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pbandjesse · 14 days

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I suffered with my allergies all last night and it was terrible. I would wake up at 730 without an alarm just so dried out and uncomfortable. It was not a fun way to get up.

I would get up to get some water and wash my face. And I felt. Fine. I didn't have as much energy as yesterday. But that was fine. I didn't have as many things on my mental list.

I had a piece of cornbread for breakfast again. And started figuring out how I was going to attack the day. It was going to be very warm and I would take advantage of that later on.

I made my outfits for the week. And end t downstairs to start pulling out the stuff for the music festival market next weekend. I am frustrated that my pet shop idea isn't coming together the way I wanted. I maybe have a plan but still I was struggling with it.

I would make a list for all the things I would be selling. And would finish up the mice I started last week. They all have tails now. And I got more pins made up. They aren't all the way done yet but that shouldn't take long. I just struggled to stay motivated today.

At 930 I left to go to target. I would have a nice time walking around. Listening to music. I got my lotions and soap. I would also get some bug spray wipes for our trip. And a little Lego flower set for James because I love them so much.

I would go check out the clearance section and was disappointed by how little it is now. I found that a lot of clearances I checked out today were pretty picked over ot just very small. Disappointing. But I did find a very soft grey cropped button up for $7 so I still got something too.

I went to the craft store next to look for display stuff. But no luck. I did get two small baskets that I really like but I was frustrated still and was getting more and more upset as I kept looping the store. I just wanted to go home.

I went back to the house and decided to take advantage of the nice weather and brought the screen door to our front door so I could work on there and have a nice breeze and it worked great and not only did it make me happy, Sweetp seemed thrilled by the new sunny spot.

I would make a set up for my table. I think I have a plan now. And I would get everything put away for now. I still want to make a new sign but that's not something I had the motivation for today.

I would start working on a new stamp for the music festival. And sat in the doorway carving it. I want to do another couple passes on it but I'm happy with it so far. It was nice to have a little project.

While I was finishing tearing out the stamp I got a text from Sophia at awah asking me if I could come and sub. Super short notice, as it was 1145 and I have to be there at 1230. But lucky for them I was available. She was super grateful.

I finished what I was doing. Let my phone charge for a second. Pour a new drink. And right before I headed out I scratched the back of my leg and it wouldn't stop bleeding so I had to pause to clean that and get a bandaid. But then I was off.

I was still pretty early so I sat outside for a bit to get some color on my legs. And I just felt really happy. It was a good day.

And my class was great. Everyone was so nice. And I got to see some students who weren't there last time so it was just really nice to see them.

And I really enjoyed my two groups. They were finishing an eclipse project they started last week. And we had some issues with one was missing? But we were able to give them one that was extra and it was all okay in the end. But it was fun and a good project. And I got to teach them some painting skills, specifically that adding white can help with the opacity and cover the newspaper they were working on. And I had some really wonderful conversations. With parents and students and Naomi. Me and her had a good system going with cleaning and resetting and we had some weird stinky bottles of paint but we just laughed about it and it was really a good time. They only have one class left for the semester and I really hope I can be with them again in the fall.

I would leave there at 3 and headed over to the museum. I was very happy to see my James. I hugged on their head for a little. They did my hands felt good on their ears. Cute.

I headed to the print shop and started putting together a chase for Jesse. He wanted something we could possibly just create for couples, rather then just offering that if I'm there. A better guarantee.

Deborah was finishing a tour while I was in there and it was really nice to see her. Once her tour was over she would help me look for my old flower trays but we had no luck. So I just showed her how I made my little chases. We chose a font we thought screamed BMI. And it was fun putting it together. Jesse would come in and kept saying how cool it was. Which it is! Printing is very cool!!

I finished up my examples and checked in my James. I let them know I was going to go check out the dollar store for my market ideas. They would meet me there.

I had no luck there either. I found one thing that was a maybe but I ended up not liking it as much as I hoped. So I just got candy. And walked to five below.

I also had no luck there. Got more candy. Got a hair clip. And went to wait for James on the bench outside.

They took a few minutes because they were trying to help with a tech issue with the wedding at the museum. But then they were over and they had to quickly take my picture because my visa was declined for having the same photo as my passport photo. Apparently you need a totally different picture. They said this happens a lot. So I'm not to worried. Even though the sun was in my eyes so I'm kind of squinty.

We would walk to the grocery store and got cereal and eggs and Pop tarts. Which was $20. Which is insane. This country is a nightmare.

I was having fun with James. And we decided to go to the diner for dinner. I was kind of being weepy and was struggling to express myself. But James gets me. I love them very much.

We took the tunnel because it was a 10 minute drive vs a 30 minute drive if we didn't. And that was great because I was very hungry.

We had our dinner. I had some emails from feildtrips. One be was super complimentary about Friday and even asked me to come give an earth day talk at their school but I won't be in the country! Still very flattering to be asked.

We would head home after dinner. I felt a little off. James asked what I wanted to accomplish when we got home but my only answer was to put up the last shelf in the little room. But then when we started I got very dizzy and James told me to go lay down.

So that is what I did. And James would gather themselves and go do laundry. Which is greatly appreciated.

I would just lay here and rest. And now James is home! I am looking forward to being together tomorrow. I hope I am in a good head space and in a good mood.

I hope you all have a good night and a great day tomorrow. I love you all. Goodnight!!

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years

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Tw: implied self harm

looking for: advice

I know you're not medical professionals, but is there any chance you can research on something? i can't find anything, i'm sorry.

one of my cuts got infected and i have no access to medical care due to a neglectful family, what can i do? i'm scared it will get worse. it's been almost 4 days since it got infected. i washed it many times with water and put bandaids on it.

Hi anon,

Just so you know. me (Mod Bun) and Mod Night have co-wrote this response.

It definitely needs to be cleaned, alcohol maybe once and then mild and soap and water at least once a day. Put antibiotic ointment on it, and then bandage it. If it starts leaking pus or the red starts spreading anywhere or it turns green/yellowish then you need to seek medical attention immediately. Infections can and will go down several layers into the tissue and spread, causing cellulitis and giving you a fever and making you feel sick, which can turn into sepsis if left untreated by a medical professional with antibiotics. There are a lot of other issues that untreated infections (especially in deeper cuts) can cause.

So sterilize it once (rubbing alcohol), apply antibacterial ointment on and around the area, and bandage it entirely, preferably with gauze and non stick pads, change the dressing every day and wash with mild soap and cool water, and be sure to dry it and apply ointment again before rebandaging it. But if it gets any worse or you start feeling feverish, it starts leaking, or anything like that, you need to find some way to get actual medical care and antibiotics.

Ultimately please be aware that we are not professionals and although Mod Night is an EMT, we generally aren't equipped to answer medical questions like these. Hope we could help anyways though, and I hope things can get better for you. We're here if you need anything.

-Mod Night & Bun

#mod bun #self harm #trauma talks #mod night

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fruitcoops · 3 years

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Hello I hope you’re well!! I was wondering if you have the free time/ interest, it might be cool to see something where Sirius gets injured and it effects his face like I don’t know maybe a broken nose or a cut, something temporary (or permanent if you rather) and he’s feeling a bit insecure about it and some nice hurt/comfort with Remus - I just thought it would be interesting bc in most WS fics it’s Sirius assuring Remus he looks good ya know

Anyway, no worries if not, have a lovely day xxx

Yes, of course! This doesn't include the actual moment of injury, just a description of what happened. To the anon getting their GCSE results today who requested Cap comfort: you've got this! You're amazing and fantastic no matter what! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for minor injury/ scarring, mild burns from hot food, nonsexual intimacy (showering together)

“Sir’us?” a tired voice asked from the kitchen door.

Sirius jumped a little, then hissed in pain as his mochi ball began burning the pad of his thumb. “Ow, fuck, fuck, fuck, ow—”

“ ‘s goin’ on?” Remus’ footsteps were soft on the floor; his body was warm as it pressed along Sirius’ back. “Woke up, n’ you weren’t there.”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, peeling a hunk of hot, sticky dough off his finger. It didn’t do much, and he quickly dunked both hands in his cornstarch pile to soothe the sharp pain.

Remus nuzzled between his shoulder blades. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Is it?” He glanced at the clock and winced—it was just after one in the morning, and had been nearly two hours since he grew too restless to stay in bed any longer. The fresh bandaid on his cheek itched.

“Come back to bed,” Remus said, giving his flour-coated shirt a tug. His voice had gone low and husky from sleep, coming from the deep part of his chest that Sirius loved so much.

He pressed a kiss to his curls, flat on one side from the pillow. “These will be done in about half an hour, okay?”

Remus sighed through his nose and looked up at him; no small amount of exasperation and concern had replaced his drowsiness. “I know you. It won’t be half an hour.”

“The recipe says it only takes 25 minutes.”

“And you’ve been down here forever.” Remus cast a glance at his dusty shirt, then sighed again. “Come on, baby, let’s shower and go to bed.”

“It’s not done,” Sirius protested as bed-warm hands closed loosely around his wrists.

“Come back to bed.”

“Can I at least put it in the fridge to finish tomorrow?”

Remus pressed his lips together, but released him; the tugging resumed the moment Sirius closed the door. “What happened?” Remus asked as they trudged up the stairs.

“Just got in my head.”

“About…?” When Sirius didn’t answer, he turned and ran his first knuckle gently along Sirius’ jawline. “Is it your face?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. The cut was deep and surrounded by burns from scraping against the ice; the medical team had told him it would certainly scar. Sirius had plenty of scars and rarely thought of himself as vain, but it bothered him to know the image people respected would be marred. It hurt like a bitch, too, which certainly didn’t help.

Remus wove their fingers together again without so much as a flinch at the gooey texture of leftover mochi and guided Sirius into their bathroom, flicking on the lights with a disgruntled noise. “It’s always too bright in here.”

“Really?”

“At 1:30 in the morning, it is.” Sirius felt exhaustion begin to creep in along the edges of stress and overthinking as he stepped under the hot water—Remus’ hand was light on his arm, and when he looked down, he was met with worried hazel eyes. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet lately.”

Since the hit, Sirius filled in for him. “I’ll be alright,” he answered honestly. “It threw me off my game and I’ve been stressing about it a lot after that press conference. I don’t like all the cameras when I have this thing on my face.”

A smile played at the edge of Remus’ mouth. “You never like the cameras.:”

“True.” Sirius obediently bent his head to let Remus wash the puffs of white flour and starch from his hair and closed his eyes to bask in the feeling. He would never get tired of Remus’ touch, nor the way he placed a lingering kiss to the edge of the bandaid on Sirius’ cheek. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s better than letting you stay down there and stew by yourself.” The water washed away the tension knots in his shoulders. “You wouldn’t have left that kitchen until those were perfect.”

“Yeah.”

“Gimme your hands.” With far more care than Sirius would have given himself, Remus scrubbed the sticky dough from between his fingers and carefully inspected the mild burns on his fingertips before exhaling through his nose. ‘You need to be more careful with yourself when you’re baking. First there was the lemon grater, and then slicing the chocolate, and now this…”

Sirius kissed his forehead. “I really didn’t know it would be that hot.”

“Be gentle with yourself. Please.”

Somehow, Sirius didn’t think he was talking about the mochi anymore. “I will.”

“Okay.” Remus nodded, then leaned up on his toes to wrap his arms fully around Sirius’ neck and pull him in for a hug. “No matter how you heal, I’ll always think you’re the most handsome man in the whole world. I’m the last person to judge you for scars.”

“I’m worried about everyone else,” Sirius said into the steam-reddened skin of his shoulder.

Remus stepped back and cupped his face in his palms, running a thumb along each cheekbone despite the waterproof bandage. “If they only like you for your looks, they’re ignoring the million more things your family loves about you. The things I love about you. I’m sorry you’re hurting, and I’m sorry you don’t feel good about this, but I promise it’s going to be alright.”

They were silent for a moment as Sirius let the words soak into his body alongside the last suds of soap. “You always know what to say.”

Remus shut the water off and handed him a towel. “Come back to bed, baby. We don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.”

Sirius didn’t think he would sleep for a long time when he pulled a clean shirt on, but within moments of curling up against Remus’ chest, he was out like a light.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #injury #stress baking #my fic #fanfic #showering together #minor injury

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kyuus4ku · 3 years

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𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗢𝗔𝗣 𝗕𝗨𝗕𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗦

chuuya nakahara

genre: minific ; fluff

warnings: mentions of blood, a little bit of profanity

word count: 2.1K

Your head throbbed with a dull sting as you carried your aching back to sit upright on the bed. Rubbing your eyes in exhaustion, a sharp sigh escaped your lips. You had a long week, and the missions the boss sent you on weren't easy ones. As one of the Port Mafia Executives, the number of reports you had to write and dirty tasks you had to deal with were numerous, but it seemed as if the pressure that initially weighed on you was subsiding, or perhaps you were just slowly getting used to it.

Nevertheless, it was easier than before since you could work alongside Chuuya.

It seemed as if you both shared each other's burdens of the stress imposed on you everyday. Other than that, it was nice having a partner who knew exactly what you had to deal with at work. It sort of saved you the trouble of explaining and elaborating on details of how your day went, since the both of you stuck together most of the time. Even your colleagues were well-aware of how close you were. Disregarding the countless times Dazai, who was your esteemed colleague but also your close friend, had mockingly declared that you both acted like 'a pair of pathetic, lovesick teenagers,' the fact still remained that you and Chuuya were highly respected at the Port Mafia because of what your ideal duality was capable of accomplishing.

But today, you didn't bother thinking about work. It was the last thing you wanted on your mind. You turned your head to your side, and found that Chuuya was not sleeping next to you. You got out of bed and started humming a tune whilst making your way to the bathroom to freshen up. Your head was cluttered with thoughts about what your plans were for today, since it was one of those rare opportunities to spend some quality time with Chuuya, who wished to do the same with you, too. Just as you were about to get out of the bathroom to look for him, you heard a voice coming from behind the shower curtain.

"Oi," Chuuya's morning voice rang groggily, "what happened to wishing your boyfriend a simple 'good morning'?"

You tittered lightly and proceeded to open the curtain, only to find Chuuya comfortably relaxing in the bathtub with a glass of wine in his hand. A grin broke through his expression as your eyes rested on him.

"Good morning, idiot," you chimed sweetly, "how long have you been in here?"

Before he could respond, you held your index finger up in realisation as you recognised that strong scent hanging in the air. Chuuya looked at you innocently as he tried to think of a way to justify the fact that he used too much of your favourite vanilla soap in the bath. You also realised that there were more bubbles than usual, so you quickly deduced the situation and frowned at him in fake disappointment.

"I'll get you more soon," he added awkwardly before you could say anything.

"How much did you use?" you inquired seriously, attempting to scare him.

"Half the bottle... sorry... it took a while to bubble up... I was really confused," he scratched the back of his head guiltily.

"I'm kidding, Chuu~" you chuckled softly. You proceeded to remove your clothes and carefully slid into the tub to sit across him. He had prepared another glass just for you. Pouring a portion of one of his most expensive wines into it, he checked to see if you were seated comfortably.

"What's the occasion?" you asked as the sweetness of the alcohol washed over and soothed your tastebuds. The bitter aftertaste and the way it flooded over all your distressing thoughts about work summed up just how much you liked it.

"I'm a great boyfriend," he said airily, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips.

"Nah... admit it," you replied nonchalantly, "you just love spoiling me."

Chuuya laughed at this, not bothering to differ with your statement. The both of you sat in silence for a bit, casually sipping from your beverages and engulfing yourselves into your thoughts, while slowly getting a little light-headed from the gradual intoxication of the wine. The alcohol seemed to be doing a great job of relaxing your sore joints, and bringing Chuuya into a flurry of lukewarm emotions which stood in contrast to his usual agitated mood.

However, this changed as Chuuya broke his train of thought when he noticed the bruises lining your right shoulder. His eyebrows furrowed in concern, so he leaned forward and reached out his hand, gently brushing the tips of his finger against them and catching you off-guard at the same time.

"What happened here?" he asked, observing it carefully as your hand reached out to push away his. You didn't really like it when he showed too much concern over such trivial things, even though you deeply appreciated it. Since working in the Port Mafia often posed threats to the both of you physically, these sort of minor injuries were normal, but he never failed to dote after you. He took care of you as best he could, and you did just the same for him. This was one of the million reasons why Dazai often referred to you both as 'the cheesiest couple to walk on this godforsaken planet.'

"It's nothing," you held your hand over your shoulder, pressing the bruises lightly to see if they still hurt as much as they did a few days ago, "It's just from that dumb fight that broke out a few days ago. Remember?"

"Where was I?" a look of annoyance replaced his concerned expression, "why didn't you ask for help?"

"I managed it just fine," you replied rather abruptly, trying your best to brush it off. You two often argued about such things, but today, the last thing you wanted to do was fight over something so minor.

Chuuya stared at you seriously while you tried to avoid his gaze. Your heart raced a little at the thought of a potential argument breaking out, so you decided to diffuse the tension since it was supposed to be a day of rest, and... slight inebriation.

"Chuuya," you subtracted the ego your expression held, and assumed a calmer, more tender tone, "it's nothing to worry about, okay?"

He pursed his lips as his eyes travelled down to your bruises, then back up to meet your gaze, "please, be more careful, for fuck's sake."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The pace at which your heart was beating slowed down to keep up with the alcohol's minor effect on your body, and Chuuya's sharp features, with its present undisturbed guise, had a strange way of setting you at ease, too.

Maybe it was just the wine talking, but you didn't let anything stop you from soaking up every fibre of this moment.

"Hey, don't act as if you didn't come home with blood all over your clothes a few weeks ago. It was a fucking bloodbath over here, and all I got were a few bruises," your playful teases overtook the silence which the both of you were too captivated by for a while.

"Shut up. Don't make me remind you about how you were freaking out," he mentally mustered up the theatrical skill hidden deep inside him to imitate your voice, "'Fuck, there's blood everywhere! Chuuya, how are you feeling? It's okay, I'm going to patch you up... where the fuck are the bandaids!? Oh my- okay, wait, I'll be back, don't move. Oh, wait, you can't- sorry, just give me a moment-"

"I had all the right to freak out, dumbass!" you cut him off and giggled as he shook his head dismissively, trying his best not to smile but failing all the same.

"On a serious note," Chuuya uttered after some contemplation, "if something like that happens again, call out my name."

"In the middle of a fight?" you tilted your head, perplexed.

"Yeah," he responded plainly.

"What are you going to do? Bitch-slap them?" you asked with a mischievous grin, unable to take him seriously.

"Make them regret it," Chuuya replied bluntly before a devious smile broke through his serious expression, "of all people, you know what I'm capable of."

"I do," you assured him, "but why?"

The question was genuine, and he decided to respond with brutal honesty.

"I don't take people's wellbeing lightly," he said, sipping on his wine while keeping his gaze locked onto you, "especially the people I give a damn about. So if anyone ever crosses that line— I'll kill them."

You felt something shift inside you.

His aggression and fierce loyalty seemed to overwhelm you. No one had ever spoken for you like that.

He took note of your silence, and wondered why you became quiet all of the sudden.

"What's wrong?" he asked you, gesturing for you to come over to his side. You did accordingly and made yourself comfortable in between his legs by stretching out your own, so that the both of you made good use of the space in the bathtub. The back of your head rested on his chest as the two of you blankly stared at the bubbles that surfaced the soapy water decoratively. He took away the wine glass from your hands and placed both the glasses on the cabinet nearby, where your essential oils and premium soaps were housed. He reached out to the lowest shelf for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Nothing," you replied calmly, "thank you."

"For what?" he asked, slowly getting a cigarette out of its box, careful not to get the tobacco rod wet.

"Don't know..." you replied dreamily, "no one's ever..."

Your voice trailed off. Chuuya sensed that you weren't in the mood to respond, so he reached his hands in front of your face with a cigarette in between his fingers, and placed it in between your lips carefully, with his face peeking over your shoulder to ensure that he had the permission to do so. As he gently handled your jaw in one hand and the lighter in the other, he lit it up for you.

"There's no reason to thank me," he leaned back once again as you painted the air with wisps of smoke. You remained silent as you handed him the cigarette. He held it in his hand and opened his mouth again, "this job really sticks a fuck ton of needles up the soles of your feet, so I can't help but feel worried about you."

"I'm worried about you, too," you replied as he passed you back the cigarette, puffing out clouds of smoke smoothly, "you know that, right?"

"Of course, I do," he scoffed, surprised at your question, "you're the one who doesn't seem to get that."

"Huh? What do you mean?''

Chuuya took a while to come up with an answer because he was trying to pick out words that he meant from the bottom of his heart.

"I signed up for this shit. I signed up for worrying about your dumbass and wanting to slice the throats of anyone who hurts you, let alone, touches you. So there's no reason to push my concern for you away; it won't go away. I'm just like that. I just care for you that way."

You giggled at his statement; that was the only way you seemed to know how to respond.

"What's so funny?" he growled grumpily.

His statement rewinded and played itself over and over again in your head.

"I feel like the luckiest person alive when I'm with you," were the words that came out of your lips breathlessly.

"Damn, it took you that long to realise?" he chuckled lightly and wrapped his arm around your abdomen to bring you closer toward him, "I'm going to keep you safe... whether you like it or not."

You turned back to peek at his casual smile and leaned towards him to place your lips on his; his fingers travelled up the back of your neck and into your wet hair as he pulled your head closer to his. Your body was physically enchanted by his embrace, to the point that your fingers started playfully drawing curly, deformed doodles on his bare chest. The essence of tobacco and wine were exchanged as your lips continued kissing his.

The rest of the day was similar to that morning you spent in the tub, except that it involved a slightly more chaotic type of drunkenness by which you two wreaked havoc wherever you could in the comfort of your home. It was an activity you two started looking forward to every weekend: just the two of you, drinking wine in the bathtub lined with vanilla-scented bubbles.

author's note: Heyo! This is pretty much my first post on this blog. I'm not very new to writing but this is my first attempt at drabble/short story writing revolving around an established character lol I hope you liked it! I'll make up a masterlist after I've written more fics/drabbles so I will do my best to come up with good content! Thank you for reading(◡‿◡✿)

#bsd fanfic #bsd #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya scenarios #chuuya headcanons #bsd headcanons #bungou stray dogs hcs #bsd hcs #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya fluff #bsd drabble #chuuya drabble #chuuya fanfic

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bluecookies02 · 4 years

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Dabi x Reader-NSFW

Summary:You help your tired villan relax, just filth bassicly, a bit of fluff too,Dabi has sub energy don't come @ me

pic credit: DEAR HUNTERS {from the pic/pls contact me if u want it down}

/masterlist/

____________________________________

You heard your front door open and slam shut, footsteps nearing your bedroom. You sigh to yourself grabbing the first aid kit from your drawer.

Your door swung open a sigh of relief escaping the man's lips.

His shoulders seemingly relaxed as soon as he entered the safety of your bedroom. He kicked his shoes of carelessly, flopping onto the clean sheets.

"You're not bleeding ?" You questioned in disbelief putting the bandaids back.

"Nah...Do I have to have a third degree burn or a sliced arm to come home to my girlfriend?"

His hand reached to tug your sleeve to pull you closer.

"You need a fucking bath" You comment trying your best to pull the man up but to no avail.

"It ain't that bad doll, c'mooooon" He whined.

"Well I was gonna bathe with you but I guess I'll just do it alone now" You mumbled freeing your arm from his grip, grinning to yourself, running to the bathroom.

"You know what, you're right, I'm absolutely filthy, I can already see moss forming around my staples, quick we need to hurry!" He yelled behind you, already digging into your drawers to find his spare clothes.

You were already in the bathroom, water slowly filling up the tub. You threw in one of your more expansive bath bombs, waiting for it to slowly dissolve as the water filled up.

He quietly entered, watching you carefully as you poured in a bubbly soap, stirring the water up.

A small smile pulling at his lips, he took his clothes off, making his way to your form. His arms wrapped around you and you hummed as he buried his head in your neck.

"I was worried..." You mumbled, turning around in his arms.

"I know...I'm sorry, I won't leave again." You just nodded already knowing that that was probably a lie but you were content believing in it for a little while longer.

His hands found your shirt, pulling it up above your head revealing your beauty.

"Eyes up here mister, and the bath is ready, get in." He huffed but got in nonetheless, leaving room for you as you took the remaining clothes off.

The warm water soothing his rough skin, he relaxed, welcoming you in his arms.

Your turned your chest to his, lathering your hands in soap.

You traced his abs and shoulders, rubbing the substance into his scarred skin.

His hands rested on your hips, tracing gentle circles onto your flesh. Getting some soap into his hands he rushed to help you out.

"Turn around. Let me take care of you."

He turned his back to you, leaning into your arms.

Your hands trailed low beneath the surface, scraping your nails over his thighs.

Your mouth latched at his neck, leaving soft kisses and tentative licks over his sensitive skin.

His breathing was hot and the problem arising was pretty evident as you traced your hands over his crotch.

He groaned gripping the edge of the tub.

God he missed you, and when he tried to do it himself it was never good enough.

Although he liked to take control most of the time, he enjoyed being taken care of and bossed around by you.

"Were you good?" You question teasing his tip with your index finger.

He nodded his head eagerly bucking into your hand.

The crazy thing was, he had your permission to have some flings if he wished, you knew his job was extremely stressful and you were ready to sacrifice that part of a relationship for his sake.

Yet he just couldn't.

He couldn't picture any other pair of hands on him.

He couldn't picture any other pair of lips wrapped around his cock.

And he most certainly couldn't imagine himself beneath any other girl walking this earth.

He turned his head to you , meeting your lips in a slow kiss, your hand now working his shaft at a steady pace.

His hands found your plush thigs, kneeding at your soft flesh, steading himself.

The taste of your lips was intoxicating, your tongue greedily pushing into his mouth as he tried to concentrate on anything else but the way you expertly pumped and pulled at his cock.

"You're gonna make the water all filthy babe...What a shame..."

"You can't help it though right?"

"Tell me. I know you're already so close, I can feel you"

He bit his own lip, hoping that the slight pain will make him forget how good you're making him feel.

Your other hand trailed from his abs, up to his shoulders and then to his neck pressing gently.

"Y/N slow down, I can't-"

Your hand now moved even faster, your mouth to his ear as you moaned praises to him.

His hips trashed at an uncontrollable rhythm, making the water spill onto the tiles of your bathroom floor.

With one final tug you felt his cock pulse in continues spurts as he released into the water with a low groan.

Your hand left his neck, turning his head to connect your lips together.

You helped him ride his high out milking him until he was desperately trying to escape you, pleasure becoming almost painful.

His vision went white or maybe it was just the fog that formed in the room but nonetheless he fell into your awaiting arms, no strength to even consider getting up.

You rubbed soothing patterns into his thighs , kissing the skin of his shoulder blades.

The water was slowly cooling down so the desire to lay in bed and cuddle into your warmth was overpowering the thought of staying here any longer.

Once both of you dried yourselves with towels, you went back into your bedroom, tangling your naked bodies under the duvet.(and to think he actually prepared clothes for when he gets out)

"I left the League."

He mumbled tiredly as you were on the edge of falling asleep.

Your eyes shot open, turning your head to see if he was actually just fucking with you.

"For real?"

"For real."

You squished him in your arms,burying your face in his chest, tears of joy staining your cheeks.

Soon after he moved in with you for good.

He found a job he could do from home, helping you out with bills and everything else his new home needed.

And a few years later you had a husband.

Would you look at that.

___________

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#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi lemon #dabi x reader lemon #villan x reader #mha #bnha #mha fanfiction #dabi x reader fluff

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current-interest-writings · 3 years

Text

Their reaction to:

You cutting your finger

WARNING: blood, blades, tears

Bruce Wayne

Of course it happens the one time he lets you out of his eyesight in the bat cave. He turned around for two seconds and he hears you hiss in pain.

Only to turn around to see you applying pressure to the pad of your finger.

“In my defense I didn’t know it was that sharp”

He sighed, you worried him most of the time. But he helped you clean it up and bandage it.

Oliver Queen

Oliver though it would be nice to train with you. He decided throwing knifes were a good place to start.

But quickly realized he was wrong when you threw the knife and it sliced the pad of your finger.

He quickly washed it under warm water and with soap. And then bandaid

“So next time maybe less blades”

Barry Allen

Barry wa used to moving fast when at STAR Labs. So when he broke something he tried to clean it up.

But the glass he broke was right next to your hand and it sliced it pretty good.

The poor speedster was cleaning your wound and apologizing the whole time.

“Maybe we should buy plastic cups only”

Agent whiskey

Poor whiskey just wanted to surprise you by getting home early from a mission.

You had been making dinner, jack didn’t see the knife you were holding so when he scared you. You just sliced your finger.

But jack rushed to the bathroom to get some statesmen approved healing ointment. And just needed to wash out the wound.

Din Djarin

He was away on a bounty for a few days leaving you and the kid on the crest.

It was easy, so as he came home he heard you whisper screaming

“Shit, that’s a lot of blood. Shhh I know I just need the first aid-“

And that is when din finally laid eyes on you, and your hand was dripping blood.

He just sighed and grabbed the first aid kit and a batcta patch. And began to work on your finger. He swore he was gonna somehow you proof the crest.

Frankie Morales

Frankie was gone all day at work.

Came home to with with a finger wrapped up, when he asked what happened you couldn’t really explain it.

But when he saw the cut he rushed you to the Urgent Care

Sure enough you needed three stitches.

Lord help poor Frankie when you get hurt.

Marcus pike

This poor soft baby, he almost panicked, you weren’t home and some blood was still in the sink.

But he called you first before having half of the FBI just start looking for you

And he found out you drove yourself to urgent care. Because it was pretty bad

When you got home Marcus was on the couch waiting. He was so stressed that something happened to you, he just cuddled with you in the couch the rest of the night.

Marcus Moreno

Marcus worried about a lot in his life, missy, you and the world.

But he knew you and missy were careful so when you came home late from a training with his mother he was nervous.

But his mom called with a heads up about your finger, and that he needed to be careful.

When you got home he found out what she meant. You had three stitches in your finger, and missy had a guilty look on her face.

You hugged missy and said it wasn’t her fault. Accidents happen.

And just kissed her forehead.

Marcus wanted to know what happened

“Can we get some sleep then I’ll tell you?”

#pedro character fic #pedro pascal gifs #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #marcus moreno x reader #Bruce Wayne #agent whiskey #catfish x reader

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lia-wildfire · 3 years

Text

Vigilante Tries to Soldier Through it but Someone Tattles (Whumptober)

It was a nice night out. She preferred the cooler air, although it didn’t do much to help her stinging skin. And this was California, so it was only ‘cool’ compared to how hot it had been a few hours before. (Not that she’d been outside a few hours before, or very much at all in the last few days.) She would probably have been fine in just the threadbare clothes she’d been wearing during most of her latest infiltration, but the scarf and jacket she’d stolen (violently) on her way out was a welcome addition. It concealed most of her exposed injuries and some of the blood stained on her shirt, leaving anyone who saw her only able to wonder about what was up with the top half of her face.

A pretty normal sight, all things considered, to any experienced night guard at the building she was approaching now. The two at her preferred entrance melted out of the shadows as she approached, having definitely seen her coming from a distance.

“Excuse me, ma’am, what is your business at this…” one of them started, trailing off when she pulled the scarf down. She would like to think that it was just because they recognized her and not because the bruising had gotten that much worse since the last time she saw her reflection.

“Friendly afternoon visit,” she said with a winning smile, ignoring how stretching those facial muscles made her want to wince.

“…Can you tell us the date, ma’am?” the other one asked after a second of staring.

“November 3rd, 1923,” she said, still smiling, without skipping a beat.

“Past midnight it’s November 4th, ma’am.” The second one said evenly.

“Of course, the late hour must be getting to me.”

This passed quickly, like two actors going over their thoroughly memorized lines. After an exchanged glance and a pause that would have made anyone else start to doubt their delivery, the first guard nodded, pressed something on their communicator, and stepped back to get the door for her.

Not bothering to pull the scarf back up now, she walked confidently into the dimly lit back entrance area, making a beeline for where she knew the elevator was. There was a special code in here, too, to make it to the penthouse, but she had that one memorized as well.

Leaning back against the support bar for a minute was nice, though she had to position herself carefully so as not to let it dig into her back or side in a bad position. Closing her eyes on the ride up, she hummed slightly in appreciation of how smooth the elevators were here. No jittering to worry about, just a soft whirring and the slight feeling of vertigo as it came to a stop many storeys up in the air.

The more steps she took to get into one of the most well-defended areas of this place, putting a set of barriers between her and anyone who might have been in pursuit, the more tension bled out of her shoulders.

As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she was met by the familiar face of the butler, who had evidently seen her coming and had already known that it was her, rather than the one other person who was allowed in that elevator with any regularity.

“Hey, Ash,” she said casually before they could get through a more formal greeting, raising one hand in a lazy wave and holding back a wince as it reminded her of a hit she’d taken to the shoulder earlier.

“Good evening.” They sounded as proper and English as ever, and she didn’t miss their perceptive eyes zeroing in on every unusual detail about her current appearance, not only the injuries but definitely also the ill-fitting clothes and hair in desperate need of a wash.

(She’d been lucky no one had decided an impromptu haircut was in the cards. She wouldn’t have been able to stop them without breaking cover, but that would have been a little more awkward to explain to her sisters than the usual aftermath of a prolonged fight.)

“…Victor won’t be in for another week, I’m afraid, but the room is open to you as always,” they said with the air of someone who was giving the usual pleasantries only as a precursor to a more serious subject change, and was not trying to hide it. “Are you alright?” And there was the serious part.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, rolled her shoulders, and this time could not stop a wince. She merged it smoothly into a more joking sort of smile-grimace. “It’s just from the job I’ve been on, there were a couple of “complications,” you know how it is. No death traps in the kitchen tonight?”

The attempt at changing the subject again was not successful, as Ashton followed her into the kitchen and shooed her away to wait on a barstool while they got her a glass of water with exactly one cube of ice. Or, a sphere of ice, because the fridge here was massive and fancy and had both a cube and a sphere option for how the ice could come out.

The water was wonderful to her parched throat, and she held the glass up longer than necessary to let the ice rest against the split in her lip for a few seconds. It was always nice to spend a few minutes after one in the morning sipping water with a tall British person in a suit and pencil skirt hovering over her every move.

“Need something?” she asked with a look over the lip of the glass.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Ms Roxanne? You don’t need… medical attention?” Right, yeah, they were a highly skilled government agent before they became a butler. Definitely had some good first aid training from all that.

“Just some bandaids and a full night’s sleep… And, again, you can call me Roxy.”

Ashton did not look convinced, and then they turned to where she knew the painkillers and general medications of varying strengths were stored. There was no stopping them from this now, but she could try anyway for the principle of the thing.

“I’ve done this before, Ashton, it’s not that bad.”

“To put it lightly, Ms Roxanne, you look as though you tried to fight a team of superheroes. Or, if I were inclined to be generous, won a fight against an entire street gang.” Maintaining stern eye contact, they set down a couple of pills and a cookie.

“Not as wrong as you could be.” Roxy picked up the cookie first, searching both sides with suspicion. It was the imported kind that was labeled ‘biscuit’ instead of ‘cookie’ and which everyone knew she secretly liked but pretended to be suspicious of anyway. Because they were in the US, so being suspicious of England was funny. “What’s this, weird, British thing– trying to poison me?”

“Would you like me to put the biscuit away and let you have an upset stomach? Please pardon me for assuming you haven’t eaten in the last hour.”

Not feeling up to a prolonged bit at the moment, Roxy caved and ate the ‘biscuit’. After swallowing the painkillers with the second half of her water, she let the ice sit for a moment again. It turned out talking too much made the split lip hurt worse, who could’ve guessed?

“I notice you snuck some melatonin in there,” she observed.

“To help you sleep. Pardon me again for assuming you may have some trouble, otherwise,” they paused and looked her up and down again, “considering.”

“Fair,” she admitted.

They sat in silence as she finished off the water one sip at a time. She debated waiting for the ice to melt enough that she could take another tiny sip every several minutes, just to see how Ashton would react, then decided against it and crunched what remained of the ice sphere.

Getting to bed wasn’t too much of a hassle. Ashton followed her to the master bathroom, because of course they did, but left her to go inside by herself. She only heard them step in once she was in the middle of showering, presumably to put some things on the counter and whisk away her dirty and one hundred percent stolen clothing.

Hot water would be nice and she happened to know for a fact that it was literally unlimited here, but she kept it to a mild, lukewarm temperature as she carefully cleaned everything she could currently reach without wincing, and let soap and water wash down her back unassisted to at least get the worst of it off back there. Drying off was a little bit of an ordeal, but the towels were very soft and she didn’t have any head wounds to stop her from wrapping up her hair. Everything she couldn’t get for the risk of aggravating some injury or another could just air dry while she went looking for first aid supplies to use on her face.

When she turned around to see how her back looked, she let out a low whistle. Who knew whips could do that when you weren’t being nice and responsible with them? (Probably every single person who’d ever been remotely involved with the “market” that her latest job had had her infiltrating.)

There were two options here. One, she could put on the silky robe Ashton had left hanging up for her and go to bed without dealing with all that yet, and probably wake up really sore and maybe with some kind of infection. Two, she could get some help tending to it and go to bed with some level of reassurance that it was fine, but at the cost of Ashton knowing exactly how bad it looked.

With a towel around her waist, she cracked the door and summoned them. Their face remained carefully neutral even after they saw, which definitely meant that they thought it was incredibly bad but knew that Roxy would not be taking constructive criticism on the choices she made that led up to it. That, or, they just didn’t want to get into it right now, in favor of getting her into a bed at some point during that melatonin’s window of greatest effect.

There was a lot more stinging disinfectant and a lot more bandaging going on back there than Roxy would have thought necessary, herself, but she wasn’t going to complain. Anything touching the whip marks directly was incredibly Bad with a capital B, but she had to admit to feeling a lot better once they were all cleaned and wrapped up.

The one joke she cracked about how it wasn’t as bad as it could be because she didn’t have any broken bones did not seem to go over well, so she conceded and didn’t say much until they were done. Ashton helped her into the robe and left her to get some pajama pants on by herself, continuing to hover and help until she was safely tucked in between Victor’s silk sheets.

It was still uncomfortable to lie down in most positions she tried, but, then again, that melatonin really was having a window of greatest effect.

- - -

Predictably, Roxy woke up sore. The painkillers had worn off at some point, so she got the full experience of throbbing and stinging and every attempted movement making her limbs want to go on strike. They had not yet managed to achieve independence from the rest of her, however, so when she decided it was time for them to get her standing up, they obeyed. The blackout curtains did their job well, so she had to pull one back slightly if she wanted to see by anything other than the soft, slightly futuristic floor lights on the edges of the room.

Taking stock, she determined that this was actually better than a couple of the times she’d come out of a mission injured. When her hair fell into her face for want of a headband, it was soft and light from being cleaned with incredibly expensive, high quality rich-people products, and she knew her back would have been a lot worse without Ashton’s help.

Speaking of Ashton, they seemed to have woken up before her, because she could smell something cooking. Possibly more than one something, which would make sense if they still felt like hovering but hadn’t come in to wake her up yet. There was the almost-imperceptible sound of voices, as if they were talking to themself or perhaps playing a video. Cooking tutorial, maybe.

The stolen clothing from the night before was nowhere to be seen; either it was waiting to be washed or Ashton had burned it. Roxy wasn’t worried about what happened to most of it, but it would be nice if the bloodstained parts had been saved in case she felt like getting them tested for genes.

Leaving the robe on the bed, she stretched her arms as much as they dared as she made her way to steal one of Victor’s shirts. They were long enough that she had gone around the penthouse in one with no pants before (but she would rather get stabbed again than get out of these soft pajama pants before eating something). There were no headbands to steal in Victor’s bedroom, and she didn’t feel like scavenging the bathroom for elastics, clips, or pins. So, with her hair loose, wearing no more than pajama pants, bandages, and an oversized button-up shirt, she pushed her hair back and stepped out.

Ashton was, indeed, doing their thing in the kitchen, wearing pants today along with an apron that looked a little too professional for someone making relatively normal breakfast in a non-restaurant kitchen. More curtains kept the floor-to-ceiling windows in the main area from letting in too much light, but from the angle and brightness she could still estimate that it must be later than she usually woke up. And from a glance at the clock, she could confirm that it was almost nine in the morning. She had really overslept.

As she nosed her way into the cooking space, she found them carefully transferring what looked like small fried pies out of a skillet. Uncooked ones waited their turn on a plate nearby.

“You need a little more oil,” she observed, her voice coming out a little more thick and sleepy than she would have liked. Actually wait, hold on, she hadn’t seen anyone making these since the last time she visited family. “You can make spanakopita?” The question came out sounding like an accusation.

“I can make anything, given a good recipe, Ms Roxanne.” So that probably had been a cooking video she’d heard before. Ashton removed the last one from the pan and reached for more oil, but refrained from putting any new ones in until they had turned to shoo her away from the barstools. “I would invite you to wait in the living area,” was their way of banishing her, possibly to avoid having their cooking process nitpicked again. Possibly also to keep her from seeing them pull up a tutorial to nitpick their own cooking process with.

When she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, she was reminded of her shoulders’ present desire to complain about everything but especially movement. Sitting down in a chair that had a soft back would be pretty nice…

The living area was surrounded by sliding walls that could be used to keep it more or less separate from the adjacent sometimes-areas sometimes-rooms. At the moment, it had a wide doorway on one side, a deployed wall opposite the full length windows, and a view into Victor’s office area and the back of his tall spinny chair. Were she feeling inclined to snoop, Roxy would have looked into there, but was distracted easily by the setup surrounding one of the lounge chairs. A side table held a full glass of water with exactly one sphere of ice, a small pitcher with more water and no ice, and a tall mug of steeping tea. The matching table on the other side held a very inviting plate of buttered toast, with a fried egg sitting on top of one piece.

For a second, she thought about draping herself over a couch instead of taking the obviously intended seat, just to see how Ash reacted. But her desire for water and toast outweighed her desire for mischief at this time, so she sank down into the black leather and took a second to close her eyes and breathe in and will her strained muscles to relax. It wasn’t like the guys she’d been spying on could make it up here, even if they had somehow tracked her all the way to the building. And her next information rendezvous wasn’t until that evening, so she could take a minute to chill.

When her eyes opened, it was to the realization that her current seat was centered perfectly behind Victor’s chair, brought to her by the realization that said chair was slowly turning around.

Of the two supervillains that she was familiar with, she knew that one of them participated in dramatics mostly because it helped with the stress of the job, and partly because it was fun. Victor Stirling, on the other hand, having inherited quite a few things from his supervillain parents including a general style of mannerisms, was probably not doing the chair spin reveal thing ironically.

Before he came to a stop, facing her head-on, Roxy put together that Ashton must have called him about her condition either while she was in the shower or after she had fallen asleep last night. If he hadn’t meant to come back for another week, very few other things could have summoned him on such short notice.

She prepared a smirk and a tease about him being predictable, but both died before making it out when she met his eyes.

“So I’m not known for cutting business meetings short.” Starting off strong with a non sequitur, classic. Roxy’s smile started to edge back on as she watched Victor stand up from his seat.

“Catch you in the middle of one?” she asked, then remembered her voice wasn’t great at the moment and she would be partaking of some water before saying anything else.

“No, I was just starting the day in Spain, actually,” he answered while watching as if worried that she might have trouble drinking water, of all things. And without waiting for another response, he launched right back into… Ooh, he was monologuing.

“Allow me to paint a picture of it for you. It was past ten in the morning, I had completed much of my less savory business the night before, and had the entire afternoon ahead of me booked with meetings on the more savory side of things, when suddenly I find I’m receiving a call from my good, trusted friend Ashton, whom you may be aware I’ve expressly told to call me only in the circumstances of an emergency.

“And, upon answering this call, what should I hear them say, but that my girlfriend arrived at a late hour and is much worse for wear.

“Now, I know that my dear, competent, intelligent partner is experienced and knows how to handle herself in her work, so if Ashton is calling my emergency line, the situation she finds herself in must be truly dire, no? Certainly not the usual bouts of combat –which I am well aware you can normally teleport out of the moment they become too much– and certainly not gained from your usual heists and espionage, no, I was told that you seem to have been whipped?”

The worry in his voice was clear, and would have been clear even to someone who didn’t know him well enough to read him. As he drew closer, having apparently vented enough of his feelings for the moment to move to the next stage of his presentation, Roxy saw that his suit was rumpled and was probably, in fact, the same suit he had put on before 10 AM in Madrid. Had he slept at all? Maybe on the couch she had been eyeballing a second before this began. If anyone had gone into his bedroom while she was asleep, she probably wouldn’t have stayed asleep for very long.

“And I don’t mean to put down your skills, it would be foolish for anyone in my position to suggest that you aren’t a professional, or chose your mission poorly. But your present state is…” He broke eye contact to look down at the gauze covering her torso through the gap in the stolen shirt. He probably knew that it was there for everything on her back, but he wouldn’t be wrong to wonder if it was also hiding any bruises over her ribs or stomach area. She knew there was a pretty bad one peeking out by her collarbone.

“Roxanne. Roxy. I know that in our… business relationship, I tend to be the one who calls on you for assistance in these underground affairs, but you must know that you can call on me when something is… of a caliber where you may want my assistance.” He stopped a couple of steps in front of her, giving another up and down look. “You mentioned you were going into something undercover.”

“Deep undercover,” she confirmed. When he kept looking expectant, she continued, leaning forward to get to business, “It wasn’t in the cards to go in on the same level as the higher-ups, and we needed to confirm how exactly they get the victims and transport them. So I posed as one.”

Victor was quiet for a moment, his crossed arms rising, then falling as he took a breath and let it out.

“You remained just long enough to get the necessary information,” he assumed, and she nodded. Letting out another breath, he closed the distance and half-knelt in front of her in one smooth motion, reaching up to put a hand gently under her chin, moving it to cup the side of her face. “Then I hope you’ll be able to tell me,” his voice was softer now, not that that in any way concealed the dangerous undertone as his eyes lingered on her split lip, black eye, the faint bruise left from a harsh slap, “who did this to you?”

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you #oc #fic #implied torture #implied human trafficking #heroes and villains #protective villain #wordcount 3760 #victor stirling #roxy the rogue #ash the butler #sssshv #supervillain #lady whump

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mousepal-archive · 3 years

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i dont have perfect skin i have alot of acne scars but lately this past few months my skin no longer breaks out so heres my tips !!

1: DONT PICK UR FACE its so hard this is why i was always breaking out i kept picking. if u do pick try to wash ur face after and use those pimple bandaids over the acne spots so u cant pick them.

2. ROUTINE i think this is rlly rlly important if you keep switching face washes ur face doesnt like it

3. dont over wash ur face ! i dont wash my face more than once a day and in hs i washed my numerous times a day and it would just always be oily no matter what. ur face will produce oils on its own thats healthy if you keep trying to wash it off itll just make more, so you gotta give ur face a few weeks to adjust itself.

4. use a face wash with salicylic acid ! mine is a vry low amount for sensitive skin and even that i dont use more than like 3 times a week becuz it can irritate my skin. so dont use too much, less is more. dont expect this to heal ur acne immediately you need to give it some weeks maybe even months. dont use if its burning ur skin you need a lower amount.

5. moisturize ur face after washing it! i just use some rose water mist i got from ross becuz its not too heavy and makes my skin feel rlly soft and healthy after i wash it. but if u have dry skin you can try something like shea butter.

6. use a gentle all natural soap for daily washing. i like african black soap, not the bar kind but the legit kind. it makes me face rlly dry so i always mist it after i wash my face. but if you have oily skin i think this soap is perfect for you. its also helped with acne on my back and butt. it doesnt have an odor/fragrance either which i like.

7. i personally dont wear makeup that often and when i do i rlly only use a blush and sometimes bb cream. ive never rlly worn makeup but i do know that whenever i went to an anime convention and wore a face full of cosplay makeup for hours, i always always always broke out super bad after convention weekends, even if i took care of my face.

this is what i do with my face. i dont have a skincare routine. i dont think putting 10 different products on ur face is good for your face or really needed. just keep your face clean and moisturized. maybe this will work for you i cant say !!!

#i am not a doctor but ive struggled with acne since i was like 12 #and only now do i feel i got it under control #meek.txt

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maxgrayarchived · 4 years

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Everything You Need in an Apocalypse Emergency Bag

I was going to do a different post this month, something more writing related, but with the corona virus going on I’ve been slipping very quickly back into my zombie hyperfixation and now all I can think about is the apocalypse. [Fun fact: By the time this has been drafted and edited, that hyperfixation is gone. Hate it when they go so fast]

My sister was reading that notice or whatever the governor of Virginia had sent out for the stay at home ordinance that came out on Tuesday, and it felt… Ominous. While we watched World War Z, I decided to finally start putting together my zombie apocalypse go bag. Mostly for fun, but just in case.

This post is going to kick off the start of a zombie related string of posts on my blog. They won’t come out back to back or anything, but every now and then I’m going to talk about zombies. Today I’m talking about everything you need in a go bag, and how you can put it together with only the stuff in your house.

The first thing you need to consider is your backpack. Now, anything will work, pretty much, but if you have some choices then I’d think about it. I’d suggest a standard backpack, because it’s easy to carry and likely already tailored to your weight and comfort. Some people might argue that a messenger bag is better, because it’s harder to rip off of you and lose. That’s a fair argument, but my rebuttal to that is that if a zombie grabs my bag to eat me, I’d rather shrug off the bag and book it out of there than go down with my stuff.

This is the backpack I’m using, which is my sister’s.

The first thing you should grab should, obviously, be food. I picked a bunch of food that we weren’t really eating anyway, and most of those cans are from the dollar store.

After a few weeks of not eating, you become apathetic and increasingly susceptible to illness. A lot of people who are malnourished died from an infectious disease, not the actual starvation. Especially in the first few weeks of the apocalypse, if you find yourself needing to evacuate your home, you’re going to need all the energy you can to find a new base to wait out the chaos of the catalyst.

Next would be water, another thing we don’t even need to talk about. I suggest a water bottle that you can clip to your bag or your belt so it’s easily grabbable, and the biggest one without being cumbersome, but any container that doesn’t spill will do at the end of the day.

A smart idea (that you probably don’t just have laying around the house, fyi) is a water filter. In ZMZReloaded’s video on a zombie apocalypse go bag, he talks about how there are plenty of small, easily portable water filters that you can just pop in your mouth and use like a straw. If you’re serious about making a go bag, then this could be something to look into. If not, then it’s not a big deal.

Next: A med kit. I actually got a little upset when I found out the only medical supplies we have in my house are bandaids and midol, so I’m definitely going to buy an emergency medical kit and put it in the go bag. This doesn’t need to be explained, in the apocalypse you’ll get injuries from all kinds of things, and you don’t want to bleed out or get an infection. Buy the med kit, it would be useful whether an apocalypse happens or not.

Next on the list would be the things you need for hygiene, like a toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. A lot of people forget about this stuff which is fair, because in the apocalypse the last thing you’ll worry about is if you smell okay, but you know the last thing you want in the apocalypse? A tooth infection. The need for a root canal. A uti. Stay clean.

A multitool. This goes without saying, you can do a lot with one portable little thing.

Matches/A lighter. I’d suggest the matches over the lighter, because I personally would prefer to have to look for more matches than refill a lighter. Maybe that’s dumb, but whatever. These are good for starting a fire, obviously, which you’d need to cook food, for warmth at night, for light in a dark building. Invaluable, really.

A flashlight would probably be better off for your light source, though, and I’d suggest getting one that you can strap around your forehead to keep your hands free. You’d look like an idiot but you could have an axe in one hand, a pistol in the other, and you’d still be able to see.

I’d also always keep extra batteries on you, mostly for the flashlight but you’d never know when it could come in handy.

Binoculars could be useful, if the need arises. You can use them to scope out a building you need to scavenge in, to see if the new settlement you stumbled across is trustworthy, if the area is clear.

A knife. Obviously. If you’re not the survivalist type, grabbing a kitchen knife at the last minute could work just fine, but a combat knife with a sheath that can strap to your belt would probably be your best bet. Something easy for you to handle and that compliments your style of fighting. If you’re not comfortable getting too close, something with a longer blade.

Extra clothes, like socks and underwear, seems just as stupid as the hygeine stuff, but do I need to remind you about UTI’s? And ZMZReloaded mentioned in his video trench foot, which happens when your socks get wet. It starts rubbing all the skin off your feet and giving you horrible blisters, so painful you can’t walk. I, personally, put my zombie apocalypse outfit of choice in my go bag as well, so I wouldn’t be walking around in something stupid like fishnets and high heals when zombies break down our doors.

If you have long hair, a hairbrush and ties. This sounds ridiculous but my sister has super long, very thick hair, and it takes her like half an hour to brush it out. If she doesn’t brush it out and put it up, it gets in her face and it’s itchy and uncomfortable and that is not what you need when there’s zombies in your face.

Something I feel like never gets mentioned but could be extremely helpful would be a small notebook and a pen. Use it to write down grocery lists, notes on your surroundings and the enemies, notes to other survivors, to remember things to circle around to, to plan a rendezvous… When the world is ending, your brain is going to be a little all over the place, so don’t trust yourself to remember every important thing. Write it down.

Some things from a toolbox. I dunno. The first thing I’d be grabbing from our toolboxes would be one of those fucking hammers. But also if it’s portable, maybe just grab the whole thing?

Misc things. Something we don’t think about because of the lack of diversity in apocalyptic fiction is that we’re all our own people with our own needs. I have severe eczema, and I wouldn’t leave this fucking house without my medicine and a bottle of Atarax. Someone with chronic pain would probably want to bring their painkillers, because sometimes without it you can’t fucking walk. Think of something that you genuinely can’t live without, especially in an apocalyptic situation, and make a note to put it in your go bag. Don’t forget it.

Little candies. Just for fun. I put a bunch of lollipops in mine.

Lastly, your household weapon of choice. At my place, I have a wooden baseball bat from my late granddad, Danny, and we have a bunch of hammers for some reason. I’d also grab some knives from our kitchen. Think of things you have around the house that could cause some damage and make note of it.

The go bag I made doesn’t have everything on this list, but it’s made from shit I just collected from around the house. I didn’t spend any extra money on it and it took me no more than 15 minutes.

And that was it for this post. It was a lot different than my usual ones, but it was a long time coming and there will be more. I have a lot to say about the apocalyptic genre.

Stay safe, stay quarantined, don’t be an asshole.

#zombies #apocalypse #bug out bag #i love zombies #zombie apocalypse

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babbushka · 5 years

Text

Blue Moon (8/10)

New York, 1987. The air was filled with smog and the streets were ridden with crime. Just another day in paradise. Your quiet life turns upside down when a striking man moves in across from you. You’re falling, fast, into a love that could never, ever, happen…or could it?

(Could be interpreted as modern!au Kylo Ren/Reader for those who don’t know who Pale is, but really this is Pale from Burn This!)

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: Angst lol (i’m sorry this is the last one i promise)

—————

You were shocked. That was the only real word for all of it, shock.

Pale had collapsed in your arms, had fallen down and took you with him. You were both half on the couch, half on the floor, and you were shocked.

Your heart ached for Pale, ached for him and the way he had sobbed and cried and yelled. God he had screamed so loud, he was out of it, too far gone, too much to drink – who knows. You wish he had called you, had told you he needed you sooner.

It was moot, because he was here now, and he was blacked out, and you needed to figure out what to do with him.

The couch was too small for him, that was for sure. He was too tall, his legs too long. There wouldn’t be enough room for the both of yous, and you didn’t want to leave him alone, didn’t want to be so far away in the bedroom in case he woke up, scared and angry and confused.

“Okay Pale,” You said, mostly to yourself, “I’m gonna try and move you to the bed.”

He was out cold, smelled like shit – no, like booze. It made you wrinkle your nose as you tried to gather up this huge fuckin man in your arms.

“Okay – come on – ” You pushed and pulled him enough to get him somewhat into your arms, but you weren’t nearly strong enough to make it more than a few feet. “Shit!”

His dead weight was too much and you dropped him, wincing with the way he hit the floor.

“Shit, I’m sorry honey.” You whispered, waiting to see if he had woken up.

Thankfully it looked like he was still out.

“I don’t think I can make it all the way to the bed with you.” You sighed, running a hand down your face.

You were exhausted, working the double had really done a number on your patience. Your feet were aching and your back was all pinched up in knots, and you hadn’t even eaten yet. You were reheating soup when Pale had burst into the apartment like some great tornado of leather and tears.

You almost debated calling someone to help you bring him down to a doctor, who had he mentioned, Kenny? Maybe he could help. You didn’t know.

You checked the time, it was three in the morning. No one would be open, you thought with a sigh, and crossed your arms thoughtfully, trying to figure out what to do.

“If I can’t bring you to the bed, I’ll bring the bed to you.” You decided, leaving for your room for just a second, yanking all the shit off the mattress and carrying it in your arms to the living room.

You grabbed the sheet and the big comforter and all the pillows, even took the throw blanket and an extra one you had in the closet. You dumped it all onto the floor and began spreading out the sheets and blankets and pillows underneath him, arranging a makeshift bed that was more comfortable than the concrete floor.

You rolled him over onto his side in case he got sick and started peeling the clothes away from him. He had said he always ran hot, and you knew that from being next to him so long, you didn’t want him uncomfortable.

It was then that you noticed his bloodied hands sticking to everything as you tried to remove his shirt.

“Jesus, Pale.” You hissed with concern, immediately getting off the floor to go to your bathroom.

Your first aid kit wasn’t nearly as impressive as the one he had at his apartment, you knew that. You only had a couple normal sized bandaids and some alcohol wipes, but you knew he was going to need more than that, his knuckles were too busted. And he had just started to get them healed from when he was beating up Marty.

Sighing, you grabbed the kit and wet a soft washcloth with soap and water, and carried everything to the living room to tend to him.

“I might have to go to your apartment.” You told him, “Gotta go raid your medicine cabinet.”

You wiped up the blood off his hands, frowned at the way it kept slowly oozing out of the cuts from where he busted his fucking knuckles open. You wrapped the cloth around his hands, tied it tight so that it hopefully wouldn’t go anywhere, and started fishing around in his clothes for the keys to his apartment.

You found them in his back jeans pocket, and leaned down to kiss him real soft. He just snored.

“I’m gonna be right back, okay?” You got up again, tugged on your coat and slipped into your shoes, “Don’t move.” You told his sleeping form, before heading out the door.

—————

It was bitter cold outside, and still damp from the rain. You didn’t like it when it was this kind of rain, when the cold froze the water on the ground and you had to be careful not to slip on the ice. You were glad you only had to go across the street, gad you only slipped once on the way. Black ice was a bitch, you thought.

The elevator ride to Pale’s floor was quiet, far too quiet for your liking. You had grown so accustomed to his never-ending monologues, it was eerie almost to be without him and in such silence. Maybe the city did sleep after all.

You got to his door in no time at all, and made a bee-line for the bathroom.

You hadn’t been in there the one time you’d visited with him, and you were unsure of where he kept his shit. The bathroom was huge, way bigger than yours.

You started searching through the medicine cabinet, finding not very much aside from Aspirin, condoms and coke, which made you huff out a little laugh. There was a small closet in the bathroom, and when you opened that up you were faced with all sorts of boxes of bandages and gauze, antibacterials and the like.

“Bingo!” You smiled as you started shoveling packages of gauze and tape and ointment into your coat pockets.

Geez, it looked like he had raided a fucking doctor’s office or something, you thought. He must have grabbed everything from one of his visits to Kenny. You wondered if he went to the doctor often, if Kenny was just a friend or maybe family. Pale didn’t talk a lot about his family.

That was okay though, you knew he had his reasons.

Leaving the bathroom you almost went straight to the front door, but when you were about to pass his bedroom, you slowed.

“Might as well grab him fresh clothes.” You decided. He had been soaking wet and smelled of blood and alcohol when he burst into your apartment. You figured if you were already in his place, might as well pick up some clean and warm comfortable clothing.

You flipped the light switch, bypassed the bed – even though it did look stupidly comfortable – and went to the closet.

How was his closet even this big? Or maybe your apartment really was just that small, you couldn’t help but sigh to yourself.

“Do you own anything not overly expensive?” You hummed, trailing your hand over the fine silk shirts and pressed pants. Past the suits and looking through the drawers of ties, you were getting close to giving up. Didn’t he own comfortable Sunday clothes at the very least?

You found them finally, in another drawer in the closet. You grabbed one of his black tank tops and a pair of black sweatpants, some clean underwear and socks.

You had a bit of trouble closing the drawer, and were getting frustrated with it.

“God, come on, fucking close – ” You grunted, eventually just yanking the drawer open all the way to see what was caught.

Right in the back of the drawer was a small box, barely the size of a shoebox, stashed behind the socks.

You knew you shouldn’t look inside it. You knew that. You should shuffle it around so the drawer would close properly, leave his apartment, and go back to your own to tend to Pale. His knuckles were bleeding right that very moment, you should leave.

You took the box out, went to the bed and sat down on it.

You weren’t really sure what you were expecting to be inside, but this…was not it.

Letters in envelopes and old black and white photographs mostly.

It was Pale, that you could tell. A young Pale, but definitely Pale. You smiled at how his ears stuck out the way he did. He was with an even younger boy, the two of them were hugging in the front lawn of presumably their childhood home. You flipped the photograph over – Jimmy & Robbie 1966.

Your heart clenched, holding the photograph up to your face so you could get a better read on it. Pale had to be about fifteen here, Robbie only two or three. You weren’t entirely sure of the ages, you were never good at being able to tell that sort of thing. But they looked happy, like they were having a lot of fun.

You put it down, picked up the next one.

This one was of Pale and Robbie, but a few years older. They were outside some sort of building, but there weren’t any identifying marks on it. Robbie was wearing black tights and a black shirt, Pale was in a tank top and pants that were high on his hips. You smiled, his ears still stuck out. Flipping it over, Jimmy dropping off Robbie for dance! 1968

There were so many of them.

Pale sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by sheet music, his younger brother coloring on it with crayon – Robbie helping Jimmy write 1969

Pale and his younger brother at a stand on Coney Island, chocolate all over his face – Jimmy and Robbie getting milkshakes 1969

Pale giving his brother a piggy back ride, Pale and his brother playing tag, the two of them riding horses and cutting vegetables and laughing and smiling at one another.

1969 is where the photos all seemed to be taken place, you wondered if that was a particularly good year. You wondered what happened when 1970 rolled around.

Oh – that’s right, married.

You put the photographs down.

“Oh what the hell.” You sighed, picking up one of the envelopes. You had already invaded his privacy, might as well go for it.

Jim,

I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of being here – tired of you. Things were great but I’m bored, and I’m afraid of you. I don’t like the way you get so angry, a temper like that is bound to be trouble. I wish I didn’t wait so long to realize it.

I need some time, some space I think. Don’t be mad at me. I’ve taken the kids down to Miami, we’re going to stay with my parents for a while. I don’t want them around you, I don’t want them thinking your behavior is okay.

You probably saw this coming. I didn’t want to say anything in person because I didn’t want a fight. I hope you understand.

Don’t bother calling, I’ll reach out when the time is right.

It wasn’t even signed.

You didn’t know what made you feel worse, the fact that she had left that for Pale, or the fact that the letter looked so worn and crumpled up, like he had thrown it away and then fished it out of the trash, read it over and over again before folding it up and putting it back in its envelope.

The other envelopes were just holiday cards from the kids.

For whatever reason you decided to open up another drawer, found nothing but stacks and stacks of sheet music. There were ink blotches all over them, some had notes scribbled on the ledger lines, others just had notes written in hand-writing you couldn’t read.

Nothing was labeled of course, why would it be?

The rain started up again outside.

—————

Back in your apartment, Pale was still out. The washcloth had turned pink, but it didn’t look like it was still bleeding, which made you sigh with relief.

You pulled the rest of his clothes off, shimmied the sweatpants up his long fucking legs, tugged the tank top over his head and gently pulled his arms through.

The knuckles were your first priority, and you tended to them quickly and efficiently, your hands only shaking a little.

He stirred just a bit when the alcohol pad swiped across the cuts, but you powered through it, applying the ointments and then carefully laying down gauze, wrapping the stuff around his hand and taping it securely. It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do.

Your stomach growled, you still hadn’t eaten. You weren’t entirely in the mood for soup, didn’t want to take the time to eat a whole bowl of it, so you just pulled off a piece of baguette that you had and smeared butter across it.

You brought your makeshift dinner back to the living room, pulled off all your clothes, turned off all the lights and ate the bread and butter on the floor. You didn’t even care about the crumbs, just pushed them away when they fell. You’d sweep them up in the morning, when things weren’t so raw. Right now all you wanted was to be back in his arms.

“(Y/N)?” It was like magic, like he could read minds, you thought as he groggily called your name.

You shoved the rest of the bread and butter into your mouth, and shuffled yourself to lay down on the floor in the big cocoon of blankets and pillows with him.

“Yeah Pale, I’m here.” You said, and like he didn’t have to think about it at all, he immediately wrapped his arms around you. He was sweating, overheated, not that that was something new.

“Where am I?” He mumbled, his eyes still closed but pinching shut tighter. You wondered if the moonlight was somehow too bright for him.

You pulled back enough just to look at him, his face that looked like it was filled with unease, with suffering. You couldn’t tell if it was emotional turmoil, or the physical suffering of being so fucked up. Nonetheless, you pushed the hair out of his face and away from his forehead, combed your fingers through the sweaty greasy waves.

“You’re at my apartment.” You explained, trying to keep your voice soft and steady. You couldn’t help the wobble in it, still too unsure and panicked to really be calm. “We’re on the floor.”

“Okay.” Pale said.

His arms tightened around you even more, crushing you to him a little bit. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, you were wondering if he even could, or if he was feeling so out of it that his eyelids were too heavy.

“You okay?” You asked, wiping the sweat away from his neck with your hand. The pulse there thumped wildly, despite him being relatively still. It made you nervous.

“No.” He shook his head, and you had that same chest clenching feeling as you did when you were in his apartment.

“Can I help?” You asked, tried to keep the lump out of your throat.

“Let me hold you?” He asked, and you laughed just a little despite all the nerves and fear – he didn’t even realize he had you in a vice grip.

“Always, honey.” You nodded, smoothed down his hair.

—————

He went back to sleep, or maybe you thought he did. You couldn’t tell. He was so sad, it hurt you. You couldn’t stop reading the letter over and over in your mind.

I’m afraid of you. I don’t like the way you get so angry, a temper like that is bound to be trouble.

Pale wasn’t dangerous. Sure he had a temper, but it was always justified. He ain’t never done anything to you that would make you afraid of him. Even that time he had yelled, all that time ago, he was scared that you were going to be hurt, that something could happen to you.

Even that time, it had been because he cared about you.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You whispered to him.

He didn’t respond, but that was okay. It was all okay.

—————

The rain really came down hard outside.

It clanged on the fire escape something fierce, sounded like someone was dropping rocks on the metal grates. You thought off-handedly that you were glad you didn’t have any plants outside, like some of your neighbors. One of the people on the fourth floor kept damn near a whole garden on her fire escape, you wondered how the plants were faring in this weather.

You thought about what life would be like with Pale in the Spring. You wondered how he would dress in the warmer weather. Smiling, you tried to imagine him in shorts, or a t-shirt. You didn’t really see it happening in real life, but it was fun to pretend.

Pale in his shorts and a t-shirt, maybe even loafers for once, instead of those fancy lizard-skin boots. Maybe he’d help put on sunscreen all over your back and shoulders before going for a walk in Central Park. Maybe he’d wear a baseball cap at a Spring Training game.

You wondered who he rooted for, Mets or Yankees? You hoped it was the Mets.

You could see that now, the two of you getting really good seats, Pale probably knew a guy. Didn’t he know a guy for everything? You smiled, thinking about the way you’d share a soft pretzel, maybe a hot-dog. He could sip a beer and you’d drink a soda, and you’d jump out of your seat when someone would hit a home-run.

Pale wouldn’t cheer, but he might whistle, stick his fingers in his mouth and whistle in the way you’ve always wanted to learn how to do but could never get the hang of.

You sighed, brought out of your daydream by an insistent tapping on your back.

Blinking at Pale, you smiled just a little.

“What are you doing?” You asked, thinking he needed something.

“I’m playin’ your song.” He mumbled instead, making your cheeks heat right away.

“I have a song?” You wished he would open his eyes, wish he were sober. Just so that he could make some sense, just a little more sense.

He did crack an eye open at that, looked mildly offended. You smiled a little bigger, that was the Pale you knew.

“O’course you have a fhuckin’ song. Don’t be ridiculous.” He scoffed, slurred his words. Still a little drunk then, drunk enough to not just wave off whatever…this was.

“How does it go?” You didn’t know if you were pushing your luck, if he’d shut down and get all closed off in the way he sometimes did. You knew not to pry, but this had you so curious.

“Like this.” He said, gong back to tapping on your back.

It was slow, but insistent. Like a build-up of intensity over time. You wished you knew which instruments, if it was just piano, or if there were other things too. You wondered which instruments he liked the best, which ones he knew how to play. You took piano lessons an eon ago, weren’t very good at it. But he already knew that.

He used both his hands, they were so big, splayed out across your back like the keys of that grand piano he kept in his apartment. He could probably reach half the keys all at once, you thought.

The tapping on your back moved faster and faster, up and down like he was chasing something, up and up and up your spine until finally his fingers flitted all the way back down, an impossible rhythm to figure out.

And then he slowed, and things felt softer in a way. His fingers like water over your shoulder blades, dancing notes onto the freckles on your skin.

“This part here, that’s when I finally got you back in my fucking arms again after Miami.” He whispered, and you were so taken aback by that, that you almost didn’t know what to say.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way. It was like he was pressing I missed you into your skin over and over again, fingertips digging into your flesh with a different kind of passion.

Part of you wondered if this was even real, or if he were just so out of his mind that he was making it up as he went.

But he kept going and going and going and you thought no, this had to be real. This was too filled with determination, he knew exactly which keys he was pressing, exactly which notes he was bringing to life as his hands slipped along your back.

You let yourself close your eyes for the first time in what must have been hours, what felt like days, enjoying the feeling of the playing. You tried to envision it in your head, what he might be thinking, what he might be playing. You wished you knew, had some frame of reference for what it might sound like. All it felt like was morse code to you.

“Is it a happy song?” You asked when he finished, when his hands finally stilled and your back tickled with the phantom feeling of all the little taps and pokes.

“I don’t know.” He replied right away, making you frown just a little, making your stomach do those nervous flips.

This wasn’t the part of your story where he told you he hated you…was it?

“What do you mean?” You had to know, but he shrugged, only making your stomach knot up tighter.

“Well, it don’t got any real meaning to it or anything. There’s no story. It’s just feeling, you know? How you make me feel.” He said.

“How do I make you feel?”

“Like I’m dyin’.”

You blinked at that, your heart sinking.

“That doesn’t sound very happy.” You whispered, and he must have started to sober up enough to realize, immediately shaking his head and shifting the both of yous around so that you were tucked so close to him, held so lovingly against him that all he could do was kiss your temple over and over again.

“No, that’s not – ” He started, cutting himself off and pausing for a moment to try and figure out what he wanted to say.

“I don’t know what to do with you. I keep fuckin’ waiting for something bad to happen and it never comes. I’m on the edge of my fuckin’ seat all the time, wonderin’ when you’re gonna finally have enough. I can’t take it sometimes, you’re too sweet to me, too good and nice. My heart feels like it’s gonna burst when I look at you, like I gotta rip it right out of my fuckin’ throat. I don’t got the words, you know? I don’t know the words to describe it other than that.”

“I love you, you know that?” You blurted out.

It felt like the rain stilled.

Like all the traffic outside stopped. There were no sirens, no barking dogs in small apartments, there were no death and disease and AIDs and boat crashes and shitty wives.

All there was, was you and Pale in your shitty apartment with the leaky tub and you loved him.

“How’s that?” He asked, sounding so sober that you wondered if shock had the power to do that, to dispel all the coke and the alcohol and the sadness and rage you knew was tucked into your lover.

Because that’s what he was. He was your man, your lover. He was the person you spent all your time thinking about, all your energy caring about. And he cared about you too. You knew he did. You had heard him.

He didn’t know, didn’t think that you did, but you did. You heard it every night, when you pretended to be asleep against his chest, when you pretended to snore just to maybe get a glimpse at the inside of his heart.

You didn’t blame him, for being so guarded with it. You didn’t blame him – how could you? How could you be mad or upset with him, considering the way he had been treated the last time? Been treated for so long?

“I love you.” You said it again. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time. I know I love you. You don’t have to say it back, if it’s hard. You don’t have to. I know.” You knew, you knew you knew you knew it was hard, it had to be hard for him.

“You do?” He asked, and you couldn’t tell if he was referring to the love, or the hardship, or all of it, or none of it.

“I do. I found the box, in your closet.” You said, apropos of nothing, like how he had dropped the information that he had kids out of nowhere. You couldn’t think of an organic way to work it into whatever this was – was it a conversation? Or was it an exchange of admissions?

“Oh.” He said, and you didn’t know.

“We don’t have to talk about it. I just didn’t feel right not telling you. ” You were honest, always wanted to be honest with him. You loved him, and he deserved honesty.

If nothing else, he deserved honesty.

—————

He was quiet for a long time.

The rain softened for a couple minutes, but revved back up again. Thunder and lightning cracked outside. You had never seen this much rain in your whole life, you thought. Not so soon after New Year’s, anyway. You wondered if it was all that smog, all the bullshit pollution being ferried up into the atmosphere. Maybe it was fucking with the weather.

Pale was quiet until he wasn’t, asking, “What did you think?”

“I thought you had the cutest ears I’ve ever seen.” You replied right away, making him laugh.

It was the first time he had ever laughed so unguarded.

“That’s funny.” He said, redundantly.

“I like the name Jimmy.” You smiled.

He shook his head, but thankfully he didn’t seem too mad, didn’t seem angry or anything. He kept smiling, just the slightest little thing, just the prick up of his lips in the corner of his mouth – but it was enough to show off those dimples of his, and your heart soared. You loved when he smiled.

You loved him.

“That’s what my wife calls me.” He grimaced, before laughing again. You wondered what was going on in his head.

“I wasn’t gonna change to it, I just thought you should know that I like it. I like Pale too.” You hummed, and he kissed your temple again.

“Y’know how I got that name?” He asked, his words fuzzy and slurred still.

“No.” You shook your head on his chest.

“Fifteen fucking years ago maybe, I’m sitting in this bar. Minding my own business, I ask the bartender if he’s got any brandy. He says, ‘of course I got fuckin’ brandy, what do I look like?’ So I says, ‘okay but do you got any top shelf shit?’ – Because you know me, I don’t drink nothin’ cheap. And I say, ‘any V.S.O.P?’ Very Special Old Pale. V.S.O.P. And the guy’s eyes fuckin’ light up. Guess he hadn’t had someone ask for something that nice in a long time. So he pours me some, and I pay the tab and I leave.”

“Mhm.” You encouraged, letting your eyes close again, letting the rumble of his chest lull you.

“Well he’s a real nice fuckin’ fella, so I go back the next night. Who do I got to go home to, my fucking wife who already hates me? A screaming two year old she won’t let me take care of? Nah. So I go back to the fuckin’ bar, and I do a couple lines with the bartender, and I ask for more of that V.S.O.P.”

Thunder cracked outside, lightning illuminating the room for a split second. You could see the light even with your eyes closed. Pale kinda felt like that, you thought.

Seeing even with your eyes closed.

“So after a week or two of pullin’ this shit, he don’t even ask anymore, just slides me a glass of Pale. And I get known as Pale. I ain’t ever introduced myself otherwise ever since.” He concluded his story.

“That’s a funny story.” You said with a smile.

“How’s that?” He asked, a smile in his own voice too.

“What if you had ordered something else?” You mused, propping your chin up on his chest to look at him.

He went all hazy cross-eyed to try and get a glimpse of you at the angle he was, lifted his head just a little. You smiled at the way he got a bunch of chins when he did that, you stretched your neck up to kiss them, press little smooches there, making him shy away from being too ticklish.

“Instead of brandy, what if you ordered a glass of wine? Then you might be known as Cabernet. Cab.” You laughed.

“Like a fuckin’ taxi cab?” Pale laughed too, and you laughed again.

Thunder cracked and the rain panged down, but you loved him and you laughed.

“Yeah. Pale’s much better.” You chuckled, winding down again but still humming, amused.

“You really love me?” He looked at you with real clear eyes, and you nodded.

“I really do.” You said.

He held his hand up, looked at it in the near pitch-black room.

“I chucked my ring, right off the fuckin’ pier. It’s at the bottom of the ocean. Hope no dolphin or nothing eats it. I ain’t ever felt so light, without it on like this.” He said, and ah, that’s where it had gone.

You thought he maybe would have kept it in a box, maybe stuck it along with the letter and photographs. Memories that might be too painful to deal with, but too important to throw out.

Something about the fact that he had really just tossed it in the ocean felt monumental to you. Like maybe he was yours, maybe he would stick around with you and you were his to keep too.

“You have a tan line there.” You held his hand right up to your face, squinted at the finger. Sure enough there was a little band of lighter skin. You kissed it, noticed the tremor that was running through his hands.

“Yeah, only took the fuckin’ thing off maybe twice the whole time I had it. You believe that? Twice. Once to get it polished on our ten year fuckin’ anniversary, and then to toss it. She wasn’t even wearing hers, when I saw her. I wonder if she pawned it off or just stuck it in a drawer somewhere. It was expensive, you know?” He sighed.

You kissed the palm of his hand, he smoothed it over your face, cupped your cheek with it. He liked to grab at your face, you noticed. Like to hold it in his hands, cradle it. You smiled.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You pointed out.

“I’d buy you expensive shit, if you wanted it.” Pale pointed out too.

“I don’t need anything – ” You started, but he interrupted you real quick.

“I know you don’t. Boggles my fuckin’ mind. I want to spend money on you, you know? Who the fuck else am I gonna spend it on? I know you don’t need nothing. I want you to have nice shit. I already buy you nice shit. Got a whole fuckin’ closet filled with nice shit I’ve picked up for you over the past few fuckin’ months.” He sighed, his eyes closed again.

“Really?” You asked, frowning. How come he had never said anything? What the hell had he bought you?

“Really. I’m always too afraid to give it to you, too afraid you’re gonna say you don’t want it – that you don’t want me. I know you don’t need this shit, I know. I know you ain’t helpless. You’re a big girl, you can take care of yourself. But…I want to take care of you, you know? I want to make sure you ain’t got nothing to want for. I don’t give shit to you because I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m like a fuckin’ sugar daddy or nothing, that I only want you for sex or nothing. Not that the sex ain’t great, I fuckin’ love the sex, I’m just – I don’t know – I – ” He was losing it again, and you shushed him gently.

“I know.” You said, placing your hand over his, the one on your cheek. He was shaking, poor thing couldn’t stop shaking. “I know, me too.”

You closed your eyes and he closed his.

The rain went on and on, and you were exhausted, and he was still so drunk but you felt good.

It felt good to get it out in the open, that you loved him.

He didn’t need to say it back. You knew he did. You could tell, just by looking at him – just by virtue that he was there, that he called your place home.

He wasn’t going to say it, and that was okay, you loved him anyway.

—————

Tagging some pals, as always please let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off the tag list! @fullofbees@spinebarrel@dreamboatdriver@thecurlycaptain@bourbonboredom @driverficarchive@aweirdlookingtree@rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd@adamsnackdriver@glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @kyloxfem @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne@attorneyl

#reader insert #pale x reader #pale #burn this #burn this broadway #my writing #blue moon #chapter 8 #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader

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flamegatorwrites · 5 years

Text

Death On Two Legs (Jotaro/Kakyoin)

Chapter: 3/?

Spoilers: none, this is an AU

Warnings: blood, vampire acts

Notes: hey y'all! I'm sorry the start of this was so slow, but next chapter is where the plot starts picking up 💚

Jotaro wasn't one to go outside at night, especially after the Dio ordeal. It was around 11:30 pm and he was restless. Whenever he tried to sleep, it was as if he were watching Joseph's death all over again. He hadn't slept in days, he hadn't fed in weeks. He was going to die, either of exhaustion or hunger. He couldn't, though. As much as he wanted to simply drop off the face of the Earth, he knew Dio was still out there. He knew that Dio was still plotting to kill the last living Joestars, and some sick feeling in his stomach told him that he'd have to watch it all happen.

He pulled his denim jacket closer to his body, taking a drag off his last cigarette. It was his last crutch. The hunger and sleep deprivation were slowly blinding his senses, the only thing keeping him sane was the nicotine. Star Platinum walked, or rather floated, beside him, trying to help by pointing out homeless people in alleyways and people who just happened to work overtime that night.

For the first time, he was hoping he could run into an enemy stand user. He wanted to drain all Dio's workers of their entire life force, just as they'd done to him. But his luck had run dry, and he had nobody.

Jotaro thought about the redheaded priest. He remembered how rude he was, even though he went out of his way to return something so small. He hadn't even asked his name. He also remembered how small the man was compared to himself. He wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight, especially since he had Star Platinum-

No. I can't.

He threw down the cigarette butt and stepped on it. He'd really gone that mad, hadn't he? A priest, of all things. A weaker being who wouldn't be able to put up a fight, even if Jotaro weren't a monster.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He looked across the street at the source of the yelling. It was a small woman, a pair of heels in one hand and small purse in the other. A man who was at least two heads taller than her had her cornered in an alley, a small pocket knife in his right hand.

It was almost as if he hadn't heard Jotaro as he walked up behind him. He grabbed the man by the collar, scaring him enough to drop the knife. The woman ran past the two as Jotaro spun the man around to face him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jotaro asked him.

The man's eyes widened in fear, his lips parted as if he was about to say something but he couldn't. Jotaro realized how hard the man's heart was beating, realizing he'd gotten caught in his unspeakable actions.

Before he knew what he was doing, Jotaro bit him. Hard. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, instantly soothing the aching in his gums. He'd never had human blood before, the taste was exceedingly different from that of the animals he'd found in Egypt. It felt pleasantly warm, and it was sweet in a way he couldn't describe.

He slowly felt the tension leave his body, the feeling almost like a high- no, it was a high. He'd never felt this way before.

The man's heart had since stopped beating, the amount of blood he'd lost in mere minutes was surprising to Jotaro.

He eventually let the man's lifeless body hit the ground, then he finally came to his senses. He realized that he had a body underneath him. He'd killed this man.

But I saved someone else. I could've saved lots of people. If I didn't kill the man, the man would've killed the girl.

He killed plenty of people on his way to Egypt. Hell, they weren't even half as bad as this guy was. But he began to panic. He never panicked. He looked around, searching for something, anything, to hide the body. The dumpster beside him would be perfect, but wouldn't that be the first place they'd check?

Who would check? For all the police know, nobody is even here right now.

He used his arm to open the lid, a putrid scent escaping. He gagged, covering his nose and mouth with the now blood stained t-shirt. He managed to maneuver the man over the edge and slam the lid down. A loud thwack reverberated off the walls.

He stared down at his blood stained hands. There wasn't a lot, thank god,but there was enough to make someone question him if he were to be seen.

So to avoid that, he ran. He passed his apartment building in a blind panic. He didn't know where he was going, as long as it was away from the alley.

Within what seemed like seconds, he managed to trip on a large crack in the sidewalk. He collapsed on his ground, catching himself on his hands. They burned, and so did his knees. He knew he'd managed to scrape them during the fall.

"Fuck!" He tried to scream, but it only came out as a loud, shaky wheeze. His curse then turned into a coughing fit, with how many cigarettes he'd smoked since high school, his lungs were in terrible shape. He sat up and examined his scraped hands and his knee. He didn't know where he was, and hopefully he didn't wake anyone up.

The jeans he wore were ripped, his knee a bleeding mess underneath it.

"Jotaro?"

He knew that voice. He looked around and found himself in front of the church that his mother attended, which just so happened to be the church with the priest.

"Father."

"What are you doing out this late?" The redhead asked him, hurrying down the church steps. "It's, like, 2 in the morning..."

The priest held out his hand, Jotaro eyed it warily. After how rude he'd been to the man, he still offered his help.

"I... I fell."

The priest let out a small giggle, lightly touching Jotaro's elbow.

"Yeah, you fell 10 minutes away from your house. Come in, I've got a first aid kit in my office. I'll get you fixed up."

He tried to get up on his own, but as he tried to stand, his knee buckled and he fell back onto the cold concrete.

"Fuck," he growled, "I think I sprained it."

Jotaro let the man help him up and slung his arm around his shoulders, wincing in pain as he put weight on his hurt leg. He hobbled up the steps and into the door, the priest guiding him to a hallway near the entrance of the large church. They stopped at a bathroom, and the priest (who was struggling to carry Jotaro) nudged the door open with his foot. He led him over to the sinks, signalling Jotaro to sit on the counter.

"Okay," he sighed, "this is gonna sound really weird, but I need you to take your pants off..."

Jotaro's eyes widened, his face almost as red as the priest's hair.

"Listen, Father, not to be rude or anything, but shouldn't we go to dinner first? Also I don't even know your name, wouldn't that be-"

"N-no, not like that!" he stuttered. "I need to get to your knee, y-you know to see if it's swollen or anything!"

Jotaro smirked, the flustered redhead in front of him avoiding any eye contact.

"Alright," Jotaro said, "but, uh, could you maybe leave the room?"

"Oh, right! I'll go get the first aid kit, I'll be right back. Don't get any blood on anything."

The man hurriedly disappeared through the bathroom door, leaving Jotaro to take off his jeans. He managed to get them below his swollen knee. It wasn't that dirty, but it was still bleeding a little bit. His hands, on the other hand, were extremely dirty, the skin was jagged and red where he caught himself.

Jotaro looked around the bathroom. The lack of people almost made it feel nice. Almost. The feeling he had was... off. He didn't know what it was, but there was something wrong with this place. He tried to ignore it, but it seemed like something was telling him to get out of there.

He heard a loud crash and a muffled grunt, and just as he was about to get up and check up on the priest, he appeared in the doorway with a first aid kit, some cotton balls, and a box of band-aids.

He smiled, almost dropping the first aid kit as he hurried to Jotaro's aid.

"Oh boy," he sighed. "Did you bust your lip too?"

Jotaro panicked and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Oh god, he's gonna find out I killed that guy and he's gonna think I'm a terrible person and-

"Here, there are some alcohol wipe things in here somewhere," the priest sat down beside him, rolled his sleeves up, and opened the red box. He found what he was looking for and washed his hands in the sink between the two.

"I need you to rinse your knee off."

Jotaro adjusted himself to where his knee could somewhat fit under the faucet and turned on the cold water. The little bit of dirt around his knee washed away fairly easily. He washed his hands, too, the soap stinging his irritated skin.

"So, uh, you never told me your name."

"Noriaki Kakyoin," he said. "This may burn a little, but it shouldn't be too bad."

Kakyoin opened the package of alcohol wipes and slowly cleaned up the wound. His knee was beginning to turn a reddish color. The alcohol did sting.

"So, what made you want to become a priest?" Jotaro asked, hoping to make the situation less awkward.

"Well, technically, I'm a deacon, since I'm too young to be a priest. What made you want to go for a run at two in the morning?"

"I, uh, ran out of cigarettes. And I didn't want to drive."

Kakyoin eyed him suspiciously, disposing of the alcohol wipe. He put an unknown cream into his knee and stuck a large bandaid over the wound.

"Change out the bandage every few hours. You probably just pulled a muscle in your knee, and if the swelling doesn't go down by tomorrow night you should go to the hospital."

"What are you, a doctor?"

"No," Kakyoin smiled, "but I was planning going to medical school to become a nurse before all this."

He gestured to the priest collar around his neck, the bone white square in the middle almost shining against his black dress shirt and slacks. Something about him made Jotaro feel vulnerable in a way. He knew it was probably because he was sitting on a bathroom counter like a kid who fell off his bike, getting his wounds cleaned by a priest, who probably knew he just murdered someone.

At that exact moment, he realized Noriaki Kakyoin wasn't going to be so easy to avoid.

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unknowingtheknown · 5 years

Text

Discernment of an Angel

(NOT MY GIF) Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Castiel/Reader Trigger Warning: Childhood abuse, PTSD, depression, self-harm. Summary: Sometimes having a moment of weakness can cause one to relapse into certain bad habits. It happens to you, but luckily your favorite Angel comes to visit you. You did not know about the Winchesters, or really about much of what was happening, but for some reason, this Angel always kept an eye on you. Maybe this reason could help you with your self-worth. Sorry, I wrote this at 1AM. ________________________________________________________ At the young age of 4, you could remember the day you almost drowned. You had lived close to a pond, your father had been out with you on a hot day. Young children tend to wander and without a sharp eye, some could get hurt. That is almost what happened with you. Your small body waddled towards the water as there was a dragonfly zipping around the surface of the water, most likely trying to feed itself. Your chubby feet were in the water before your mind processed it, causing you to fall right into a deeper dip of water. Your face was engulfed into the greenish water of the pond, some getting into your nose and eyes, a cough and splutter coming from you. Only then, a pair of warm, gentle, calming hands lifted you out. Mostly what you recall of that day is looking up into those electric blue eyes and hearing, “I’ve got you now.” Ever since that incident, you’d had many more encounters with that Angel. At the age of 5, you learned his name as he began to join you outside when your parents were fighting. ‘Castiel’, he told you. At 6, you learned he was an angel and he taught you the word of his Father. At 8, when your dad had gotten done throwing your sick mother and you around, Castiel joined you in your room. You’d put a scarf around your neck and tightened it to see what it was like when he’d showed up. He’d gently scowled at you, telling you how he didn’t quite understand humans yet. That he was still unbelievably faithful to the creatures the Lord had made, despite their cruel or unusual actions. And your life was plagued by them. Your dad would continue to abuse you and your frail mother. Psychologically, you’d become so numb to the pain, the only time you remotely felt anything emotional was with Castiel. He was your anchor. He always knew when to show up before the demons closed in too much. Castiel had been more faithful than anything else in your life, nothing could compare to him. Your very existence was tainted by people who were so inconsistent and always knew how to let you down. But, Castiel. . . He was always there. At 17, you’d managed to move you out from your fathers as your mother died 4 years earlier and you’d taken the beatings solely then. After you’d moved into a small apartment near the woods of your small town, Castiel had appeared to congratulate you. It was like, he had a small radio. A baby monitor on you, always hearing what was going on in your life. In a way, he was like your Guardian Angel. He’d explained why he couldn’t directly affect what your dad was doing, explaining it in a way that made you not angry at him for being a celestial, powerful demon. He was an Angel, proved it, and had a job to do and that was for you to be safe. But tonight was hard. You were now 23, still lonely as ever. You believed you were too broken for love, too broken to ever be worthy of anything past being a friend. Your body wasn’t the best in your opinion, hair too gross, eyes too easily seen.

This was too much.

You were failing your classes, your masters basically going down the drain so early. Your job was just shit as it was, the people you worked with hated you, the customers abusing your genuine sweetness, and the love you never got. It had been a couple years since you’d last seen Castiel. The last time you’d seen him was when he came to take you back to your place when you got too drunk at your 21st birthday party with the very little friends you’d had then. You only knew it was really him was when your friends asked about your ‘hot boyfriend with the blue eyes’. After that, things just got worse. When your mother had died, you’d tried self-harming. The trauma from the constant beatings, the death, just everything had been enough for your non-existent self-esteem. Castiel never appeared when it happened, only after it was healed. Tonight, you’d come home with a mind full of worries and anxiety. Some relevant, some not relevant in reality. You had no one to at least give you a hug to tell you it would be okay. Truly, that’s all you wanted. Your very soul ached for some comfort, though none could be found in the small empty space you occupied at the night. You’d found yourself in the shower, the lukewarm water helped ease you a little into the hole of your mind rather than staying in reality. Howbeit, this did not stop your eyes from watering and the salty tears ran down your face. You stayed like that under the water for a bit until you found the courage to move. You went through the robotic movements of drying yourself and dressing. After finishing pulling on your shirt, your (E/C) glanced down to look at your (S/C) wrist. You had very faint puffy lines of scars on your arm, ranging from your wrist to your elbow. Your body just began to move for you, you had subconsciously made up your mind to ‘help’ yourself. You grabbed the small little tin box you kept in your basket of little things like brushes, opening it up and pulling out the razor you used last time. You washed it with warm water and soap, sitting down on the toilet lid. It took no time for you to put a few slices on your arms, the endorphins you felt - You felt alive.

You could feel. You let the blood seep enough before cleaning up, putting on some bandaids, and walking out to see the very being that tended to keep you strong. You felt the peace the Angel of the Lord brought with him. Castiel had taken refuge on your bed, reading through a small book that had been on your bedside table. Your heart warmed, fluttering in your chest, only for it to sour as you could feel the irritated skin of the regretful deed you’d just done. Shifting uneasily on your feet, you made your way to your computer chair. “Mm, your heart is racing.” The first thing that came from Castiel’s mouth, his eyes looking up to you. Sitting down, you felt your face flush with color and blood. “I can smell blood and I know it is not of the reproductive system.” Ugh, didn’t he just always have a way with words? His utter bluntness had caused many laughs or uneasy moments. Right now, you were just ashamed. You were happy he was here, though being caught hurting yourself felt like you should just crawl into your heater and stay there. Swallowing uneasily, you cleared your throat. Castiel placed the book beside him, standing to make his way to be in front of you, sitting at the end of the bed. “I am not stupid to your hurtful acts, (Y/N). You’ve done this long enough and I will not let you continue to do this to yourself.” You began with, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice sounded small, Castiel had become such a huge figure of your life, sometimes you’d doubted his existence. A hand grasped one of yours in a firm yet warm touch, “You have no faith. . . In me. I am a celestial being of the Highest God. I can smell the blood, I can feel the uneasiness of your skin, I can hear your blood pumping in your very veins. ” Your own (E/C) eyes had filled back with tears, the earlier tears had caused some puffiness underneath. “I - I’m sorry, Cas. I - I am so alone. N - No one cares about me, o - or needs me. I’m s - so tired.” Castiel took one of his hands, placing them over where your bandaids were. You looked up to him almost confused as his eyes glowed blue briefly, the feelings of irritated skin not prevalent anymore on your arm. Removing his hand, you reached down to remove the bandaids, seeing absolute no traces of what you’d done to yourself. Choking on the air you took in, tears ran down your face faster. You quickly found yourself wrapped around Castiel. He inhaled awkwardly, you clinging to him. “I still don’t understand the need for physical affection, although. . . “ Your tears continued, your gaze lifting up to him with a giggle. His fingers found their way into your hair, his eyes that reminded you of the sky had softened, “I can understand the want.”

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theclaravoyant · 6 years

Note

Would you write something with Fitzskimmons after they get cryo Fitz back? Please and thank you

AN ~ Thank you for your extraordinary patience. I’ve had a lot going on (including but not limited to a BUNCH of fics I hope you’ve been able to enjoy in the meantime). This is quite a cathartic fic, especially between Fitz and Daisy, as I felt I had to acknowledge that trauma - but with only vague references to the actual content of 5x14. I hope you like it!

(I also don’t mind if people want to read this as platonic, up to you).

Relationships/Characters: FitzSkimmons (Fitz x Daisy x Simmons)Prompt: “comfort” for @mcubingo (see the rest of my card here)Rating: TWarnings: N/AOther Tags: Angst/Hurt/Comfort, Post S5 Finale, Vague 5x14 References

Summary:When Fitz gets out of cryo, Jemma fusses over him and Daisy avoids him. A man can’t help but wonder why, but the answer is as horrible, and yet as simple, as it seems.

Read on AO3 (~1900wd)

the other shoe

“How are you feeling?”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile at Fitz as she crept into his hospital room. He smiled back, wearily, and confessed with a haggard voice.

“Honestly? Like I haven’t slept in a year.”

“Well, to be fair to your body, you probably haven’t. Not really.”

Fitz nodded. His head was heavy. His eyes ached with the pain of staying open and yet - when Jemma ran her hand through his curls he felt such blissful relief. He hardly remembered what concrete felt like, at the touch of those beautiful fingers. When he breathed, and she was standing in his space, he could smell her, and she smelt fresh and floral and it was probably just some sort of soap or laundry detergent but it was heaven to Fitz’s senses, who’d had nothing but grit and crime and sweat and fear to clog them for so long.

Jemma took a seat in the chair that somebody had already pulled to the bedside, and looked over the things they’d brought Fitz so far. A small shaving kit. His good old trusty copy of The Hobbit. So much the same as so many times before.

Squeezing Fitz’s hand, Jemma took a deep breath.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, trying not to let her voice crack too much. “But I really want you to get some rest. You’ve missed a lot, but just - rest. Please? After the Framework and prison and… well, I suppose only you know what else…”

“Jemma,” Fitz crooned, her name as light as a dream on his breath, as he lifted one hand from under hers, and placed it on top, warm and steady. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I swear. This bed is comfortable, I’m knackered, and even if I wanted to jump back into things, I don’t think my knees would have held me up another second. Now that you’re here, there’s no reason to leave. Except…”

Fitz felt a pang of pain in his heart, and he saw the slightest grimace cross Jemma’s features. She knew, then, what he knew. She’d noticed Daisy ignoring him, hovering back, making excuses to stay away. She’d noticed, that Daisy couldn’t quite look him in the eye, and there was a pain in her, in that grimace, warning him that it was not a matter of grief. Something had happened in his absence. Something bad.

Worse than the Framework? He could only wonder. Thinking that far back made his head hurt.

Jemma drew a weary breath, the kind that meant she was steeling herself up to something- that she didn’t want him to worry, though he’d started seeing through that long ago.

“It’s going to be okay, this time,” she insisted, adjusting his blankets and giving him a firm, determined smile as if she could will her outcome into existence. Indomitable, that one. But…

“What do you mean, ‘this time?’”

Enoch had warned him there’d be time travel involved in this somehow, but since getting him home nobody’d had the time - or apparently, the guts - to explain what role exactly it, or he, had had played. Well, except for the fact that he’d died the last time round, but he had a feeling that was not what Jemma meant. Not when she couldn’t quite look him in the eyes.

Worse than the Framework? Maybe it was, after all.

He wanted to ask Jemma about it. He had to. The desire, the need, rose up in his chest like the need for breath but before it could bubble out she must have seen it in him; she must have felt it coming. She couldn’t bear to let it out, so she cupped his hands in her own and fixed her big brown eyes on his and he wondered what could be so bad that Jemma - usually so matter-of-fact, usually a strong believer in ripping off the proverbial bandaid - could want to delay it. Perhaps she was trying to protect him, or perhaps herself, perhaps even both, but either way Fitz was struck by the desperation in her expression.

“I love you,” she said - but what she meant was: Not now. Not just yet.

“I love you too,” Fitz replied, a strange tone to his voice as he watched her. She seemed so haunted. How could he ever know what that meant? What could he do?

Before the answer came to him - if indeed, it ever would - a knock on the wood beside his doorway seemed to start time going again. Both Fitz and Jemma looked toward the sound, and found a downcast Daisy standing uncomfortably there, waiting to be invited in. Waiting to get up the nerve to take another step.

Fitz cleared his throat. “Uh, Jemma. Could you get us some water, please?”

“Of course,” she agreed, glad for the excuse to leave. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen between these two and she almost didn’t want to know. She did not envy her lovers their fight, but she gave Fitz’s hand one last squeeze before she slipped away, and brushed Daisy’s arm on the way past. None of them knew how this was going to go. They could only hope for the best.

Daisy could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She could feel the vice around her lungs, waiting to snap shut. Jemma had left now, there was nothing between them but a few lousy feet, and Daisy could do nothing but stare at Fitz and wait. Wait, for the crippling fear to set in. For the flood of anger. For the complex, tainted grief, even, that had plagued her in these intervening months. It had been so long that everything that had happened was like a nightmare within a nightmare, and she had dreaded this moment for so long. The moment she looked into his eyes, felt his blade, heard herself screaming. She had dreaded finding him alive and never being able to look at him again. She had dreaded it so much in fact, that she had forgotten to consider… this.

Finding him alive.

He was just sitting there, rosy cheeked and starry eyed. An unflattering hospital dinner had been cleared from a nearby plate and his fingers picked halfheartedly at the scratchy apricot blanket and his eyes - his eyes - looked over at her with such unspeakable love and gentleness and a terrible sort of grief.

“Daisy?” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly, the vice in her chest was not fear, or anticipation, it was tears. It was grief, and relief, and it was the memory of his arms around her all those years ago. It was his lips on her skin. His hand taking hers. It was everything, every moment before the nightmare had begun. The nightmare this Fitz hadn’t had - the one she’d wanted nothing more than this Fitz, her Fitz, to pull her from. This was not the man who had hurt her, and if she had any say in it, he never would be.

“Everything’s great, it’s fine,” she promised. Her feet crossed the floor with an uneasy gate, her knees very nearly buckling beneath her until she caught herself and lowered her into Jemma’s chair. Tears stuck in her throat and leaked out of her eyes and she couldn’t get over the way Fitz looked at her. Reached for her hand. Stroked her face, ever so gently - even more so than usual, like he was waiting for her to tell him to stop.

She cupped her hand over his instead, holding it against her skin.

“I missed you,” she said. “Things have been crazy without you.”

Just like Jemma, Fitz thought, Daisy was avoiding the question. The question that was on all of their tongues, but his most of all, and though it pained him terribly to ask, to poke the bear, he had to know.

“Did I hurt you?”

Daisy closed her eyes. Cherished the warmth of his hand against her skin, just for one more moment. Nightmare though it was, she still remembered what the other version of Fitz had done, and she knew he would hate himself for it, but she couldn’t lie. She nodded, and some of the pain flushed out of her, but she felt him recoil. Of course he would. And she could offer no recourse; all she had was her pain and her fury, and in her opinion whatever hate this Fitz had for his other self was well deserved, hard as it may be to face. She could only hope that it would teach them what it needed to teach them, take them down the right path. Every nightmare, after all, had its purpose.

“I’m so sorry, Daisy,” Fitz said. And it was infused with such passion and remorse, Daisy wept. It was all that she’d wanted to hear all these past few months, as the shards of her shattered faith in him had hardened into unforgiving edges. This Fitz didn’t even know what had been done, would be sick at the sight of it, and still all he wanted to do would take the burden off her shoulders, no matter what it was. He made no excuses, he needed no reason or loophole or prize. He’d hurt her, and that was enough.

Watching her every step of the way, for even the slightest flicker of discomfort, Fitz wrapped his arm around Daisy’s shoulder, pulling her in close. Embracing her, as best he could from this angle, with all the love and comfort his exhausted, confused, aching body could muster. Every emotion under the sun flooded through Daisy and out in her tears and Fitz sat with her every step of the way. Every moment. He did not know exactly what she’d been through, what he’d done. He did not know if she’d ever be up to telling him the details of it, but it didn’t matter: he of all people knew what it was like to have a horror, a trauma, that could not be explained; only exorcised. It hurt to know, but he’d got what he’d wanted: his question was answered. Truthfully it even felt good, it felt cleansing, to be there for her after what was clearly such a horrendous failure on his part. He’d sit here for the rest of his life if he had to, he knew, and heal every sorrow in her he could find.

It was not long after that, that Jemma returned. She entered in silence, feeling the heavy air of the room, and she slipped a tray with three cups of water onto Fitz’s bedside table. She had been planning to stay, but things were so private in here. She couldn’t tell if Daisy was crying or napping or somehow both, but she left her water, and took her leave.

All the same, her heart felt lighter when she paused outside the door. It was a heavy scene, but a healing one, if she’d read it at all correct. There was light at the end of their tunnel yet.

She slipped the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, and for the first time in what felt like a year, smiled as she walked away.

#fitzskimmons #ot3: fitzskimmons #leofitznet #aosficnet #mcubingo #aosfic #agents of shield #clara's fic tag #Anonymous #ask me stuff

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monochromemedic · 6 years

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Bath time

This isn’t smut it’s just long and probably really cringy and awkward but I mean I spent time writing it so.

King angrily chattered at Bim who drew his hand back and yelped, looking around nervously. “Come on King, when are you going to turn back to normal huh? I mean i’m giving you a sandwich, you love sandwiches!” King backed into a corner of the house, giving a low hiss before swiping at Bim’s hand, causing him to drop the sandwich and back up. “Son of a bitch! Come on King you drew blood!” Bim hissed threw his teeth, grabbing his now bleeding hand. King huffed and began to gnaw on the sandwich on the floor before picking it up in his mouth and running away. I walked up behind Bim seeing King run off before looking at Bim. “How’s it going?” “How do you think it’s going it’s like dealing with a feral cat!” Bim sighed and rolled his eyes, taking his hand away from the wound to see the bleeding marks. “With how much King has been acting I wouldn’t be surprised if I got some strange disease now. Some... squirrel flu.” Bim looked over at me before looking back at King who was a few feet away, gulping down the lunch meat sandwich. “I don’t know what he sees in you that’s different then us. Listen I gotta clean this up before it gets infected. You try to talk some sense into him oh ‘squirrel whisperer’ “ He huffed as he walked away towards the bathroom. “Don’t... call me that” I called after him before giving up and turning to King. He looked scraggy, a little dirtier then he had been ever since he turned feral. Probably out chasing rabbits. The day was nice after all. As I walked up to him I noticed how deteriorated his clothes were becoming. It was shredded at some points, other points there where gaping holes, showing dirty, scarred skin. I squatted down next to King, earning a small guttural noise of acknowledgement as he finished the last bite of the sandwich. “Hey buddy... You can’t go around scratching Bim like that.” I whispered softly, looking down at his hands. His nails were dirty and sharp, almost like claws. How they could go from looking like normal nails to something like that in just a matter of a month was beyond what anyone knew. Dr. Iplier said something about how King was basically half animal, although it wasn’t until he went feral did I suddenly began to see how animalistic he could be. Before it was just his strange pad like features on his hands and feet, and the occasional glance at a fang or a lit up eye in the dark. But now? It was if he wasn’t the same man. “You’re really dirty King. Maybe we should give you a bath. You use to love bathes but... when was the last time you took one?” I asked him grabbing a hand and looking it over in mine. It was large and filthy, incredibly gritty. He kept his eyes on my hands, wary but trusting that I wouldn’t try to attack My eyes met his and I smiled, ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead, earning a soft grunt from him before getting up. “Come on, let’s see what I can do.” It took a while of stopping, calling his name and moving again for him to get the idea that I wanted him to follow me as I took him into the nearest bathroom which Bim just happened to be leaving, a fresh bandaid on his scratch. “God!” Bim jumped, a hand going to his chest “What are you doing? You know he’s following you right?” I nodded my head as King scooted behind me, chattering as Bim eyed him up, swallowing hard. “What are you gonna do with him?” Bim asked before looking back at me “Don’t tell me your planning on bathing him...” I gave a weak smile before Bim shook his head and began to walk away. “It’s gonna be like bathing a cat the size of a full grown man... Your just gonna put your hand in a blender and i’m not about that today.” I shook my head and looked to King as Bim walked away “You wouldn’t do that to me would you King?” I asked as I shut the door behind us and grabbed a towel. King circled around on the floor and gave a soft grumble as I started the bath, feeling the temperature of the water. “King you wanna jump in? It’s really nice come on feel” I said holding my wet hand out to him. He lowered his head and began to sniff before taking his tongue and lapping up the water. I shuttered and pulled my hand back, giving a little laugh as my face turned pink. “No King don’t drink it. We gotta bathe your dirty ass. Come on get in the tub.” King’s eyes stared up at me before peaking his head over the side of the tub seeing the bath begin to fill up. He seemed interested at least, his hand began to dip into the water. “Isn’t that nice? Don’t you wanna go in and get all clean?” A small chatter came out of him before he sat back down on the ground. I smiled and took his cloak beginning to take that off. “Come on the first couple of days you loved running around naked. We basically had to glue these clothes to you. Besides I don’t think running around in wet clothes would be good. Gotta give you some new ones.” I muttered to myself as I began to take off his shirt or what was left of it. He seemed to get the hint and chattered, curling around and beginning to scratch as his pants, tearing it off literally. “I mean... we could of... tried to stitch that back up but I guess not.” I sighed. King smiled wide and hopped into the tub with a splash, causing water to get everywhere. “Great...” I muttered. I got up and turned off the faucet, looking at King happily dunking his head under the water before looking back up at me. I smiled back, grabbing the soap and beginning to douse a loofah with it, searching him up and down for the best part to start. I could feel my cheeks reddening at his nudity, trying not to focus on that and instead beginning to scrub his shoulders. The water was already turning a disgusting shade of dirty brown from the filth rubbing off of him. I had a feeling that I would probably have to fill the tub back up with fresh water as some point if this kept up. King didn’t seem to want to be clean and instead wanted to splash around in the water or bite at the bubbles. “King stay still come on... just for a little while. Doesn’t that feel good to get all clean?” I asked him as he chomped at a bubble and began to scrunch his face up. I bit my lip and tried to stifle a laugh as he coughed and stuck his tongue out, beginning to growl lowly at the bubbles. “Aw sweetie... It’s just a bubble it’s not gonna hurt you doofus.” I began to rub down his chest and back, feeling his wet muscles under the soap. At some points he closed his eyes and gave a small mutter under his breath. I was just glad he wasn’t splashing around anymore, it was much easier to clean him. With him calm I moved to his legs, scrubbing them down as well as I could. He began to squirm again, giving little grunts and groans as he tried to tug away. “Oh stop it i’m almost done. Besides I didn’t get to squish your little beans yet.” I chuckled poking the cat like pad under his foot. He gave a loud squeak and pulled away quickly, loudly chattering and trying to make himself low in the tub. “Aw come on don’t be like that I was saying you were cute King... besides I gotta wash your hair.” I began to scratch his head, slowly adding shampoo and beginning to scrub the dirt out. I was lucky he loved getting his head scratched, his body slowly lifting from the tub and getting as close as he could to my hand. “At least we can do this... that’s right good boy.” I cooed to him as he began to purr, closing his eyes and moaning. I began to push him back into the tub, grabbing a cup and filling it with water before dumping it over his head. The water spilled over his face, causing him to sputter and shake his head. “Ack! I’m sorry King! Come on stop doing that!” I asked, covering my face from the dirty water hitting my face. King was already exiting the tub, beginning to shake his whole body before nudging against me, asking for more head scratches. I stared at him, shaking my head and draining the tub before covering him in the towel. “We use a towel. We don’t shake like a dirty dog ok?” King’s eyes darted over me as I began to rub him down, cleaning him up the best as I could before he darted off naked into the house like I knew he would. He stayed for a lot long then I thought, getting most of him dry before I opened the door and let him loose. He took off like a bat out of hell, scrambling around the house and earning screams from the other egos. I could only laugh as I got up and tried to clean the mess we left behind as best as I could before moving to the couch and collapsing. Although washing him was easier then I thought, it still wasn’t easy per say. Trying to keep a grown animal man in a tub and NOT splash around was hard when he was probably three times as strong as you. I closed my eyes and slumped down, trying to relax when I felt a weight on the couch beside me. My eyes shot open as a naked, still wet King began to climb on to my lap, resting his head on my lap and looking up at me with tired but thankful eyes. My cheeks couldn’t help but turn tomato red but I knew I couldn’t force him off. This was his way of repaying me after all, or at least from what I could guess. My hand pressed against his wet hair and began to scratch, earning a happy chirp form the king. “I think they just got you all wrong King. You’re a good boy. I know you are.”

#king of the squirrels #feral!kots #is that how you do aus idk

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