided enough space to accommodate two bodies. Even if you slept separately, he often would find an excuse to spend the night at your side, whether if it was a spontaneous camping trip or a stopping in a town with a quaint hotel.

After tonight however, he’d damn well find a way to deliver a mattress directly to his wagon if it meant he wouldn’t have to spend another night lonely.

Even with the tendrils of sleep weighing him down, his grip on you tightened.

“Arthur?”

Your voice was quiet, yet touched with a hint of concern.

His eyes closed, attempting to ease the small spike of anxiety at even the ghost of thinking losing you again. He tried to speak, a vibration in his throat sliding out in anything but coherence. Fighting the medicine-aided exhaustion was swiftly proving to be a losing battle.

Your own hand lay atop his, interlacing fingers so gently and comfortingly, your soothing voice lulled him deeper.

You were here, with him, once again.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x female reader

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theshadowrealmitself · 11 months

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Unfortunately! I still can’t even continue knitting today because I’ve been trying to get rid of a flea infestation and it’s fucked up my wrist (spraying a vinegar solution everywhere, not the only thing I’ve done for the fleas, but it’s the thing that fucked up my wrist)

Which means,, I can’t do anything rn 😭 no knitting, no drawing, no typing (even doing this sucks), which means not really posting or writing, oh! and I’m in between fandoms, no tv sounds good at the moment, and I can’t sleep because all my stuff is once again on my bed because the baking soda and salt all over the carpet that has to stay there for 24 hours minimum

Currently taking suggestions for what to do or even how to fix my wrist really quickly pretty please

#I’d do voice to text if I was alone but I’m not 😭😭😭#no fandom #god I wish this was a fandom post #in that weird gray area again where fandoms aren’t hitting #damn it all #suffering #all this better actually get rid of the fleas.

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gubbin-galoshes · 5 months

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One summer afternoon before the pandemic, most of the outdoor flea market vendors had packed up their trucks. A few hopeful sellers were left scattered in the graveyard of empty tables. One of those was a brisk old man in a checkered shirt who shouted echoing across the empty lot: "FREE BOOKS! THEY'RE GOING TO THE DUMPSTER! THESE BOOKS ARE TRASH IF YOU DON'T TAKE THEM!"

Compelled to rescue as many as I could, I loaded my arms with as many books as I could carry. I gave the old man an uncertain look, a silent plea for confirmation that it was really okay that I take them without paying, but he shooed me away and I staggered across the mowed field back to my car.

Upon my return home, I stuffed the books into the sideways spaces in my bookshelves, vowed to read them one day, and forgot them.

Five years passed. In that time I read a few of the books and added them to donation piles: Aesop's Fables; The Jungle Books; The Scarlet Letter; Gone with the Wind. There was one book that continued to survive on the shelf, perpetually in a state of I'll get to it one day: Stargate by Pauline Gedge, published in 1982.

Most of the reason I hadn't read it yet was in its appearance: the dust jacket was torn up and dusty and had a fragile, crumbling texture. The book's edges were splotchy, like the pages had been infested with something at one point and maybe got sprayed with saltwater on the deck of a boat. I expected to turn the open book upside-down and dead insects to fall out. So it remained on the shelf.

A few days ago I was finally bored of rereading A Psalm for the Wild-Built and scoured my shelves for something new. The ratty old copy of Stargate beckoned, so I carefully removed the dust jacket, rifled and flipped the pages to clear them of debris, and started reading.

Ixelion stepped under the archway of his Gate, the box clutched tightly in his hand, and the guards with their silver wands and stiff capes of scales greeted him with soft, deferential voices.

This is not at all what I'd expected. I'd opened the book under the assumption that it had been the inspiration for the 1994 movie of the same name. After reading for awhile (and being incredibly confused) I looked it up: Pauline Gedge isn't credited anywhere in the movie. Officially there is no correlation: the titular Stargates in the book and movie are networks of interplanetary portals, and that is the only similarity.

As of this writing, I'm about 40% into reading the book and I can't stop thinking about it. Gedge has managed to make me fall in love with immortal gods, dream about the richly realized worlds of each planet, and scream at the pages as good-intentioned characters make horrible decisions. The writing style is gorgeous and perfectly paced to match the unhurried dread of the story. I already know this volume will sit ready on my shelf, where I can open it to a random page whenever I need inspiration to write.

There's still more than half of this book to go. I've been waking up early to read a chapter before the day starts, and going to bed early so I can get at least two chapters in before sleeping. At this point in the story, I have no idea how it could end except in awful, beautiful tragedy.

But this book's fate had been the landfill before I secured its unlikely rescue. I hope the same for its characters.

#bookblr #books #book recommendations #reading #journal #currently reading #stargate pauline gedge #pauline gedge

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ajockeynamedpod · 7 months

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Viviano and D+G are keeping me fucking sane rn.

(Tw pest/bug problems, description of psych issues, unsanitary conditions)

So apparently there is a flea infestation in my room. We think they came in on the mice we seem to get every year (we are right next to a HUGE forest so it’s unavoidable). Not too many but enough to be a nuisance, and enough to literally give me EXTREME paranoia over it.

I keep feeling bugs that aren’t there crawling all over me. I keep checking every surface everywhere. Every little black spot I see becomes a flea. A piece of black pepper on the counter. A piece of black lint from my socks. I’m feeling CONSTANT phantom itching and there’s nothing there. I feel phantom bites but then i look and there’s REAL ones with no bug in sight.

I’m staying in a different room in the house and there’s none there. but I keep feeling new bites anyway.

I’m trying to clean my room but it’s a PIT. It looks like a hoarders house and I’m not joking. Mostly because I have so little space for my things, but also because there’s bottles ad dishes and paper plates and wrappers everywhere. Stacked up nearly level with my BED. I’ve taken ELEVEN bags of trash out of there and it still looks the same. It’s bad. It’s been bad for a long time. But in order to spray anywhere i have to pick it all up with no help, no one wants to be in there and I can’t do it alone so I freeze up every time and start shaking.

it’s bad. im bad. I have a safe room to sleep in but I have to shake out my clothes in the bathroom and take a shower before I can sleep at night.

I don’t know what to do anymore. im stuck while this stupid things propagate in my room.

There’s none anywhere else in the house other than the ones I tracked into the bathroom and killed.

and what’s worse is my case manager, transportation for groceries, and my gym coach can’t come anymore until it’s resolved.

I can’t do this guys it’s too much and it’s too overwhelming and I have no help

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helenofsimblr · 1 year

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Elita: Back at the park I decided to climb up the tower so that I could get a better vantage point for if Randall and his brother and sister showed up again. It was a good 70 foot up, good view.

***

Elita: So yep, you guessed it, I decided I was gonna have a cigarette. At this moment my quit smoking goal that I told Randall about was so far away from happening! Did you know the younger you are when you smoke the easier it is to become addicted? Sad part is, I didn’t spare my lungs a second thought!

***

Elita: And why would I? I mean, I was a vampire super soldier hybrid thing, it's not like they need to worry about their health and well being. So I wasn’t going to. Oh yes, the hobo bed behind me there on the cinder blocks, I don’t have a clue how that got up here. And it was probably some flea infested thing of some sort. But I was bored and waiting… so what did I do? I lay down and took a load off.

#ts4 #ts4 story #sims 4 #sims 4 story #The Tomorrow Men #KSU #Elita

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thefallendivine · 1 year

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Laguna Crisantine don Benviste III: Overboarding Party

The open sea. The waves as tame as they can be. A hammock on deck. The sun right overhead. Valuable finds in the hold. By all means, it is the perfect time to take it slow.

Laguna plops and stretches himself on the suspended bed of criss-crossed ropes, puts his feet up, slips his intertwined hands beneath his head, shuts his eyes and lets out a sigh. "Perfect," he says aloud, as if announcing it to everyone on the ship.

Except the only crew of the coasting caravel is him.

Why would he need other people? Laguna can handle both the essential and the menial work. He can make do without anyone else but Siren— it has always been just the two of them and it will remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Besides, if he had crewmates, then he would never have been able to relax like this.

"Just the way I like it," Laguna breathes out, satisfaction oozing from his lazing body.

But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the waves crashing against his vessel escalates in a foreboding manner. The wind coming from the port side is suddenly gone, in its place is the sound of canvas catching the breeze. Wood claps against wood in an assertive thud, followed by the slaps of intrusive boots on deck.

Someone has boarded the ship.

Laguna elects to stay in his bed even as the pirates loom over him— he is not about to get up now that he is settled and comfortable.

Laguna peeks at the pirates, opening one eye long enough to count three of them. "Can you scoot over to the right? You're blocking my sun," he tells them lazily.

"Are we sure this guy took our loot?" Laguna hears one ask as soon as his eye closes.

"Brody scoped a ship with no sails making off with 'em. Weren't you listening?"

"And the captain believed her?" The third pirate butts in. "I'd've slapped her upside the noggin', I would."

"We're on a ship with no sails now, ain't we?"

There is a pause before the response. "Oh, right."

Cold steel presses against Laguna, stopping the subtle swaying of his bed. "Oy, where's our loot?"

"You're loot?" Laguna cocks a brow at the pirates. "As far as I know, the only loot in the hold are the ones I found and retrieved. And the 'Seafarers' Code of Ethics' dictates that they're mine to keep."

The trio of pirates blink at Laguna. "The seafairies—what?" One asks.

"'Seafarers' Code of Ethics'," corrects Laguna. Met with blank stares, he throws the pirates an incredulous look. "Also known as the 'Pirate Law'?" He prompts, and when no one says anything, Laguna fixates on the dumbest looking of the three before waving a hand at him. "Come on, you know that."

"I do?"

"I sure hope so," Laguna scoffs. "Every pirate knows that."

The dumbest pirate reels back. "I've heard of it, I think. The captain tells it when he took me as crew," he tells the one standing in the middle, the man who clearly leads the small boarding party, and the one who holds Laguna at gunpoint.

"No he didn't, you daft swab," snaps the leader. "You're a stowaway, the captain don't even know you exist." He then looks to Laguna, clearly the smartest of the three. Though that does not say much. "There ain't no thing as 'Pirate Law'." But the man sounds unsure. "We follow nothing but the captain's orders. And he follows no one."

Laguna glances at the black flag waving on the ship next to his. He does not recognize its particular brand of skulls-and-crossbones. "You sure about that? He doesn't follow anyone? Not even the whims of the Pirate Lords?"

The question is meant to get the pirates to back off, but it only serves to push the flintlock harder onto Laguna's cheek.

"We're well away from their waters," the leader says, a slight tremble to his voice.

Laguna heaves a sigh. "Well, I tried to reason with you…"

"Reason? Hah!" The pirate barks then makes a show of looking around the ship. "No reasonable sailor wanders the sea in a wreck like this. The hag doesn't deserve to hold treasure, only rats, fleas, and dead men like you." The familiar click of the weapon that infests the sea echoes in Laguna's ear. "And I've seen prettier ghost ships."

"Oof, insulting the ship and threatening me," Laguna winces. "You shouldn't have done that."

"What? Did I hurt your feelings?" The pirates share a hearty laugh.

Anticipation and mischief lengthens Laguna's lips. "Not mine. Siren's."

"Siren? A darling name like that does not fit a ship like—"

Suddenly, the ship rocks viciously as a wall of water rises in between the two ships, splintering the boarding ladder that connects them and cutting off the pirates' way back.

Not that it matters as their ship suddenly drifts away violently and abruptly.

The three pirates stumble uncontrollably towards the bulwark.

"Careful you don't go overboard!" Laguna calls out, still in his hammock, swaying with the motion of the vessel.

But Laguna's warning, along with the panicked cries of the trio, are drowned out by the grating protests of the creaking masts of the pirate vessel. The vociferous shouts of the captain and the first mate, as well as the rest of the pirate crew as they try to regain control can barely be heard over the roaring waves lapping against all sides of their ship. Soon, their voices are lost as the galleon drifts farther and farther away, receding into mere murmurs.

"They're leaving!" Exclaims one of the boarders who have now been left behind. They tried to call out repeatedly, but to no avail. Their captain and crewmates seem to have no intention of returning, even after they have reined in their ship.

"They left us!"

"What even happened!?"

The leader of the trio turns, and with a look of purposeful intent, calls to Laguna. "You—"

But he is once again interrupted as the ship tilts precariously towards the port side, throwing the three pirates into the water, their goodbyes a harmony of fading shrieks cut short by simultaneous splashes.

Laguna's hammock slows to a gentle sway as the ship does the same. He moans in appreciation as he throws his head back onto his knotted hands. "Still perfect."

#main companions #mariners

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