#i KNOW!!!!!!! i know the fucking risk of not taking enough antibiotic i fucking KNOW

[audiovisualrecall]

Dental work especially root canal treatment are common causes of tmj dysfunction, which is also a very common thing. Symptoms match 100% with what I'm dealing with, its called acute tmjd. Exercises meant for treatment of TMJD have been working well at relieving pain and starting to heal the strain which is what occurs when u have tmjd.

Dad: but it Could be the infection from ur tooth spread and that's what this is

Me: no, because xyz

Ma, who sent me the exercises for tmj pain, and has so far agreed w me: it Could be that it's from the infection, too

*ragequit*

#why the FUCK DO YOU GUYS THINK THIS IS IN ANY WAY HELPFUL????? #i already TOLD YOU i was anxious that it could jave spread but also this very much fits the bill for tmj lain and Not infection related ffs #but again i told u im anxious that my difficulty taking the antibiotic at the correct dose has made problems #i KNOW!!!!!!! i know the fucking risk of not taking enough antibiotic i fucking KNOW #I'm WELL AWARE AND AFRAID THAT IVE SCREWED MYSELF #but ive finally figured out a way to Not be in as much agonizing pain all fhe time! ive finally managed to try stretching and managed to do #some heat and ice on my jaw today #i didnt cry or even whine much at all #i may not need to take an advil tonight! #because the stretches HELP! why would they help if it was just an infection??? #tmj responds well to this bc its a joint and muscle combo in ur body and it became inflamed/strained/locked #needs to be relaxed and massaged and stretched until it 'cracks' and the dysfunction is resolved #and beyond any of that. telling me u think its an infection thats spread all along my jaw? #that is NOT HELPFUL and is in fact TERRIFYING!!!!!! #like its not like theres anything i can DO about it if thats the fucking case! #i took one pill earlier and I'll take another tonight and i didnt have to take fhe one at 4 but i wanted to at least do 2 today after i #forgot this morning's and yesterday morning's #but excuse me for having difficulty swallowing pills and anxiety abt it #and also anxiety abt the antibiotic messing up my stomach bc they do that to me #and again i cant rlly do anything if the infection got that bad that fast (it didnt hurt until after the endodontist on Thursday - it #started hurting friday specifically) so thats 3?4? days ago? that would b an incredibly bad infection to spread fhat much in 3 or 4 days #in which cause amoxicillan is not strong enough against it anyway my guy #eveb at full dose #besides which i wont KNOW until friday wjen tbey do xray or whatever before starting work #or until after theyre done maybe #like. #all you've done by mentioning that idea is make me anxious and angry #and feel like my understanding of what's going on is invakid and u know better thn i do #like i feel invalidated and dismissed #its dismissive.

[ovaruling]

i’m never even gonna have kids but i seem to be the only person i know in my friend groups who cares abt the future generations of humans on this planet lmfao how did that even happen.

everyone i know with kids just keeps funding animal agriculture with everything they do. there is literally not even an ounce of effort to do better for those children to have a habitable planet—they admit to me all the time when i try to raise awareness to them: “i know i should, but…”

i completely do not understand it. how can you care so little about the world your kid is gonna inherit. how can you care so little about how many hormones and antibiotics and E. coli bacteria and allergens you’re feeding your baby. how can you flat out ignore how much cheaper and more nutritious it would be to change. i just don’t get it.

if i had a child i would be terrified right now—terrified enough to do everything in my power to give them a safe, healthy life.

i ask this even of my own parents—how could they have cared so little about the world they were leaving me in, even when they knew the risks, even as news became more and more obvious and urgent? how could they lack the curiosity altogether to wonder how to do better for me? why didn’t i matter enough?

how can they look me in the eye and tell me they EVER gave a single loving shit about my future when they kept giving Animal Ag the majority of their grocery bill? when they saw the headlines? when they heard the news reports? when we personally lived through hurricane after hurricane after hurricane from rising ocean temperatures, destroying our home, battering our resources?

even now, as summers become the hottest on record EVERY SINGLE YEAR? as “freak weather” pummels us, floods us, kills us? as bird flu emerges in cows, and transmits to humans? as more and more produce becomes contaminated from the fecal waste runoff from animal farms? as species die off in droves? if these are not enough reason, then what the fuck is it gonna have to take?

how can people care so little about their children when we have all this information at our disposal? why don’t your children matter enough to you to even try?

why is it always up to activists to care about the world your children will have when you are gone?

#v #vp

[pup-in-transit]

At this stage post-op we are about three weeks out from the surgery. Things are healing fine, but not without some complications:

Wound dehiscence at the front of my canal. It'll heal on its own but kind of slowly. Plus according to the trans care nurse I saw it's likely to develop granular tissue, which is treated very easily but it's profoundly inconvenient nonetheless

Urinary tract infection. Search me how I contracted the fuckin' thing but we caught it early it seems. I was given some antibiotics at my last medical appointment, and I hope to christ they kick in soon cuz I had a fever of about 101.6 this morning. Cannot remember the last time I felt that physically weak and miserable. The other day I didn't have the strength to keep my legs prone to air dry properly

There's a hematoma underneath my vulva on my right side. It sounds worse than it is, and it seems to be going down on its own. Still, it is lengthening my recovery time for longer than I want, and it bleeds out of a pinprick sized wound on right side

Ughhhhhh.

Mentally I've been all over the place. I've been going through phases of regret and fear, which as I wrote about earlier this month I experience when I feel particularly bad. It passes just as i expect it too once the pain and dread stops. It doesn't make it any easier to deal with in the moment though. Sometimes you just have to ride the feeling out.

I get asked sometimes what it feels like to be cockless. The honest answer is that is that I don't know yet. I like how it looks and I love not having something dangle between my legs, but it still hurts. I won't be able to use my new parts the way I want to for at least a few more months. I'm still a little too swollen to find my clit too, and quite frankly I miss being able to cum.

I'm not fucking around with my health so despite all of the pain and fever I'm going through I'm still dilating on schedule four times a days and doing my hygiene routines as required. There are consequences if I don't, and I don't want to become complacent and stop. I've downsized to the blue and green dilators for the time being due to the pain caused by my dehiscence. I can always work back up to the orange one once everything heals up more. Right now I want to be sure that I maintain my depth and do so with the least amount of pain possible.

There's someone I follow online who has a Q&A section about their own gender affirming surgery on their social media who has a very salient point in one of the entries. I'm not gonna tag them and risk embarrassing them (but if you happen to be reading this please know that I think very highly of you!), but essentially their point was that, if you're asking someone if you should get bottom surgery of any kind, the answer is no you should not. Asking that means that you're still uncertain about whether or not it's the best decision. If you ask yourself if you want bottom surgery and the answer you come up with is "I don't know," that isn't good enough. For your own safety you need to wait until you are certain. That could take a very long time but it's still the most responsible thing you can.

I had several appointments with therapist and doctors in order to be sure this is what I wanted. When I am in my right mind I am confident in my choice and I don't regret it. You need to be sure you won't regret it too.

Anyway. My next appointment with the trans health care nurse is friday of next week. Luckily my husband is able to drive me since my brother isn't available this time and I really do not want to take transit for that long in order to get there. Ideally my UTI will have gotten better by then. I'll let y'all know how it goes.

#transition journey #introspection

[renee-mariposa]

Nothing in my day-to-day job shows me the limits of modern medicine like vancomycin does. And it makes me insane.

(extremely long, somewhat incoherent nerd rant below the cut)

See, vanc is really good at, like, three things: treating MRSA (when given IV), treating ampicillin-resistant enterococcus (when given IV), and treating c diff (when administered orally ONLY). Most every use outside of that, like when it’s used to treat methicillin-susceptible staph aureus for “penicillin allergic patients” (don’t get me started on PCN allergies), actually has data that it increases risk of morbidity and mortality (i.e. harm and DEATH).

Unfortunately, due to the prevalence of multi-drug resistant organisms, vancomycin is empiric therapy for a lot of presumed infections. And it's a lot more difficult to actually tell if someone has an infection than you'd think. A lot of medical conditions imitate each other and when time is of the essence to identify what's going on, the most ethical thing is to start an antibiotic and rule out infection as the hospitalization continues. Lab techniques have gotten a lot quicker: I can remember 8 years ago, it would take 3 days just to identify what microbe the patient had in their presumed infection. These days, anno domini 2023, PCR comes back in a matter of hours, identifying gram positive/gram negative staph/strep/bacilli/etc, and it's the sensitivities that take 2-3 days. (Don't get me started on contaminated cultures.) But even with improvements in lab technique, we might not culture any microbe at all or the provider might keep vancomycin on "just in case" because we don't know IF the patient is infected, WHAT they're infected with, or if the infection will get better with a different drug.

And vancomycin is terrible on kidneys. Extremely nephrotoxic. It isn’t as bad as the 80s when the drug first came out and was called Mississippi Mud colloquially, but it will fuck the patient up if not monitored closely.

But finding the correct dose for each patient in a timely manner is nigh impossible. This is because vancomycin is renally eliminated. We have to mathematically estimate how well the kidneys are working. Unfortunately, our mathematic equation is next to useless if you are:

-Less than 50 kg

-Shorter than 5 foot tall

-Have a BMI of more than 40

-Are an adult younger than 45 (twenty-year-olds get astronomical doses that would be destructive in an older patient)

-Are older than 65 (the official definition of 'geriatric', i'm relatively sure)

-Are female (this is really only applicable if the patient is less than 50 kg or older than 65 - think: little old frail lady - we have absolutely no fucking idea how their kidneys are doing until we order the serum drug level. It is next to impossible to accurately dose vancomycin in little old ladies on the first try.)

-Are missing limbs (lots of leg amputations in the older and impoverished diabetic population!!)

-Have a lot of muscle mass (think bodybuilder or really tall guys)

Fun fact: we estimate renal function by looking at height, weight, age, birth gender (few, if any, studies on trans patients taking HRT), and a lab value called serum creatinine. Creatinine is a byproduct of muscle metabolism, I don't know the fine details, but we can generally estimate how well kidneys are working by seeing how much creatinine is in the blood: low creatinine usually means kidneys are excreting it as they 'should' be. High creatinine means there's something wrong, the kidneys aren't able to excrete it as efficiently as they 'should' be. But the effect of low muscle mass and high muscle mass haven't been studied enough to be able to adjust our mathematical equation to compensate for them. And with high BMI: we often overestimate their renal function because we don't know how to estimate their muscle mass vs their body fat.

(I work out in the boonies. ~70% of our patients have diabetes. ~80% of our patients have a BMI of greater than 35. So what I'm trying to say here is: we are shooting in the fucking dark when we're estimating the renal function of the vast majority of our patients.)

Complicating this: vancomycin is useless until it reaches steady-state concentration in therapeutic range. On one side of this problem: a lot, if not most, medical providers assume that vancomycin starts working its magic from the first dose. So we sometimes get orders for "vancomycin 1 gram now and see how the patient is doing in the morning". That isn't going to solve jack shit! That's just going to increase the incidence of microbial resistance!!

OR, like in the multiple situations I dealt with this afternoon, you make an educated guess on what regimen is going to work for the patient. You get a level 48 hours after the dose starts. And you find out that you fucking guessed wrong and the patient is subtherapeutic. It has been two fucking days and the patient hasn't started being treated for their (presumed) infection yet!! And we've increased the possibility of microbial resistance! *muffled screaming in frustration*

So what I'm trying to say here is: on almost every presumed infection that comes into the hospital (which we're guessing like 30%? 50%? of the time), we're starting an extremely toxic drug, oftentimes 100% guessing what regimen will be therapeutic, only finding out in 2 days that it is not therapeutic, and it can sometimes take days and days to titrate the dose sufficiently to find a therapeutic regimen. And sometimes we're really fucking unlucky and we destroy the patient's kidneys temporarily (or permanently! but kidneys can be very resilient so that's thankfully rare) because we guessed a regimen that's too high!! This is a fucking nightmare!!!!!!!!

And if all of this wasn't bad enough, we don't really have any drugs that do what vancomycin does therapeutically. We have things that can be used to cover some of what vancomycin does, but nothing that's equivalent AND less toxic.

Like, to fix this situation, we need:

-Better education to providers on what drugs are appropriate empiric therapy for different presumed infections (we're working on it, we are working on it)

-Better ways to estimate kidney function (there needs to be more research on kidney function in patients with BMI greater than 35!! And little old ladies!! And patients with low body weight and high body weight and amputations and...)

-Better prognostic tools to tell 1. when the patient is infected (looking at you, sepsis!!!) 2. what they're infected with

-Less-toxic antibiotics AND/OR better ways to treat infection (this would be the evolution of medicine as we know it)

And I want to be clear: vancomycin isn't bad. It's an extremely effective tool when used correctly but we often either don't have enough data to use it correctly or the provider doesn't understand that this tool is fucking useless for the job they're trying to perform.

#some days i'm just smacked in the face by the limits of modern medicine #there is so much we don't know!!! #we're doing the best we can!!! #negativity #personal #us healthcare #i understand other hospitals will have a different experience than this #but my corporation is extremely stingy and we get all the new grads #so educating providers and nurses is a never-ending wheel at my facility #and we don't treat anything complicated except orthopedic surgeries #some days I just get overwhelmed by how little we know #if you can guess my profession on the first try please keep it to yourself i'm trying to maintain a low profile here okay #also if you ask me medical questions don't expect an answer #i was a Cs Get Degrees student all I know i've learned on the job and I don't know shit

[mrsmarlasinger]

Actually. What the fuck do I do with this fucked-up new post-antibiotic tolerance.

Last time I robotripped I took the equivalent of 525mg HBr and got obliterated in a good way. Now I think it's even lower than it was when I first started with 150mg and 225mg was enough to get me blitzed.

Buuuut I was mildly tripping for a couple hours earlier, so theoretically my tolerance on Friday night should be higher than it was tonight, because the first time I ever decided to take an eight-week t-break, it was because I took a huge dose (for me at the time) only six days after hitting third plat and scarcely even felt it. You can jack up your tolerance so so fucking fast if you don't respect the substance.

So what the hell? I thought about doing 225mg, because that was a nice strong starter dose for me. I thought about doing 300mg, because that was my perfect dose when my tolerance was mid. I thought about significantly extending my t-break. Even if I were to extend it, though, it wouldn't help at all because maybe by then, my microbiome will have healed some, but even if I tolerate other things more normally, how will I know how I'll handle a full-blown robotrip?

And it is the antibiotics. I'm certain of this. The only other thing it could be is my worsening eating disorder, but I haven't lost that much weight. And my weight has easily fluctuated 10–20lbs up/down throughout the past year, but it's never affected my tolerance to things very much.

So I'm in totally uncharted territory.

Goddammit goddammit goddammit. I have lost my control over a substance that I regulate for myself very tightly. I do not want to get into one of the OCD thought spirals I always have about dosing and spend hours crunching numbers and writing up timelines because I'm so scared of being unsafe.

My thing is, with my addictive personality and my family history of addiction—as well as my concern for my brain health, and also the fact that I don't just wanna get fucked up, I want to have a safe, interesting experience—I like to tread very carefully with drugs. I don't trust my instincts or desires. Even the risks I take are researched and calculated.

So I hate this uncertainty. It makes me feel out of control, and I can't handle that with substances. I track all of my usage no matter how slight and regiment my behaviors. I claim to do things "for the hell of it," but in actuality I'm planning and reasoning them out hours or days in advance. So what do I do when I don't even know HOW to regiment my behaviors?

I can't figure out how much to dose and I'm worried.

Marla is having an issue. Don't even worry about it!

#personal #dxm #dextromethorphan #robotrip #robotripping #robitussin #drugs #drugs tw #drugs cw #tw drugs #cw drugs #drug #drug tw #drug cw

[diabolocracy]

Absofuckinglutely hate how I can't freely experiment with drugs and my own fucking body because some asshats who don't even know me thinks drugs are bad and made it into a law. Instead I have to learn how to produce my own, grow my own, or find my own, all which hinges upon luck and whether or not I can find the things I need to do so.

Technically legal alternatives are there ('high spice') but they're even worse than, say, magic mushies. Nutmeg (myristicin), something I used for a year, was great... Until I ended up fainting one day from, I guess, using it too much, in spite of practicing harm reduction (no coffee while intoxicated, spacing use ~2 weeks between). I didn't even take as much as some do (kept to 1.5tbs per use).

Benadryl, if you take enough at one time, is a nightmarish hallucinogen. It can also increase the risk of dementia even if you use it how it's supposed to be used.

To my knowledge, none of the illegal hallucinogens (dmt, lsd, shrooms) are as nasty. Shrooms can help depression, there's fucking research for it. There are people who report a longterm positive effect after a trip that increased the quality of their life. I read an anecdote about some programmer who took shrooms and saw a menu wherein he literally turned off his fear of heights, an effect which persisted.

Why is this illegal? Because some people go into it and have a bad trip that might negatively effect them for just as long?

OTC and other legal medications can cause negative things too. Ibuprofen can cause an FDE, I had a friend whose kidneys gave out after they took Tylenol (which is indeed linked to kidney impairment with overuse). Recreationally--well, we all know the dangers of alcohol and cigarettes (but did you know the smoke that clings to your clothing is a carcinogen that effects the people around you?). Caffeine is an addictive stimulant that can result in dependency. Here's an antibiotic that can just kill you. Here's some more. Even the covid vaccination can cause, say, VITT. Sorry, not even that one's entirely safe! If your genetics are just the right way, even that can straight-up fucking kill you!

But so can pretty much every other chemical, drug, vaccine, or whatever else you can put into your body. Allergies can develop so suddenly that one day it's safe to eat shrimp and the next day you're on the floor unable to breathe and you don't know why.

Which is why it annoys the absolute shit out of me that I can choose to gamble with blistering rashes, kidney impairment, sudden death and bloodclots, but not the possibility of improving my mental health by shoving some shrooms in my mouth or dropping a tab of acid while being assured about the quality and safety of the product all because some uptight old man made a law criminalizing my poison of choice.

#Politics #Drugs

[a-shared-experience]

I tell her I hope we see the boy with the anchor tattoo and she tells me she met him but he wouldn’t let the nurse do wound care.

“ don’t worry he will listen to me. I’ll help you ok”.

I found him outside of the abandoned arena and asked him if we could do his wound care. I introduce the new paramedic and ask consent for walking her through her first wound care. He walks away to smoke a little down and then returns and we help him carry his bag inside the station.

“ ok we will need blue pads, adaptic , lots of saline , abdominal pads, roller gauze, scissors, tape and I’ll set up some bags to use as garbage for the old bandages”

We glove up and she begins soaking the bandages. “ do you think this is good enough”, she asks

“ one more, be very gentle.”

As she peels back the bandages I can see the shock register on her face.

I look up at him and wait for his eyes to meet mine.

“ it’s bad babe. I think today has to be the day. Will you please let me call community paramedics and arrange for interveinous antibiotics”

“ I hate needles”

“‘I’ll hold your hand”

“ ok”

I order an Uber for the three of us because the trains are running on a 20 minute schedule.

The paramedics are asking me a million questions. “Does he have covid, has he been around anyone who has covid, has he been picked up by Ems in the last 24 hours, what is the pain level, is the wound hot to

Touch, is there redness or swelling, is there pus, wait … what did you say your name was?”

“Brett Taylor”

“ you’re listed as his emergency contact”

“ I know. “

“ have you made a goal of care plan with him? Like dnr for example”

“ no , god no. “

“ I’m sorry if that’s upsetting”

After his leg is wrapped I help him up and he grabs me and hugs me tighter than ever before. I feel his body shake first and then I hear it. He’s bawling in my arms. “ you’re ok darling I got you. I always got you “

“ it’s 420, the day my best friend overdosed. I fucking killed my best friend”

“ hey. No no no. You didn’t. Let’s go get some air ok. “ when we are outside he cries again and I just hold him. “ do you know how many times I’ve gotten high with someone , I couldn’t count. Every single time that I made that choice, they made that choice with me. I’m not fucking proud of it but I’ve given people their first hard drug and watched them spiral. There are friends I’ve gotten high with that have eventually killed themselves. I’m really sorry for your loss but you can’t carry that guilt and shame inside of you. Every time someone gets high with you out here you are at risk of a poisoning that likely will be fatal and every time you will have reached for that pipe because you are battling something inside of you. Most people won’t even know what that is. Let’s honour your friend by taking care of you, loving you. I’m happy you’re my friend, you are my kindred spirit and I’ll stay with you for as long as you need today. We will sit through this together”

“ why are you so fucking sweet. You’re so kind to me and I’m nobody”

“ you’re my idiot friend, I love you very dearly and you matter . It’s not apart of my job to do all this, I do it because I care, truly. “

“ you’re my best friend ya know. I haven’t let anyone get that close to me since he died”

“ I’m so glad you’re in my life , I’m not going anywhere”

I run up to the office and grab the funny hoodie , a pair of Jordan’s , a refillable water bottle , snacks and hand him $20. “ he hugs me again and just says I love ya”

I laugh when he asks around for a lighter and no one has one so he walks up to a dude who’s welding and has a huge torch with an 8 inch blue flame and lights his cigarette. What the fuck haha.

I walk him over to the ambulance and the paramedics thank me. “ she’s my bestie” he tells them.

I wait to make sure he’s not scared.

In the office my coworker looks at me and says, “ I’m always shocked by the ways you care for people, it’s inspiring and I hope to be like you someday. You make a huge difference in this community”

“ oh god , you’re doing too much “ I giggle, “ thanks girl. I really do care, just love them, love them because they deserve love”

On the north side we find a lady slumped over on the bench. She cries and tells us she has no where to sleep. She’s freezing from spending the night on the park bench. “ I’m too scared to go to the shelters and I’m scared of downtown. I don’t have anybody out here”

We are in a park that is gated off, apparently the shipping containers inside have been made into low barrier women’s housing. We don’t have a lot of details on it but I tell her I’ll be back.

“ do you promise”?

“Of course darling, trust me”

As we walk outside the perimeter I spot someone who looks like a worker.

“ hey, how do I access this place”

“ intake is on the far side, keep walking until you see security”

I circle back for the woman and help her gather her belongings. It’s a bit of a walk but she tells me her name and that she started methadone treatment and feels too triggered to be around anyone. “All my friends are dying. This dope is killling everyone. I hate these fucking dealers”

“ the reality is that most dealers are vulnerable youth who have no idea how to survive or feel safe outside of gang life, they don’t even know what they’re selling, they haven’t exactly got a choice in this supply chain. I’m glad you’re in treatment. I will advocate for you.”

Security makes the paramedic and I sign in because we are an agency. We walk the woman to the intake trailer and are greeted by other women who seemed thrilled when they read our staff badges. They are genuine and kind and offer a bin to store the ladies belongings. They offer her lunch and a single occupancy room. It’s just that easy.

“ what’s your occupancy rate, do you have many rooms available?”

“ we can take on 30 more women if you know of anyone in need. Thank you for bringing her here.”

We sign out and I’m shocked at how simple the process was. I wish they had this for men.

We walk the long stretch through the hood and I stumble upon two girls, one is the autistic girl I’d taken to the overnight shelter a week ago. She’s excited to see me. I tell her that her make up looks wonderful and ask if she’s still saying at the shelter. She tells me it’s too loud. She has a personality disorder , extensive trauma and autism so people find her strange. I have a soft spot for her and tell her about the place I just visited. Would you like to go there and check it out? Maybe it will be nice to have your own room, some privacy” she agrees.

We end up working late , we are stopped by a man who needs bandages for a severe infection. We offer wound care and he tells us it’s too intense to do on the street. He goes to visit my favourite nurse- the Virgo boy- on the mall team. Another young guy in psychosis runs over and at first he’s hard to understand but when I get him to slow down by way of co regulation he explains that his brother needs help. He needs a bandaid. We agree to walk and meet him and he needs much more than a bandaid. He has severe compartment syndrome with a large portion of his leg muscles missing.

I gasp in awe. “ sorry dude. I wasn’t expecting that. “ we each raid our medical supplies because he needs a lot. I give him two

Bus passes and tell him he needs to go to the urgent care clinic. We aren’t within our scope to help with this. This is surgical. “ thank you for believing me and taking time to see him” the boy is psychosis says in the sweetest , softest voice. “ of course my dude”

“ god bless you both. We really appreciate your team. You guys care”

When we finally walk away the paramedic looks at me and just shakes her head. “ I never thought I would see wounds this crazy. This is intense”

“ you did great today. Thank you for being patient and for allowing me to do things not by the book. We did important things today. We treated a serious infection in my favourite community member and we got two women housed”

Her mother is waiting to pick her up and she excitedly introduces me. I smile, wave and say hi mom.

As we go to drop off our bags I say, “ I can only imagine what you’re gonna tell your mom about me haha”

“ I can’t wait to tell her about today”

I let the other team leave a little early and stick around to do charting.

I cry a little in the stall in the woman’s washroom and thank god for today. It’s so important that these people get help. I am grateful to have crossed paths with them all and to have been able to make even a little difference.

I love them all.

A houseless man stopped to ask for a narcan kit and told me he has used them every single day. “ why does no one care for their lives? Because of the colour of their skin? Because their clothes are dirty? My clothes are dirty but I’m a good person. They are good people. Why doesn’t anyone care”

“ I’ve found it more helpful to focus on the beauty of those who do care. Someone like yourself , I find it inspiring. Thank you for caring in a world where that seems rebellious. We need you to care. I’m happy to do that with you. I know you are people”

[canceramorem]

December 2017 and Black Mountain North Carolina.

Christmas eve, and the lovebirds Jason and Marie are about to make a game changing decision. Back in October, Marie Bear(that's my nickname for her)

Had gotten into a bit of trouble. Something to do with Walmart and loss prevention, I don't know. Because to be honest , I have never gotten into trouble with Marie up until this point. But it was a couple of weeks after I had met her., she had a charge for some petit charge. And then her court date was coming up . so in between the machete incident and Christmas eve. Where was the bridge at Walmart. Yes, I can't forget this one. It was a time that I like to think I had won her heart.

Gary and I had been doing our little operation flawlessly, and one day , our mutual friend Z, came to the hill and told me " your girls under the bridge", I tried to play it off as if I didn't care. But deep down inside, my heart was doing a full flown investigation on how I was gonna get to that bridge, and Marie.

I think I even was like, - " fuck that bitch!", "what bridge did you say?" LOL he said Walmart bridge , and I said bye, and within ten minutes, I was rounding the bend at Swannanoa river road, and coming to the famous Walmart bridge . At first I saw one of those paper like Oriental umbrellas. It was positioned as to provide some privacy, for her, yes Marie was just sleeping in a sleeping bag someone had given to her, had clothes and food wrappers all over the place, and a little place , right not far from her head , where she actually had been

shitting .

After getting deferred from the plasma center and not being able to get her boots, I did what any man would do if he truly loves a woman- I decided to break the law for Marie Camp. Break the law and get her some boots so I could bring her to the hospital and get the infection on her arm treated. So, I got caught. Yes, Jey Pizzle got caught trying to leave Walmart with a pair of men's boots size 11, and a pair of "Uggs" type boots for My Marie. They must have felt bad for me. Because they only gave me a court date and let me go. This was around December 14, when I got caught stealing the boots.

So her and I both were facing Walmart -like stealing charges. She had this infected arm that was getting worse. And we were just in the honeymoon phase of this nontraditional relationship. We tredged up from under the bridge, and got her to the hospital where they gave her antibiotics and vicodins for pain. ( neither her nor I were ever into pain pils , heroin, or suboxone -downers) We were alike in some ways , and I was willing to do anything she wanted. I was is much in love, I had no logic. This Marie Camp woman had me sprung so bad. I would do literally anything she said. And when we brainstormed about what to do next. It became obvious that she did love me. She loved me enough to take a big risk. To take off from Asheville, and avoid her court date altogether. We were to be " misdemeanor outlaws" together. Her and I . that's when this relationship goes to one step higher. We had to get out of Asheville, and fast. So ,we made our way to Black Mountain, we'll figure it out from there. So , together, we took a huge leap of faith, and headed the 13 miles to Black Mountain - on foot.

@ashevillelovedope2018 @pizzlelovedope

@jeypizzlefire

@mariecampmarryme

@heartbrokenforever

@godhelpus

[casuallyimagining]

Fix You (1)

hybrid!Min Yoongi x female!reader

Summary: When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?  Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, fluff Word Count: 3,660 Rating: M Warnings (may not appear in every part): minor character is a dick to animals, mentions of a gun, main character injury (non-serious), discussion of physical abuse, emotional abuse, discussion of sexual abuse, discussion of self-harm

Notes: This is for the March project for @thebtswritersclub. The prompt word was ‘adventure’ and I mean, what’s more of an adventure than adopting a pet? Banner by @birbdae; thanks to @voiceswithoutlips, @taetaesbaebaepsae​, @hoebii​ and @aroseforyoongi for editing various parts of this for me.

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“That cat got into Rick’s chickens again. Killed a couple chicks. He said he’s going to kill it if he sees it on his property.”

Your dad had said it nonchalantly, barely glancing over his newspaper. Without a second thought, you were out the door. There was no way to be sure, not really, but the sinking feeling in your stomach made you run a little faster down your parents’ driveway.

You could have sworn you saw that cat slinking under Rick’s fence on your walk earlier.

Rick’s property neighbored that of your parents, but you wouldn’t necessarily consider him their neighbor. If you stood on their front porch, you could just barely make out Rick’s house through the stand of trees that served as the property line. Your parents had chosen to let their piece of the world be natural, carving out just enough space for a house and a decent sized yard all those years ago. It had made for some great childhood adventures in the woods: pretending fairies were real, living out your childhood fantasies of being some sort of wizard, making friends with the trees--normal kid stuff.

Rick, on the other hand, had turned his land into farmland, even though he neither farmed nor cared for the land. The vast rolling fields of Rick’s “farm” were mostly bare. He had a pond in one corner on the other side of the property, and he had a small cabin for hunting when game season started. Mostly, though, Rick raised chickens. Annoying things, the chickens were, not unlike Rick himself. It wasn’t uncommon to hear the hens’ incessant clucking from your parents’ house, and the roosters never seemed to shut up.

When you moved to the city to attend college, you were elated to get away from the chickens.

According to your dad, the cat had showed up in the woods a few weeks ago, and it had made an enemy out of Rick almost immediately. The poor thing was skinny--too skinny, like it had been living on the streets for a while--and though its dark fur was ruddy and matted, you could tell it would be a beautiful onyx if taken care of.

As you got closer to Rick’s farm, you heard barking and a sharp yowl, and you hurried in the direction of the sounds, afraid of what you’d find. Rounding the corner of the chicken coop, you gasped in horror.

Rick stood with his back to you, shotgun in his hands. His dog, an old bird hound with caramel spotted fur, had the cat clutched in his mouth, the dog’s teeth sunk directly into the cat’s shoulder. The cat, to its credit, had puffed itself up greatly, its tail nearly double its normal size. It was growling and hissing, and, despite the pain it was almost certainly in, was swiping at the dog with its front claws.

“Call your dog off, Rick.” Your voice was steadier than you thought it would be. You were out of breath from the run over there, and being anywhere near Rick with a gun and his snarling dog made you a little uneasy.

“Fuck off.” The man barely turned his head to you. “Damn cat’s been a pain in my ass since someone dumped it here. It killed four of my chicks.”

“Look at it. Of course it’s going after your chickens. You don’t keep them in their coop. It’s starving.”

“Damn thing should stay at your soft-ass parents’ house if it wants handouts.” Rick cocked his gun, pointing it at the cat. The cat’s copper eyes flashed to Rick at the sound. It looked terrified.

The fact that it knew what a gun was and knew to be afraid of it broke your heart a little bit.

“Call off the dog,” you said again, taking a step toward him, hands splayed out in front of you placatingly. “Calm down. I’ll get the cat out of your hair, and you won’t have to worry about it again.”

“Ain’t going to replace my chickens.” Rick’s voice was gruff, but he lowered the gun.

“I’ll pay for your chickens. Just call off your dog.”

He stared at the cat, the gun clutched in his hands but no longer pointing it at anything. For a second, you thought he was going to sicc the dog on the poor thing just to spite you and make a point. You had a feeling he was the type of person to do that. But after a tense stare down, he whistled through his teeth.

“Drop it,” he commanded the dog. The dog looked to its owner, and he repeated the command. It took a second, but the dog released its bite, and the cat slumped to the ground. Rick regarded the cat with a sneer before turning to you. “Take care of that thing. If I see it on my property one more time, it won’t be so lucky.”

You nodded tensely, and he whistled again. The dog trotted over to Rick’s side and the two walked off. You stared after him for a moment. A pained yowl drew your attention back to the cat.

The cat looked angry, and you didn’t blame it. Its tail was still puffed up, and you could tell that if it hadn’t just been attacked by a dog, its hackles would be straight up. Its copper eyes glared at you, its ears flat against its head. You approached cautiously, and it growled deeply in its throat.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you soothed, crouching down to make yourself less threatening. “I’m going to get you help. Is that okay?”

The cat hissed at you and attempted to back away. It made two limping steps before collapsing into the mud around the coop.

“That’s alright. It’s okay.” You sighed, unsure of your next steps. You didn’t want to traumatize the cat by coming any closer, and you really didn’t want to risk injuring it further by picking it up and having it fight you.

You looked at the cat, blinking slowly when you accidentally made eye contact with it. You had read somewhere that blinking was a way to show a cat that you weren’t a threat, and though you felt kind of silly, at this point, you were willing to try anything.

“What am I going to do with you, kitty?” you questioned, sitting down in the mud. The cat looked at you curiously, as if asking what the fuck you were doing. “I don’t want Rick to hurt you,” you confessed. “I’d like to take you somewhere safe.”

Truthfully, that was part of the reason why you were even visiting your parents. Your mom had told you about the cat, and how it didn’t seem to be wearing any collar, and while you were visiting them you wanted to try to trap it, either to bring it to live with you, or to take it to a nice shelter where it could get a good meal and hopefully find a nice family.

“Can I take you to the vet, at least?” You really were desperate, talking to the cat as if it understood what you were saying. The cat, to its credit, looked at you, copper eyes staring into your face before it blinked, just once, slowly and deliberately.

When you reached out to it, it didn’t growl.

You stood and approached the cat, doing your best not to make any sudden moves. You scooped it up gently, careful not to jostle his left shoulder too much, and cradled it close to your chest.

The walk back to your parents’ house was slow, but the trip to the vet was even slower.

It was a weekend, so the vet in your parents’ sleepy little suburb was closed. You had no choice but to pack your bags back up and make the trek home to the city to take the cat to the 24/7 emergency veterinary hospital.

You tapped your hand on the steering wheel. Traffic wasn’t usually this terrible on a weekend, but there was some sort of sporting event happening, so of course, all the roads into the city were clogged.

Stopped at a red light, you spared a glance toward your passenger seat. The cat laid on his side--it was a him, your mother had confirmed--his breathing labored. You could tell he was still on edge. His tail was still puffed up like a cat-of-nine-tails, and he kept eyeing you warily. But he had let you wrap him in a blanket and carry him to your car, and he had stayed on the seat, almost like he knew it was the safest place for him.

“Almost there, kitty,” you mumbled, changing lanes, finally free of the congestion. “Hang on just a little longer.”

Thankfully, the vet wasn’t busy, and you were able to get in with the assistant almost right away. You explained everything that had happened to her as she examined the cat, tutting slightly as she checked his shoulder.

“There are some punctures, but nothing that’s too worrying. I can bandage it and give you some antibiotics.” The assistant pulled her hand back as the cat swatted at her for touching his shoulder a little too forcefully. “Do you know if he has an owner? It would be helpful to know his shot records.”

You shook your head. “He just showed up in the woods one day.”

“We’ll get him a full round of vaccines, then, too.” Copper eyes met yours, and for a second, you thought you saw a look of concern cross them. But then he blinked, and it was gone.

The vet ordered an MRI, and thankfully, because it was a large veterinary hospital connected with the local university, they were able to do it the same day. So you ended up staying at the vet for two hours as they anesthetized the cat and did the scan. While the cat was waking up, the vet called you into the exam room.

“We checked for a microchip, and there was none,” the vet--Dr. Jung--informed you, his brow furrowed. “Based on the cat’s malnutrition and the condition of the coat, it’s likely he was a stray for at least a few months.” You nodded. The poor cat. “We should have the MRI results soon. I’ll give you a call in a few hours once I get a chance to read them. Normally, since he’s a stray, we would contact our foster network to see if anyone would be able to take him in. But since you brought him in-”

“I’ll keep him,” you said quickly. You were planning on it anyway. Just because he was hurt didn’t mean you were willing to give him up.

“Good.” Dr. Jung smiled at you. “My assistant is wrapping his shoulder now, and we’d like to just monitor him for a few more minutes to make sure he’s coming out of the anesthesia well, but you should be clear to take him home after that.” He placed a box on the table between you. “This is Clavamox. One millilitre twice a day for seven days. I don’t think he’ll develop an infection, but since he was so dirty, I think it’s probably better to be safe.” You nodded and pocketed the box. “We also gave him a rabies shot while he was here. It’s standard because he was bitten. If you notice any symptoms, please call us immediately. Once he’s feeling better, we can get him the rest of the vaccines he needs.”

You nodded. This was a lot all at once. And you didn’t even know what you wanted to call the cat yet.

Dr. Jung seemed to be able to tell you were feeling overwhelmed, because he offered you a comforting smile and patted your shoulder. “I’m going to go check on him. You can come if you want.”

As soon as you entered the room, groggy copper eyes were on you. The poor thing looked stoned out of his mind, but there was recognition there, and that gave you some comfort. At least he wasn’t glaring at you anymore. Dr. Jung’s assistant had wrapped his shoulder, so he had a bandage from his upper left front leg wrapped all the way around his chest and up around his shoulders.

“What are we going to do with you, kitty?” you questioned softly, reaching out and gently placing your hand on his head.

After checking the cat’s vitals one last time, Dr. Jung let you leave.

He was limp in your arms as you carried him into your apartment, still a little drugged up from the anesthesia. The whole way back to your apartment, he had sat in the passenger seat and looked out the window like a drunk, moody college student.

“It’s up to you if you want to stay, kitty,” you told him, gently laying him down on your couch as soon as you kicked your shoes off. Of course you wanted to keep him. You had grown attached to him in the few hours you had been with him. But if he was miserable, you were willing to help him find somewhere that was more suited for his needs.

He tried to stand, succeeding only long enough to give a dramatic wobble before collapsing back into the overstuffed cushion. While he was completely recovered from the anesthesia, Dr. Jung had warned you that the cat might be feeling the side effects for a day or so. You reached out to pet him, but his copper eyes slanted into a glare, and you pulled back.

Assuming the cat was hungry, you left him alone and headed into the kitchen. You had some chicken in the fridge, and you thought maybe he would enjoy some fresh meat he didn’t have to steal. You weren’t sure when his last real meal was, so you wanted to go easy on his digestive system until you knew he was feeling better. You’d have to stop and get cat food at some point, but for now, chicken would do.

You did your best to trim off all the fat from the chicken breast. You knew he wouldn’t mind eating it--cats ate weirder things from fresh kills, after all--but you figured with how thin he was, lean meat would probably be better. Carefully, you cut it up into small, easy-to-chew chunks and put some on a plate, wrapping the rest and putting it into the fridge for later. You used a dropper to evenly spread the required dose of the antibiotics onto the chicken in hopes that it would make it easier to give him the medicine.

Returning to the living room, you noticed that the cat hadn’t moved aside from doing his best to curl up as small as possible in the corner of the couch. You tried not to make eye contact with him as you pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it on the cushions. You weren’t particularly keen on having raw chicken all over your furniture, but you sat the plate on the blanket anyway. There was no way you trusted the cat to be able to jump down off your couch at this point.

“Here’s some chicken, kitty.” You gestured toward the plate, and he eyed it warily, unmoving. You supposed he would feel more comfortable eating if you weren’t in the room. “Don’t leave it too long--it’ll go bad. I have to go do some work. I’ll be in my office if you need me. It’s just down the hall.”  As you stood up, you paused. You were talking to a cat. You were talking to a cat as if it could understand exactly what you were saying.

Maybe your parents were right. Maybe you had been living alone for too long.

Your mother had suggested you get a hybrid when you first moved to the city--a nice, loyal, protective one, like a German shepherd hybrid or a golden retriever--but you had never gone further than passively looking.

You were happy for the hybrids. A majority of them were still owned, but they could move about their lives freely and without question. It was illegal to treat them as servants, and all ownership had to be consensual, though you weren’t sure how well those rules were enforced. You didn’t really understand how someone could just own a hybrid--they were people, after all, even if their DNA was a little altered. It was weird to you, owning another sentient being like that.

Their lives were certainly much better than they had been. Some hybrids were naturally occurring, but others--a majority of them--had been created by rich and powerful individuals and the government in secret during some shady human experiments in the early 20th century. And, of course, because they were experiments, it created a whole host of problems regarding rights and discrimination.

But despite all the improvements, there was still a long way to go. There was nothing wrong with owning a hybrid if it was consensual, but that didn’t mean you were necessarily comfortable with it.

After a few hours of sitting at your desk working on your most recent graphic design project for work, you turned away and stretched. If you had to stare at the color chartreuse for ten more minutes, you thought you would go blind. It was time to check on the cat anyway, and you wanted to make sure you threw away any chicken that was left on the plate you had given him so he wouldn’t get sick.

When you entered the living room, you were immediately confused. The cat was gone, but so was your blanket. The plate was still on the couch, almost exactly where you left it, but it was entirely empty. Wonderful. You had taken in some sort of Houdini cat.

You grabbed the plate and put it in the sink, trying to look for your blanket as you went. You found it when you returned to the living room, the corner sticking out from under your TV stand. There was just enough space between the bottom shelf and the floor for the cat to fit under, and apparently he had taken the blanket with him. You couldn’t really blame him--it was April, and it was late evening, and your floors were still a little chilly.

“Hey kitty?” you called, bending down to see if you could see him under the shelf. You had thought about it while working, and at this point, you were just going to lean into the whole ‘talking to the cat like he’s a person’ thing. “It’s starting to get late. I’m going to go get ready for bed, okay?” You could just barely see his copper eyes hidden all the way under the TV stand. His pupils were blown wide to capture all the ambient light they could. “You can explore or whatever you’re comfortable with tonight, but please don’t ruin my stuff. Please be a good kitty.”

He blinked once and continued to stare blankly at you.

“Okay, well… if I don’t see you, goodnight.”

You stood and headed off to your bathroom to start your nightly routine. It only took you about a half an hour, but you were soon laying down in bed with your book. You had started it a few days ago, but you were hooked, and you were already almost done with it. The author had managed to somehow insert a space alien robot into today’s modern digital age, and you found it fascinating. You would never look at social media and influencers the same way after reading this book.

It was cozy in your room with the little bedside lamp on, snuggled up in your blankets. Your bed was soft--it was one of those that you could change it using a remote to fit your mood and preference, but you almost always preferred it soft--and you had plenty of blankets and pillows to make it comfortable.

You only had a few pages left when you noticed it, the shadow lingering in the hallway, slowly getting closer to your open bedroom door. It started out against the wall across the hall. When you next looked up after glancing down to your book, the shadow had moved to your doorway. He even had turned his head away like he was pretending it was a coincidence that he had ended up in your room.

He was walking with a slight limp, which was unsurprising given the bandage and the fact that he was attacked not even 12 hours before. He was much more lucid than he was when you first brought him home, though you could tell he was still a little groggy. You didn’t say anything to him--you figured if you did, he would bolt, so you let him do what he wanted.

After a few minutes--maybe 15 or 20--you closed your book quietly, careful not to startle the cat. You glanced at the doorway and didn’t see him, so you put your book on your nightstand and turned off the light. It took you a second, but you snuggled down into the blankets, pulling them tightly around you. You were just about to drift off when you felt it.

Something landed gently on your bed by your feet. It paused for a moment before slowly making its way up the bed to your head, its gait uneven. When it got to the other pillow, it laid down. You risked opening an eye then, and were met with copper eyes staring back at you.

He watched you warily, as if waiting for you to yell or kick him off the bed. When you didn’t, his eyes narrowed, and he slowly allowed himself to lay down, his head on his paws, curled up as best as he could be.

You fell asleep to the sound of him snoring lightly.

As always, your feedback is appreciated. Feel free to pop into my ask box with questions or thoughts about the series. I’d love to hear from you!

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#yoongi x reader #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #hybrid yoongi #hybrid yoongi x reader #bts hybrid au #hybrid au #thebtswritersclub #yoongi hybrid au #hybrid bts #hybridyoongi #yoongi hybrid #yoongihybrid #yoongi angst #bts angst #min yoongi angst

[theramseyloft]

Apparently, there are a number of people in the pigeon care community who think I am acting on my flock's behalf without consulting a vet.

Or that Storm is the only bird getting any veterinary care?

And That we're only paying for hers, and begging for other people to do it for us.

Without really considering her long term quality of life.

Apparently, some specifics need to be clarified.

In reference specifically to Storm:

In the post where I discussed the rescue birds, I specifically stated that it is possible that Storm will not be able to adjust comfortably without the weight of the broken leg.

And that, in that event, the only kind option left will be humane euthenasia.

For my new followers, I am re-stating that to be a factor to consider before donating towards her amputation.

My vet and I have been in perpetual communication about her condition since her arrival.

There are two conditions under which we agreed, on her arrival, that immediate euthenasia would be the kindest course of action.

She came in with a shattered outer sinus wall, and obstruction was a very real possibility.

So condition 1 was "If at any point, she is not comfortably breathing with her beak closed, we'll euthanize."

She has had no trouble breathing, and has healed enough that I am no longer worried about that happening.

Condition 2, for which we are still watching, is

"If at any point her appetite decreases."

Because that will indicate a level of pain that it would be cruel to make her endure.

So far, it hasn't.

But if it does, the decision will be announced, and she will be put to sleep.

We are only raising funds for her amputation because we have spent so much in vet care, diagnostics, equipment, and help to renovate the loft and maintain the flock as instructed by our vet, the avian specialists she consults, and the state vet that Storm's surgery is the only thing we can't cover right this minute, and I do not want to make her wait any longer that I absolutely have to, now that she's at a safe weight where she is likely to survive it.

And speaking of my flock:

I talk about them like pets, and they are.

But because birds leave my home and cross state borders on a regular basis, the state vet considers them a full scale commercial flock.

And advise me differently than they would for just a large number of personal pets.

An individual pet, or even a number of them, are often given a broad spectrum antibiotic to treat symptoms while more specific tests are run to narrow down the species and specific antibiotic sensitivity of that specific strain.

Because there is very minimal risk of spreading a pathogen that develops drug resistance from an individual or group that are permanent residents of a single household.

That is not the case with a flock considered to be commercial.

Because birds move from here across state lines on a regular basis, the risk of spread in the event of a bacterial infection developing a resistance to anything they may try to treat with to mitigate symptoms is too great to allow.

The advice of my vet, the specialists she is consulting, and the state vet,

Concerning a flock from which birds are regularly sold or adopted, particularly across state lines, is:

"Do not treat, beyond providing supportive care, until we know exactly what we are dealing with."

So that is what I have done.

And will continue to do.

Until instructed otherwise, by the people I trust to know more about what I am dealing with than I do.

I am fucking exhausted.

The basic sanitation protocol while under quarantine takes hours, and I just do not have time to do much more that that, report to my vet and Patrons, eat, and sleep.

That's why the updates here have been so brief and sparse.

I am sorry, guys.

I only have so much time and energy in a day, and I have to make the manual tasks of sanitation and reports to my vet and Patrons the priority.

I am sharing my experiences as they happen.

This experience could have easily been prevented, and I am suffering the consequences as openly as I am able.

Do whatever you want with that information.

[thatrandomwriter]

Returning the favor

Merle x female reader, reader saves Merle’s life after he cuts off his hand

Warnings: sexual language, slight gore, cursing

A banging at the door made me jump awake - I never slept deeply anymore, and I spent most of my nights in and out of what could barely be described as sleep, easily woken and constantly exhausted.

My first thought was a particularly persistent walker. But then I heard a voice, raspy and southern “I saw you through the window. Open up. Or I swear, I’ll kick this damn door down.” It was most likely a looter. Opening the door to him seemed immediately like the stupid option, but if he was serious about knocking my door down then I would have to find a new place to hide out, an extra risk I could not afford to take. My best bet was to overpower him at the door. He’d seen me through the window and probably assumed that I’d be easily threatened, but what he hadn’t seen was the pistol I kept hidden by the door, or the knives I had stashed under my mattress and around the small room.

The banging on the door got more persistent. I grabbed a knife, and ensured my gun was easily in reach. It wouldn’t hurt to have extra weapons he didn’t know about.

I swung open the door. A tall, broad man stood in my doorway. One arm was pointing a gun vaguely in my direction, the other dripping so much blood it almost looked black. His hand had been cut off.

“Get out. All your shit is mine now, don’t think I won’t shoot you just cuz yer a girl,” He sneered at me, feigning confidence, but his skin was tinged grey and sweat was beading on his brow. He was weak and there was no way he could physically overpower me in this state, despite his muscular frame.

I raised a sceptical eyebrow at his threat. Then, in one swift motion, I knocked the gun from his hand and pushed my knife to his throat, firmly enough for a small bead of blood to gather on the edge of the blade. He opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid, before the full weight of his body collapsed into me and he lost consciousness.

*

Somehow, with strength I hadn’t even known I had, I half lifted, half dragged the man’s body over to my mattress on the floor. It was clear he had lost far too much blood. I knew it was stupid, but some part of me wanted to help him, even though I knew he had come here to rob me blind, and possibly to kill me after he had taken all of my possessions. I told myself it was because leaving him outside would attract walkers. But really some part of me was still weak and soft, and somehow I had sympathy for a man who could not give less of a shit about me.

Minor medical training from books I had scavenged and stolen told me that he was in desperate need of stitches, and likely had a severe infection from his wound, and that it needed to be treated fast or there was no way he could survive without a hospital, which, for obvious reasons, was not an option. The building I had set up camp in was a small convenience store in the city which I used to run, and decided to stay in when the dead started walking. Unfortunately, the store had tempted many thieves in the early days, but as time went on, less and less people braved the city. The man must have seen that my store was the least damaged for several blocks, and identified it as his best bet at survival. He was right - behind the counter were antibiotics and just enough first aid equipment for me to have a chance at saving him. Even if he had stolen my supplies, it was unlikely that he would have managed treating his own wound.

The stitches were the worst part. I had never liked needles, and as far as facing my fears went, this was seriously hands on. It was messily done, probably a laughable job compared to professional standards. And I was sure that the amount of blood on the floor, my hands and staining my clothes was biologically impossible. But somehow he was still alive, something I still hadn’t decided was a good or bad thing. At least he was unconscious for now.

*

Two days passed. I was getting used to sleeping with him around, trying not to think about what he might do if he awoke while I was asleep- waking up to a gun in my face was a real possibility, but one that I had to risk. I slept on the floor next to the mattress he was occupying, uncomfortable enough to be exhausted but easily woken if he or the walkers became an immediate threat.

I sat next to him on the mattress, cleaning his arm, checking that the infection was fading and that the stitches were holding like they should be. It was strange looking after someone who had barely spoken two sentences to me, those sentences being delirious threats after severe blood loss. I often found myself wondering what he would have been like if we had met before the world had ended, at a bar maybe, where he could have bought me a drink or two. I like to think that he would have been the type to hit on me shamelessly and I would have been cynical but secretly loved his advances. I cut myself off in my head. It was ridiculous to think like this. With some effort, I focused back on his arm and began to change his bandage, but my eyelids were growing heavy and I had forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. Every time I closed my eyes, sleep tried to pull me down. I just had to keep them open, just had to focus-

I jolted awake. It almost pitch dark, if I had to guess a time I would have said an hour or two before dawn. There was a hand around my mouth and an arm was around my waist, holding me still against the warm, hard body behind me. He had woken up. Immediately I struggled against him, biting his hand and elbowing him in the stomach. He swore under his breath, but his grip only tightened around me.

“Stop wrigglin’. There’s walkers in here, I’m tryna figure out how many, so for fuck’s sake stay still.”

I nodded. He removed the hand from my mouth, but the arm around my waist stayed. Probably a precaution in case I tried anything again.

“Sorry,” I whispered back. “How did they get in - and when did you wake up? What’s your name? Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Now wasn’t the time for questions, but I was desperate for answers. For all I knew, the only reason he hadn’t killed me yet was to keep me as bait for the walkers.

He shushed me. Then, he finally let go of me and stood up. “Wait here.”

He walked off in the direction of a shuffling noise, and seconds later I heard the thunk of a knife through a skull, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The sound, quiet as it was, caused another walker’s movements to become frenzied. I heard snarling and then the sound of a second body hitting the floor. There were no more walker sounds, just the sound of the man walking back towards me.

I jumped to my feet and reached for the knife normally hooked through my belt. It was gone, as was the knife under my mattress. I had no defence against the stranger that I had so stupidly taken care of.

“Window’s broken, s’what woke me up. You were out cold. Hope ya had a nice nap.”

I stood up, trying to read his face in the growing bit still dim light.

“Name’s Merle. And you, sugar tits, are exceptionally lucky that I believe in returning favours.”

So he didn’t plan on killing me after all. I shook off the lingering fear caused by both him and the walkers getting so close.

“Thanks. And you’re welcome, I stitched you up good. And don’t call me that, or I’ll chop of your other hand,” He smirked at me, knowing my threat was entirely empty.

“Oh yeah? I’m not so sure you wanna do that, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of what I can do with this hand,” His smile was suggestive and I could feel my face getting hot.

“I’m gonna board up the broken window,” I attempted to ignore his last sentence, but it was clear he could tell I was flustered as he stepped forward, closing in on me.

“Don’t ya think we should get to know each other a little first?”

#merle dixon x reader #merle dixon #twd #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #imagines #oneshot

[slowpoke-fics]

The Good Doctor

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Summary: You're the doctor in Alexandria and Negan comes on a supply trip, taking something that doesn't belong to him

Warnings: depression, death, mentions of off self, gets a little triggering, I know I'm missing some, Negan is off character, nothing is exactly right in this, it's writing for writings sake

A/N: This is my first fic in years please forgive me for mistakes, it's just me in this operation, probably gonna be a whole series, here is part two!

May 20th

Negan's trucks roll into Alexandria again, loudly pushing past the gate and up to the medical center. Your insides start to rumble at the nervousness you have to see the ruthless man who knows no bounds. You reluctantly step outside and wait for him at your door, not doing well at hiding your displeasure of the loss of supplies.

When Negan and his men get out of their loading trucks, Negan shoots you his oh so dangerous smile before directing his men to their collections, keeping two of his men with him, he finally approaches you. "Well good fuckin' morning Dr. Y/L/N," he holds the door open for you, "after you, doll."

You moved past him, smiling at him, and walked to the stockpile of medication you had collected yourself helping Daryl on runs. "Please, only take what you are owed." Negan's men glared at you viciously, "We will take whatever we damn well please." Negan turned to face his men, "Now, we have a peaceful agreement here with the nice fuckin' doctor, get the supplies n lets go." You smiled at him, "Thank you for keeping your end of the bargain." Negan nodded, "I may be a fuckin' prick, but I am a man of my fuckin' word, ain't that all that fuckin' matters nowadays?" You nodded, waiting in silence for the men to complete their tasks.

After the men went through the supplies that laid before them, they pulled Negan to the side, obviously keeping their conversation private, one of them turning to you and flashing you a gut wrenching smile, you leaned on the gurney, waiting for the problem. Negan turned to you, scratching his chin, laughing lightly, "See doc, my men seem to really think that you've tried to short us this week," your eyes went wide, remembering what happened to the last person that tried to short Negan and his group, "I know you wouldn't fuckin' do that so can you just clear this shit up for us."

Scanning over the pages in front of you, "No," you cleared your throat, "I'm not short, its all documented here," you handed Negan the clipboard. As he scans over it, looking at your logs for every pill that comes in and out of this faux medical center, every date and name, the two men he placed with him rips your bag from your shoulders, dumping it out on the table, displaying the contents. Negan glances up, taking in the items on the table; a knife, a ripped up pack of spearmint bubble gum, a few pens, a small first aid kit, a few hair ties, stray items and a small leather bound notebook.

Negan slams the clipboard down, smiling at you, "I'll be damned she's fuckin' right boys, pack it up, it's all in the goddamned charts." You let out a breath of relief, a little worried to be Negan's next lesson. One of the men came close to you, pushing you backwards toward the gurney, "Don't test me bitch," backing away while still staring at you, he picked up your knife and waved it at you, "mine now, doll." The nickname reverberated evil inside you, at least when Negan did it, it felt at least flattering, but this man dripped poison from his words. At that though, Negan perked up, "Come on, shithead we've got things to do." You panicked, "No!" They all turned to you, "You cannot have my fucking knife," you backed up a little when the man stared you down, "please, it means a lot to me." The man started to say something, obviously furious you would even try ordering him, but Negan stopped him, taking the knife and handing it to you. The man he took the knife from grumbled and picked up your pack of gum, "Fuck you, keep your knife bitch, I'll take something sweet." Flashing you his smile, Negan was gone.

As you watched his trucks leave Alexandria, you finally returned to your work, cleaning up the mess his hooligans had made. Straightening the bottles, subtracting inventory, picking up your bag and sighing at the small amount of happiness you had as you realized that was the last pack of gum that you could find in a 50 mile radius. As you were putting away everything on the table, you started to move frantically looking for your notebook, under the table, around the table, even been looking all over the room. You couldn't find it. Your coping mechanism for the world moving at a pace that you just couldn't handle. A sense of dread washed over you as you realized, Negan.

He just couldn't help himself, just has to know what makes the good doctor fuckin' tick. Now, he just happens to have an all access pass to your thoughts in the zombie apocalypse. Humming to himself and relaxing into his seat, he peeled the book back at the marker for your most recent entry, picked a random nearby page and began reading.

April 23rd

celebrating yet another round of people. at some point I hit my limit, just can't keep meeting and greeting. feels pointless, I never see half of them, and when I do they normally die in my clinic. is this what it's become? death after death? mercy after mercy?

April 30th

every time someone dies in my clinic and I slide a knife through their skull it just reminds me this is how it will end for us all. we'll all just be the walking dead in the end. when's my turn? when do I get to finally stop running this rat race and throw in my damn towel? everyone else gets to say goodbye seems fair

Goddamn, Negan thought to himself, there's an entry here for every fuckin' day. He readjusted, taking in where they were at and how long he had to read for now, planning to figure out how you worked. No shame in wanting the pretty doctor.

May 4th

so fucking stupid, absolutely incompetent, couldn't even find antibiotics. couldn't find any gauze or even disinfectant. what a waste of gas, we're beginning to pick clean every building, car and trash can in a 50 mile radius. how long do we have left with the saviors breathing down our neck

May 12th

found some supplies, couldn't find enough, not enough, people treat the medicine like it's never ending but I just can't keep up there's nothing left, there has to be something that I can do, has to be something out there for me to find, it can't just be all gone, I'm not thinking of something, there is something out there I just have to be fucking smart enough to find it

May 15th

risk is worth the reward, I finally found some more antibiotics, and hit the fucking jackpot, found some chewing gum, melted Twix for Judith, and a knife for henry after I lost his in that horde, indescribable emotion when I had that first piece of gum that reminded me of how it used to be, when I was surrounded by support and family, gotta make it last

May 16th

henry was carried in by rick and daryl. henry was conscious, talking, don't let me turn, he begged. rick said he fell from a third story window. daryl grabbed alcohol and gauze, rick grabbed the stitch kit while I cut open henrys shirt, glass, at least two dozen pieces, please be manageable. I grabbed the tweezers and pour alcohol on henry's chest, his screams. half an hour in, he's seizing, rick grab buccal midazolam, place it in his mouth, hold him still until it stops, wait for a beat, no beat, cpr, one hundred twenty seconds in, can't let him turn, wait for beat, no beat, knife.

had to be something more.

henry was carried in by rick and daryl. henry was conscious, talking, don't let me turn, he begged. rick said he fell from a third story window. daryl grabbed alcohol and gauze, rick grabbed the stitch kit while I cut open henrys shirt, glass, at least two dozen pieces, please be manageable. I grabbed the tweezers and pour alcohol on henry's chest, his screams. half an hour in, he's seizing, rick grab buccal midazolam, place it in his mouth, hold him still until it stops, wait for a beat, no beat, cpr, one hundred twenty seconds in, can't let him turn, wait for beat, no beat, knife.

Negan shifted uncomfortably, this went on for at least ten pages, questioning every move you made, reliving putting down a good friend of yours, is this how you mourn?

May 17th

This is it. surrounded by death, my turn.

Fuckin' christ, Negan thought, now realizing that the good doctor is too fuckin' hard on herself. Realizing that you had your own horrible demons, and that this world is starting to get to you.

May 19th

Guess not.

Negan felt horrible for taking this, he felt like he had taken a piece of you, just trying to figure out which buttons to press to make you want him like everyone else, he definitely didn't expect this. He had to give it back, had to find a way to make it better, and he just might have a plan.

May 21st

You woke up feeling empty, just going through the motions, getting dressed, brushing out your hair, brush your teeth, quarter of a piece of gum- no. Walk to the clinic, not hungry today. You sat in your chair, clipboard on lap, staring at the door, waiting for your next victim to come through. After about two hours, you hear a few bikes pull into the gate and getting closer. Taking a peak out the window, you see Negan at your clinic doors with a relatively large backpack on, and the same two men he had with him yesterday, and an extra woman who you had never seen before.

Negan walked into your clinic, the woman standing at the door but not stepping in, and you couldn't do anything but get your knife out. "What the fuck are you doing back here?" You pointed the knife at him, not going to let him take anymore of your hard earned supplies. "You raided yesterday and stole from me! The kind of nerve a selfish prick like you-" Negan pulled out your book and an unopened pack of spearmint gum. You lowered your knife, looking at him like a confused puppy, and then jerked the book out of his hand, leaving the gum. "It's a fuckin' peace offering, doll," Negan held out the gum, but you didn't take it, just stared at him. "I don't want it, you don't get to take all of our lessening supplies and steal from me after I've been nothing but honest trying to keep our deal for no violence and then just come offering a pack of gum your henchmen stole from me! I worked for that! I worked for all of this! I was good to your men! I was good to you, Negan!" You started tearing up and turned away from him, mindlessly putting your journal back in your bag, sighing in great relief that it was returned to you.

"Doll, I didn't fuckin' mean to upset you, I didn't fuckin' know what it was-" Negan stepped closer, setting the bag he carried on your table, "it's not the only peace offering, I've got two more." He sat the gum next to the pack and took your place in the chair, spinning around. You emptied the pack, meds, gauze, a Twix bar, and a few cases of extra supplies. You immediately turned to him, eyebrows raised, "What's the fucking catch? Nobody gets anything from you without a catch." Negan smiled, scratching through his beard, that trouble causing smile, "You gotta come back with me." You scoffed, gawked at that. "Are you serious? You want me to come back with you, with the saviors? Why? That's not even possible, I-I'm needed here, I'm the only one whose been studying the medical books, only one that can tell their ass from their end, that's just stupid-" Negan stands and points to the woman at your door. "Cue the next fuckin' offering, Amelia. She knows what she's fuckin' doing, she's a good one and fuckin' despises my fine ass, so I know that your fuckin' people are in good hands. You only gotta come for a week, just a fuckin' week."

You sighed, not sure what to do, but only had seconds to figure it out, "Okay," you moved closer to him, "on two conditions." Negan smiled, turned on by your big balls of courage to demand something from the man who mercilessly beat the shit out of people with a barbed wire bat. "I have today to train her on how to keep things in order while I'm gone, and next week, you leave Alexandria alone, and no taking extra in two weeks, we get to keep our extra supplies for next week." Negan scoffed, unbelievable that you'd demand that, he's gotta run his own group, "Are you fuckin' joking sweetheart?" You laughed, packing up the supplies and giving the bag of supplies back to him, "No, I am not," you pulled back and crossed your arms, "so how bad do you want me, Negan?"

#the walking dead fanfiction #twd fandom #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #negan x reader #negan x you #rick x you #rick x reader #twd negan #negan fic #negan x y/n #negan imagine #negan fanfiction #negan fluff #negan angst #tw fanfic #tw fanfiction

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Swiss Ghoul (Ghost) 18+

I realized a while ago that I always shoulder shimmy whenever I hear a song with a particularly good beat (usually Hispanic music lol), so it was about time I wrote something about Multi.

Warning: The reader has night terrors. I don’t have night terrors myself, so I apologize if I portray it incorrectly! +SMUT.

Edit: I’m adding smut at the end of this...don’t know why. This would be the first time writing something so explicit. So, 18+ 18+ 18+!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Every night, you’d get these horrible night terrors.

It started when you were a young, after your parents died. You’d always cry or scream in your sleep. You went to the church’s Priestess for help, but she told you that there was nothing she could do. You prayed to your lord every night, hoping that he could take away your suffering. He never answered.

Eventually, almost a week of screaming every night, it was decided to move your room to the most secluded part of the abbey. You didn’t blame them. You were sure you’d get tired of listening to your screams every night too.

You knew everyone felt sorry for you, but you didn’t need their pity. You just wanted one good nights sleep...was that too much to ask?

In your room, no human could hear your screams. No human. But unfortunately, the Ghouls could. Curse their super hearing...

The Ghouls didn’t have to tell you that they could hear you, you could tell by the way they looked at you with pitiful stares every time you’d pass them in the halls in the mornings. You felt so embarrassed... 

The worst part for you was everyone in the abbey treating you like you were made of glass. You had lived with night terrors for so long now that you knew how to make sure that you didn’t get hurt. You did not need their help with that.

After one practically awful incident, you grew more and more careful of how you slept. It was when you were living in foster care, about a year after your parents died. You had already dealt with the night terrors, but that night, you got hurt. You don’t usually remember what happens when you have these episodes, but your foster parents told you that you flailing around so hard that you fell off your bed, hitting your head on the bedside table in the process.

You had to deal with the risk of getting concussions after that, and ever since you’d make sure to wherever you slept was basically safe enough for a child.

After becoming a Sister of Sin, the night terrors mellowed out for a while, but it didn’t last.

You sighed, pushing your fork around, some scrambled eggs and a sausage being the only thing left on your plate. You looked around the mess hall, it was pretty empty. You were usually one of the first ones to arrive for breakfast since you rarely got your full eight hours.

Even if the night terrors were detrimental to your sleep, you were still thankful you didn’t remember them. But ever since you got hurt, you’ll admit, you’ve been afraid of sleeping. Nowadays, you get about four or five hours every night at the most.

You suddenly think back to a psychology class where your teacher said that lack of sleep can cause early deaths and heart attacks...oh well.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Swiss’ voice called out, making you drop your silverware in shock.

“Morning.” You sighed and yawned.

“Sleep well?” He asked, making you glare at him. He grinned nervously, knowing full well of your predicament. “Bad joke? Sorry...”

Being annoyed, you still chuckle. “It’s alright.”

“Gonna eat that?” He asked, pointing at your neglected eggs and sausage.

You smiled weakly, and pushed the plate over to Swiss. “Knock yourself out.”

Swiss licked his lips in anticipation, a puddle of drool already pooling on the table. He grabbed your previously held fork and stabbed it into the greasy piece of meat. He lifted up the impaled sausage and brought it to his mouth, only to bite the bitter metal of the fork.

Swiss whined and looked around for the culprit of his stolen breakfast, only to see Dewdrop already scoffing it down. “Hey! That was mine!” Swiss fussed.

Dewdrop grinned and sucked off the leftover grease that coated his fingers. “You don’t eat sausage with a fuckin’ fork. You were basically asking for it to be stolen.”

“Civilized Ghouls use their manners!” Swiss growled.

“Swiss, when has Dewy ever been civilized?” You chuckled, making Dewdrop narrow his eyes at you.

“I told you not to call me that, brat.” He growled.

“Ha! You’re calling me a brat?!” You laughed loudly.

“You wanna meet your maker early?!” Dewdrop shouted.

“Ugh, children. Stop fighting!” Aether said suddenly, sitting down beside you, opposite of Swiss, making you feel quite protected from Dew’s empty threats.

“She started it!” Dewdrop pointed a sharp claw at you.

“If you wanna get technical, it actually Swiss that started it.”

“What?!” Swiss squeaked.

Dewdrop suddenly grinned evilly. “You know what, you’re absolutely right.” He said, Swiss immediately begging for his life before Dewdrop tackled him to the floor.

You and the rest of the Ghouls watched in amusement as Dewdrop and Swiss wrestled each other on the floor, Aether enjoyed his breakfast while watching the show.

“Hey! Hey!” 

You all looked to see Sister Imperator storming towards the group, a spray bottle in hand. She quickly sprayed a still fighting Dew and Swiss with water, forcing them to break apart.

“You Ghouls are supposed to be at practice soon! Copia is gonna waiting!”

The Ghouls suddenly remember that they had to go on tour soon, frowning when they had to leave you alone. But shooed them off anyway, you didn’t want to be the cause of their possible punishments for blowing off work.

“We’ll hang out later, okay?” Swiss smiled at you, showing his pearly white teeth, water still dripping off his silver mask.

You nodded and smiled, but frowned as soon as his back turned and headed off to the studio where they usually practiced. “Y/N,” Sister Imperator said, “can I talk to you?”

You held your breath for a moment, nervous about the grim look on her face, but you answered anyway. “Yes, of course, Sister.”

Sister took a seat where Aether previously sat, and put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Your terrors haven’t stopped.” She stated.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “H-how...?”

“The Ghouls.” She answered. “They haven’t been getting much sleep lately. The band is suffering because of this. They just can’t focus on their music due to lack of sleep.”

You looked down embarrassed. “Sister...I’m-”

“I know it’s not your fault, dear. But...” She sighed. “It needs to stop or else they won’t be tour ready.”

Your heart almost stopped. “...are you kicking me out?” You almost cried.

“No, no, no!” She said. “Not permanently.” You nodded tearfully. “It would only be until they go on tour, dear. I promise. It’s just...they need their sleep to get the most out their practice time.”

“I understand.” You said, your voice barely passing a whisper.

“You won’t be homeless. We’ve already set up a living arrangement with a member of the church that’ll be happy to house you for awhile. Okay?”

“When do I leave?”

“Anytime tomorrow.”

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling. “Okay...I’ll go pack now if that’s okay with you Sister.” You said and got up without waiting for an answer.

You dug your nails into the soft material of your habit, willing yourself not to break down on your way to your room.

The waterworks started flowing at soon as you closed your door, throwing yourself onto the familiar comforting feeling of your bed, remembering that you wouldn’t have this bed until you got back.

It made you cry for hours, until you fell asleep...

You suddenly gasped awake, quickly trying to escape the claustrophobic feeling you felt around you. “Hey, hey, hey...shh...” You heard.

You looked up, and quickly realized who the voice belonged to. “Swiss...” You smiled, but Swiss didn’t smile. He looked worried. “What?”

You tried to sit, finding it difficult when you suddenly felt a sharp pain in the palms of your hands and forearms. You hissed in pain and looked at your arms. They were covered in scratches, and your palms had deep crescent shaped indents in them, all bleeding.

“Y/N...” Swiss frowned. “We got to take you to the infirmary.”

“No, no.” You groaned. “It’s okay. I have a first aid kit in my closet. Bottom shelf, I think.”

Swiss immediately rummaged through your closet and pulled out the kit, bringing it over to you as you sat up. “Does this happen often?” He asked while take out some antibiotic ointment.

You sighed. “Not really. I usually don’t hurt myself...it hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“I didn’t know it could get this bad...” Swiss gently took your arm, uncapping the tube. “I’m sorry.”

You smiled. “It’s not your fault. If anything, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Swiss briefly gave you a confused look, continuing to treat your self inflicted wounds. “What do you mean?”

“Sister...she told me I’ve been keeping you all awake because of...my screaming. You Ghouls have always had better hearing than humans.” You laughed nervously.

Swiss’ eyes darkened. “She told you that?”

You nodded. “Practice hasn’t been going very well for you guys.”

Swiss sighed and shook his head, starting to wrap your hands with gauze. “I...yeah, it’s true. But it’s not your fault!”

“You’ve lost sleep because of me! How is that not my fault?”

“You can’t control what you do in your sleep, Y/N.”

“I have to leave tomorrow.” Your statement made Swiss halt his actions. “I have to stay at a Clergy member’s house until the band goes back on tour.”

“Fuck that.” Swiss suddenly said, making you blink in shock. “I’m not letting you leave.”

You chuckled bitterly. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

“I don’t care. You don’t deserve to be kicked out, even if it’s temporary. because of something you can’t control. I will go on strike, hell, all of us will.”

“Swiss...” You tried to scold, the determination in his voice making it hard for you to crush his hopes.

“Nope. Shut up.”

“Swiss.” You laughed.

“I’ll talk to Sister Imperator. I’ll convince her to let you stay.” Swiss said, looking you in the eyes. “Okay?”

You sighed in defeat. “...okay.”

Swiss finally finished treating your wounds, and put the first aid kit back in the closet. “Move over.” He ordered when he got back over to your bed.

You were confused but listened anyway. “What time is it?” You asked.

“Hmm, about ten.” He said and sat beside you.

You frowned. “You should probably leave then.”

“No, I’m staying with you.” Swiss said, making you blush. “If you want that it. Maybe it’ll sleep better?”

“Swiss, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Swiss giggled. “I don’t know if you remember, but I’m a Ghoul babe. You’d have to be really freaking strong to even leave a scratch on me.”

You giggled. “Okay then. Fine.” You said and snuggled up against Swiss, finding his muscular body quite comfortable.

“I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself again.” You heard him whisper before his warmth lulled you into a deep sleep.

The next morning, you woke up still in Swiss’ arms. You found it surprising that you hadn’t scared him away. You looked up to see a sleeping Swiss. His mask was slightly crooked, showing a tiny bit of skin underneath. You smiled when you heard his soft snores. You always found him adorable.

But you frowned, remembering that you had to leave the abbey today...you had to leave Swiss.

You reached up and gently poked his jaw, him groaning in reply. “Hmm?”

“It’s morning.” You said softly, looking back towards your window that had sunrays shining through.

“Oh, really?” Swiss yawned, finally opening his eyes to look at you. “Guess what?”

“What?” You smiled.

“You didn’t scream in your sleep.” He smiled.

“Really?” You almost shouted, making Swiss wince slightly.

“Mhm, you didn’t even more around that much. You mumbled a little, but other than that, you pretty much slept like a baby.”

“Huh...that’s odd. I mean, it’s great but still, kinda odd. That doesn’t usually happen. I guess that means the others Ghouls finally got some sleep too.” You laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. You should be focusing on yourself.” Swiss snuggled into your neck, the cold metal raising goosebumps all over your body.

“I have to leave today...” You frowned. Swiss stayed silent, not loosing his grip on you. “Swiss...”

“I told you I’d take care of it.” Swiss said, slightly muffled. You sighed and decided to sit up, making Swiss groan. “No, come back.”

“I have start packing.” You started to get up but Swiss grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down and looking at you with an intense glare.

“I told you, I’d take care of it.” Swiss said and stood up. “Stay here. Don’t fucking leave.” He ordered.

You rolled your eyes and fake saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

As soon as Swiss left your room, you started packing your suitcase. It’s not like you didn’t trust Swiss’ abilities to talk his way out of any problem, but talking to Sister Imperator was a whole other thing. She wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit, so that was worrying.

You didn’t exactly know how Swiss was going to try to convince Sister, but you hoped he could anyway.

Meanwhile, Swiss gathered up his fellow Ghouls and explained the situation. Dewdrop made the mistake of joking around that he wouldn’t mind if you left, making Aether slap the back of the head.

But they all agreed to help out, quickly going to Sister Imperator and successfully convincing her to let you stay.

You however decided to change out of your habit, not really thinking you’d have the need to wear it in your new temporary home. It felt like you were being put in foster care all over again...

You swiftly removed your habit, neatly folding it and placing it on your dresser. You picked some comfortable clothes and briefly wondered if you should take a shower. But before you decided, Swiss barged in through the door without knocking.

You squeaked and quickly got underneath your bed covers, hiding your half naked form. But it was too late, Swiss was already wearing a smirk. “Oh, learn to knock, will ya!” You blushed furiously.

“Sorry.” He laughed. Yeah, he obviously wasn’t sorry.

As if he wanted to make you more embarrassed, he sauntered over and sat in front of you. “Swiss...” You whined and sighed.

Swiss smiled, looking over to your open suitcase and frowned. “You were packing?”

“...uh, yeah.”

“I talked to Sister Imperator. She said you could stay.” He said, still frowning.

But you grinned. “Oh my...wow, really?! That’s...Swiss, I don’t know how you did it, but thank you! I’d totally hug you right now, but well, you know.” You giggled nervously.

“Y/N...” Swiss said lowly. “Didn’t I say that I’d take care of it?”

“Uh, um...” You stuttered, suddenly nervous by Swiss’ gaze.

“Use your words, babe.”

“Uh, yeah. You did say that.” You sighed.

Swiss moved closer to you and placed a gentle hand on your knee. “So, why is it that you’re packed, huh? Did you not have faith in me?” He pouted.

“N-no...I didn’t have faith that Sister would be convinced.” You chuckled.

“Hmm, I suppose I can understand that.” Swiss said, moving even closer to you and placing his hand on your cheek. “Guess you’re stuck with me now, huh?” He smiled.

You suddenly became aware of how close he was to you when you felt his warm breath on your face. He would not stop looking into your eyes. You glanced down at his lips, feeling the urge to taste them.

Swiss smiled and leaned in, the cold metal of his mask hitting your face first then his soft lips.

You almost moaned at the pleasant feeling. You always had a soft spot for the charismatic Ghouls, now, you were finally his.

Slowly but surely, you started to feel the fabric of your duvet slid off your body. “Is this okay?” Swiss whispered.

You nodded rapidly, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

As soon as you gave consent, Swiss ripped off your coverings. Moving closer to you, he rubbed his large hands up and down your thighs. You could already feel yourself become slick with excitement.

Swiss brought a hand up to your underwear, delicately moving the article of clothing out of the way. You gasped when his cold fingers started moving in between your folds. “You’re so wet for me already, babe?” He grinned beautifully.

Swiss then inserted a finger into you, pumping in and out at a rate that made your head spin. You panted and tangled your fingers into his hair, placing the other hand on his bicep to try and steady yourself.

You moaned in pleasure when Swiss added another finger, then rubbing tight circles on your aching clit with his thumb. “Fuck, Swiss...”

Feeling a little guilty that you were getting all the pleasure, you brought your hand down from his head to palm his hardening length through his pants. “Eager, are we, Y/N?” Swiss groaned, throwing his head back slightly and chuckled.

With Swiss’ consistent pressure on your clit, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Quick shocks of intense pleasure making your body jolt occasionally. “Swiss...I’m gonna-”

Swiss quickly pulled his hand away, making you whine and almost let out a sob at the loss of contact. He grinned and brought his hand up, licking and sucking you off his fingers. “Can’t have you cumming just yet, babe.”

Swiss stood up from the bed to remove his clothes, taking off his briefs released his throbbing cock, a bead of precum already leaking out of the tip. He then hovered above you, placing himself in between your legs. “Again, you sure about this, babe?” He asked softly.

You almost groaned in frustration. “Yes, Swiss, I’m sure. Now please just fuck me!” You begged.

Swiss quickly obliged, thrusting up into you with a snap of his hips, not worrying about getting you to adjust to his size since you were already so prepared. You moaned loudly, finally feeling him stretching you out. “You feel so good.” Swiss moaned.

Swiss kept up a steady pace, his length hitting all the right places.

From already being so close to your release from his fingers before, you could feel the knot building up inside you once again. “Swiss, I’m so close.” You stuttered.

Swiss nodded and picked up the pace, close to his release as well. He thrusted into you fast and hard, making your tits bounce and your head close to hitting up against the wall. His mouth pouring out delicious moans every time he felt you clench around him.

You soon felt that familiar sensation flow throughout your entire body. The knot in you finally snapping, causing waves of ecstasy to burn through you like lava. You moaned loudly, eyes tearing up and your vision becoming hazy as you rode out your orgasm.

Swiss’ thrusts became sloppy, chasing and finally catching up to you in reaching his own climax. The shots of his warmth filling you up, making you moan in unison with him.

Swiss pulled out of you with a huff, throwing himself beside you and soon wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Wow...that was-”

“Fuckin’ amazing.” You giggled.

~~~~~~~~~~

I came up with a really dumb, cheesy title for a Multi Ghoul story. “Shimmying his way into my heart.” But I have no idea what to write to fit that title😂

Also, that was my first time writing smut so I’m sorry if it sucked. The cringeeeeeee 🙈

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfiction #swiss ghoul #multi ghoul #the band ghost smut #god I suck lmao

[a-game-of-stars-and-ink]

Ashes to Ashes - Chapter 4

Warnings: Fever, needles (IV), unrequited love, anxiety, fear. Argument, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of assassination attempt.

Tag list: @shydragonrider, @equestrianwritingsstuff, @teheranb, @the-three-whumpeteers, and @whumpwillow and @brutal-nemesis (Hope it was okay to tag you.)

Chris sat beside Steve, trying to think of what to say to him. Rejection was never easy, and he’d had a crush on Zion for years.

“Your sister gives one hell of a slap.”

“Oh. So that’s what happened to your cheek?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d she hit you? I mean, given all the fights she got into in school, I’m fully aware that she packs a punch… But I am surprised you were on the receiving end.”

“I told you. I got macho with that asshole Ryler.”

“Just how macho are we talking?”

“I grabbed his neck, well, under his jaw, and she clobbered me.”

Chris winced. 

“It bothers me more that she was defending that bastard than the fact that she belted me.”

“Well… She’s always been empathetic.”

“But he nearly killed her.”

“Yeah. And she shot him.”

“He got what he deserved. Why is she helping him?”

Chris swallowed, wishing he could forget what Zion had said that day. Right after she’d injured Ryler and he’d stumbled out, running off into the woods.

‘I know it sounds weird… but I felt… I felt almost some kind of connection to him. I could understand him.’

‘He’s a killer.’

‘I don’t think he enjoys it.’ Zion had said, hugging her arms. 

“Well… she did say something about him.” Chris muttered, hesitantly.

“What?” Steve looked up, his light brown eyes full of confusion. “What did she say?”

“She said that she thought they had some kind of connection. She understood him.”

“Isn’t that Stockholm syndrome?”

“No. She didn’t fall in love with him. If she had Stockholm syndrome, she wouldn’t have resisted, or shot him. And twelve hours isn’t long enough for someone to develop Stockholm syndrome.”

Twelve hours. It hurt Steve to think of how Zion must have felt during those hours, stuck in a train cabin with him.

He’d wanted her to be his cover. His way of getting on to the campus to assassinate a visiting politician.

Except Zion had broken free at the train station, and ran. He’d chased her back to the house, but she’d managed to grab the Glock that she’d bought for protection, and shot him in the ribs. When Steve had come home, there had been police cars everywhere, and Zion had been giving her statement.

She’d been praised for her bravery, and the police had immediately begun a manhunt.

Steve, after hearing the story, had hoped to Heaven that he’d never see Ryler again, at least, not outside of police custody. 

“She should hate him.”

“Mmhmm, but she doesn’t.”

“And neither do you.” Steve pointed out bitterly. “He almost killed your sister, Chris.”

“I know. But for her sake, I’m trying not to think about that right now.”

“How is this helping Zion?”

“It’s giving her some form of closure.”

“We have to turn him in.” Steve snapped.

“That makes me an accessory.” Zion’s voice replied. “Aiding and abetting a felon. So, I go to jail too. All of us do, actually.”

“Zion-”

“Enough, Steve. You have no reason to be jealous of Jackson.”

“He’s taking you away-” Steve cut off, realizing what he was saying.

“Taking me away? From who? You? I was never yours. I was never going to be yours.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t love you. Not that way. I’m sorry, I never have. I never will. I love you only like a brother.”

Steve swallowed, nodding once.

“But it has nothing to do with Jackson.”

“How can you even say his name?” Steve demanded, rage knotting his insides.

“It’s not that hard to pronounce, Steve.” Zion snarled, all traces of softness gone from her voice.

“You know what I meant. Fucking hell, Zion, you have no idea what you’re doing.”

Her silvery-blue eyes narrowed in anger.

“Oh, so what? I need you to guide me through life? Fuck off.”

“Guys…” Chris was saying.

“This needs to be said, Chris.” Zion sighed. “Now, Steve, if my presence here is painful for you, I can go with Chris. If he’s okay with my bringing Jackson.”

“You don’t have to go, Zion.” Steve sighed. “I just worry about you.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” Steve managed to smile. “Fuck it, give me a hug, girl.”

She did, a small giggle escaping her lips.

Just because she doesn’t love me that way, doesn’t mean I can’t be happy as her friend.

It felt good to not be angry anymore. Zion glanced at Steve, who was helping Chris set up an IV drip of over-the-counter antibiotics to help deal with the infection of the gunshot wound. 

The assassin murmured in his sleep, curling his legs up slightly.

Zion sat beside him again, lost in thought. 

When she’d first met him, he had been quite charming. 

Zion had bumped into a middle aged man, wearing a suit, tie, and a briefcase.

“Watch it.” He’d snapped.

“Sorry.” Zion had replied, doing her best to put on a polite smile.

“You should learn to watch where you’re going.” He’d scolded.

“And you should learn how to stop being a jerk.” A new voice had said. Zion had turned, rather amazed to see the handsome stranger behind her. “She’s already apologized.” He went on.

The man huffed, and moved on.

‘Thanks.’ Zion had said.

‘Any time.’

She was brought back to the present by her brother’s voice.

“Ready.” He was saying.

It took less than a minute for Chris to expertly insert the IV line in the inside of Jackson’s elbow. 

The assassin barely even flinched. His brow furrowed slightly, but he did not wake. 

“Hopefully, this will help fight the infection, and kick his fever.” Steve was saying.

Zion nodded, looking down at Jackon’s sleeping face.

It was dark out when Jackson woke up, the only light came from a lava lamp on the bedside table.

Zion was curled up on the other side of the bed, asleep. It took Jackson a moment to realize that he had an IV drip, attached to his arm. He didn’t want to risk any kind of drugs or poison entering his system, and immediately reached to pull it out.

“Leave it.” Zion’s voice said. Jackson twisted to look at her.

“How did you know?”

“Light sleeper.” Zion smirked, sitting up. 

“What time is it?” Jackson rasped. 

“Almost two in the morning.”

Jackson dropped back to the bed with a sigh. “What’s in that?” He asked nervously.

“Over the counter antibiotics. Nothing dangerous.”

Jackson winced.

“Just relax, I won’t hurt you.” Zion murmured. That was the last thing her heard before sleep claimed him again.

#assassin whumpee #villain whumpee #assassin whump #feverish whumpee #feverish assassin #sick assassin #feverish villain #injured villain #infection #wounds #Sick villain #argument #mentions of kidnapping #gun mention #mentions of assassination attempt #gunshot wound #tw gunshot wound #unrequited love

[supersickies]

Summary: “Surgery was something that Peter Parker was used to. With his job, he really had to be used to going under the knife, and truthfully the more he experienced it the easier it got.

What Peter was not used to, however, were post-surgery infections. Of course, he knew that it was always a risk when going into procedures, but with the overly careful and competent medical staff in the med bay of Stark Tower, it was rarely something he had to worry about.

But nobody was perfect, accidents can happen, and that’s how Peter found himself in his current situation. Feverish, achy in more ways than one, and utterly miserable.”

OR

Peter can't sleep after a surgery gone bad. He needs his Lukey...if Tony can figure out what that is.

A/N: Here we go @sicktember day five! I was pretty excited for this prompt but for some reason had a tough time putting something together for it that I really loved. But hope this fic suffices and if you read it you enjoy it! This was pretty much that last prompt fill I have completely completed for Sicktember but I’m hoping to get some more finished so I may be back with those, we’ll just have to see! Either way, hope you enjoy this fic! You can read it below the cut or on Ao3!

Surgery was something that Peter Parker was used to. With his job, he really had to be used to going under the knife, and truthfully the more he experienced it the easier it got.

What Peter was not used to, however, were post-surgery infections. Of course, he knew that it was always a risk when going into procedures, but with the overly careful and competent medical staff in the med bay of Stark Tower, it was rarely something he had to worry about.

But nobody was perfect, accidents can happen, and that’s how Peter found himself in his current situation. Feverish, achy in more ways than one, and utterly miserable.

His left leg, the cause of all his anguish thanks to an unwelcome bullet wound, was currently being elevated and his body was being pumped with an IV cocktail of anti-nausea, anti-fever, anti-pain, and antibiotic medications. Suffice to say, Peter was not just exhausted but he was loopy as all hell.

And he just couldn’t fucking sleep.

For some reason, despite his delirious and debilitated state, sleep would not come to him. So instead, he laid in his med bay bed with tears streaming down his face, as he begged whatever god there was above to just give him at least a minute of rest. The med bay staff, alongside Bruce and Dr. Cho, had been doing their best to synthesize a sedative for the spider-kid but they had yet to be successful, much to Tony and Peter’s disappointment.

Tony, of course, was by his side the whole time, and seeing his kid in this state was similar to experiencing his own personal hell. But he’d be dammed if he left Peter even for a second.

“Shh, Petey. I know bud. Just take some deep breaths kid.” He soothes the teen, just as he had been doing all night. It was nearing two in the morning and he had no idea just how much more either of them could take. He had tried everything from reading to the kid to making fucking ocean sounds with his mouth. Yet still, no sleep.

Peter doesn’t respond, just continues to moan and wail as Tony sighs. “Gimme something kiddie, please. How can I help you, bambino?”

Peter looks to Tony, his eyes feverish and hazy. He takes a shaky breath before finally finding the energy to murmur, “M-May.”

“May? You want me to get May back down here?” Tony asks. May had been down in the med bay with the two for most of the day, only retiring to a guest room in the tower after Tony had begged her to get some rest before her early hospital shift.  

But even after giving his answer, Peter still didn't seem appeased. “No!” He whines. “I-I need Lukey.” He says with a sob.

Tony’s brows can only furrow. “Lukey?” What/who the fuck was a Lukey?

“Please M’ster S’ark, I need him.” Peter begs.

“Okay! Alrighty kiddo I…I will do my best to get…Lukey.” Tony reassures the boy as he stands from the uncomfortable med bay chair, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Just hang tight kiddo, I’m gonna figure this out.” He grabs his phone, quickly but quietly leaving Peter’s room.

He was gonna get this kid to sleep if it was the last thing he did.

Tony doesn’t understand immediately, but using the context clues he was given, he figures that if anyone knew what a Lukey was it would be May.

He could only hope that she wouldn’t be too pissed at him for waking her up at this hour.

The dial tone only sounds twice before she picks up. “Tony? What’s wrong? What happened?” She asks in a panic, ever the protective aunt.

“May! Everything’s okay! Peter’s…well, he’s um, still awake. I can’t really get him to calm down and-and I think I need your help?”

He can hear May flip on the bedside lamp and sit up. “W-What is it Tony?”

“Peter is asking for someone named Lukey? Something named Lukey? I-I was hoping maybe you know Lukey or-or can get him here at this hour? I just…he still can’t sleep May and I don’t know what else to d-“

He’s cut off by a snort. An honest to god laugh.

“…May?”

“S-Sorry, I um…” She giggles a bit more before continuing. “Yes, I can get Lukey here at this hour. Just…give me thirty.” She sighs, but Tony can’t sense any annoyance in it. She almost sounds like she’s smiling?

“I- okay then? See you in thirty I guess?” And she hangs up.

Tony doesn’t know if it’s the lack of sleep or what, but he feels absolutely crazy. “Still don’t know what the fuck a Lukey is.” He mumbles to himself, before heading back into Peter’s room.

Sure enough, after thirty more minutes of doing his utmost to calm the distraught spiderling, Tony hears May coming down the hall. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding with the hopes that May and the elusive Lukey’s arrival will calm the kid enough to send him right to sleep.

May enters the med bay room quietly. And alone? Where was Lukey?

Peter turns his head to the sound of the door shutting, his bleary eyes able to make out his aunt standing next to him. “May.” He rasps, fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. There really wasn’t much that wouldn’t make Peter cry at this point.

“Oh, my poor baby.” She coos, her kind fingers pushing the hair off of his overheated forehead. “You’re having a real hard time, huh tough guy?”

Peter nods miserably. “I-I need Lukey, May.” He whines.

The woman smiles warmly. “I know honey. He’s right here, I got him.” She reaches into the tote bag on her arm and pulls out a small blue blanket with a silky trim. It looked old but ultimately well-loved.

Oh, Tony thinks. Lukey.

Peter takes the blanket eagerly and is quick to hold the fabric lovingly to his chest. His thumb rubs the trim soothingly. Almost like magic, the boy’s crying has basically stopped, replaced with soft hiccups and shaky breaths.

Tony looks up at May, puzzled yet…impressed. He holds his tongue, though, not daring to interrupt the moment or disturb the finally calm spider-kid.

After a few moments of hushed reassurances from May, and of course the comfort of Lukey, Peter is finally asleep. The room is now overwhelmingly quiet, and Tony takes a much-needed deep breath.

He glances at the blanket that is now wrapped tightly around Peter’s shoulders, before looking at May. “So, Lukey?”

“It was a gift from Ben’s mom— Peter’s grandmother. She gave it to him the day he was born. She passed not long after but…she loved him a whole lot, him being her only grandchild and whatnot.” She explains.

Tony’s heart clinches. He knew May was the only family Peter had left, and to hear about other Parkers just made Tony remember how much the kid had lost.

May continues. “He had a connection to the blanket pretty instantly, only ever really stopped crying when he was wrapped in it. It was the only thing that would put him right to sleep.”

They both look at the snoozing boy. “Still is apparently.” Tony jokes quietly.

May hums in confirmation. “We joked that this thing was magic when he was younger, but honestly I’m really starting to believe it.”

Tony nods, reaching up to touch the blanket softly. He had to admit was kinda nice. “And…Lukey?”

“Star Wars. Luke Skywalker.” May explains. “We all called it his blankey until he was old enough for Ben to show him A New Hope. It was Lukey from that point on.”

Tony feels a bit stupid for not realizing sooner, that goofy space movie was all the kid ever talked about.

“I should’ve known he would’ve needed it. Really wish I’d have brought it earlier.” May sighs tiredly.

“Hey you-you’re exhausted too May, please go back to sleep. I said I’d take Peter duty for the night and you have your shift in a few hours.” Tony offers.

May stands from her spot by her nephew. “I guess I should, huh? If you all need anything else though—“

“I’ll let you know immediately, May. Swear it.”

May smiles warmly. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Good night, May.”

She leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind her. Tony lets out a deep breath, giving Peter’s hair one last pet before deciding it was about time he retire to his cot in the corner of the med bay room.

As he drifts off, he thinks of his mother and the stuffed elephant she gave him when he was a young child.

He makes a mental note to look in the tower’s storage units, see if he can find it.

#sick peter parker #peter parker whump #iron dad #sicktember2021

[minimel-fics]

Broken Bells

Bishop Losa X OC Chapter 5: Aches and Pains

Enjoy this chapter because the next one or two will be heavy and soul crushing.

Warning: This chapter contains violence against gnomes.

Masterlist

---

Annabelle was displeased with the fact that she had to be wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair- the nurse insisting that it was policy when she had tried to refuse. She had been stuck there for another four days before her doctor decided she had been observed long enough to rule out any possible complications from her procedures but warned that if anything seemed unusual to return immediately. Rosa had rushed to the hospital the morning that followed Angel escorting her home while the rest of the bikers erased Christopher from existence, she had heard all of the details of what had happened to Annabelle from Angel and was quick to volunteer picking the girl up upon her release, bringing her fresh clothes and anything else she had needed after her hospital stay. Annabelle's doctor had prescribed her an array of medication- antibiotics to prevent infection of the incision on her broken arm, ointment to help her high risk of infections cuts stay clean and a hefty supply of pain medication as her doctor had told her that pain management in the beginning of any recovery was key to a shorter time on the sidelines.

Annabelle winced as the bright California sun invaded her retina's for the first time in nearly a week, she stretched her casted arm above her head to block out the light.

"Aye, look who it is."

One Mayan had always been sitting in the chair next to Annabelle's bed over the past few days, she had suspected that Tig may have forged some sort of agreement with the charter to keep an eye on her but when she had woken in her room that morning, suddenly very aware that she was alone- no brooding biker sitting in the adjacent chair, she figured that her time with the Mayans had ended. She was not expecting to find the entirety of the charter waiting for her outside upon her release. Annabelle had one of her eyes scrunched closed to avoid the sun as she inspected the group that had been waiting for her. Creeper held a single piece of ribbon with a "Get Well Soon" balloon floating well above their heads, Taza had brought her a small bouquet of gas station flowers and the tiny teddy bear Hank held had contrasted his large frame so much that she couldn't help but laugh. Over the past few days she had spent time with every man of the club- a shorter amount of time with the more senior members but she had gotten to know each man pretty well much to their annoyance as they had not expected their mean, biker façade to fall so quickly when the woman gave them a single knowing look.

"Here." Angel peeled his dark sunglasses off his eyes, leaning down to slip them over her own aching eyes. "Better?"

Annabelle nodded, finally being able to relax as her head eased up on the pain. "Thanks, Reyes." She looked around, her eyes briefly pausing on Bishop as he smiled down at her and she was glad that none of the men could see as her eyes hesitated on the man who looked a lot shorter than the energy he exuded while he was surrounded by the rest of his club. "Lucky me, I get a whole welcoming party."

"We're just happy that we don't have to sit there and keep you company while you annoy the fuck outta us anymore." Angel teased earning laughs and nods of agreement from the rest of the guys.

"Not so fast, pendejo," Bishop stepped forward, "Just because she's out doesn't mean-"

"Bish, I'll be fine." She cut him off, her voice coming out like a whiny child.

"You call us if you need anything, don't hesitate."

She smiled, sending him a mock salute. "Got it, Boss."

"Let's get you home," Rosa softly ran her fingers through Annabelle's matted curls, "I am sure you're excited to finally sleep in your own bed."

"Yes, mom." Annabelle sighed as she thought about it, "Onward my noble steed, take me to my castle."

Annabelle climbed out of Rosa's Toyota, her eyes settling on the familiar small gray house that stood out from the others on the street, it was better kept and more modern than most in this tiny suburb. Rosa watched her as she lifted the gnome from the garden before dropping it violently onto the driveway, uncaring that it shattered into hundreds of tiny shards.

"What did that poor gnome ever do to you?" Rosa questioned, glancing around toward the neighbors homes to see if the commotion had caught any attention.

"His name was Sir Crumpets and he served me loyally for this past year." Annabelle announced before she shrugged, picking up a gold key from his dusty remains, "It's where I hide my spare key, nobody would think to smash a gnome and if they do then I will hear it."

Rosa watched her friend silently as she held up the key, "That actually makes sense."

"I'm gonna need you to drive me to the hardware store later, I lost my purse which means my keys- I would like to change my locks as a precaution and buy a new guard gnome."

Annabelle kicked off her running shoes by the door, not bothering to put them onto her neatly organized shoe rack because all she wanted to do was put her flowers in some water then take a proper shower and a nap that could rival Sleeping Beauty. Rosa tied the balloon to one of the dinning room chairs, fumbling with the string as her phone rang in her pocket. Annabelle found her favorite crystal vase that had once been her step-mothers in the cupboard, filling it half way with water before gently picking out the nearly dying flowers out of the bouquet.

Rosa was nothing less than furious at her ex-husband as she spoke to him over the phone, "Right now? Are you serious Ronnie? You were supposed to have her until tomorrow night! Fine, but you're going to be the one to explain to her why Mommy is picking her up early!"

Annabelle placed a comforting hand on her friends shoulder as she sensed her hesitancy to leave. "Go pick up Cami, I'll be fine then call me later and you can rant about how much an ass Ron makes of himself."

"I'm sorry," Rosa apologized, she was supposed to be helping Annabelle resettle to being home.

"It's fine, I'm a 35 year old woman- I think I will be able to handle myself."

Annabelle could hear the front door shut behind Rosa and she let her guard drop, the weight of recent events hitting her with full force; this was the first time she had been left alone in days and the first time she had been home in days. She leaned against the kitchen island and let out a huff of air as she felt the true tiredness of her body- her head felt heavy, her muscles ached and she felt each bruise to it's true extent.

Annabelle forced her legs to carry her up the stairs and straight into the bathroom. Steam was quick to cover the mirror as she filled the tub with nearly scolding hot water, her muscles tensing with anticipation of relief. She stripped out of her clothes and left them in a pile on the tiled floor before she sunk into the tub, letting her casted arm hang over the edge in order to keep it dry. She felt her muscles release and relax for the first time in days. Annabelle wasn't exactly sure how long she stayed in the tub but was pulled from her bliss as the water grew colder and her skin pruned. She drained the water, wasting no time as she pulled the plush robe off the back of the door and tightened it softly around her body. She paid no mind to the trail of wet footprints she left in the hall as she made her way to her bedroom- the pain in her head was now a dull ache and she was barely able to keep her eyes open which led to her being sound asleep in her bed not even five minutes later.

When Annabelle woke up the sun was no longer shining through the large bedroom window and her room was pitch black. She sat up with a groan, letting her eyes adjust to darkness before they caught the faint glare of light at the end of the hallway. She pushed herself out of bed, sliding her fluffy slippers onto her feet and followed the light source down to the bottom of the stairs. The front door was closed and locked much to her relief, she had forgotten if she had locked it after Rosa had left. She flicked off the excess lights and made her way into the kitchen, hungry for some real food before she went back to sleep. When she stepped into the kitchen she was surprised to see her backdoor opened wide and even more surprised at the man holding it open. The Mayan President stood with his back to her, the door being held open by his feet which were planted on either side of the heavy wood as he finished screwing a new lock onto the door.

He briefly glanced over his shoulder as he heard her soft gasp. "Rosa dropped off some dinner for you as an apology for having to leave, it's in the fridge. She had also mentioned you wanting to change your locks."

Annabelle quickly pulled her robe tighter around her nude body as the man focused on tightening the screws, she had not been expecting a guest- and definitely not one that was male. "Thank you." She muttered, pulling open her fridge door to reveal shelves full of fresh food that Rosa must have dropped off. She spotted a casserole dish on the top shelf and upon further inspection she could not identify what it contained but it smelt delicious so she turned on the oven to heat it.

"You know you don't have to worry about him anymore, sweetheart, we took care of it." Bishop spoke as he leaned against the counter, placing his screwdriver back into the small toolkit he had brought with him.

Annabelle sent him a small nod, she knew what he meant but that didn't mean she would let her guard down like that ever again; the damage had been done.

Bishop could see the tension that she hid in her body, it was easy for him to spot the tick in her jaw as she thought about the events that she had faced only days ago. "Rosa also mentioned something about you needing a garden gnome?"

Her eyes bounced from the small figure he had presented her to his own dark eyes and Bishop found himself surprised at the feeling that hit him as a large smile took over her face. He had not seen her smile that wide before and it felt nice to know that he had been the one to elicit such a reaction from the woman.

"You didn't have to do that." Annabelle's voice was soft as she sat across from the man at her small dining room table. "You didn't have to do any of this."

Bishop studied the way her hands flipped her fork around as he ate the last of the food that had previously been on his plate. "You stumbled into the right place. The club likes you, consider yourself a friend of the club now."

"For a bunch of bikers you are really a group of sweethearts."

Bishop stood from his seat, leading the woman back to her own kitchen and placed his empty plate into the sink. "Shh, don't say that too loud, it's our secret weapon."

The kitchen was quiet, neither occupant sure what their next move should be. Bishop's eyes drifted over to the clock on the stove, finding himself surprised with just how late the hour actually was.

"Are you going to be alright on your own tonight?"

Annabelle nodded, offering the man a small but nervous smile. "I'll be fine, the boogie man was taken care of, remember?"

The pair shared a laugh as she led Bishop to the front door. His hand rested his hand on her shoulder for a mere second as he bid his farewell. "Buenos noches, princesa."

"Dulces sueñes, Señor Presidente."

------

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#bishop losa #obispo losa #bishop losa x oc #mayans mc #mayans mc fic #michael irby #angel reyes #creeper vargas #taza romero #hank loza