#cotton clipper

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 20 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader-oc]

summary: no more running. no more cages.

words: 10.7 k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for S&V John Walker (it's a warning), SA, death, violence, gore

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. Spicy smutty situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. Drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't know these TWs by now, then don't go here.

Back to Part 19.

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Part 20

Once when she was a little girl, she cut her baby sister’s nails. She had to. It was something that their mother would have done—should have done—but she hadn’t been home in several days. Her older sister had the most experience, but she was stuck working a double shift. Rebecca had been sick with a cold for days, and Selena was just a toddler. 

After all, it was her job to look after her younger siblings.

So that left Honey in charge. 

Poor Gabriella. The infant couldn’t stop scratching her face. Red lines marked up her round cheeks like tiger stripes. Honey knew if any of the children had too many marks, people would start to notice. Then something bad would happen, her mother assured her. People would come and take Gabriella away.

She tried everything to prevent the baby from digging her tiny claws into her own skin. She tried rolled socks as makeshift mittens. She tried using a bath towel as a swaddle, but that turned out to be an awful idea once the infant realized she was stuck and didn’t like being restrained. 

By contrast, being tied up wasn’t something that ever bothered Honey.

The obvious solution was to trim her nails. She had to. It had to be done. They didn’t own a pair of nail clippers, Honey knew that. But it was on her to fix things. She was in charge. So she took a pair of kitchen scissors and tried her best. 

After that, she was never okay with the sight of blood.

It used to bother her tremendously. She’d become agitated for a few days out of every month. Her other sisters would joke about it. ‘She must be on her period.’ They were right. 

As a teenager, the smallest knick from shaving her legs in the shower would send her into a dizzy spiral. Over time, it got better. John changed that.

Mrs. Walker became an expert at cleaning up blood. She learned to ignore the smell or at least put a dab of Vicks beneath her nose to block the stench. 

The only helpful thing she learned in high school chemistry was how blood cells expanded when coming in contact with warm water. Thus, her teacher told her, cold water was best for removing blood stains. 

“You know. In case you ever have to hide a dead body.” 

It was a joke. Until it wasn’t.

John changed that.

She sat on the tiled floor of her bathroom, shoulders slumped and expression blank. Now, it was impossible to get rid of the blood on her hands. She could strip off her clothes and burn them, but she felt it on her skin. She could shove an entire eucalyptus tree up her nose, but the scent would linger.

She was stained in rust colors, starkly contrasting the pristine ivory of her bathroom. Silently, she gazed at how the blood crusted on her skin, following the ridges of her pores like brush strokes in oil paint. The cotton hoodie and joggers she’d been wearing were soaked through. There had been so much carnage and death she didn’t even know whose blood she was wearing.

Helen’s. Johnny’s. Her own, probably. Blood from ‘that’ guy, whose scalp was torn off.

Eddie’s blood.

All that was left of his life stained her skin. She should be nauseous by now. She should be at least a little woozy. But, instead, the thought of just washing him away made her want to die inside. 

She would wear it, then. Needed to wear it—she had to. On her arms and face. On her neck. On her chest, like a scarlet letter. Irreversably stained.

Is this what it means to be desensitized to gore? 

Indeed, she felt nothing at all.

What happened, happened. The Bunker was in shambles. It would take months to repair. Would have if Peter hadn’t instructed them to burn everything left.

Every piece of incriminating evidence, every tool at their disposal, and every chapter of their history was on fire underground. Nothing would be left, no matter when the fire department showed up. Johnny had re-routed the gas lines years ago. With the flip of a switch, everything would go up in flames. Nothing could be salvaged. It would be an empty cave filled with useless, charred artifacts from an irrelevant time.

On second thought—she considered—that’s what she felt.

It was as good of a description as any.

After that morning’s attack, she was dropped off at the Penthouse. Peter would follow soon after, they told her. She shouldn’t wait up.

She had limped into her bathroom to clean off the remnants of the massacre. There she remained, for over an hour. Couldn’t get up off the floor. Couldn’t force herself to get in the shower.

At this rate, she may never be clean again.

Her eyes wandered to the smartphone beside her, tucked near her thigh. 

John’s phone.

This was the weapon that killed Eddie Brock. 

The second she had entered her room, she pulled the cursed object out from the box spring. She wanted to hand it over quickly so that Peni could analyze it. Could... study it, or whatever it is that tech nerds do. Honey would do anything to fix things.

But nobody cared about the phone. It was as good as a gun without bullets. A time bomb, two seconds too late. It was of no consequence.

She picked up the smartphone, glaring down at it with contempt. Sticky red fingerprints covered the cracked screen. Her blood. Their blood.

Eventually, she came to a stand. Then, bitterly, she dropped the phone into the toilet bowl, submerging it in water. 

Peter was finally home. But it didn’t feel like home.

His home was on fire, riddled with bullet holes. Just like the home he grew up in.

He stood before the full-length mirror in his wardrobe and wiped the blood stains away with a damp, pink-tinged towel. His flesh was now rubbed raw. The cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against his tender skin.

The obvious solution was to take a proper shower. But he didn’t have time. He only needed to get enough blood off to pass in broad daylight without someone calling the cops if they saw him. He wouldn’t get very far if he looked like an ax murderer.

With all the rage he held inside, an ax was unnecessary. Overkill. And yet, not enough ‘kill.’

He had redressed in clean clothes, wearing a pair of midnight-navy trousers with creased edges that were sharp enough to cut. He paused midway through buttoning a crisp, white dress shirt, momentarily taking in the gruesome sight of himself. 

His torso was a canvas splashed with deep purples and reds, stretched over a frame of broken ribs and pinched nerves. His eyes rested on the delicate box chain around his neck, which held two gold wedding bands near his heart.

Ben and May’s wedding rings. Tarnished. Stained with blood.

He quickly reached for the towel.

Minutes later, he carefully shrugged on a matching double-breasted blazer, wincing as he pulled it over his shoulders. Every part of him felt broken, in every possible way. But physical pain hadn’t stopped him yet, not when something more important was driving him.

He regarded his reflection with tight lips. He didn’t wear this jacket too often. It was a tuxedo cut and hung looser than he was accustomed to, making his frame appear boxy. A little too retro, maybe. 

Perfect for concealing weapons. After all, he was dressing for a funeral. 

His skin prickled. He was familiar with the sensation. He recognized it instantly, like an earthy scent before a rain shower. Honey’s reflection came into view as she approached the doorway behind him.

The sight of her covered in blood made his stomach clench. He reminded himself that it wasn’t all her blood, and only then did the tension in his chest release. But not entirely.

“Thought you were getting some sleep.” Peter’s tone was flat. His eyes flicked back to his reflection as he tugged on the lapels of his blazer. 

He didn’t say it as a question; rather, he stated it as an expectation.

She stared back, unfazed, wearing a stone expression. “What are you going to do?” 

Similarly, it wasn’t a question. More like a demand.

He briefly glanced at her before returning to the mirror. His jaw set firmly. “You don’t wanna know.”

She marched into the room. “You’re going after John. I want to help.”

“Help me?” he repeated with a scoff. “I don’t think so.”

Her forehead creased, offended. “Look, I can help—”

“Just what do you think is about to happen right now?” he snapped. He squinted his eyes, turning on his heel to face her. “Ya think we’re just gonna pull up on ‘em and that’s it? Ya think he’s just sittin’ around at home watching TV?”

“No,” she said. Her tone was unwaveringly resolved. “I think he’s expecting you to come after him.” 

“No shit,” Peter sighed with frustration. “I’m expecting to be expected.” He fixed a stern gaze on her, tension pulling at his vocal cords. “Only difference is I don’t care if he knows I’m comin’, or how many cops are in my way. There’s only one way this ends, and it ends bloody. And you don’t want any part of it.”

He brushed past her and stomped towards his bureau. Her eyes followed each movement, crackling with lightning bolts. “Fuck you, telling me what I want!” she hissed. “This is my mess, too!”

He pivoted toward her. “And what, ya think killing him is gonna fix it?” His face went grim, sorrow etched into his features. Remorse welled in the bottom of his eyes. “Think it gets easier after that? Ya think it’ll make you somehow feel better—?”

“I don’t care about feeling better!” she barked back. He neatly flinched at the sharpness of her tone. Fury bubbled beneath her skin. “The only thing I care about is that he suffers.”

Peter contemplated her for a quiet moment. “Well,” he said, voice soft. His melancholy briefly overshadowed his rage. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

He didn’t meet her eye. Instead, he studied the grain of the wood beneath his feet, letting his shoulders deflate. He looked beyond tired, deep lines creasing his features and flecks of gray in his beard. Yet, when he lifted his chin, his eyes were resolute. He arched his path to avoid her.

Unsatisfied, she trailed him with fire in her eyes. “How will you know where to find him?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Who’s going with you?”

“Stop asking questions, Honey.”

She grasped him by the shoulder and yanked him around to face her. “Jesus Christ! The phone is gone, you unbelievable asshole! Do you really think I’d tell anyone—?”

“You’re not getting involved,” he stated firmly.

“Not involved? Are you fucking serious?!”

“Too many people have already gotten hurt.”

“Holy shit,” she blanched, freezing in place. Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re not telling the others, are you?”

He paused, for eons, she thought. Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but it was useless under her scrutiny. His eyes were ablaze with stubborn resolve, lips in a line. He turned his back and continued down the staircase.

Blinking rapidly, she watched him walk away. She felt dizzy, but not from weakness. Instead, rage pulsed through her veins, each blood cell embedded with fear. She rushed after him, hot on his heels. 

“You’re going in alone?” she growled, her nose crinkled. “That’s your fucking genius plan? Go in, guns blazing, and hope you don’t get yourself killed?!”

“I have no intention of getting killed,” Peter said. “Not unless I’m taking him with me.”

His reaction enraged her further as they approached the base of the stairs. “Who does that work out for, huh?” she spat. 

Ignoring her, he marched on. Peter spotted one of the guards standing watch outside his office door. “Rollins!” he ordered, voice booming. “Bring the car ‘round.”

“Yes, sir—”

“Rollins, don’t you dare bring the car around!” she commanded, blocking Peter’s path and skewering him with a defiant glare. It was as if she dared him to move her. His dark eyes flashed angrily as he clenched his jaw. He looked as if he was considering it.

Rollins stared at the two of them, back and forth. Frozen with indecision. 

Enraged by his sudden hesitancy, Peter’s nostrils flared. He shot a dangerous glare at the guard before glancing down at the young woman with ire. 

He lifted his gaze back to his man, narrowing his eyes. “Rollins...” Through gritted teeth, his guard’s name sounded more like a declaration of war. 

Rollins sprang into action. “On it, sir.”

As his guard disappeared, she kept her feet rooted to the floor like a mythical beast guarding a castle. She breathed flames from her mouth and conjured curses and plagues with her gaze.

“You asshole—you’re in such a hurry to kill yourself!” she said viciously. “Who for, huh?! You think this is about the others? For Miles? You’re not doing this for us, Peter! And you’re not doing it for Eddie, either!”

“You’re damn right, I’m not!” he snapped indignantly, jabbing his finger into his bruised sternum. “I’m not doing this for anybody but myself!” 

Heat radiated from him in waves, like steam from a hot spring. He bent his neck, leering over her. Volume dropped low, his voice thickened into a threatening rumble. “If I were doing this for Eddie,” he said, “I’d make ‘em watch me kill everything he ever loved, ya feel me? ‘Course, I highly doubt you were ever on that list, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “So this is, what, payback? Your stupid, dick-measuring way of defending my honor?”

“This isn’t about you, Honey,” he said, dark as night. He leaned down until his lips were inches from her forehead, eyes as cold and sharp as a jagged iceberg. “If it was—knowing what I know now,” he added breathily, “I promise you—it wouldn’t be anything like this.”

A misleading smirk formed on his lips, betraying the brutality staining his thoughts. She felt the heat of his rage in each whispered word. 

“No,” he said, deathly grave. “For what he did to you—I would keep him alive for as long as I possibly could.”

The unabashed, murderous smile on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Her discomfort didn’t faze him this time. He didn’t care how scared she was of him. If anything, the more afraid she was, the better.

“He’s a disease,” Peter ranted, directing his frustration back towards himself, “that I’ve allowed to spread. He’s a threat to everything I give a damn about! And I will not let him hurt somebody else I lo—”

Blinking, he cut the sentence short, just millimeters from a leap he wasn’t willing to take. She stared intently up at him, unaware that she was holding her breath.

He pursed his lips, eyes heavy with regret. He looked away, avoiding her gaze while he composed himself. Finally, he took in a slow, tense breath. “I need to do this, Honey,” he whispered ruefully. He had calmed slightly, swallowing back his rage. 

The only thing left behind was a tiny, heartbroken remark. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.” The corners of his mouth turned down sharply. 

She didn’t hesitate. “Even if that were true, you don’t need to do it alone.”

He shook his head in frustration. “Why are you so desperate to know what it’s like to kill somebody?”

A vicious yell burst out of her mouth. “I already have killed somebody!” she shouted, as if it were obvious. Her voice echoed off the walls while anguish pooled in her eyes. “It’s my fault Eddie is dead! I know it is—”

He shook his head again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine—”

“Of course, it’s your fault!” she roared. “It’s both of our faults!” 

The comment stunned him, only slightly less than the bitterness of her tone. He snapped his mouth closed, taken aback. 

Despair twisted her face, and anger lit up her eyes. “Don’t you get it?” She was green with sickness, spitting out words like they were poison. “This is what he does! He turns people against each other!” 

Peter stayed quiet as he observed her intensity. Her feet were rooted while her whole body raged, “He turns you against yourself! He twists you up until you can’t even trust your own instincts! Until you hate yourself enough to feel like you had it coming!”

A dam had broken, and a river of acid spilled through her lips. Resentment from years of abuse writhed in her chest like a tsunami, threatening to flood every street in New York. Her fingers itched to wrap around the collective necks of the city and drown it in her devastation.

She pointed at Peter, eyes flashing furiously. “You’re willing to get yourself killed because you feel responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened!” She jabbed her thumb back at herself. “I’m willing to suffer in silence because I feel responsible for every bad thing that’s happened!”

“Meanwhile,” she added, with a livid hiss, “John Mother Fucking Walker—who is actually responsible for all of this—feels Nothing. At. All!  Because he is a fucking psychopath!” 

Peter blinked, contemplating her in silence. Her firm eyes narrowed on him. “That’s how he beats us, Peter!” she exclaimed. “Fear! Guilt! That’s how he wins!”

The frustration in her voice reverberated off of the walls, sending a tremor that penetrated the bedrock. Peter observed her, stoic save for the sorrow in his gaze. 

Her chest heaved as unshed tears dampened her lashes. Exhausted, she sighed heavily. “I am tired of letting him win,” she said in exasperation. She was more composed but no less grave. “And if you think you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do—which is go after him alone—then that’s exactly what will happen.”

Peter’s eyes glistened, red-rimmed and raw. His silence stretched on forever until she was nearly inclined to  choke him for a response. Eventually, he simply bowed his head, casting his eyes down.

“What if fear and guilt are the only things I have left?” It was a meek, feeble reply from someone so powerful. She blinked up at him, watching as he chewed on his lower lip. “Wish it wasn’t that way. I wish I had—” 

He stopped, leaving the thought unfinished.

“Doesn’t matter what I wish, does it?” he said. “Doesn’t matter what coulda been.”

A crease formed between her brows. Her face softened. “Peter—”

“Just let me say this, please,” he blurted out with urgency as if the words would claw their way from his chest. “I need to.” She regarded his desperate gaze, and eventually, she bobbed her head gently.

He gazed down at her. His lower lip twitched for a moment. “I had my suspicions about your past,” Peter explained mournfully. “Knew something bad happened, but... bad shit happens to everyone, though. First, I thought it was your mother. Then after Pym, I... I figured it was some old boyfriend, some jerk who treated you like trash.” 

Her face flushed red. When she looked back at him, his glazed eyes were fixed on her. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. With shards of glass on his tongue, he murmured, “I-I didn’t know... wh-what he—”

“I don’t blame you, Peter, if that’s what you think—”

“I didn’t wanna know,” he firmly replied, silencing her. Guilt weighed down his features. “Didn’t wanna ask, if I’m bein’ honest.” He gulped, nearly choking on his words like a razor blade stuck in his throat. “I was afraid of what I would do if I knew the truth.” 

She felt warmth sting her eyes, tears budding at the corner of her lids. 

“I thought, I guess—” Peter’s voice tremored before he pressed on. “I-I thought I could save you. From what, I didn’t even know. Maybe that was my mistake all along.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, eyes heavy with shame. “I was so stupid. I’m the one that let him in. I let this act—this dance between us—I let it go on.” He sniffed with a bleary gaze. “He played me against me,” he declared with finality. “My fear. My doubt, self-hatred—whatever you wanna call it. Whatever voice in my head that tells me... th-that you... You could never love somebody like me.”

She flinched at that. Her resolve to remain stoic buckled under her feet.

His eyes dropped to his feet. “I told myself this was just business, and that if the Feds could use you, so could I.” Vulnerability poured from his eyes as they met hers. “I pretended it didn’t kill me every time you looked me in the face and lied.” 

Despite his apology, her stomach twisted with shame. 

“And each time it happened,” he explained, “I couldn’t figure out what they had on you. Something awful, I figured. Something that scared the shit out of you.”

Peter looked at her somberly, lower lip wobbling and eyes dark with regret. “I thought it was me.” 

Her face crumpled at his admission, grief seizing her at last. She bit down on her lip to keep a sob from escaping. 

“It’s like he already won,” he said, with a broken soul. “I thought I was the one he wanted.” He sniffed, peeking down at her through wet lashes. Deep, raw heartache thickened his voice. “Turns out, it was you all along. And I led him straight to you.” 

Her vision flooded with tears at his admission. It sounded like a confession from a dying man. After a few gut-wrenching moments, Peter lifted his chin and met her eyes, resolved. “That’s why I’m doing this without you, Honey. This is my mistake to fix.”

Overwhelmed with grief, she stared up at him in a daze. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently shook her head to protest. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. It sounded like a eulogy.

His eyes glistened as he nodded, love and loss in their depths. “Me too.” 

He gazed at her, the coffee color of his irises shining bittersweet. She stared up at him in adoration and agony. She debated whether she should wrap her arms around him and cry or kiss him dizzy. 

He paused, letting his eyes linger, then turned away and trodded down the hall. “I’m gonna fix this, Honey,” he said. “I promise. You’re free.”

Perplexed, she darted after him. “Wh-what—?”

“No more running, no more cages,” he resolutely replied. She followed closely as he approached the oak doors to his office. “Won’t hafta be afraid of anyone comin’ after you. Not Fisk. Not me. And not some asshole ex. ‘Cos win or lose...I’m ending this. Tonight.”

She fluttered her lashes with concern, following him blindly into the room. 

“Why wait?”

Honey stopped short in her tracks like her feet had been fused to the floor. Peter froze. Swayed dizzily. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck didn’t just prickle, as they had been since the beginning of their conversation. It inverted, the sensation feeling like his skin had peeled off and been turned inside out.

John Walker coolly watched them come to a sudden stop. He lounged back casually in the executive desk chair with a devil-may-care expression and his leather oxfords up on the tabletop. Stunned, they stared at the lithe man with growing alarm. The icy blue of his eyes twinkled with delight at their fear, fixing them with a Cheshire smile. 

“Why don’t we do this right now?” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Each bruised muscle in Peter’s body went rigid. In a matter of moments, he was hit with a surge of emotion that he barely managed to contain beneath his skin. Pupils dilated, fingers shaking, heart pounding—fury washed over him, and all Walker had to do was smile. 

Over the sound of blood rushing, Peter registered the fluttering palpation of her heart.

His Heart. 

His Honey.

She was terrified. 

It reminded him of the moment she walked in on the meeting between him and “Steve,” only this time it was worse. 

An arctic chill surrounded her from the ice running through her veins. She paused mid-breath, rendered motionless, eyes wide with horror. For a moment Peter worried if she would ever start breathing again.

His palms began to tingle. He kept his attention straight ahead, while he fought between the urge to comfort her and the visceral need to tear John’s face from his skull. 

Before he could do either, another warning sensation—sharp and jagged, like his name being carved into a chalkboard with a steak knife—sliced through his brain.

After having been suppressed, ignored, and nearly incapacitated by the Symbiote, his senses were in overdrive. Every cell in his body alerted him to impending danger, which came in the form of footsteps.

He turned quickly, dragging Honey behind his back, as he laid eyes on the new threat. Three of his guards, Malick, Ward, and Rollins—fucking Rollins—stepped into the room. Ward and Malick were vigilant with their weapons drawn, but Rollins sauntered at a leisurely pace. He glanced over at his boss, unworried, and a malicious grin widened his lips. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he realized that their bullets were meant for him. He frowned sourly, betrayed. “Jack,” Peter coldly muttered, hiding his disappointment beneath the threat in his tone. “Wha’cha up to?”

Rollins simply shrugged. “Sorry, Boss,” he smirked. “‘S’just business.” 

Peter’s eyes darkened as he observed Gideon Malick aim his pistol at Honey, while Grant Ward slammed the office door closed, locking them in. With Rollins drawing his sidearm, three guns were now trained on him and the shaking woman behind him. 

Peter couldn’t see her face but didn’t need to. He could feel her fear radiating through his fingertips. Her body became both lighter and heavier as if her bones had turned to water. He sensed her increasing dissociation, barely tethered to the Earth and dangling at the end of his reach. Only terror cemented her feet in place. She was sluggish as he pushed her closer into his back as if he could somehow hide her there.

“I have to say, Pete,” John called to him matter-of-factly. Peter split his attention between his backstabbing guards and the monster seated behind his desk. “At first, I was impressed with your organization. But it seems like you have a few serious issues with staff retention to sort out.” John spoke with a self-satisfied smirk, kicking his feet off of the desk and coming to a relaxed stance. “You should think about setting up a meeting with H.R.”

“Believe me,” Peter glowered at John, briefly glancing at Rollins with clenched teeth. “It’s a priority.”

John took an unrushed stroll to the front of the desk before leaning back on the corner’s edge. He moved through the office as if it was his home. It was unnerving for Peter to consider how many times he might have been there without his knowledge, with his treacherous guards granting him access to anything he wanted.

“‘Course, I always thought you shoulda gone into human trafficking,” John said, with a mockingly sincere tone. A crease split Peter’s brow, his face twisting with revulsion. “You would’ve made a very lucrative pimp.” 

Peter glared at him, disgusted, as he chuckled softly at his own joke. The laugh faded, as did the humor in John’s ice-blue eyes. They narrowed with contempt, looking beyond Peter to the trembling girl behind him. 

“Lord knows you got the world’s biggest whore right behind you,” he sneered maliciously. “With a mouth like hers, you’ll get anything you want. If you throw in an extra five-thousand dollars, of course.”

Peter felt her bristle at the jab, and he reached back further to steady her. 

“Don’t look at her,” he ordered coldly, never breaking eye contact. “You don’t get to look at her. Ever.”

The blonde snickered, licking his lips scandalously. “Oh, I’ve done a whole lot more than just look.” 

Peter’s jaw tensed at that. 

John’s humorless gaze turned into a cold glare. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he added vindictively, “but that’s my wife you have behind you.”

Despite his own outrage, Peter kept a straight face. He listened intently, studying how Walker’s nostrils flared and how his pulse sped up at the sight of the couple embracing. 

Good, he thought. He needed every second of time he could get. 

Peter took a step backward with her, slowly approaching the wall. 

His eyes lightened, and a callous smirk formed on his lips. “You mean that’s ‘your wife’ I’ve had beneath me,” Peter sneered lewdly. 

The remark splintered beneath John’s skin. Peter watched with satisfaction at how the blonde’s brow twitched. He could smell the agitation leaking out through his pores. 

“Yeeaah,” Peter chuckled mockingly, fueling John’s anger. “She told me all about you. Short story. If ya catch my drift.”

Peter took another step backward, bumping her along, teeth flashing with amusement. “In fact,” he parried, matching John’s sardonic tone, “maybe you should talk to a doctor about your little problem. You know, instead of torturing women.” 

John glowered with his lower lip curled. “Well. Since we’re sharing.” He tilted his head with a predatory grin, while his eyes shot daggers at them. “I wouldn’t trust everything she says. The girl’s a freak. She tell ya about all of her filthy rape fantasies, too?”

Her breath hitched. A tiny shiver racked through her body. It was barely noticeable to the other men, but to Peter, it felt like a tectonic movement. He could hear the way her stomach shifted, her nausea roaring in like a rising tide. 

“She likes it rough,” John snarked. “It’s practically the only thing that gets her off. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” Inwardly, Peter seethed, resentment darkening his gaze.

“‘Course not. Why take my word for it?” John laughed, having momentarily taken the upper hand. He glanced around at the other traitors mirthlessly before turning back to Peter. “Why don’t we just find out for ourselves?”

Peter’s anger spiked at the insinuation, rage stuttering his heartbeat. He watched as John glanced at Rollins and the other men with a menacing grin. Cruel laughter trickled from the traitors that made his blood boil further.

He took a measured breath. “I know you boys don’t know me that well,” Peter remarked calmly. “But lemme be very clear.” He slid his eyes over and leveled a threatening glare at the men behind Rollins. “Anyone touches her, and I’ll send ya back home to your families in garbage bags.” 

Peter’s men dropped their smiles suddenly. He heard a stutter in the heartbeats coming from that direction as they attempted to suppress their reaction. “Don’t take my word for it,” he said directly to Rollins with a murderous gaze. “You know what I’m capable of, Jackie.”

“Is that what you did to Gwen?”

Peter’s anger spread through him like epinephrine as John carelessly spat out his deceased wife’s name. His shoulders tensed, and the cords in his neck pulled tautly. 

“You send her back to her daddy in a body bag?” John snickered. “Sure—Call me a shitty husband. But at least my wife never took a swan dive off of the Brooklyn Bridge.” 

The fresh swell of rage in Peter’s belly twisted him into knots. A gentle press from a tiny palm on the middle of his back was the only thing that anchored him. 

“Oof. Hit a nerve, did I?” John grinned with satisfaction at how the color drained from Peter’s eyes and complexion. “What else did you two lovebirds talk about?” he said. “She tell ya about our little talks late at night?” He grinned salaciously. “Lotsa juicy stuff.”

Peter swallowed hard, unflinching. 

“She told me everything,” Walker continued. “Her plan to seduce you. To pretend she cared about you. How much she despised you.” John tilted his head, musing. “How’d you put it, Peach? You could ‘never love a monster like him’?” 

He heard a soft gasp from behind him. As strong as their resolve was, the remark punctured its armor. Honey clenched the fabric of his jacket, her touch pleading for forgiveness. Steadfast, Peter took another careful step backward, keeping her close.

“‘Course, that’s no big surprise,” John continued ruthlessly. He could see through Peter’s indifference, knowing each word cut into him like a jigsaw. “‘Everyone that ever loved you is dead.’ Ain’t that right?”

Honey gripped Peter’s shoulder tighter, a swell of nausea creeping up her esophagus. Her vocal cords were paralyzed, with nothing but a whimper escaping her lips. “No...” she muttered breathlessly, stunned and enraged by the twisting of her words.

“Poor, pitiful Peter Parker,” John said in a sing-song voice. “Sad, psychotic little orphan boy. No mommy. No daddy. His aunt and uncle both turned into swiss cheese.” He punctuated each word with viciousness, spitting them out like curdled milk. “Clinging desperately onto the memory of his dead whore.”

Nostrils flaring, Peter glowered at John, dipping his chin. Another step backward nearly had the woman behind him up against the wall, backing her carefully up to a marble-top bar. “Gloat all you want, asshole,” Peter mumbled with disdain. “She still dumped you.”

John’s eyes flashed red with a serpentine hiss sliding off his forked tongue. “And yet, I’m the one that finger-fucked your girl while you were on your little date! Greedy slut was wetter than a swamp when I touched her—”

“Liar!” she screamed, voice cracking like shattered glass. 

She lunged forward but Peter blocked her. He practically shoved her back, her spine hitting the edge of the bar. A chorus of chuckles erupted, with Rollins, Ward, and Malick joining in on John’s amusement. She stumbled backward, using her hands to steady herself until she came in contact with a metal object on the bar top.

A camera.

Peter’s old camera. On top of the box disguised as a book.

Both items were out of place. 

Presented out in the open, where they shouldn’t have been.

Honey’s eyes darted back up to the front. 

“S’okay, Honey,” Peter muttered, his glare still trained on Walker. He held his arms behind his back as if to hide her from view. It formed a ‘cage,’ concealing her movements as she stealthily shifted the camera, keeping her eyes forward. “The longer this clown talks, the more desperate he sounds.” 

John’s eyes flashed with malice. “Oh, you wanna hear what desperate sounds like? How ‘bout I push your little bitch off the roof, huh? Have your men make you watch me turn another woman you love into Humpty Dumpty. She’ll be runny eggs on the sidewalk in a matter of seconds—”

“Why are you all still smiling?” Peter sharply cut him off. He shifted his glare from John to his snickering accomplices. “Is it ‘cos you're scared? Or are ya just that stupid?” The laughing ceased immediately as Peter fixed John with a cold gaze. “Either way, you’re about to be a dead man.”

With her hands behind her back, she blindly fumbled to lift the lid of the box. Her fingers scavenged across the bottom, expecting to find a weapon of some kind, or a knife, or perhaps even—

“Lookin’ for this?” John said. The bang of a gunshot deafened her. 

A splatter of wet, hot liquid covered her cheek and she flinched at the sound of an agonized cry. She screamed. At the gunshot. At the blood. And at the sight of Peter dropping forward to his knees in excruciating pain. 

“No! No! No!” 

She could hear her own shrieking in the distance as she grasped at him. Groaning, he writhed in agony. His hand, once again bloody, clutched a bullet hole piercing his upper right shoulder. She threw her already-stained palms over his, adding his blood to the fresco decorating her flesh.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Lip wobbling, she glanced up with wide eyes as John pointed Peter’s pistol at them menacingly. 

“Did ya really think I wasn’t gonna search this place for weapons?” he scoffed in offense, glaring at them through slitted eyes.

Nostrils flaring and teeth clenched tight, Peter breathed through the pain. He scowled up at John feeling like a flaming sword had severed his arm at the shoulder. His heart hammered as he watched John raise the pistol again, this time aiming between his brows. 

“Please, don’t!” Honey sobbed. “John, please! I’m begging you!” She wrapped her arms around Peter as if she could shield him. 

The smile faded from John’s lips. Contempt radiated from his blue eyes, turning them into blackened sapphires. “C’mon, Peach. We both know you can beg better than that.”

Peter shoved her away from him, jumping to his feet. He charged and knocked John’s aim off target. Another shot rang out and pierced the wall next to her. 

Shrieking, she dropped to the floor and cowered down. 

With one bloody hand on John’s wrist, Peter smashed him in the abs with his injured arm. He put his back muscles into the punch, snarling as the bruised flesh burned like his body was on fire.

His rage partially numbed the pain as Peter advanced forward. He shoved John back into the desk. The injuries made each move sluggish, but Peter managed to land another hit, this time to John’s face. With his other hand clenching the gun, he slammed it into the tabletop, loosening John’s grip. With another vicious whack, the weapon fell from his hand and clattered out of reach. 

Amped with adrenaline, Peter reared his uninjured arm back. Balling his fist into a cannonball, he drove it down hard enough to break through concrete. 

Right into John’s palm.

He blinked, stunned. Looked up at John. His face twisted with confusion, as the supposedly weaker man grinned smugly up at Peter. 

“Oh, yeah,” John smiled with red teeth, slowly crushing Peter’s hand like an empty aluminum can. “And then there’s that.”

With a flick of John’s wrist, he inverted Peter’s arm and tossed his body like a garbage bag. Peter collided with the wall and toppled to the ground, sending plaster and drywall raining down. 

John straightened up, taking labored breaths as he adjusted his light blue collar, now dotted with tiny spots of crimson. He fixed Peter with a wry smile. “I know about your little science experiments, too,” he smirked. “Your buddy Eddie stole the outdated model. Say ‘hello’ to Anti-Venom.”

John rolled his shoulders, tipping his head to crack his neck. As his joints popped, he rolled his eyes back into his skull—literally. Honey gaped with horror as she watched her ex-husband grin at them with a demonic stare, pure white engulfing his eyeballs. The milky, opaque clouds in his eyes seemed to part in the middle, like a crocodile opening an inner set of eyelids, revealing the dilated pupils of his sadistic stare.

Peter struggled to get on his hands and knees as John stalked towards him, feet heavy with malice. Honey screamed with almost no breath, “Peter, look out—”

In a flash, John was on him, jabbing his elbow into his back. Peter gasped at the stab to his spine, feeling another rib snap. The force slammed him chest-first back to the floor. With dazed eyes, he glanced blearily at the secret box, now tossed to the ground a few feet away. Photos of May and Ben were scattered about, among the shards of broken glass, chunks of wood, and twisted metal.

Weakened from the fall, the gunfight, and now the beating, Peter strained to reach for the box but was stopped short. Walker’s steel fingers clamped on his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. He jabbed a boulder-like fist into Peter’s sternum, violently ejecting the air from his lungs. 

Honey sprang to her feet, grabbing a chunk of wood and charging toward them. Rollins and Ward were there instantly, scooping her up and restraining her. 

She writhed desperately, screeching as they twisted her arms back. The sound of her attack vexed Peter, as he straightened his back, landing an upward thrust of his fist into John’s chin. 

“Get off of her!” he hissed at Rollins and Ward, but John intercepted him. 

Like thrashing wild animals, they pummeled each other until sweat and blood coated the floor. Yet, with every hit, John seemed unfazed. Whatever was running through his body was just as formidable as the Symbiote that had once possessed Peter. Both men tossed each other about, but Peter was at a disadvantage.

“Stop!” Honey cried out painfully in a shrill voice, which wrenched Peter’s heart. “John, don’t do this! Stop it!” 

Peter swayed with cloudy eyes as he felt John hook his fist into his jaw. It felt like being hit in the face with a brick. Right after, John landed another jab with the opposite hand. And then a third. And a fourth.

“No, John! Please stop! Just stop! Please!”

His vision blurring, Peter jabbed left, only to have his wrist caught in John’s grip. With a twirl, John wrenched Peter’s arm out of its socket. He doubled over and howled in agony, his dislocated arm hanging limply at his side.

“John, stop it, stop it, please, stop!” 

“When I’m done with you,” John whispered in Peter’s ear, “Fisk will have to scoop up what’s left of you with a shovel.”

Fighting to stay conscious, Peter met the man’s vindictive glare. John’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his. “Yeah. Wilson Fisk. I said his name. Wilson. Fisk. Meanwhile, you’re running around, afraid to say it like he’s Bloody Fucking Mary.”  

Peter was on the floor again, launched into a glass console table. Unable to break his fall, the glass and metal crunched under the momentum of his body, shattering in all directions. He rolled, coughing up blood, his face covered in bruises and cuts. His vision swam, gaze darting across the room until he spotted the secret box. 

With one arm limp, he dragged himself forward with the shoulder that had been shot, inching closer to the overturned box. He flicked the container away, his eyes landing on a delicate watch-like device. He reached for it.

John’s foot came down hard, stomping on his web shooter and crushing it beneath his foot. Peter choked back a frustrated scream, having another weapon fall short of his grasp.

“John, please! I’ll do anything you want! Just please don’t do this!”

John lifted his foot and slowly brought the sole down onto Peter’s wrist. He cried out, grimacing at the crushing pressure of the grown man standing on his forearm. 

“You know what else I call ‘em?” John said, ogling Peter as if to gloat. It was a victorious stance. He was like a giant about to crush an insect. A bloody half-smile hung on his chiseled face as he waited for Peter to make eye contact. When he finally did, John provided an answer. 

“Sir.” 

A crease formed between Peter’s brows as he gazed up at John, panting with shallow breaths. His face paled with realization.

“Yeah,” the blonde crooned with an evil smile. “That’s right.” A horrifying picture emerged from Walker’s self-satisfied expression. "Arrogant little prick. Did you think that you could beat the Kingpin?”

John crouched down low, leering over Peter like a vulture about to peck on its prey while it was still living. 

“Did you think changing your name and hiding underground would stop him from wiping you off the face of the Earth if he really wanted to?” Walker sneered in disgust. “You’re only still alive because he allows it!”

Honey sobbed with tears streaming down her face as John revealed his hand to them. Beside her, Rollins chuckled darkly, relishing in his boss’ despair. 

“You have the audacity to run your mouth all over town,” John hissed, pouring putrid waste into Peter’s ear, “like you’re gonna walk him right up to the Pearly Gates! Like you’re judge, jury, and executioner! The monster at the end of his book!”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, rage boiling beneath his battered flesh. John reached down, gripping him by his thick tuft of hair and wrenching it back. The action forced Peter to gaze up at him; his neck bent backward and vulnerable. The way Walker glared at him, he half-expected the man to grow fangs and bury them in his throat.

“Well, I got news for ya, Peter Parker,” John spat out each word mockingly as he narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Fisk doesn’t give a shit what you call yourself.” He fixed Peter with a beaming grin made up of pure, sadistic evil. “He doesn’t even know who you are.” 

He let the words hang in the air as if they were going to carve themselves into Peter’s headstone. For his part, despite his physical agony, Peter held himself steady. Kept his eyes fixed on John’s. Kept his jaw set firm. Anger pooled beneath his chest, cleansing him as it spread through his body.

“Guess you’ll have to explain it to ‘em next time you see ‘em,” Peter muttered, his lip curled into a snarl. “Might be curious to know who it was that killed him.”

The smile dropped from John’s eyes as a fresh wave of fury overtook him. He glared down at Peter, who fixed him with an insolent smirk. 

“And for the record,” the beaten man glowered in defiance, his gaze glittering with spite, “I’m not walkin’ him to the Pearly Gates—I’m takin’ him straight to hell. So you be sure to save him a seat... you pathetic... wife-beating sack of shit!”

John growled and pulled his arm back. Drawing on the power of the entity inside him, he envisioned putting his fist through Peter’s skull and not stopping until he hit the concrete beneath their feet.

“I won’t fight you.” 

The men froze at the tiny whimper, the voice carrying it shattered and frail. 

John glanced over to see his ex-wife hanging limply in the hold of the two guards. Her eyes were empty, her face colorless and ashen. The woman swayed like a bedsheet in the wind.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” she spoke meekly, her spirit detached from her body. “I won’t fight back. I won’t run away.”

Hopelessness marked her features as nausea threatened to choke her. She wished that it would. Drowning in her own bile was a better fate than witnessing the grin form on John’s face.

“Please,” she mewled desperately, eyes red and glossy. “You’ve already won. He doesn’t matter anymore. Let Fisk finish him off.” Her voice trembled, quivering in her throat. “You can have me. However you want me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. John leered, foaming at the corners of his mouth. Lecherous eyes appraised her from head to toe. His chest heaved with short pants, like a rabid animal in heat. 

“Atta girl,” he murmured with satisfaction before tossing Peter aside like a rag doll. 

Peter coughed raggedly, choking on his red-tinged saliva, and rolled to one side. Gripping his wrist and using his foot for leverage, he wrenched his shoulder back in place with a sickening pop. An agonized whimper squeaked out, despite his best efforts. 

John crossed the room in a few strides and gripped the woman by the throat. “No,” Peter gasped through bloody lips, exhausted and breathless from fear. “No...nono...please—”

“Where the fuck are you goin’, Boss?” Malick barked as Peter struggled to stand. The guard stalked forward, gun trained on him. 

Ward joined him, grabbing Peter by his wounded shoulder and kicking his shin out from under him. Their boss was on his knees again, held steady at gunpoint, with Ward pushing the barrel of his weapon into Peter’s temple.

When Peter looked up, John was dragging Honey by the back of her neck, scruffed at the nape like an animal. She stumbled as he forced her behind Peter’s desk, kicking the chair away. He shoved her forward. The veneer stung her cheek when she collided with it, and she let out a whimper.

“Let her go!” Peter writhed desperately. Ward whacked him over the back of the head, driving him forward. He put his foot on Peter’s spine while Malick twisted his wounded arm behind his back. With his chin scraping the floor, he peered up through the fringe of his lashes. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her! You hear me?”

“Get ‘em up,” John ordered coldly. “He’s gonna wanna see this.”

With a hand on his hair and his arms locked in place, Peter’s men yanked him to his feet. He pulled himself forward, only to have Ward dig his fingers into the bullet hole, tearing at his flesh. They pulled him back down on his knees, driving a foot into his calf. Helplessly, Peter writhed, thrashing against their hold a few mere yards away from the terrified girl. 

John sauntered up behind Honey, a smug grin plastered on his face. The woman lay motionless like a possum, bent over the edge of the desk. She stared at the mess of objects on Peter’s desk, shards of the battle. They shifted in and out of focus as her glossy eyes welled with tears. She let her mind take flight, drifting off to a cabin in the mountains. 

“No!” Peter felt his voice crack and a scream lodge in his throat. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Walker! Ya, hear me? Look at me, you sonuvabitch! I’ll rip ya apart, sweartogod—” 

John glanced at Rollins who kept careful watch over his boss. “If he makes a move, put a bullet in his back. That way he can still watch me snap her neck like a toothpick.”

Panic surged through Peter at the order, his amber eyes bright with terror. “I’m the one you want, yeah?” he pleaded, chest heaving. “Fight me like a man, you fuckin’ coward!”

John ignored him. He pressed his hips up against the seat of Honey’s joggers. He gripped the collar of her zip-up hoodie, tearing it down her shoulders.

She was elsewhere. Watching Peter’s fingers dance across the ivory keys of a piano. She liked being wherever she was. It was always easier for her to go there. Always easier for her to run away.

John ran his greedy hands down her spine and back up again beneath the filthy camisole she wore. His touch felt like a centipede crawling across her skin. A shudder racked through her as vomit climbed up her throat.

“Somebody’s excited,” John chuckled sadistically. 

She breathed out a silent sob. She climbed the limbs of the maple tree in her backyard. Picturing the home she would make there one day.

John leaned down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Just like old times. Ain't that right, Peach?”

It was like being shocked by electricity. Letting her fingertips brush against the metal of a wall plug while still in the outlet. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes darkened. Pupils blown wide.

“I don’t like that.”

John paused as his hands reached the waistband of her sweats. He glanced up at her, still amused, eyeing the back of her head. “What’d you say?”

She blinked. Her vision sharpened. “That’s not my name.”

His brow furrowed, his agitation spiking. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

“I said ‘that’s not my name.’” Her volume grew louder, every syllable coming out sharper and more jagged. Her teeth ground together as she fixed her gaze forward, focusing on the grain of the wood. 

“My name isn’t Peach,” she hissed. Molten-hot fury filled her while her tone hardened like rapidly cooling lava. “I’m not your Peach. I’m not your Kitten.” 

Each word punctuated with a twitch in her eye and a tremor in her voice. 

“I’m not your Doll Face. Or your Whore. Or your Pawn.” 

Acid rolled off her tongue as she trembled with anger. Her rage was so thick she nearly choked on it, barely able to form words. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the desk, her spine turning to steel even as he towered over her.

“And I’m not your fucking wife,” she gritted her teeth, eyes black with hatred. “Not anymore.” 

She turned her head to glance back at John, leveling him with a vengeful look. 

“My name is Maricella Jimenez,” she hissed, sounding out each syllable carefully. “And you will remember it.” 

The hand positioned on the desk sprang forward at his face so fast that John could barely see it. His head whipped back and all he could register was white-hot, piercing pain shooting through his skull. 

John roared, reaching up with one hand to cover his face while the other hand dragged her off the desk to the ground. The guards jumped with shock, mouths agape, trying to discern what just occurred.

“Aggghhh!” John cried out with an agonized scream. Enraged, he clawed at his face, growling like a mildly-wounded grizzly bear. His thirst for blood compounded.

“Fucking bitch!” he roared, the creature inside of him twisting his vocal cords. When he straightened, half his face was covered in blood. His fingers shook as he struggled to see the damage she had done. 

His men gazed at him with dumbfounded stares. Which he could only half see. 

With a four-inch shard of broken glass from the console table lodged in his left eye socket, he’d never see anything out of that eye again. 

“You fucking bitch!” he sneered, practically drooling with outrage. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you fuckin’ bitch!” 

The sight of John’s face was nausea-inducing. Not only had the glass pierced his eye, but it sliced clean through, with half of his eyeball dangling from the nerve ending on his cheek. 

“Holy shit!” Ward gasped at the ghastly sight.

Rollins hissed at other men, their jaws still gaping wide. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, goddamnit!”

“You screwed up now, you slut!” John raged with ragged breath. “You know what you did? You assaulted a Federal Agent!” He wheeled around to spot her cowering on the floor behind the desk. He stomped toward her, murder in each footfall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea who I am???”

John grabbed her by the forearm, wrenching her up. She faced him with fire in her eyes. In her free hand, her finger curled around the trigger of Peter’s gun.

“Who gives a fuck?” she sneered.

Looking John in the eyes, she pulled the trigger, watching as his forehead imploded. The bullet ripped through his brain, tearing it apart and exploding out the back of his skull. From there, his brain matter splattered like a microwaved tomato, spraying across the room.

“Oh shit!” The guards cried out in horror, swallowing back sickness as fragments of John’s skull rained down on them.

Rollins lunged forward, his weapon still drawn. He took three steps to the edge of the desk. 

“No!” Peter howled.

Another shot rang out. Honey held the gun firmly in her grip, shooting at the first human form that approached her. Rollins grunted, eyes wide with panic, as the bullet tore through his throat. He clutched his neck as hot liquid spilled out of his severed carotid artery. His look of agony was only matched by his look of astonishment.

Peter knocked Ward’s gun away from his temple, grabbing his wrist and directing the barrel at Malick. With Ward still clutching the gun, Peter pulled the trigger and shot Malick in the side. 

Malick doubled over, releasing his hold on Peter’s wounded shoulder. Ward strained to regain control of his weapon. They struggled briefly before Peter reached behind Ward’s suit jacket and yanked a combat knife out of its sheath. He buried the blade into Ward’s ribs, before ripping it out and plunging it in again and again. With a few quick jabs, the traitor’s torso was carved up into wet spaghetti.

Malick stumbled, struggling to recover from the bullet wound. Peter’s brain buzzed as Malick attempted to shoot him. He pivoted out of the way, using Ward’s body to block the shot. 

Honey fired the gun in her hand again, the bullet hitting the ceiling, but it was enough to distract Malick away from his target.

In a few blinks, Peter was on his feet and gripping Malick by the arm. Before the treacherous guard could fire his weapon, Peter skewered him with the hunting knife, driving it into the soft flesh behind the man’s chin.

Malick’s eyes went wide as the blade impaled his mouth, piercing his tongue. Peter snatched the back of the man’s head with a steel grip, even as his hands trembled with rage. He glared into Gideon’s eyes with bloodlust, pushing the knife up further—slowly—watching Malick squirm until the blade was buried to the hilt.

The man went limp in his hold. Once Peter watched the light fade from his eyes, he released him, finally sated. 

The sirens in his head quit blaring as soon as the threat was eliminated. The intense pressure dissipated as if a boulder had been lifted off Peter’s skull. 

He let out a long, ragged breath, his body broken and yet still pulsating with adrenaline. His eyes darted to the desk. He spotted the traumatized woman that held his heart standing behind it. His face softened. Took a step towards her.

She pivoted, still clutching the gun. Aimed it at him.

Peter went still. Fawn-hued eyes went wide. He glanced down the barrel, then back up at her.

She was astral. Her soul was only tethered to her body by a thin wire. She was a kite, tossed about the atmosphere, observing the scene outside the plane of time. 

She stared at him. Barely able to breathe. Her hand shook from the weight of the gun. 

“Whoa...” he whispered, his voice soft. He lifted his hands outward in a placating gesture. 

Her eyes were glazed over. Staring right through him.

He watched, heart pounding, as she turned her gaze downwards to the river of blood that leaked from Rollins’ corpse. Heart going cold, all that was left of his life leaked out of him like a broken faucet. No more damaging than a spilled glass of wine.

Lips sealed tight, her eyes darted over to the body closest to her.

John’s body.

Her monster lay slain at her feet. His jaw hung open in a disturbing grimace, a permanent final expression. The top of his head was now a concave shell. The image of him imprinted on her, burrowing in her memories.

She had never seen so much blood in her life. It was everywhere. Beneath her fingernails. In the tiny valleys of her skin. Dripping from her hair. It stained everything.

“Honey...” She looked only vaguely aware of Peter as he cooed gently at her, growing more apprehensive the longer her silence stretched on. “...Honey...?” he repeated slowly, his tongue going dry. 

This time, she brought her attention back to the front, her eyes finally finding his. Peter looked sick with worry, terrified of the irony that this was the exact same position they were in less than 48 hours before. 

Honey held her arm outstretched, fingers tremoring around the handle of the pistol, as she fixed Peter with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart thumping up into his throat. His growing alarm threatened to strangle him. 

Her legs were rigid even as she trembled like a tightrope walker stranded between skyscrapers. She gazed at him with a look of dread, shock seizing her body.

Peter mumbled her name desperately, chanting it like a prayer. “Honey, Honey, Honey, look at me. Look at me. Okay? Look—”

He took a step forward and she responded with a step backward, positioning him at the end of the barrel. He blinked, going still once again. His eyes misted over as he gazed at her with empathy.

“S’okay,” he softly said, closer to a plea. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe—”

“Stop telling me that.” She was firm, her eyes cold. 

Peter felt silent, eyes darting back and forth between her and the gun. Her breaths were short, nostrils flaring. His shoulders curved into a slump. Carefully, he lowered his hands. “I meant what I said before,” he delicately replied. “No more cages.” Her eyebrows furrowed sharply. “I made you a promise. You’re free.”

She blinked wide eyes, motionless in every other way. Warily, he glanced down at the gun. “You don’t hafta do anything—”

“Shut up!” she hissed, voice shaking. He shut his mouth immediately. Her gaze wandered, her mind spiraling out of control. She flicked her sights on the four corpses stretched out around them. Her tongue tasted like metal. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears.

“Get on your knees,” she commanded. Unlike the last time she said it, there was no sense of control in her tone. No sense of pleasure to be gained. Instead, she sounded desperate. 

Peter closed his eyes, heart sinking in his chest. “Okay.” Reluctantly, he slowly sank down until both knees were on the ground.

Her eyes flashed wildly as she glared, holding the pistol tighter in her hand. 

“S’okay,” Peter whispered out a lament. “S’okay, Honey. You’re gonna be okay.” With every repeated phrase, he relinquished more of his hope. Her eyes may have been unreadable, but her position was not. 

They were on opposite sides of the room. A continent apart. He was exiled to the unfortunate end of the barrel, along with the other men who used her as a means to an end. This was where he belonged.

A lump formed in his throat as he gazed up at her with wet eyes. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he said with a bittersweet curve of his mouth. “You have all the power, remember? Always did.” His eyes landed on the gun, then back up to hers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

He watched as a tear rolled down her cheek. Fear weighed heavily on her, dragging her down into its depth. Her eyes shined like glass. The glisten in his gaze was a mirror reflection of her sorrow and regret.

“Whatever you gotta do,” Peter assured her. But it was more than reassurance. It was a gentle promise made to a frightened girl that the monsters were all gone now. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

He hesitated to speak the true meaning of his implication. Instead, his eyes shined brightly on her like rays of moonlight, as if he could illuminate her path through the dark. A sincere apology sparkled at the bottom of their bourbon glow, but also, he offered forgiveness. He fixed her with a look of compassion before closing his eyes. 

He let go.

Let go of his rage. Of his vendetta. Of his grief. Of his fantasies.

He let go of the idea of Honey.

From the depths of his bitter heart, he gave her his unconditional love.

“What I want...” 

He stirred at the closeness of her voice, his eyes snapping open to find her standing inches over him. The gun rested at her side until she let it fall from her grasp. She stared into his eyes, her tears cresting over the ridges of her heart-aching smile.

She surged forward in the blink of an eye, crashing her lips into his. Her arms crossed behind his shoulders as she collapsed into his embrace. Her tongue breached his mouth, and with it, he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. She breathed him in, relishing in the taste of his devotion, responding to it with love letters written on her lips. It was like her whole body was on fire, and only he could control the flame.

His hands wrapped around her lower back as he worshiped each twist of her tongue. Her kiss was better than morphine, numbing his body and heart to every injury he’d ever suffered.

Only when they were both dizzy and out of breath did she break the kiss. She gazed down at him with eyes that could scorch. 

“What I want... is for you to touch me.”

Continue to Part 21

[back to masterlist]

A/N: I want to say thank you for the incredible support you all have shown me in this last break. Part 21 is already finished and will be released this week. Real compassion exists even on the internet and I just can't even deal...

Part 23 will be the end.

#Lizzy writes. #Lizzy writes! sugar and vice. #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #peter parker andrew garfield #peter parker angst #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #spiderman x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield x reader #andrew peter parker #mob!peter parker #mob peter parker #peter x honey imagines #mob au #spiderman au #peter parker au #mob peter x reader #mob peter x you #mafia au #tw #read the tags #tasm #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader

[answersfromzestual]

For those of you on hormones replacement treatment (HRT) Testosterone;

a shaving kit makes a great and natural way to store and travel (where legal) with your testosterone. Going to a friend's house? Bam, it's natural to have a shaving kit. Or I found emptying out the hard case of a set of old hair clippers. If you carry needles and you are stowing your needles, I recommend using a hard case of some sort. I've had the airline break my syringes/ needles before, and when you have to ask a pharmacy that doesn't know, they may be hesitant to give you any needles without knowing the medication you are on.

Do research on where you are going if leaving the country, make sure you have what you need (if you can) to be able to have legal possession in that country and any other country where you may stop or another potential area to explore.

Keep yourself safe, it's always good to keep a note from the doctor and your prescription history.

If you, for some reason do no longer have your testosterone, missing a dose or two will not cause any issues (I was told this by my family doctor).

Also, it's a good idea to perhaps take your vial and put it safely in a carry-on. They will not let you take your syringes (if they have needles attached, they will not let these on your carry-on).

It's good to have a hard case for long distance travels, otherwise a shaving bag works well. Find a more padded one if you can, and that closes securely.

I like to keep all my things together (Needles, testosterone, alcohol/alcohol wipes, and cotton balls/pads.) So that if you ever need to leave in a hurry you have to only go to one place and grab one thing.

I try to buy syringes with needles by the box. They cost me about $0.25 each and I get 100 in a box, all for $25.

It is also important to get a proper sharps disposal. You can usually ask the pharmacy and they will give you one. (In Canada I believe they are free).

About injection,

Unless instructed how to properly by a health care professional, I would not use your thigh for intermuscular injection. A great place, and the least painful I have found is in your gluteal muscles. It is important to rotate injection sites/sides. Give the muscles a break, especially if you need a dose weekly like I do.

Try to get air out before injection

Make sure you pull back the plunger to make sure you do not inject into a vein. If you pull the plunger and you see blood, do not inject. Find another location.

Do not use a needle more than once if possible (during a single injection, you can use attempt a few times), try to get it right the first poke, and it will hurt less.

The more a needle is used, the more it actually starts to spur at the tip, which means it's going to be harder to poke yourself, and it can be more painful

Do not share needles

Dispose of your needles properly by using a sharps container. Return it to the pharmacy when finished and they should give you a free exchange for a new one.

Do not throw needles out in the trash even with the cap on it can still be dangerous. I've personally seen (had) a needle peirce through the cap, have gotten stabbed.

Try to minimize air bubbles in the needle. But if you are scared of air bubbles. My cousin is a nurse practitioner, and she told me that it takes a lot more air than that empty syringe can hold to cause an embolism. But it is still important to minimize bubbles just to be easier on your body and help better absorption. So, a couple of tiny little bubbles are okay.

Make sure you are using a sterile area to place your things.

Make sure your hands are clean and sanitized.

Afterwards, press and slightly massage the injection site for at least 1 minute to help the testosterone absorb and to stop the bleeding.

The rule of thumb if you ever forget where to inject into your butox, upper and outer area of your gluteal muscle (so upper and outer buttcheeck).

Before you poke yourself, I find it helpful to press with your finger/alcohol pad and find a nice area, I usually do it as I apply the alcohol to sterilize the area. I find it helps me get it right the first time.

Any other questions? Let me know!

Do not inject yourself unless you have been properly taught how.

Do not fool around with your dose, more is NOT better

It may take a few years to fall into the safe/average hormone levels areas or what arrangement you have discussed with your prescribing physician.

Be careful! I am not a physican, always listen to the professional and be safe!

Stay Golden

✌️ 💙 💜

#transgender #trans ftm #ftm transition #transman #ask me things #phalloplasty #ftm phalloplasty #phalloplasty blog #lgbtq #phallo education #tw medication #tw needles #tw injections #injection advice for testosterone #adivce on injecting t

[fyodorloveclub]

Something sfw?

Can you please do Fyodor's s/o taking care of his hand and nails? Just like holding hands, kissing his hand/fingers. Because its canon that this man bites his nails and fingers until they bleed. 😭

-𔘓

tw for very mild mentions of blood/scabbing relating to nail biting, i tried to make it not gross, very brief mention of sex

(mans so looks like a nail biter😭)

You looked down at the hands you were currently holding in your own, assessing the damage.

“Fedya, my love, you have got to stop biting your nails.” He hmpphed in response.

The tips of his fingers were littered with teeth marks, nails bitten back to almost nothing. In some spots it had gotten so bad there was scabbing from where it had bled. You knew it was a nervous habit of his, always had been, but it had gotten worse as of late due to increased stress. You would always swat his hand away if you ever saw him doing it, but you weren’t around 24/7.

“Would you please let me do your nails?” you sighed.

It was not the first time you had asked that, but he always declined, declaring it to be too feminine. But this time, he agreed.

“I guess,” he grumbled. You smiled, squeezing his hands.

“Perfect! Okay, go sit at the kitchen table, I will be right back.”

He groaned quietly but did as he was told. You ran to your bathroom to grab the needed supplies. Ointment, band-aids, peroxide, cuticle oil, nail clippers, lotion, and clear nail polish. You hid some of your favorite red polish in your pocket. When you returned, he was sitting at the table, arms crossed with a sour look on his face. It made you giggle how grumpy this made him. Sitting down across from him, you laid out a towel and set his hands down onto it.

“Alright, love, are you ready?” you asked, a small smile on your lips.

“Whatever.” You just laughed.

You picked up his hand and pulled it to you, using the clippers to even out the edges and get rid any ragged bits.

“Ow,” he winced.

“So sensitive!” you exclaimed, fake gasping. He did not complain again after that.

After this, you used a cotton swab soaked in peroxide to clean the open skin and wipe off any blood. He hissed at this part as well, but kept his mouth shut. You giggled. Then you put some healing ointment and band-aids on the raw skin, being very gentle. You dropped some cuticle oil onto the nails without band-aids.

Between each step you pressed little kisses to his fingers and hands, telling him how good he was doing. He would frown but his red cheeks gave him away.

You briefly laughed at the thought of any of Fyodor’s colleagues walking in and seeing his lover doing his nails.

After you were done, you squirted some lotion into your hands, massaging it into his hands and up his arms, trying to make it relaxing. You could’ve sworn you heard him purring quietly.

While you had him relaxed, you asked for the thing you really wanted. “Will you let me paint your nails, Fedya?”

“Absolutely not,” he deadpanned.

“Please,” you begged, drawing out the word.

“No.”

“Even if I promise to blow you every night for the next week?”

“Fine.”

You squealed as he glared at you.

You knew Fyodor well enough to know when he was putting up a front, and he definitely was putting up a front currently. In the safety of late night darkness, he had admitted once before that he loved it when you took care of him. You never forgot that. It was also clear by the glint in his eyes, and how his typically very tensed, stiff posture had relaxed significantly.

Pulling the bottle of red nail polish out of your pocket, you unscrewed it and took his hand into yours again. You painted each nail that wasn’t bandaged very gingerly as he watched with hooded eyes. You truly never imagined you’d see your self-proclaimed “evil mastermind” boyfriend wearing red nail polish, but it was so adorable. After the second coat had been applied and dried, smiled at him.

“All done!” you said, grinning at him. He couldn’t help the tiny smile that appeared on his face.

Once again, you kissed all over his newly manicured hands.

“So pretty,” you cooed. He mumbled a small thank you, blushing.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this,” he whispered.

You laced your fingers together, squeezing his hands tight.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling.”

#this is the first sfw i’ve written in a while 😭 #i hope u like it 🫶 #fyodor x reader #fyodor: ✑ #fyodor fluff #sealed with a kiss ♡ #𔘓 anon #flora’s fics

[porchlightfairy]

Fresh Coat

a/n: based on a headcannon I wrote about Eddie wanting to match nail polish colors with his girlfriend.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: You and Eddie are secretly dating and bond over painted nails.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie pouts as he chips away at his old nail polish paint. For the last week, his nails were a dark purple nearly black. It was his favorite so far, he was sad to see it go so soon. His nails would chip easily because he wasn’t taking care of them like others would but usually he could make them last at least 2 weeks before they start to chip off. He continues to pick at them while his friends talk about new figurines coming to the comic shop.

He’s not really paying attention to what they were saying. He looks around the cafeteria and sees you talking with some other girls near the wall. As if you could feel his eyes on you, you look over and catch his gaze. He gives a little pout and lifts up his hands revealing his nails. You give a knowing smile and a nod. He grins and turns back to the table, “Alright freaks, Hellfire is gonna have to end sooner than expected. I’ve got a date with destiny.”

“Who’s Destiny?” Mike asks.

Eddie blinks a few times and sighs, “No one. I’m just saying I’ve got plans tonight and will not have time for your nonsense, Sir Wheeler. No bull crap, no rule bending, none of it. Stick to what we got for smooth sailing. Capiche?” They all nod their heads, “Good.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It must have been a world record time for how quick the hellfire club session was. Eddie cleared the table and was out the door as soon as it was over. The only thing on his mind was you. He speeds over to your house and knocks on your door rapidly. 

You open the door swiftly, “Munson, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You fold your asks.

He gives you a knowing look, “You know why I am here.” You bite back a smile before opening the door wider and letting him in. You head to your room where you were already setting up on the floor. There was a towel and several nail polishes on it, and cotton balls surround a bottle of polish removal. Beside the towel was a fan blowing on the lowest setting. You grab your nail file, clippers, and other tools before sitting down on the floor. You pat the floor in front of you.

Eddie obliges sitting down in front of the towel. He knew the drill by now, he held out his hands to you. You smile at him, grab a cotton ball, and then douse it in the polish removal. The smell stings his nose for a second, he can feel the coolness of the liquid through the cotton ball as you rub it along his nails.

Once they’re all clean, you trim his nails and dig the dirt underneath them. “How was the session?” You ask as you move from finger to finger.

“It was alright.” He mumbles as he watches you work. Your touch was delicate and you had a look of focus on your face. Your nails were already freshly painted baby blue. Next, you pick through the colors, most of them were dark. When you first started doing Eddie’s nails you painted them black, then they were dark blue, and dark red, and then his last nail color was dark purple. 

He notices beside you were the brighter colors. And the color that you would paint your own nails. He first noticed your nails when you shared a class together. You rested your head on your hand and you had your nails painted a baby blue color. He liked that color a lot. Then the next week, you had them painted fire truck red, and the week after that a pretty pink. 

“Can I pick?” Eddie asks. You smile and nod, then hold out the dark colors to him. He ignores them and picks a baby blue color that rests next to your thigh. “I like this one.”

You blink a few times then smile, “Okay.” Then you shake the bottle, open it, and start painting his nails starting with the pinky on his left hand. “Why this one?”

“I like it on your nails so I wanted it on mine.” He shrugs, “Is that okay?”

“People are going to notice. Do you mind?” You don’t look at him.

“No, do you?”

“No.” You look up and smile before switching on the fan and placing his hand in front of it. “Don’t move that hand.” 

“Maybe we could come into school together too.” He suggests.

“Oh yeah? This is new. You’ve been wanting to keep this lowkey for a while.” You say as you continue to paint his nails.

He shrugs, “I don’t want to anymore. I did because I didn’t want you to get bullied for being with me.”

“You think it would be that easy?” You laugh. You close the top of the polish and grab his face gently, “I don’t care what anybody says. I like you because I like you and that’s not gonna change because some people have breath to waste.” You kiss him and squeeze his cheeks, “Don’t get lost in your own head about it, okay?”

The next school day, you come into school with Eddie, hand in hand. He’s watching your hands as you walk. The colors of your nails against his skin and vice versa. Everyone stared as you walked but you didn’t seem to care. You stop at your locker and Eddie leans beside it. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You smile.

He nods, “You’re right. Always right.” He kisses your cheek, “Hey, can we paint our nails pink next week?”

“You’re thinking about that now? You just got your nails done.” You scoff.

He shrugs, “I can’t help it. I like all the colors you have. I want to try them all.”

“Alright hot shot, pink next.”

#eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson

[you-aremy-sunshine]

ten things i hate about you ☆ bonus ☆ - b.b.

summary: you have met this man once in your life, at a bar after you passed out. and the second time you meet him it definitely is less pleasant. thankfully you never ever have to see him again. except now you are forced on a plane with him to the mediterranean because the tickets are non-refundable. fuck this.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, natasha romanoff x reader

warnings: cursing, maybe?

a/n: GUYS😭😭 i'm literally leaving all y'all DRY. i am deeply sorry i just have like NO inspiration. (cuz like i get inspo from my life but i have no fucking action rn guys💀) ANYWAYS i hope u like it cuz its all ur getting until like a week or 2 from now🤭🫶

also i meant to post this after i finished the series but i wanted to give y'all smth

top five insults by barnes and y/l/n

number one

you could hear the buzz of the hair clipper coming from the bungalow bathroom. the sound stopped abruptly, and bucky walked out. you looked up from your book to see bucky putting his fancy clippers away into his suitcase.

“i just love what you did to your hair,” you exclaimed, “how did you get it to come out of your nose like that?” you mocked innocence, trying to hold back laughter.

“very funny, y/n…” he said, mocking you, while walking back into the bathroom to inspect his nose.

number two

you adjusted the cotton sundress you had on in front of the mirror, trying to get it to fit properly. the part holding your boobs up didn’t sit properly and the straps were too big.

“at this point you should just take the mirror with you,” bucky remarked.

“honestly, i think you’re just jealous that you look like a ‘before’ picture and i look like an ‘after picture’,” you spun around to face him, arms crossed agaisnt your torso.

you turned back around and found a way to make the dress feel comfortable.

“okay, i got to agree that was a good one,” he laughed, his eyes drifting over your outfit.

number three

“oh my god, bucky look,” you signaled towards a book, “10 ways to help your everyday life this is perfect for your pathetic life,” you flashed him a wide grin.

he picked it up, inspected it, but you could tell he was trying to fight a smile.

“hmm,” he said, thoughtfully, “don’t worry about me, sweetheart, worry about that hideous wardrobe.”

“i know you love it, i saw the way you were eyeing my sundress the other day,” you hit his arm, snickering.

he nodded in response to your reply, a sneaky grin lingering.

number four

the two of you were emptying the dishwasher of the bungalow, you were drying the plates and bowls, and bucky was putting them away.

“this isn’t dry enough, y/n,” bucky insisted, flipping the mug over, while watching the extra water drip out of it, “you left some water in here.”

“do it yourself then,” you said, rolling your eyes at him.

“you’re just adorable, y/n!” bucky said, laughing to himself a bit, “you’re just like my cat, stupid and fiesty for no reason.” he began to cackle.

“aww! and you’re just like a clown, no hidden reason behind that,” you smiled up at him mischievously.

number five

you were spending your downtime standing by the kitchen counters, checking your phone. bucky was standing next to you, baking a small batch of muffins.

“literally every guy i get matched with on this stupid app is mediocre,” you said scrolling through a dating app, “i hate online dating.”

“oh honey, im so sorry for you,” bucky said, faking pity, “all those guys are just way too out of your league. you have miles and miles to go before you reach mediocre!” as he said that he crouched down to your height.

“shut the fuck up barnes,” you said pushing his face away from you.

he let out a loud cackle, pleased with your response.

----

hope u liked it cuz its all i got rn🙂🙂

masterlist

#bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes enemies to lovers #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #ten things i hate about you #10 things i hate about you #🍯; sol writes

[fantasyfestinkeywestflorida]

Here is my updated 2023 Fantasy Fest suggested list of items to consider for your Key West adventure. Feel free to add your own items and modify this list with your own suggestions:

I created this checklist for those Krewe that go with me on my annual Trips to Fantasy Fest.

So, with 128 days to go (as of 06/13/2023) for Fantasy Fest 2023 (October 20-29), please feel free to adapt and modify this list to meet your needs and criteria for your Fantasy Fest trip.

This changeable checklist of travel suggestions allows you to cherry pick travel items for trips to Fantasy Fest or similar destinations or venues:

AIRPORT & AIRPORT TRANSFERS: Passport, driver's license or other ID and copies of passport facepages in luggage) Covid vaccination card and/or negative Covid test results (optional) Airline ticket/confirmation number papers & itineraries Airport transfer documents Clothes for flights (bras, underwear, closed-toe shoes) Luggage with name tags, luggage locks and passport copies inside Luggage lined with empty trash bags that can later be used for dirty clothes, makeshift rain ponchos, covers for beach/pool bags in the rains Snacks, power and/or protein bars Empty water bottle Anti-bacterial/virus wipes or small Purel bottle Black ink pen for completing any paperworld/customs/immigration on the plane and/or airport terminal

PERSONAL ITEMS: Prescription glasses Small bills ($1, $5, $10 for misc. purchases, misc. tips) Credit card(s) Purse and/or wallet Jewelry (costume preferred) Watch Emergency contact phone numbers and info sheet Vitamins Hospitality items Pen, notepad Mini-flashlight for bedside Ipod & earbuds Pain relievers (Advil/Tylenol) Stomach ache/medicine (Pepto-Bismol, Imodium, etc) Kindle and/or books Prescription medications in original containers with copies of actual prescriptions Beaded name necklace Business or contact cards

POOL & BEACH AREAS: Hats Sunglasses (and a second pair in case of misplaced/lost problems) Sunblock 15/30/70 Chapstick/lip balm Beach/Pool bag Special towels Coverups Flip flops/sandals Water shoes/aquasocks Water bottle/insulated & refillable drink mug Wristlet for room key (if applicable) Empty garbage bags (in case of rain to put all items into for walk back to room) Optional: Mask/snorkel for any boat trips to the Key West area reefs

ROOM: Sleepwear, sleep mask, earplugs Mini-alarm clock Computer and charger Smartphone & charger Camera and charger/batteries Office supplies/folders Small pocket flashlight for nightstand and pool bag at night Reading glasses Business cards Disposable clothes hangers Sewing kit with safety pins Optional: Room attendant gifts like school supplies, etc

TOILETRIES: Hand wipes or Purel Mini 1st aid kit with Band-aids, antibiotic ointment, Hairbrush/comb and accessories (clips, scrunchies etc.) Perfume/cologne Cotton balls & swabs Contact lenses, saline solution, & case Curling iron Deodorant Feminine hygiene items Hairspray Insect repellent and anti-itch creams (Benedryl, etc) Makeup and remover Hand lotion/moisturizer Eye drops (Visine) Mouthwash Nail clippers/file/scissors/tweezers Nail polish/remover Ziplock baggies Razor & shaving cream Sewing kits/eyeglass repair kit Special shampoo or conditioner Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss Drinking Mate tablets (for those that tend to be “over-served” their alcoholic drinks Aloe vera gel/lotion for sunburns/skin conditioner

THEME NIGHTS & RESORT ACTIVITIES: Costumes Boots Dress shoes Sandals/flat shoes Wigs Props & accessories (glow sticks, sippy cup, stickers, Scotch tape Paint and brushes for rock painting Exercise clothing/shoes Resort casual clothes for non-buffet restaurants

OFF-PROPERTY EXCURSIONS: Foldable pocket rain poncho/mini-umbrella Shoes, socks, shorts, tank top/t-shirt Tip & souvenir cash Backpack, collapsible tote bag Drink bottle with lid

Another consideration: A recommendation from a Krewe member is that Key West guests that plan to return to the next FF confirm their following year reservation and rates before they leave Key West–and get it in writing.

Finally, Check with the airlines the amount (weight) of baggage LEAVING Key West. There was a restriction on departing flights, not those arriving. Many veteran FF attendees ship their costumes and “gear” to the place they are staying, or to a package holding business. (e.g. Mail Boxes, UPS store, etc.) Check with where you are staying as most will accept incoming packages for arriving guests.

Obviously, not everyone would need all of these items but it is a start for picking and choosing those things you might want to have at Fantasy Fest. .

Safe travels to you!

Annie, TheUltimateCougar

Be sure to check out more of my daily Fantasy Fest photos and videos here:

www.flickr.com/groups/fantasyfesters (40,000+ photos

www.flickr.com/groups/fantasyfest2023

www.flickr.com/groups/fantasyfest2022

onlyfans.com/TheUltimateCougar (all of my 100% uncensored videos and photos from Fantasy Fest)

mewe.com/group/5be9dd519619704267f87e05

https://www.reddit.com/r/FantasyFestKeyWest/

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fantasyfestinkeywestflorida

Incredible fun in and out of costumes and clothes, and with the fun times only a Krewe de Krazy Life group can create.

#fantasyfest #FF2023 #FantasyFest2023 #KrewedeKrazyLife #October #Halloween #keywest #floridakeys #conchrepublic #costumes #Florida #checklist #travelchecklist #travel #vacation #holiday #bodypainting #flashing #CaptainTonysSaloon #festival #bodypainting

#fantasyfest #fantasyfest2023

[thyandrawrites]

is crocheting something easy to get into and do you have any tips on how to start I really like your work

Hi and thank you! Yeah, I find crochet pretty easy to get into. You don't need many supplies to begin, just yarn and a matching hook, and if you have access to youtube, it's full of tutorials on how to get started as well as how to do the basic crochet stitches. I learned with yt too so it's def not as hard as it might seem from the outside! You just have to practice. On yt there are also a lot of beginner-friendly patterns that go very slow and are easy to follow along as you make something. I checked out a bunch back in the day.

Be prepared, at first it's normal to skip stitches. Everyone does when they're still learning! But you'll get better with practice. My tips are the following:

- choose a thicker yarn to start with. Thin yarn is both harder to work with and makes the stitches harder to tell apart. There's advantages to using wool and advantages to using cotton, so you might wanna experiment what works best for you. I used acrylic because natural fibers split more easily, but they might be easier for you since they lack the distinct fuzziness of synthetic fibers

- if you can, consider investing in ergonomic crochet hooks or hooks with grips/handles. As a beginner, your tension will be super tight until you learn to relax it, and tight tension + a regular aluminum/steel hook can make crocheting uncomfortable or straight up painful after you do it long enough. Hooks with silicone/plastic handles are a lot easier on your wrist, allow you to crochet for much longer with 0 pain, and prevent carpal tunnel to boot! Def worth the extra penny imho. You don't need to get a whole set, just one that matches your practice yarn will suffice, and then you can upgrade if you need

- on the topic of matching yarn and hooks, yarn labels usually specify a recommended hook size, in case you don't know where to start. Those work best for crocheting clothing, but they're not hard rules. You can go higher or lower if you find that your stitches are too loose or too tight

- choose something easy and straightfoward for your first project! Don't go with a... Sweater or a blanket as your first, lol. My first was a pair of fingerless gloves. They were two rectangles (easy enough) folded in half and joined along the seam 😂

- stitch markers are you best friends! They help you remember the beginning of a row/round, which can be lifesaving if you are forgetful / easily distracted like me. They also help you keep count of your stitch number without counting each stitch one by one every single time. You don't need the fancy stitch markers either. Bobby pins and paper clippers work perfectly too!

- [edit cause I forgot to mention this] the way you hold your hook and your yarn varies from crocheter to crocheter. If you try to follow what you see in a tutorial and it doesn't work for you, you're not necessarily doing something wrong. That method might just not be for you. Find a different tutorial and try again. Personally, I can't crochet at all if I wrap yarn more than once on the finger that holds the tension, yet this method works for other people. Similarly, I can't crochet by holding my hook like a toothbrush. I need to hold it like a pen. Took me watching a ton of videos before realizing that old school rules are BS

Oh and before I end this ask, here's a masterpost with info and resources that I reblogged a while back! It might help you get started

#Ali replies #Crochet

[shellsinadune]

How I clean myself while chronically ill

For reference: My main disabilities related to hygiene are POTS, ME/CFS (moderate-severe), and cognitive/executive functioning disabilities (due to ME/CFS, autism, and a dissociative disorder). This is not universal, it's just how I do it. You might or might not find this helpful, I've just found that it is for me specifically.

So, you've recently found yourself unable to shower the way you usually do. You've just been finding yourself overwhelmed every time you think about getting in, even with a shower chair. That's rough, buddy. Fortunately, you're not the only one, and while I am by no means an expert, I have experience with this. So here's how I do it, free for you to adapt as you like.

Are you ready? OK, let's begin.

[TL;DR: Use shower wipes, micellar water, and a fine toothed comb to keep your body as clean as possible without needing to get out of bed or using water. This contains a list of what I use, steps for ordering things, and a completely opinion-based section on haircare. The most important point is to use different wipes for the following: (1) torso, (2) left arm, (3) right arm, (4) left leg, (5) right leg, (6) genitalia and butt - front to back.]

Editing to add something I forgot, but it's important enough to put above the read more: make sure to seal your wipes and put your caps back on. Just spilled the micellar water on my bed.

Step 1: The Supplies

Shower wipes. Getting specific ones for showering (brand doesn't matter) is preferred, but any body safe wipe will do. Make sure at least one type is antibacterial, though.

Deodorant. I recommend nuud because I don't do this whole thing every day and this one works for up to a week (depending on what I'm doing), but again, use whatever works.

Micellar water. Any kind, as long as your skin likes it.

Cotton pads. If you're more able to do things like laundry and don't have memory problems that might cause you to forget them in the washing machine and run out, use reusable ones, but I use disposable.

Moisturiser. Again, whichever you want. (At this point, add whatever other skincare items you like to use, I just want this to be over as quickly as possible.)

A fine toothed comb. Ideally a wooden louse/nit comb if you can find one. (Only applies if you want to follow Step 4.)

Any extras. For me, that's lip balm, lotion, wide nail clippers, and antibacterial hand wipes.

Bonus round for doing this in bed: a container to put all this in, a rubbish bin near your bed that you can reach while sitting in it.

Step 2: Cleansing

(It doesn't matter whether you do face or body first. I do body first, so that's the order I'm writing this in.)

Get the shower wipes out and open the container. If it helps to get them all out at the same time, take out 6. One is for your torso and neck, one is for each arm (do the actual arms first, then focus on the armpits), one is for each leg, and one is for your genitals and butt (in that order, wipe front to back). It's going to be a wipe-down, obviously, but try and be as thorough as possible. For me, the armpits are the biggest issue, so I hold the wipe on for up to a minute each before scrubbing until there's no smell.

I use two cotton pads for my face and neck, one for the left side and one for the right. Really, this one is just washing your face so it's up to you how you do it, but make sure to get behind the ears (I always forget with the shower wipes).

Step 3: The Leave-Ons

(For this one, order does matter, but only if you use the same deodorant as me.)

Do the rest of your facial skincare routine. For me, that's just moisturiser and lip balm, but if you want to use other stuff that's your prerogative.

I don't use lotion every time I do this because mine is really thick, but I always move my joints around with their full range of motion to see if anywhere feels tight and use it if I need to. This saves on energy.

Deodorant is always the last thing I put on because it's a finger-applied product. Ignore that if you use something else.

[Step 3.5: Get Dressed]

Step 4: Hair (or, the opinion piece)

This is probably the most out-there advice I have. If your hair is unrelaxed type 4, sorry, I can't help you.

So I'm describing a product-free method that was used in the middle ages to keep hair clean(er). If your hair is long, you might want to have hairbands, bobby pins if you want, and, if we're being really historically accurate, some kind of cap made out of cotton or linen. I don't use any of those, though, and it works, but mine is short so I have no idea how your hair will react. I don't do this often, only twice a week after at least two weeks have passed since washing my hair. Do this as often as your energy and comfort permit.

Take the comb and brush each piece of hair from directly at the scalp to the very ends in one motion. This takes the oils away from the scalp and gives moisture to the ends at the same time, so unless you have very dry hair, you won't have to use conditioner. It also exfoliates the scalp, if that's something you care about. Do this for 15 minutes or as long as you have the energy for it. (Fun fact: this practice is where the idea that 'brushing your hair with 100 strokes a day makes it silky and smooth' comes from.)

For long hair: braid/plait it to avoid tangling. If you want to put it up, pin it to your head in whatever configuration you want.

The cap lifts things like sweat off your head and makes sure dust and stuff doesn't get on your hair, which keeps it cleaner. A completely optional step, but it's nice so I thought I'd include it anyways.

My hair is type 3a, so I know this sounds very counterintuitive to a lot of type 3 people, but we aren't going for looks, we're going for feeling cleaner (for me, it kind of just goes wavy, not frizzy at all, but I do wait a while before doing it). This is based off a European practice (AKA designed for white people's hair), so if you know of a different way to keep hair clean that works better for your hair, do that instead.

I don't use dry shampoo because it's messy, and honestly unless I'm doing the above, I just wait until I'm well enough to shower.

The End

OK, so that's how I do hygiene. If you're going to take away anything from this post, please let it be the areas of the body each shower wipe should cover. Any less than that (at a stretch you could combine the leg ones) and you could be at risk of getting germs where they shouldn't be or just wiping them around without cleaning them.

Happy not-showering! I hope the rest of your day goes well.

#i don't usually make formal posts like this i'm nervous #but i thought it could be helpful to someone #disability tag #chronic illness #hygiene tips #spoonie #chronic illness tips #ask to tag

[devilgem-archive]

more parents for my main addisons woo (hcs n such under the cut)

codey was your local Gym Instructor M0mmy™ and also spamton’s mom and was old friends with tabby and mr c. she was usually chippy, but grew more volatile over time as her ambitions were chipped away by the harsh reality of how competitive and merciless addisons could be among themselves. she cared about spam a lot and did her best for him (which, in her mental state, is mostly like a somewhat above the bare minimum), but her growing existential crisis, desperation to not be forgotten and death left him with scars that shaped his outlook on himself and on fame & success in the long run.

---

tabin, blinkon’s deadbeat mother, who was the kind of parent who thought her (whoopsie) baby would be like a cutesy doll she could dress up and model for baby products and whatnot! her domain in baby products was short lived when it proved child-rearing meant she had to tend to the little brat’s every need at a moment’s notice between juggling with work, so in the end, she.....abandoned him. she used to be close friends with codey but the yellow addi is pretty much dead to her, literally and possibly figuratively. her main branch of marketing includes cotton candy, along with other types of sweets.

---

mr. cerulean is billbaron’s foster dad who works at the cyber orphanage. it wasnt in his intentions to be her primary caretaker persay, it’s just the kid imprinted strongly on him since hatching and refused to stay put whenever he tried to redirect her to addi caretakers, so he raised her mostly with the other swatchling children under his supervision. he is perpetually worn out from dealing with little runts 24/7, but is soft for them deep down- he wouldn’t trade his job for anything else in the world. before the orphanage, he used to work at a cafe codey and tabby frequented- both of whom he doesnt have much to say about these days.

---

sal-e was cameron & clipper’s dad; a funny lil guy, a goofy himbo, who was full of love for his tall stoic wife and adorable kids and his job and everyone around him! he primarily advertised flower shops and other neat little garden themed knick-knacks. love him or hate him, he almost always left a lasting impression wherever he went, a trait he would pass onto cam to some degree. he was originally from cyber city, but moved to a different region in cyber world to find new opportunities, where he met and eventually settled down with printem.

---

printem was cameron & clipper’s mom. she advertised subscriptions for the likes of newspapers & magazines, and had a reputation for her rather frigid demeanor towards anyone who isn’t a customer, though befriending sal gradually thawed her icy heart a bit. she fumbled around a bit in her relationship with sal and in raising their children, but she was alright; her kids remember her fondly. she and sal died in a freak accident or something.

#deltarune #addisons #swatchling #yellow addison #pink addison #orange addison #addison oc #swatchling oc #nico scribbles #long post // #death ment // #neglect ment // #abandonment ment // #will revise the hcs later im sleeby as hell

[flower-biter]

25-31 March 2024

It’s just a lot of rambling this week.

On repeat: Too Sweet by Hozier. Idk what that man puts in his music, but I cannot stop listening to this song or get it out of my head.

I gave up on The Shining. Just, ugh, I don’t have the energy for it. I don’t really have the brain energy to read anything else either right now.

Finished the crochet bag! It’s a little bit wonky, but it will hold stuff. I want to make another one a little bit bigger and with a longer strap, but I like the single strap and cylindrical design. (This is the pattern I used)

Guy friend told me I have “very masculine energy, but you wear it well” (uh, thanks? Is it the bitchiness bossiness? Or just the buzz cut/lipstick combo? It does make me feel very Gender™, whatever that may be). We got second place at trivia, so next week’s beers are free, which, Nice. Really it’s just a confidence boost to not be in the bottom three again.

I booked flights for my next trip to NYC, going up in June to visit my sister before she starts at Columbia in the fall. I love having a trip to plan/something to look forward to. I’ve already booked us tickets for a walking tour of Green-Wood Cemetery that focuses on the Victorian language of flowers on grave markers (which I’m really excited about!) and have a running list of museums, bookstores and lesbian bars I want to check out (but am taking suggestions!)

Haircut again. Buzzed it down to a #3 on top and #2 on the sides, the shortest I’ve ever done. I love having my own clippers and not having to deal with weird looks at the salon; truly a dyke’s (second) best buzzing friend.

It’s weird seeing so much of my scalp, but it’s so soft and fuzzy. I’m experimenting with tying silk scarves to wear when I want to feel a little more feminine, or want some sun protection other than a hat. I feel like I look like I’m wearing a funky surgical cap, or like I’m appropriating tignons, when the vibe I'm going for is more like the workday headscarves of my Hungarian & Polish great-grandmothers. I’m still playing with different ties at home before I wear them out and about, but the silk feels so nice and I like being covered, as well as finding ways to wear my collection in all seasons, not just autumn/winter.

I had a gloriously lazy Saturday: took Butterball to the vet (he’s fine, just a checkup, and he has since forgiven me for the terrible six-minute car ride) and did a little housework (all the doors and windows are open, it’s warm and sunny and breezy and all the birds are singingggg!) but otherwise lazed around crocheting: on the sofa, on the porch swing, sitting weirdly on my desk chair. And then my neck and back hurt from shrimping, so I had floor time in a sun beam with the cat, and then just laid outside in the grass in the late afternoon sun and had the best nap of my life, and miraculously didn’t get sunburnt falling asleep outside. Truly how weekends are meant to be spent.

I’ve been slowly adding to my sister’s red blanket (why did I make this 300 stitches wide. it’s enormous and so heavy and not even a quarter of the way done. Claire I hope you appreciate this when I finally send it to you) and started a super simple sweater for myself. The yarn is such a silky cotton with gorgeous drape, and I love the rusty orange color. I have no illusions that I can make anything perfectly, but I want to do really well with this one and do this pretty yarn justice even though it’s already full of cat hair. Sigh.

I STILL haven’t finished editing my photos from my last Charleston trip. Really need to get on that today.

I forgot it’s Easter; I’m really too old & agnostic to be getting an Easter basket, but my mom gave me a little chocolate rabbit and nice rose-scented candle anyway. My youngest sister and her husband are coming over for a big dinner later; I get to spend the day with the cat and doing laundry and some chores I didn’t get to yesterday. I’m just going to try to ignore all the religiosity. It feels like escaping a cult; I grew up in it and fully believed for so long, but now from the outside, I find it baffling and disturbing and am infuriated by the hypocrisy (I could write a whole series of essays on growing up queer & southern baptist but will spare y’all).

Okay…didn’t really talk about what happened this week (mostly because not much of anything happened) but that’s enough Thoughts™ for now. Onward.

last week

#costar really said girlie your neurodivergence is showing #i really didn't take many pictures this week so have an extra butterball #mixed feelings about putting my face on here but. hi. #one of those weeks where everything happens in my head more than irl. oh well #catalog of little joys

[mikazuki-juuichi]

Sponge Bath (Morenatsu fanfic)

Hey.

While battling leukemia, got to work on a few drabbles --this is the first. Juuichi in the hospital gets a really nice suprirse. Hope you all enjoy!

*

H DRABBLE 1: Sponge.

By: Yawar.

Fandom: Morenatsu. In continuity with my "The last year".

**

Juuichi breathed in, out. He could acutely feel the cotton bathrobe covering his big body; the hospital bed beneath him, too. Roll on your side gently every so often but stay in bed. Recovering from a backdraft --common firefigther injury. Could be worse. Didn't breathe fire. But he was singed here and there. Not scarred all over like Hiroki but... he would have a few black lines in his fur and possibly purple flesh underneath. It didn't sting by now. He might be released soon... ish... depending how well the rest of the treatment went.

He appreciated everyone visiting either in person or online. Even gifts like the fancy apparatus for breathinge exercises Kounosuke sent or the special honey muffin Torahiko managed to sneak in. But he was so... tired somedays.

A knock on the door. O yes. Sponge bath.

"Come in..." he said --then his eyes opened wide when instead of the usual team of chipper nurses in came --Shin? And Kenji? Carrying what looked like a fully stocked SPA care package?!

"Huh? I thought you guys were visiting later..."

Kenji grinned. While Shin explained: "This is, shall we say... a special surprise."

"We're gonna bathe you from now on!" said Kenji.

Juuichi's round ears twitched. "I --how? How do you get permits to..."

"Kazenari Hospital," Shin said matter-of-fact, "has certain contributors that can push for one's brother and husband to have, oh, special permissions. Let's leave it at that."

Certainly. Juuichi knew how much Shin disliked using his family's influences. So this --yes, this was huge.

"O... okay. And how do we... ah, hehe..."

The first thing that came out of those huge bags was --nail clippers and ear wax removers.

Kenji set to work on Juuichi's ears --they did this since forever, cleaned each other's ears. Knew by heart exactly how gentle to be, how thorough.

Shin started on Juuichi's toenails --he had an excellent way to clip, avoiding any painful spots. Somehow the resulting curve felt artisanal. And then his soft touch between Juuichi's toes... same once they worked on his hands.

"Would this be, what do they call it, a pedi-mani?"

"I suppose," was Shin's reply. "But those don't usually have... this". He lifted Juuichi's heavy right foot and gently kissed the upper sole pad. Juuichi sighed, bemused and so pleased.

And now: The main event.

First they spread a large plastic bag underneath his head. The first gentle stream of water was --perfect!

"Hot just shy of tepid," said Kenji. "I remember."

All down his head, somehow avoiding his ears with milimetric precision. Grape-scented shampoo rubbed by two sets of hands all over his scalp then rinsed off. Now ears, forehead, closed eyelids, nose, happy closed mouth, chin --neck.

Next, his arms. Kenji took the left and Shin the right. Sponges rinsing him from fingertips all the way down the elbow, then to the armpit. His fur spiked, letting them rinse the flesh --extra tender with the wounded bits.

His barrell chest... each nipple, each pec, his bellybutton... warm then cool as they went.

"Now," said Shin "Want to wash your genitals yourself--"

"No..." Juuichi whispered, eyes pleasantly closed. "You do it... you guys..."

They did. Pubes. Groin. One of them gently squeezed his penis to get all droplets out. At this point it would be hard to tell which one.

Then legs. Soles, toes, back of knees...

Now he had to help them turn on his side so they could do his back. Shoulder blades... from this position it felt new. His rump, his tail --and a hand diving into the cleft, washing it as thoroughly!!

Oh, it was over too soon and yet somehow it lasted the perfect amount of time.

As they toweled him off then rolled him again to switch the wet blanket underneath for a dry one, Shin remarked: "And here we go! This will be our daily treat for you."

Kenji added: "But you know, this might be easier with three. How would you like your brother-in-law here next time?"

"Keisuke?" said Juuichi, just a bit surprised.

"Drummers have very strong fingers," Kenji winked at him.

Juuichi smiled sinking into the pillow Shin was arranging under his head. "...yes! It might as well be --family bonding time!"

**

#morenatsu #fanfic #juuichi mikazuki #shin kuroi #kenji mikazuki #the last year fanfic #caring

[larysav123]

Let the Packing Begin- Updating From Biggest Ballroom Competition this weekend! 2023 Much Smaller Competition In Utah!

Preparing to pack for the big competition this weekend!  Apparently the biggest one on the East Coast!

 Packing List:   Head to Toe   

Competition portion of the trip

 Healthy Snacks:

VEGGIES Organic Carrots, celery, hummus, salad, peppers, spinach, grape tomatoes, cucumber, snow peas/sugar snap peas,  

FRUIT Bananas, baby bananas are my favorite, berries, grapes, orange/clementine, Apples, applesauce cups,  Dried Fruit-mango, pineapple, apple rings, banana chips, raisins, cranberry, apricot, 

Seeds etc: pumpkin, sunflower, sunflower butter, roasted chickpeas, 

Healthy granola, granola bars, fruit bars

GINGER

Dark Chocolate

non allergy cacao energy bites

WATER BOTTLE and put your name on it ! When I was at MIT they had those awesome filtered fountains to save disposable water bottles.  Hopefully this is all around campus especially in a gym.... At Massachusetts Institute of TECHNOLOGY.  LOL. 

  Containers and carry:

Suitcase for the hotel

Big bag for the competition: your costume, SHOE bag, anything you need for the day

Small bag WITH NAME ON IT, to keep needed items near you possibly near the dance floor like water/snacks etc

Garment bag, plastic bags, ziplock bags, for misc.....

 Head:   Top Down   

  Hair, brushes, combs, pins, hairspray, anything put in hair like rhinestones, hair ties, clips

Makeup:

MIRROR, Toner/Moisturizer/facial oil, foundation, powder, blush, eyebrows, eye-shadow, eyeliner, mascara, lashes, glue, lipstick, brushes, sponges, bronzer, highlighter, concealer, ..... baby wipes, 

 Body- Clothing etc for Competition:

 Dress, pants, DANCE SHOES, any special undergarments, shorts,

Deodorant, mouthwash, gum/mints, safety pins, any special tape for clothing or shoes or skin protection, band-aids, HEEL CAPS FOR SHOES, shoe bag labeled with your name, foot powder or foot pain relieving options, moleskin, shoe inserts, shoe brush, hand sanitizer/alcohol

Dark socks, belt, shorts, powder, jewelry 

Sewing kit, SAFETY PINS, scissors, extra hairpins, extra undies, dance pants, bras, something to wear for warmth in between,  double stick tape, 

Water Bottle, Snacks    

Tissues, 

SHOES, HEEL CAPS, double stick tape, Shoe brush

 Medicine:

Ginger to make your stomach calm, no wonder it's a superfood- only thing that takes care of ALL stomach troubles: nervous stomach, illness, morning sickness, motion sickness, ate-the-wrong-food discomfort...

Pain medicine- anti inflammatory, band aids,  Vitamins, especially C being around so many people and being worn out , antibiotic ointment, 

Inhaler, Tums, Saline Solution (eye saline as well as nose saline,)  cough drops, 

Joint braces, ace bandages...anything to fix the feet after they blister or prevent it

 LABEL (Put your name on):

Shoes, Shoe bag, shoe brush, 

Team Jacket, clothing, costume, garment bag

Water Bottle, snacks, main bag, phone?  

Your Charger(s)

 For the Hotel:

Extra Underwear, socks, bras, pajamas: top bottom, slippers, comfortable shoes, bathing suit? 

Toiletries: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash, bath pouf or loofah, lotion, lip balm, skin moisture....

Toothbrush, toothpaste, tongue scraper, floss

Glasses, contact case, contact solution

Deodorant, perfume, essential oils

Medicine

Tweezers, nail clippers, shaving items, 

Exfoliator, Face masque,  hair thingies, mouthwash/pre-wash, Q-tips, Toner, cotton, 

Bathrobe, coat/fleece/jacket, shoes, slippers, sneakers, sports bras, extra underwear and socks,   air freshener (the more people sharing the space, the more potential odoriferous molecules), notebook, pens, pencils, highlighters, plastic bags (for dirty laundry)  sunglasses, umbrella, workout wear,  hat, heating pad?  manicure scissors?  Nail Polish and remover?    

LIQUID HAND SOAP (because bar soap from the hotel is a nice wet home for bacteria to breed, fine for body, not fine for washing hands from bathroom germs)

Feminine products

 Electronics:

Charger (put your name on it, maybe backup data, photos etc before trip)

Headphones? 

Camera and batteries and tripod?    Computer, charger, case, external memory, 

Power Strip for hotel... or even venue

 Travel:

License

AAA Card

Insurance

Credit Card

Cash

     Notes from Team Captain:  We want you to 

Have a Positive Attitude

Have Fun

Get Better Each Time

#pack #packing #packing list #list #preparation #dance #ballroom dance #competition #ballroom competition

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

Nail Polish

Word Count: 1013

Rating: Gen

Paring: familial LAMP, Royality with Logan and Virgil as the kids

Warnings: none, just familial fluff

~~~START~~~

“Daddy?”

Roman looked up from his screen (where the cursor had been mocking him with its endless blinking; he was having trouble figuring out how to transition to the next scene and it’d killed all of his writing momentum) to find his older son peeking into his office through the half-opened door.

“Yes, my little bookworm?” He asked warmly, saving his document — he hadn’t been getting any writing done anyway. “What’s wrong?”

Logan didn’t reply, instead he shuffled across and reluctantly held his hand out for Roman to inspect.

“Oh,” Roman said, taking in the short, jagged, and uneven nails. “The lemon juice didn’t work then?”

“Nuh uh,” Logan shook his head, tearing up slightly.

“Oh, hey,” Roman said gently, pulling Logan into a hug. “Don’t cry, starlight, we’ll try something else. How about I paint your nails? Do you want to try that?”

“I dunno,” Logan whispered into his shoulder.

“How about we try it out, and if you don’t like it, we can remove it and try something else?”

“‘Kay.”

“Here,” Roman sat the nine-year-old down at the kitchen table before making his way to his bedroom, emerging a moment later with his nail polish case. “You pick a color, and I’ll get the rest of the supplies ready.”

“Okay.”

Roman unlatched the case and watched for a moment as Logan set to studying every color very seriously. Then he went back to the bathroom and grabbed the nail clippers, cotton balls, and other things he would need. When he got back to the kitchen, Logan had — unsurprisingly — selected a dark indigo.

“Is that the color you want?” Roman asked, setting the supplies down on the table and placing a bowl of warm water in front of Logan.

Logan nodded.

“Great, put your hands in the water so that your nails are all submerged, and when they’re nice and soft I’ll clip them all even and straight, okay?”

Logan nodded again and did what he was instructed.

A few minutes later, Roman was applying the second coat of indigo to his son’s fingers.

“Do you like it?” He asked as Logan inspected the hand he was not currently working on.

“Yeah,” Logan nodded, turning his fingers this way and that to see them from different angles.

“You know what might make them even better?”

“What?”

Roman grinned, he was certain that Logan would like his idea. “How about I paint some stars on them?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, we’ll let this dry a little, and then I’ll add some stars.”

Just then the door from the garage opened and a very small boy carrying a very large grocery bag full of cans came in, followed by a much larger man carrying about five grocery bags in each hand.

“Do you need some help there, Virge?” Roman chucked, placing Logan’s hand flat on the table, so that he wouldn’t smudge the polish, and screwing the cap back on the polish bottle.

“I can do it!” The six-year-old huffed, the bag making a clank-clunk as he struggled to hold it above the ground.

“You’re doing great, sweetie!” Patton praised, placing his own bags on the kitchen counter with ease. “And what have you two been up to?”

“The lemon juice didn’t work, so we’re painting Logan’s nails,” Roman explained, preening as his husband leaned down to greet him with a kiss.

“They’re very pretty, Lolo!” Logan smiled at the praise.

“Mine next!” Virgil demanded, having finished dragging his bag to the counter and barreled into Roman’s side. “Daddy, paint mine next!”

Patton smiled and turned back to putting away the groceries.

“Sure thing, shadowling,” Roman smiled, ruffling his younger son’s dark curls. “Pick out a color, roll your sleeves up, and stick your hands in the water while I finish Logie’s.”

“‘Kay!”

Roman checked Logan’s polish and found it to be dry enough to start adding stars. He added stars mostly randomly, but on Logan’s thumbs he painted the Big and Little Dippers.

Virgil selected a nice purple, and asked Roman to add spider webs “but not the spiders because papa’s afraid of spiders!”

“Got time for one more?” Patton asked as Roman finished applying the last of the topcoat to Virgil’s nails.

“I always have time for you, my love!” Roman professed, making Virgil fake gag. “What would you like?”

“Surprise me,” Patton giggled.

“Logan, can you bring me my sleep mask from my room, please,” Roman requested, he already had an idea of what he wanted to do.

When Logan got back, Patton slipped the sleep mask — red silk outlined with black lace and the words “Beauty Queen” embroidered across the eyes — over his own eyes, and placed his hands in the water while Roman took their kids to the other room to confer with them. Both kids were completely on board with Roman’s plan, so he quickly came back and got to work on Patton’s nails.

Both kids were hovering over Roman’s shoulders while he worked, but they luckily didn’t give Patton any spoilers.

“Close your eyes,” Roman ordered as soon as the polish was dry. Once Patton confirmed that his eyes were closed, Roman slipped the sleep mask off his face. “Aaaaand open!”

“Oh!” Patton gasped, fighting the instinct to clutch his hands to his face since that would prevent him from looking at his nails.

Roman had painted all the fingers on his left hand the same indigo as Logan with each finger having a white letter on it: L-O-G-A-N. His right hand was purple with V-I-R-G-E in black.

“I love it!” He gushed, pulling both of his sons in for a hug. “A tribute to two of my favorite people done by my other favorite person!”

“You really like it?” Virgil asked, burying himself in Patton’s arms.

“I do, sweetie.”

“Can we paint daddy’s nails?” Logan asked suddenly.

“Yes!” Virgil agreed quickly.

“The people have spoken!” Roman laughed as he accepted the sleep mask. “Do your worst.”

He didn’t trust the giggles coming from his sons, but as long as they were happy, he was sure he’d love it.

~~~END~~~

I got a pedicure yesterday, gave me an idea

General taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @knight-shives @misunderstood-shadowling

#sanders sides #ts sanders sides #platonic lamp #royality #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #kid virgil #kid logan #thursday writes #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction

[chainmailchalamet]

for run rabbit run headcannons!!

i feel like reader gets her hair done often and eddie is always entranced by every style she gets.

knotless box braids, blonde wigs, 30 inch bussdown… he loves her appearance anyway

u get a 613 middle part unit and he can’t act right. he already spends like 90% of his time staring at u but whenever u switch your hair up he’s just all eyes. he helps take your braids out one (1) time and u swear his hands are shaking he’s so fucking excited that you trust him with his hands?? in ur hair?? he deff uses your leave in conditioner sometimes just so he can smell like u (mango sherbert, shea butter and coconut, rosemary and aloe). when you get together, you oil each others scalp — his hair has never looked better. sometimes he stares at himself in the mirror and his heart swells up because u can literally see the love transform him, make him better. he wants to help wrap your hair up at night, ever devoted. he drops by the beauty supply store on his way to work to grab you a bigger bonnet when u get faux locs, some of those silver clips you like while he’s at it. when ur not feeling femme and you wanna switch up your presentation, he’s up at 2 am with you with a pair of clippers helping you shave it all down, gloves on to apply the bleach and cotton candy pink dye. he mourns every version of you, awes at every rebirth.

#run rabbit run

[mrslittletall]

The Fur Coat Desaster

This is a story about Anno 1800 ^^ So, I have two main islands at the moment, Ditchwater and Bright Sands. Ditchwater was producing fur coats for a while already, Bright Sands just started. So I made sure to import furs and cotton to Bright Sands. The production began and then suddenly halted... and I was wondering. The cotton was constantly on zero, but I was producing enough?! Then, after a while I noticed that the clipper that I designated to bring the cotton was just idly in front of Bright Sands! I must have deleted the trade route on accident! I managed to get the trade route back up and phew, that was done. Then suddenly in Ditchwater the fur was going out. I looked at my island were furs were collected and saw four hunting huts. However, you actually need two hunting huts to get sufficient materials for one tailor and I had four of them, so I put four more hunting huts. Now everything should have been well, right?! Wrong, the fur was STILL going down and I was wondering so much... then I checked my trade route... My ship was set to load 50 t of fur and bring it to Ditchwater to unload, then it was set to load 50 t of fur from Ditchwater and bring it to Bright Sands! Like, NO WONDER Ditchwater was running out of fur! What a stupid mistake! I immediately reversed it. I took 150 t of fur out of Bright Sands to bring to Ditchwater and now the 50 t of fur that the ship loads each cycle are distributed evently to Ditchwater and Bright Sands. Now, I just hope the cotton won't run out, because I noticed I didn't produce enough actually... so I had to build more farms to import more ^^

#little plays games #anno 1800 #also don't get me started on the bowler hat catastrophe #were the cargo slot for felt was taken by another product!

[bak3r]

‘What’s the Plan?’ Presentation #2

Other Points of Inspiration: Theatre plays, video games, animations and films that helped inspire my brief.

Ubu Roi: Ubu Roi is a play by French writer Alfred Jarry. The production's single public performance baffled and offended audiences with its unruliness and obscenity. Considered to be a wild, bizarre and comic play, significant for the way it overturns cultural rules, norms and conventions, it is seen by 20th- and 21st-century scholars to have opened the door for what became known as modernism in the 20th century, and as a precursor to Dadaism, Surrealism and the Theatre of the Absurd.

Rimo Cocaron: An off-beat game where players zoom in camera style on items and then suggest them to the participants in a game. For example, the family enjoy a hot-pot and you can suggest adding soy sauce to the mother or reminding the father the heat from the hot-pot burner is intense and getting him to open the window to let the cat out. It's hard to explain, but a great concept.

Katamari Damacy: The player controls a diminutive character named the Prince as he rolls around an adhesive ball called a "katamari" to collect increasingly larger objects, ranging from coins to pencils to buildings, in order to build stars as ordered by his father, the King of All Cosmos.

The Flying Lunar Clipper - The film depicts a group of anthropomorphic fruits and other creatures who win a contest for a ticket on the first flight of a newly found Martin M-130 flying boat named the Flying Luna Clipper. Departing from Honolulu, they embark on a journey across the Pacific Ocean and watch short films on a 200-inch screen during the trip.

Juliet of the Spirits - Fellini’s first full length colour feature is also a homage to his wife, Giulietta Masina. She plays the title role of a repressed bourgeois housewife liberated by a pervasive and sensual spirit world. Fellini’s self-styled ‘adult fairy tale’ is a kaleidoscope of visual wonders complimented by a truly delightful Nino Rota score.

Three Examples of Myself as Queen - Anna Biller casts herself as a melancholic Arabian ruler, a queen bee presiding over a cotton-candy pink hive, and a 1960s teenybopper princess in this retro-fantastic feminist anthem - a colourful musical fantasy inspired by old Hollywood musicals.

Moon: Remix RPG Adventure - a deconstruction of the genre, set in the dreams of a child. Gather love, and save the souls of the innocent beings killed by "the hero".

The Seven Colors: Legend of PSY - This CD-ROM is an adventure game software designed based on the world of the pop music group PSY•S, and can be enjoyed by the people of all generations. Enjoy the adventurous heart-searching journey in PSY•S City full of poetry, graphic and music.

Yoshino’s Barber Shop - Yoshino is a respected barber who ensures that every young boy in her village has the same bowl-shaped haircut. When a boy with dyed hair arrives from Tokyo and refuses to conform to the town's haircut, he sparks a rebellion against Yoshino and village tradition - inciting a proverbial tug-of-war between tradition and new ideas.

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