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kaciidubs · 1 year ago

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Surprise! | Felix x Reader

❣ In collaboration with @onmykneesforchanlix ❣

❣ Summary: Felix was a cat shifter, living most of his days in his cat form due to unfortunate living circumstances. That is, until you found him one rainy night and his life changed for the better. Years later, he decides that it's time to finally reveal himself to you fully. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 5.5k+ ❣ Warnings: Cat Shifter! Felix, slight Dom! Reader, Pussy Drunk! Felix, smut, slight angst [Felix's life before Reader], fluff, first time as a semi-couple, feminization [Felix wears Reader's clothes], unprotected sex, decryphilia, creampie, begging, praise, desperate/needy love making ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Felix is referred to as kitten, Lix, Lixie, fluffy ending ❣ ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣

Felix’s early life wasn’t much to brag about; growing up in an era where animal shifters were being seen less as a threat and more as an equal was a blessing in disguise, but that didn’t mean he had it easy. There was still discrimination, prejudice, and general unease, and even as a cat shifter he wasn’t free from any of them; losing his part time job due to “staff overflow” and his tenant kicking him and multiple shifter families out of their apartment building due to “remodeling”.

His roommates at the time were able to fall back on family members or other friends, but he was by himself in the city, and he didn’t feel comfortable asking them if they could house him until he got back on his feet. So, he tried getting by on his own until he could find new roommates or someone willing to host shifters.

He was able to stay a few nights at a hostel, applying to any place that had a hiring sign while earning his keep by helping the owner of the hostel - however, he wasn’t able to keep it that way for long. Which is how he found himself surviving in his cat form, easier to maintain throughout the night as he slept in worn out boxes off the side of the road.

Then, one rainy night changed his life for the better - the night he met you.

You, who was walking the dark, rainy streets with a broken umbrella and your face tucked as far into your jacket as it could go.

You, who stopped in your tracks when you saw him sleeping in that small, water damaged cardboard box just outside of an alleyway.

You, who scooped him up and tucked him into the free space of your jacket before taking him back to your apartment with the promise of taking care of him for the night.

Well, what started out as one night turned into two years and counting by your side as your loving little orange cat, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way - save for a few key things. The major one being he had yet to reveal his human form to you while you were home.

He figured that you had a feeling about him not being only a cat, from the way he participated in your morning routines with his own tasks - you doing your hair was him grooming himself, you brushing your teeth was him having a dental treat until you left so he could shift and actually brush his teeth - to the way you still had an unopened 16-count of cat food because he preferred eating the dinner you had over any form of gourmet tuna.

But, you never mentioned anything about it, you never even made a sly passing comment despite the way he’d participate in your one-sided conversations with too many coincidental meows or glares whenever you said something he didn’t agree with.

You even wrote out the alphabet on a sheet of paper so he could “pick his own name”, using his small paws to walk over the letters ‘F’ ‘E’ ‘L’ ‘I’ ‘X’ before rubbing his face against the side of yours with a content purr.

All of these events culminated into this moment now, where he was currently sitting on your bed in his human form freshly showered and naked as the day he was born; the pajama shirt you wore that night laid out in front of him.

Tonight was the night Felix was going to show you the real him, the him he hid from you out of fear that you wouldn’t want to keep him around anymore, fear that he’d go from your kitty ‘Lixie’ to just another alley cat.

His plan was simple, really; dress in your clothes to give him the comfort and confidence he needed and surprise you once you got back from work, apologize for not letting you know the night you brought him home, and hope that the kindness you've shown him for the past two years would continue further.

Orange tail swishing behind him with anticipation, he wasted no time in pulling the pink shirt onto his arms before slipping it over his head, quickly engulfing himself in your warm scent and soft cotton.

Smoothing out the top, his soft brown eyes landed on the piece of clothing he forgot he even took out, his human ears turning red at the sight of your white panties laying bright against the blanket.

He didn’t have any clothes at your place, usually reserving himself the grace of either wandering around nude or donning one of your hoodies and a pair of underwear he’d make sure to wash himself before you got home; and this plan had the added point of him wearing something to cover his exposed lower half.

Hence, the white lace panties with pink bows that he was sliding up his pale legs and tucking himself into, finishing off his look for the night.

Perfect.

Sneaking a peek at himself in the mirror near your closet, he felt a low rumble in his chest - the shirt slightly swamped him and the panties’ waistband sat comfortably below his tail to not cause irritation or annoyance, this couldn’t have worked out more perfectly in his favor.

A soft yawn tumbled from his lips and he glanced at the small digital clock you kept on the nightstand; a little less than an hour and a half until you came home, which meant he had more than enough time for a quick nap before his plan would go into effect.

Stretching his arms to the sky with an even bigger yawn, he allowed himself to curl up against your sheets and close his heavy eyelids - content purrs escaping him with each exhale.

“Lixie! I’m home!”

His ears perked up at your voice and he stretched with a big yawn, slowly rolling himself into a sitting position and tiredly rubbing his eye until his brain finally kicked into gear; you were home.

A rush of excitement ran through him as he scrambled onto his knees, hands seated in his lap as he stared at the door in anticipation - his heart thumping hard in his chest.

What were you going to say? Would you still like him as a human? What if he wasn’t pretty enough in his human form?

His ears drooped as he deflated, small hands now anxiously playing with the hem of the shirt that was supposed to be his comfort. He heard you shuffle around the adjacent room, mentally going through the routine he’d seen you do time and time again; keys in dish, shoes at the door, work bag on the chair in the living room.

“Lixie? Where are you, kitten?”

The closer your footsteps grew toward the bedroom door, the more he wished he could shrink in on himself - it wasn't too late to change back, was it? No, no, he wanted you to see him - he wanted to show you the real him.

“Lixie?”

Where was he? He usually greeted you at the door, meowing loudly at you while rubbing himself at your legs. Maybe he was still asleep, curled up on his favourite place, your pillows?

You quietly made your way to the bedroom, your hands resting on the handle for a second before opening the door.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what happened next.

“Lix-” Your eyes met a familiar warm brown set, but that wasn’t what stopped you in your tracks.

No, it was the fact that said eyes belonged to a blond man currently sitting in the middle of your bed, dressed in your sleep shirt and nothing else - at least, that’s what you could assume from the sight of his bare thighs.

Maybe you should have screamed - should have shouted curses and threatened to call the police but all you could do was blink at the man. Opening your mouth to say something, the words get stuck in your throat, making you swallow thickly while your eyes lingered on the man in front of you.

Felix felt small under your gaze, shy even. He nervously pulled the shirt to cover his legs when he noticed you staring at his bare thighs.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea, he thought to himself.

He wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything - any words or sounds dying before they even reached his throat. His eyes met yours when he looked up, and he noticed a small smile forming on your lips.

“Lixie?” You questioned quietly.

He felt his ears twitch at the sound of his name, catching the notes of joy adding sunlight to the word; his tail swishing in response. You seemed to like his reaction because you took a small step away from the doorway before rushing toward where he was sitting.

“Oh... my little Lixie! Look at you- I can’t believe it- My cute little kitten is a shifter!”

Felix felt himself blush at the awe in your tone, his hands tightening against the hem of your shirt.

“Lixie,” you hummed as you ran your fingers through his soft blond hair, “you’re so pretty.”

Felix’s lips curled up into a smile, and when your fingers found that spot behind his ears - scratching just the way he liked - he couldn’t help but start purring.

The first word to leave his lips is your name - his voice a bit raspy since he hadn't spoken properly in months.

“Why didn't you show yourself sooner, kitty?” You cooed, tracing your fingertips down the side of his face and stopping at the soft curve of his chin, smiling when he leaned into your hold.

“I…” He swallowed thickly, nearly shocking himself at how deep his voice was, “I wanted to but... I didn't think you'd like me anymore…” He couldn't help but hold your gaze, addicted to the soft sparkle in your irises as you studied him.

“Why would you think that, hm? You're my Lixie,” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands, your eyes never leaving his, “You’re my pretty kitty…” You gave him a reassuring smile, your thumbs running along his reddened cheeks.

With the way you looked at him with so much love and care, he couldn’t help but blush - his cheeks dusted in a pretty pink.

“Look at you,” a soft laugh fell from your lips, and he suddenly wondered what it would be like to feel them against his own, “wearing my shirt? Were you trying to turn yourself into a gift for me?”

A hot flush ran down his back, goosebumps rising on his skin as he remembered what exactly he's wearing.

“N-Not just your shirt…” He stammered, gaze falling in embarrassment from the guilty admission.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, and instead of answering you, Felix leaned back and lifted up the shirt - not all the way, but just enough to reveal the panties he stole out of your drawer.

You sucked in a breath at the sight, pink little bows decorating the white lace he was wearing. It was your favourite pair, Felix knew that.

That's why he chose them.

They were a bit small for him, but he didn't mind - he just hoped that you were okay with it too.

“Lix…” His name left you in a breathless sigh, a hand falling from his cheek to graze up his thigh, but no further than that. “You really turned yourself into a gift for me, huh?”

You knew how the lace fit your body, but the sight of the white patterns hugging his slim hips and slightly bulging over his dick had your brain whirring. You didn't miss the soft whimper that fell from his lips, or the way his legs shifted toward your touch.

Felix bit down on his lip when he felt your fingertips ghosting over his inner thigh, barely touching him. He spread his legs a bit, hoping you’d get the hint and touch him - but you didn't, your fingers running up his thigh and stopping before they reached the lace, then down again.

“You know... it really makes me sad you didn’t shift for me sooner.” His eyes widened slightly, bottom lip jutting out in a pout until you continued, “We could’ve had so much fun way sooner than this.” There was a sharp glint in your eye that made him whine, his hands tugging the shirt higher up his stomach.

“I’m... sorry,” he mumbled, trying to hide his face with the shirt until you stopped him.

“It's okay Lix,” your hands came up to tug on his shirt, “why don’t you take this off for me, hm?”

He nodded, wasting no time in pulling it over his head and throwing it next to the bed.

“So pretty,” you whispered, brushing his hair out of his face.

Your fingers grazed against his ears in the process and he moaned, the melodic sound melting into a purr that you practically felt vibrating from his chest.

“They’re still sensitive even in your human form…” Humming, you caressed your thumb along the base, “Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“P-Please,” he whimpered, his hands itching to reach out to you from where they were planted on the bed, “it feels so... good.”

“Feels good, yeah? I can make you feel even better... if you let me.” You moved your hand from his ears to his chest, gently pushing him back to lay on the bed.

Your fingers brushed over his nipple and he gasped at the sudden rush coursing through his body.

Eyes flickering down from his eyes to his lips, you leaned in closer with a soft whisper just barely grazing the pink skin, “Kiss me, kitten.”

Felix lifted his head so fast he was shocked he didn’t accidentally headbutt you as your lips met.

It was different, so different from the way you would kiss the top of his head when he’s curled in your arms in his cat form, yet the softness remained the same. He didn’t think it could get any better until he felt your lips part, and when your thumb and finger pinched his nipple, he gasped and your tongue was ghosting against his own.

He let his tongue run along yours, humming lowly in the back of his throat. His cock was already hard and straining against the lace; the tip leaking pre cum, forming a small wet patch.

It hurt, but Felix didn’t know how to ask you for more. He tugged on your shirt, wanting you closer.

You couldn’t help but laugh against his lips, pulling back just enough so that your noses remained touching. “Eager little kitten, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

Pecking his lips one last time, you sat up - kneeling just above his lap - and pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it where the pajama shirt laid.

Felix’s eyes widened - he’d seen you in your underwear before, sure, but taking in your body in his human form had fireworks going off in his head. You looked soft - he knew you was soft - but he needed to feel you with his hands, his mouth, anything you allowed.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, staring at every bit of exposed skin, wetting his dry lips with his tongue.

You laughed shyly, trying to cover yourself with your hands, “Don’t look at me like that. You've seen me in underwear before - hell, you’ve even seen me naked!"

Felix felt the blush spreading on his face - it was true, he had seen you naked, too many times to count, but that was when he was in his cat form; sitting on the counter in the bathroom when you took a shower or a bath, never leaving you out of sight.

“I-I know! But-” This time, he allowed his hands to touch your forearms, trailing up the skin to your wrists, then the backs of your hands, “I... I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to see you like this- touch you like this.” He kept his touch strictly on your hands, resting over the bra that kept the sight of his dreams hidden away. “I want... C-Can I see more? Please, I wanna see you.”

“You could've had me like this months ago, kitten.” Your tone was smug, but you still reached behind you to unclasp your bra - not taking it off just yet, “It’s okay, you can touch me.” Your hands reached for his as you guided them to your bra straps. "Help me take this off?"

Felix swallowed thickly, his hands shaking a bit from how nervous he was. He didn't want to fuck this up. This might be his only chance.

His fingers grazed the straps and he immediately decided he hates the texture - too rough, no wonder why you were always rolling your shoulders once it was off. Eyebrows furrowing at the offensive clothing, he slowly pulled them down the curves of your shoulders and had to physically fight back the moan growing from the way the bra went slack - your breasts threatening to spill from the cups already.

“Keep going, Lixie, take it all the way off for me.”

Felix pulled it down completely before throwing it aside, his hand itching to touch you. Reaching out hesitantly, he lets a finger run over the soft flesh of your bare breasts; goosebumps spreading over your skin as you send him a reassuring smile and a nod, giving him the okay to continue.

He doesn’t waste any more time cupping your breasts with his hands, squeezing them carefully.

If he thought kneading his own blankets was heaven, then this was damn near nirvana; your breasts resting in the palms of his hands - or at least, what he could fit - while the rest squished up with each flex of his hands.

“You-You’re so soft... oh, fuck, you’re so soft.”

You shivered at the curse falling from his angelic lips - the thought of your kitten, your Lixie, so smitten over what he’d seen time and time again making your core throb. “Softer than that blanket I spent so much money on for you?” You teased, laughing at the pout that overtook his lips.

“That’s different! You... You feel better than any blanket or any pillow I've ever laid on.”

“You’re so cute, I’m just teasing you.” Taking his hands away from you, you pinned them down on the mattress near his head, leaning over him with a teasing grin.

It took all the strength Felix had to not cum right then and there; your breasts were right in front of his face, giving him the chance to kiss the soft flesh before circling his tongue around one of your nipples.

You moaned at the sudden attack, your hands tightening around his wrists while his mouth toyed with the hardening bud. Without having to be told, he released your tit with a wet pop before latching onto the second, making a sound you couldn’t tell was a moan or a purr.

“Lixie.” You moaned, and if Felix's eyes weren’t shut you would’ve seen them roll to the back of his head. You barely touched him and he was already at his peak, wondering how it was even possible to feel anything better than this.

He bucked his hips up, moaning loudly at the delicious friction and the waves of pleasure running through his body. His eyes were closed tightly, mouth agape with breathless pants rolling past his lips.

He was so close, he could almost taste the orgasm on his tongue but he fought against it. He didn't want to cum like this, not yet.

"Please," he whimpered, not sure what he was even asking for.

“Keep your hands up here, Lixie, okay?” You slowly sat up, trying not to laugh at the needy whine that settled in his throat when your chest no longer surrounded his head. “Keep them up there or else I’ll stop, understand?”

He nodded senselessly, eyes glossy and chest flushed pink; he nearly forgot how to breathe when he saw your hands go to your jeans, popping the button open and sliding the zipper down. He nearly cried when you shifted off of him, only for you to shush him with a tut of your tongue.

“Gotta take my pants off first Lixie, I told you I can make you feel even better, and I will.”

You turned away from him, pulling your jeans teasingly slow over the curve of your ass before pulling them off completely - repeating the same process with your underwear.

Felix couldn't help but stare at your ass, almost drooling at the sight. His hands moved to reach out to touch you but he stopped himself before you could notice, repositioning them next to his head in hopes of going unnoticed.

Leaving your clothes in a puddle by your feet, you quickly climbed your way back onto the bed and over Felix’s lap - not sitting down just yet. “You know, as much as I said you missed out on showing me the real you before, I can’t wait to see what I’ve been missing out on too.” You danced your fingers up his stomach and to his chest teasingly, watching as his hands fisted the sheets underneath him. “I’ll take good care of you, kitten.”

Felix watched as you lowered yourself so settle in his lap and a sharp moan escaped him, the warmth of your pussy settling over the thin lace he still had on.

He fought the urge to look down between your bodies, wanting to take a peek but instead looking up at you, trying to grind his hips up against yours. “Please... I- I can’t.. I want,” he stuttered out, “it hurts.”

“Use your words Lixie,” you hummed, a light roll of your hips nearly sending him to the stars, “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, but you have to use your words, kitten.”

“Please, I want... no, need you to touch me,” he breathed “‘m so hard it hurts." He thrusted his hips up, groaning softly, “Fuck, you feel so good,” eyes fluttering shut with another thrust, he bites back a whimper, “please, I’ll be good for you... just touch me.”

A soft smile graced your lips, “That’s my good kitty.” Lifting yourself onto your knees, you wasted no time in tugging your lace panties down his hips and the swell of his ass, “Such a dirty kitty, making a mess in my panties, huh?”

All he could do was moan wantonly, his dick finally free from the tight confines as he eagerly kicked them down his legs and off the bed.

You leaned back over him, pressing your lips to his in a slow kiss and letting your thumb run over his slit to collect the pre cum. Felix moaned into the kiss, parting his lips for you to slip your tongue in. Your tongues touch as Felix cupped your face in his hands, not wanting to part not even for oxygen - he doesn't want to even think about the kiss ending, pouring all of his emotions into it as if it were the last thing he could do in his human form.

Your free hand covered one of his own, squeezing it gently as you parted from the kiss. “I’ll let you slide for now,” you whispered, your lips still brushing against his, “but next time I'll have to punish you.”

Felix felt you shift above him, but before he can register anything, the warmth of your walls are enveloping the head of his dick. "O-Oh! Oh fuck!"

You placed your hands on his chest and sank down on him completely, hissing a bit at the stretch. “Fuck kitten, you feel so good,” moaning softly, you wiggled your hips, “feel so full.”

He fisted the sheets underneath him, throwing his head back, mouth agape in a silent moan. “S-So warm," he gasped as you lifted your hips up and sank down on him again, your walls clenching around him. Suddenly, his hands flew to your hips to stop you from moving, “Please wait, fuck- I'm not gonna last long.” Your eyes met and he sucked in a shaky breath, “Shit, you feel so perfect around me. Better than what I’ve imagined…”

“You”ve thought about fucking me?” Your light giggling made your pussy flutter around him and he nearly sobs at the feeling. “What a naughty little kitten I have - makes me wonder what else goes on in that pretty head of yours.” With your hands settled on his chest, you slowly rocked your hips against his, moaning at the way his dick massaged your insides. “Let me show you what the real thing is really like, are you ready for that, Lixie?”

“Oh god, please show me,” he whined, his grip on your hips tightening slightly.

Moans spilled from his lips as you moved your hips teasingly slow, your fingertips digging into his skin, leaving behind small crescent marks.

Overwhelmed from the pleasure, his moans quickly melted into whimpers and pleas. He doesn't hold back, making you smirk, “Let it all out kitten. Am I making you feel good?”

He nodded his head frantically, unable to stop the moans tumbling from his kiss bruised lips.

“Good boy, such a good boy, Felix.”

He didn't even have the chance to react to the sound of his full name falling from your lips when you rose slowly before dropping back down. You were riding him, the person he loved so much he thought his heart would never beat the same - he felt tears begin to swell in his eyes as his hands followed your pace.

“Kitten? Hey, are you alright?” Your voice filled with worry as you immediately stilled your hips, your hands reaching up to gently caress his cheeks, “am I hurting you?” Concern grew in the pit of your stomach as you watched a single tear roll down his cheek, reacting quickly to catch it with your thumb.

Felix shook his head, his gaze avoiding yours.

“Lixie, I need you to answer me - do you need me to stop?”

His watery eyes snapped to your own as he choked back a sob, “N-No! Don’t- Please- I... I feel so good, I can’t- I love it- I-I love yo-”

Soft hiccups broke his sentence into rambled parts, and it all suddenly clicked; he was crying from pleasure, crying for you.

“Oh... My sweet kitten…” You cooed softly, catching more stray tears with a swipe of your thumb before leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too, do you wanna keep going?”

More tears spilled from his eyes at your words and loving actions - you loved him back, he couldn't be happier than he was in this moment.

His favourite human loves him the way he loves you.

“Yes please... make love to me... please.” He whispered, hands wiping away the last few tears that were still building in his eyes. He gave you a watery smile, eyes scrunching up and face exuding a brightness you never thought was possible on a person.

He looked so pretty under you, cheeks tinted pink and eyes looking up at you, so full of trust, so full of love.

Your heart fluttered and you had to stop yourself from smothering him with butterfly kisses around his beautiful face - he still needed you, and you were going to do what you promised you would; take care of your kitten.

Taking his hands from your hips, you threaded your fingers with his before pinning them at the sides of his head, shifting your position slightly. “Don’t worry about anything else, Lixie - let go of everything and focus on me.” With his nod of approval, you started to ride him once more, the new change in angle letting his dick caress the front of your pussy.

“O-Oh my god,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back as you moved your hips, grinding them down. “‘s so good, please don't stop,” Felix slurred his words, so lost in the pleasure - he was sure he’d died and gone to heaven.

You picked up the pace and leaned forward, letting your noses touch before connecting your lips in a short, sweet kiss.

“You're so good Lixie,” you panted against his lips, squeezing his hands tighter, “fill me up so well, so perfect, my perfect kitten.”

He moaned at your words, squeezing his eyes to focus on keeping his orgasm at bay - he couldn’t let it end so soon, he wouldn’t.

“Are you close, baby?” You mused, keeping the pace of your hips with ease, your lips brushing against his ear. Felix’s cock was hitting your g-spot with every move of your hips now and you could feel your own orgasm slowly approaching.

“I-I can hold it!! Wanna be a good kitten for you, want you to cum first,” he pouted, thrusting his hips up to meet yours. He freed his hands from your grasp, moving them to hold your hips as he continued to thrust into you. You lightly grazed your teeth against his earlobe, nibbling on it before pressing a kiss to his neck.

“P-Please,” He whined, tilting his head to the side to grant you more access to his skin, “I-I’m gonna- I want you-” He felt like his brain was on overdrive, every nerve ending burning at every point your bodies were connected. His right hand sandwiched between your bodies to where his cock was currently drilling into you, fingers frantically searching for what he knew would help you come before him.

You panted against his jaw, nipping at the pale skin lightly, “To the left baby, m-move your hand to the left.”

Obeying your direction, he shifted his wrist and his fingers landed on a soft, slippery nub that made your pussy clench.

“F-Fuck! There, right there baby!”

His fingers moved experimentally over the nub, circling around it and you moaned in response against his jaw, "You're doing so well kitten, making me feel so good."

Felix continued to circle his fingers against your clit, drinking in the moans that spilled from your lips. He was determined to make you come first, moving his fingers a bit faster, “Good like this?”

Nodding hastily, you connected your lips to his neck again and sucked on the skin, the desire to mark him swelling inside of you - you wanted to mark him as yours.

Following the change in tide, you were now the one wantonly moaning against his skin, riding him that much faster and a bit more sloppier. “‘S so good, F-Felix- it’s so good!”

His heart skipped a beat and he quickened his pace, digging his feet into the mattress to fuck into you faster. “C-Come for me? Please- I need you to come for me, c-come with me-” He was so hard it hurt, his stomach clenching and heaving with each ragged breath - he felt himself tear up as he begged whatever higher power was listening to let you come first, please let you come first.

“F-Fuck Felix, right there!” You moaned out, quivering above him, “G-Gonna come!”

Your orgasm rapidly approached as you held onto him, his frantic thrusts bouncing your body against his own. His fingers dug into your skin, and he hoped that they were going to leave a bruise - a marker of his desires finally coming true. You bit down on his neck, tongue running soothingly over the marks left on his skin.

It only took a handful of thrusts before you were shaking above him, your moans growing in volume as you wrangled your hand free from his to tangle in his hair. “Lixie! Felix! I'm c- oh god, I'm coming!"

The grip you had on his dick grew tighter and he groaned, pace faltering as you came around him with a loud cry barely muffled against his neck.

“T-Tight- S-So tight, I can’t-" He was getting dizzy, both hands now coming to wrap behind your back and hold you as close as he possibly can. “Gonna c-come, wanna f-fill you, please? L-Let me- s-so warm, please, please!”

It took a second for you to register his words, head dizzy from your orgasm, before you nodded frantically, "O-Of course kitten, go ahead - breed me.” You whisper and it's all Felix needed to hear.

With one more solid thrust he emptied himself inside you with a loud cry, his hips stuttering as he rode out his orgasm. His glazed over eyes found yours and you smiled at each other, noses bumping as you leaned in for a bliss-filled kiss.

Your lips touched softly in a short peck - soft and sweet and all you both ever needed after an event like that.

“Good kitty,” you giggled, gently scratching your nails against his scalp, feeling the rumble of his purrs vibrate against your chest. “Let’s go get cleaned up, yeah?”

Felix couldn’t help but whine, not ready to let you go as he squeezed his arms around your sweaty body, “Can... Can we stay like this a little longer? I like holding you...like this.”

You beamed at the blush taking over his face and nodded, “Of course, Lixie - hold me as long as you want, it’s only fair for bow often I’ve held you.” Tucking your face into the warmth of his neck, you murmured, “From now on, you can hold me as much as you want, my sweet kitten.”

❣ This one's been in the works for a while, but I'm so honored to have done this collab with my lovely Miu! I hope you enjoyed reading and by all means, leave some nice words for her because she's genuinely an amazing writer! Love you lots @onmykneesforchanlix ❣ ❣ Any type of feedback is appreciated! Whether it be a simple like, reblog, or keyboard smash and the most essay-like comment, feel free to share your thoughts. ❣

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catierambles · 13 days ago

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Witch Hunt Ch. 2

Medical examiners confirmed what Cait told them; victim was dead before being burned with internal signs of electrocution. He was identified pretty quickly as the owner of the antiques shop via dental records and fingerprints and Walter reached out to the insurance company for pictures of the inventory to cross reference, having found none at the store.

Lab techs found no unknown prints at the scene, either on the door knob to the bathroom or otherwise. It was a niche store, so there wasn’t a heavy flow of daily customer traffic.

Walter was in his office when he saw Cait come in through the windows, a large flat box balanced on her hand. She looked around a bit before she saw him in his office and started over, Walter pushing up from his chair to open the door for her.

"Doughnuts?" He asked with a perked brow, stepping aside to let her in.

"Good morning to you, too." She said, "And no, actually. Breakfast tacos. I don't have much of a sweet tooth, and there's a taco place down the street. There's bacon egg and cheese, and sausage egg and cheese." He went to his desk as she set it down, lifting the cover of the box and seeing gaps in the rows of foil wrapped tacos. "I may have had a couple in the car. Help yourself, though. They're good."

Since she offered...

Taking a couple out, the foil still warm, he unwrapped one and took a bite, humming slightly in agreement.

"They are good." He said and quickly finished it, starting on another as he sat down again. "Called the insurance company first thing for pictures of the inventory. Once we get them, we'll see if there anything missing the murderer might try to fence or pawn for quick cash. You've been hunting this guy, right?"

"For the last six months." She said, taking a taco from the box as she sat down in the chair in front of his desk.

"What do you know about him?"

"Not as much as I would like." Cait admitted, "Never any witnesses who could provide a description. He's careful, methodical, but also incredibly cruel and sadistic."

"Victimology?"

"All over the place." She said, "He doesn't stick to gender or racial boundaries, or age. Like I said last night, it's less who they are, or who they represent, and more what they can give him."

"Which we don't know."

"Not a damn clue." Cait said, "Unless that thing is their death."

"Kills for the hell of it?"

"Not unheard of." She said with a shrug, "Would make sense why he doesn't have a type. He gets an itch and they scratch it. Less targeted and more opportunistic."

"If he chooses at random, we'll have a hell of a time trying to find him."

"Welcome to my life, Detective Marshall."

"Walter." He said, "You can call me Walter."

"And you can call me Cait."

“Well, Cait, I need coffee. Want me to get you some?”

“Tea would be better.”

“Need I remind you that I’m the Brit in the room?” He asked and she snorted with a smile.

“If you’re going to eschew stereotypes, so will I.” She said and he gave an answering smile, shaking his head as he left his office, Cait pulling a few files towards her across his desk.

She looked over crime scene photos but she knew she wouldn’t find anything that stood out, she never did with this guy. What should have been an easy hunt, something she’s done more than once, had quickly become a headache. Her mind wandered from the grisly images in front of her to the Detective whose office she was sitting in. Gods, he was handsome. Strong build that was in no way obscured by the knit sweater he was wearing, gorgeous dark curls that made her want to know if they were as soft as they looked, thick dark beard that screamed virility, and beautiful blue eyes. All that combined with the accent made him a romance novelists’ wet dream.

Get yourself together, girl.

She’s met many handsome men before, he was just another.

She looked over briefly as he came back into the office with a couple steaming paper cups. Their fingers brushed together slightly as she took the tea from him and she couldn’t stop the small thrill that went through her chest at the contact, giving him a small smile and looking away from him quickly.

“Anything jump out?” He asked, but she shook her head as she took a careful sip of the tea, pulling a face. “Sorry, didn’t know how you took it.”

“It’s fine, it’s just gods awful tea.”

“Coffee isn’t much better.” He admitted, taking a sip from his own cup with a grimace. “I’ve worked with feds before, surprised you don’t have a partner with you.”

“I work better alone.” She said with a shrug. “They wanted to assign someone to me, but it would have taken too long to get them up to speed.”

“How’d you know he was coming here?”

“Pardon?”

“Last night was the first body we’ve found in that state.” Walter said, “If you’re tracking him by his MO, it would have taken a couple days before the details hit the system.”

“Information I found at his last hidey-hole suggested he was heading to this area.” She said, “And before you ask; no, I didn’t find anything that might identify him there. Caught on broadcast about the explosion with no fire, made an educated guess.”

“Quite the mental leap.”

“I stick the landing more often than not.”

“And when you don’t?”

“I curse myself out, get up, and brush myself off.”

“Being gone for months at a time must be doing a number on your marriage.”

“Not married.” She said, “This line of work isn’t really conducive to domesticity.”

“Don’t I know it.” He said and she looked up at him at his tone. “Divorced.”

“Any kids?”

“A daughter.” He said, “Her mum moved them away last year.”

“Anyone in the running to become the next Mrs. Marshall?”

“Are you asking if I’m single?”

“Just making conversation.” She said and he stared at her for a beat.

“No.” He said finally, “As you said, this life isn’t fit for that.”

#henry cavill #walter marshall #witch hunt

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talesofedo · 7 months ago

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+ What were toothbrushes like in the Edo period?

Upper-class people (court aristocracy, priests, and warlords) began cleaning their teeth using tooth twigs during the Heian period.

This custom didn't spread among the common people until the middle of the Edo period when fusayouji (tufted toothpicks made from willow or spicebush) were invented. Fusayouji were made by smashing the end of a twig with a wooden hammer, and combing out the fibers with a needle brush.

Fusayouji and tooth powders became widespread after they started being sold at a toothpick shop on the grounds of Sensoji temple, where a beautiful girl attracted customers. Those customers included Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third Tokugawa shogun, who was said to have rested at the shop during his visit to the temple. Instant fame for the shop and a run on its tooth care products followed, after which other establishments began selling the same.

+ What are tooth powders?

Tooth powders were introduced to Japan from Korea at the beginning of the Edo period. Previously, people used salt or rice bran to clean their teeth.

Tooth powders quickly caught on among the young men of Edo who boasted of their white teeth and brushed diligently. It was easy to tell a true Edokko (Edo native) from a country bumpkin by whether or not he used tooth powder.

In the Bunka-Bunsei period (1804-1830), more than one hundred types of tooth powder were sold in Edo. They were made from boushuzuna (fine-grained sand) to which other substances, such as borneol, clove and cassia, were added for flavor and appearance. High-end tooth powder flavored with musk and colored pink was a specialty item of Edo.

+ How were toothaches treated in the Edo period?

Dentistry became its own specialty during the Heian period and focused on treating teeth and gums, as well as ailments of the tongue and throat. Dentists primarily treated people of means, such as court aristocrats and samurai.

During the Edo period, a second specialty, denturists, came into existence. They treated the common people and provided services such as treating toothaches and gum infections, pulling teeth, and making dentures.

Toothache remedies were made from clove, pepper, alum, and other substances, and were widely sold by denturists and street vendors.

+ How were teeth pulled during the Edo period?

Dentists and denturists of the Edo period used a variety of methods to pull teeth, including grasping the tooth with a plier-like tool or using a wooden bar tapped with a hammer.

An analgesic was commonly applied to the gums to numb them prior to dental work, but tooth extractions were said to have been performed with lightning speed, so the analgesic wasn't always necessary.

+ Were there dentures in the Edo period?

The oldest wooden dentures in Japan belonged to a nun (and former princess) called Hotokehime, who died in 1583 in Wakayama City.

Denturists as a profession came into existence during the Edo period, less than a century later. They made wooden dentures by taking an impression in beeswax and then carving the dentures from wood to fit that shape. Artisans who previously carved netsuke or Buddhist statues often became denturists.

The oldest set of Edo period dentures surviving today were made for Yagyu Matajuro Munefuyu, one of the Tokugawa's Edo sword instructors. (Readers of this tumblr may find the name familiar, he's Samon's brother.) Munefuyu's dentures were carved from boxwood and had teeth made from soapstone, making them look very realistic. (There's a picture here.)

+ Did all women blacken their teeth in the Edo period?

During the Edo period, tooth blackening was practiced almost exclusively by court aristocrats and married women. In 1868 and 1870, bans on teeth blackening were enacted targeting the nobility, but the custom continued until the Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken set the example.

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Information in this post adapted mostly from this page.

#shared #research #reference #history notes #historical notes #history research #historical research #history reference #historical reference #teeth #dentist #denturist #dentures #toothpaste #toothbrush #tooth care #dental care #edo period #edo period Japan

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dailyunsolvedmysteries · 8 months ago

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Cleveland Torso Murderer

The official number of murders attributed to the Cleveland Torso Murderer is twelve, although recent research has shown there could have been as many as twenty or more The twelve known victims were killed between 1935 and 1938. Some investigators, including lead detective Peter Merylo, believed that there may have been thirteen or more victims in the Cleveland, Youngstown and Pittsburgh areas between the 1920s and 1950s. Two strong candidates for addition to the "official" list are the unknown victim nicknamed the "Lady of the Lake," found on September 5, 1934, and Robert Robertson, found on July 22, 1950. The victims of the Torso Murderer were usually drifters whose identities were never determined, although there were a few exceptions. Victims numbers 2, 3 and 8 were identified as Edward Andrassy, Florence Polillo and possibly Rose Wallace, respectively.[6] Andrassy and Polillo were both identified by their fingerprints, while Wallace was tentatively identified via her dental records. The victims appeared to be lower class individuals–easy prey during the Great Depression. Many were known as "working poor", who had nowhere else to live but the ramshackle shanty towns, or "Hoovervilles", in the area known as the Cleveland Flats. The Torso Murderer always beheaded and often dismembered their victims, occasionally severing the victim's torso in half or severing their appendages.[8] In many cases the cause of death was the decapitation or dismemberment itself. Most of the male victims were castrated. Some victims showed evidence of chemical treatment being applied to their bodies, which caused the skin to become red, tough and leathery. Many were found after a considerable period of time following their deaths, occasionally in excess of a year. In an era when forensic science was largely in its infancy, these factors further complicated identification, especially since the heads were often undiscovered. During the time of the "official" murders, Eliot Ness, leader of The Untouchables, was serving as Cleveland's Public Safety Director, a position with authority over the police department and ancillary services, including the fire department. Ness contributed to the arrest and interrogation of one of the prime suspects, Dr. Francis Sweeney, and personally conducted raids into shantytowns and eventually burned them down. Ness's reasoning for doing so was to catalogue fingerprints to easily identify any new victims, and to get possible victims out of the area in an attempt to stop the murders. Four days after the burning, on August 22, 1938, Ness launched an equally draconian operation where he personally dispatched six two-man search teams on a large area of Cleveland, stretching from the Cuyahoga River to East 55th Street to Prospect Avenue, under the guise of conducting city fire inspections. While the search never turned up any new or incriminating information that could lead to the arrest and conviction of the Torso Murderer, it did serve to focus renewed public attention on the inadequate and unsanitary living conditions in the downtown area. Teams uncovered hundreds of families living in hazardous fire traps without toilets or running water. The interests of social reform did ultimately come to light even if those of law enforcement did not. At one point in time, the Torso Murderer taunted Ness by placing the remains of two victims in full view of his office in City Hall. The man who Ness believed to be the killer would later also provoke him by sending postcards.

#Cleveland Torso Murderer #true crime #cold cases #unsolved mysteries #unsolved

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catsofcalifornia · 1 year ago

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Lady Delilah from The Little Lion Foundation in Cerritos, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Click here for a link to The Little Lion Foundation's main website.

Lady Delilah is a beautiful, long-haired, senior sweetheart who just loves being loved. She spent a lot of her life on the street but as she got older, a friendly feeder decided to call the Little Lion Foundation to give her some extra TLC. She came to her foster home as a shy, scared kitty with dental issues and malnourishment. After a lot of care and some dental surgery, she has completely come out of her shell and has become the queen of the house. Before her surgery she was very quiet, not making much noise except for a lovely purr, but now she happily chirps away and will let you know when she wants pets and company. She still struggles a bit with strength in her back legs but can easily make the jump up to the couch or bed and has the energy to swat around her toy mice with impressive speed. If you're awake late, you might even witness her midnight zoomies!

She's a couch kitty who loves company and nothing more than to stretch out on the sofa and make biscuits, happily napping in between seeking out pets. She still loves a bit of private time and will seek some solitude occasionally but will eventually come out on her own or is easily coaxed out with treats. She's the most friendly and docile kitty and is the perfect companion to watch TV with, read, or work on the computer. She will suit being a single kitty in an easy laid-back home where she can be the lady of the manor.

#cats #california #cerritos #adoption #adoptnotshop

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 1 year ago

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Dig You Out

Requested by @beautifulmagicbelieverblog. I combined the two individual requests together as I thought of a longer idea with both these together than individually.

I was thinking for one request how Ashton is over protective of reader since she's accident prone and extremely clumsy and also is insecure about her body and Ashton reassures her and maybe she reassures him about his insecurities? (His can be whatever you want)

Black!Female!Reader Insert.

________________________________

Requests are open briefly until September 24th. Any NSFW content (smut, etc) must be requested off anon to ensure no minors (those 17 and below) are requesting the content.

Feel free to look through my masterlist for more. You can submit a request through my asks.

CW: 18+ content (smut).

______________________________

City streets and heels do not mix--call them oil and water. And because of this, whenever a pair of heels are unearthed Ashton’s always a bit more cautious. Doesn’t try to be overbearing, but he still holds your hands up and down sidewalks, ensuring that wherever you two are headed doesn’t have tripping hazards. So now, on a date night, Ashton’s keeping you to the inside of the sidewalk away from traffic, elbow bent as you thread arms around his.

“Careful there,” he states, guiding you around the crack in the sidewalk.

“Thanks, babe,” you return, stretching upwards to ghost a kiss to his jaw.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He couples the sentiment with his free hand coming to rest on yours for a moment.

It’s not just city streets, or heels, or sidewalks Ashton keeps an eye out for either for you. Ashton will step in front of table corners, and tuck you up under his arms so you don’t brush or bump into doors. It’s not necessarily clumsiness, though more than once the manual can open has jumped from your hands and landed on your foot, but there’s a certain level of awareness that escapes you because there are other things you’re juggling in your head--mental lists of what’s needed at the grocery store, and packages to send off, returns to be made, wondering when’s the last dental visit, making sure all corrective lenswear has been ordered and is up-to-date. The two of you are carrying different mental loads, if you’re honest, but it’s how it works for the two of you.

Full from dinner though, the two of you carry on down the sidewalk back towards the car. Ashton wanted to park closer, but the rush hour proved to be a winning opponent and it left him needing to park in a lot a couple blocks over. You didn’t complain then, breathing out a joke that the steps would be good for you, now, the thick evening has settled and you two are taking the stroll back easy to the car.

“Should we stop and get ice cream?” you ask. The state for something sweet is strong and the suggestion falls easily before you nearly rethink it. Before you suggest otherwise, Ashton’s speaking.

“Oh, that would be nice. Do you want to go to the place at the boardwalk?”

You hum in agreement. Should you really have suggested ice cream? Not that you needed anything sweet. You’re more than cognizant that you don’t need it. The dress when you first dawned it before leaving already felt tighter than normal in your midsection. You hadn’t had time to change though. The reservation was for 7:30 PM sharp and with you and Ashton got stuck in traffic on the way home there wasn’t much time to change from what you’d already pulled out to wear.

You’d figured that you’d just dawn the dress, get some food and then be home faster than the discomfort could creep up. But now that you’ve suggested a detour, you can feel your skin crawling beneath the tight cotton fabric. It’s a nice dress. You’ve worn it multiple times. It’s always been tighter fighting. It was the way it was designed. Maybe it was more than you’d usually go for. But you think that to the way Ashton’s face lit up. He’d been sitting just outside the dressing room, but he’d begged you to try the dress on at least. For him, you had.

Ashton had devoured you--not in the dressing room, though he’d tried to muscle his way in. But when you got back home he had you try it on again. Seemingly, Ashton would never be able leave you alone in the dress. Perhaps that’s why you pulled it down from your closet. But now, as you climb into the passenger seat of the car, you’re feeling like it’s a mistake. It rides up too much as you’re sitting. The backs of your thighs are sticking to the seat too much.

You feel like you should be crawling into yourself.

“Vanilla or chocolate this time?” Ashton asks.

You shrug at the question. “What are you feeling? Is it a sundae kind of day?” Perhaps, you could at least split that. Maybe. God, you should not have suggested ice cream.

“I don’t know. It could be? Do you want a sundae? We could split it. Unfortunately, no lady and the tramp style today for us, but if you wanted to, we could.”

It’s a small nod, but you verbalize with a yes and Ashton reaches over to rest a hand on your knee. It’s a comfortable touch, a soothing back and forth over the ridges in your skin. You want to melt into the touch. It’s what you’d normally do. But you sit stiff in the seat. This was all a mistake.

You want to say something to Ashton, suggest that maybe you just grab a carton from the local store and then carry it home, but by the time the words work themselves up your throat Ashton’s pulling into a parking space. There goes your window of time to escape. Sucked up and you thought maybe the traffic from earlier might be a saving grace.

“Alright, let’s get us a sundae on a Sunday,” Ashton teases. “Look at that! We hadn’t even planned it but it works so well.”

You want to laugh alongside him. A small smile lifts your cheeks and that’s all you can muster. You're slow as you pull the seat belt back towards its normal spot, hanging and ready. Asking for ice cream was such a bad fucking idea. The door cracks open and Ashton’s voice seems to cut through a fog, but yet, he still sounds far away.

“Baby? Baby are you okay?”

His touch--just on the lower part of your thigh, near your knee is enough to bring reality back into focus. “I-I feel sort of exposed,” you answer, waving over the length of your body. It’s more than that if you’re honest. You feel like you’re being splayed out with the door open. You feel hung up for gawking, wishing you’d worn pants and a blouse instead. Anything to hide you away. Anything to make you blend in.

“Hey, okay, that’s okay.” Ashton returns. He pulls the car door in closer to his body, arm draped over it so he can keep it pressed to his body. “Do you still want ice cream? You can wear my jacket the rest of the night? Or, uh, there’s the blanket we leave in the back?”

You snort at the imagined site: you huggled in next to Ashton in this godforsaken creamery huddled in a blanket, your heels clacking with your steps. “A blanket feels a bit much.”

“Just tell me what you need, baby. I’ll do it. I’ll dawn myself in the blanket if necessary,” he teases.

You look up from the seat, watching him protect you--door still squeezed into his body and a gentle smile on his face. Your stomach flutters just a little at the sight. “Can-can we just go home? I don’t think I can right now.”

“Yeah, we can go home. There’s a box of ice cream sandwiches there too. Better because it was cheaper and we get more ice cream per dollar than what we’d get inside.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome.”

Ashton’s quick to get the door closed and then jogs back around to the driver side. He doesn’t fully get it. And you’re not mad at that part--you were sure that once you got home you’d not touch an ice cream sandwich either, but at least you can be home. At least you can wallow in misery in sweatpants or something else. You didn’t have to subject yourself to anything more for the time being. Ashton’s hold on your knee is tighter than normally, his fingers still brush at your skin softly back and forth but the pressure of his palm into you is firmer.

“I’m not going to float away,” you tease while he’s stopped at a red light.

“No, no you’re absolutely not going to float away on me. I’ll be damned if you do.”

“Oh.” It’s not an articulate response, but you watch now as Ashton’s brows furrow together. “Is everything okay?”

He turns just long enough to speak. “Love, you tell me if everything is okay. Are you okay?”

The light turns green, you see it out of the corner of your eye. But Ashton doesn’t move. Doesn’t lift his food off the brake. “Baby, the light,” you caution.

“Damn the light and the next one. This whole week you’ve been making comments about yourself. I thought they were just one offs. But I don’t know anymore. You want to skip out on sundae and when have you ever skipped out on a treat? With your sweet tooth? I-I want to understand. Are you okay? Really, are you okay? ”

The car behind lays into their horn, long incessant honking. Ashton doesn’t move though. His gaze is locked onto you. The other cars are whizzing by in the lane over to you. Others are honking too.

It’s a quick light. You know that for sure. And you know Ashton’s a stubborn man when he wants to be.

“Ashton, I love you and I will spill my guts, but please, the light.”

He sighs, foot lifting now as the car rolls forward, the light flickers yellow just as you two roll through the intersection. “I-I don’t want you to think you’re alone or anything. I’m here for you. I should’ve said something sooner. I’m sorry.”

“I believe you when you say you’re here for me. I know that.”

Ashton’s been there through thick and thin, food poisoning when you literally could keep nothing down and inside. He’s been there when you got promoted at jobs and when you’ve left them. It’s not a question about his own loyalty. You know that. But it’s all the other noise inside your head.

“They call it an apron belly,” the words are tumbling out of your mouth as the house whizz by. Maybe Ashton was talking or maybe it was the radio. But whatever was speaking prior silences.

“They--who’s they?”

“People, influencers, doctors, I don’t know. But it’s called an apron belly. And it’s all over my feeds. I hate the phrase. I really do. But it’s just goddamn everyone. And if it’s not one ad about getting rid of belly fat it’s someone telling you to embrace your body. Then I keep scrolling and someone’s not a miracle supplement. Then someone’s got arms I’d kill to have. And there’s just so much fucking noise.”

You’re crying, can feel the snot falling onto your upper lip. But you don’t care. It’s been eating away at you. An insecurity that’d been bubbling for god knows how long in your life. You’d mostly spent your life trying to understand that a body was just a body, but every so often the defenses crack. A little bit of the vitriol sneaks. It only needs the smallest seeds of doubt to latch onto.

“I-the moment I suggested ice cream I became so disgusted with myself and I didn’t want to say anything because I hate this, I hate feeling like this. But the second you opened that door, I just felt like someone was letting the door open on sludge. I felt like sludge. I feel like sludge.”

“No, no, no, no,” Ashton shushes. “You are not sludge. You have never been sludge.”

You stare up at the garage door, watching the house still in your vision. You’re not sure how long you’ve been home or if you just got there. “I know that. Intellectually. But it feels like it, you know. It just feels like it. You ever just feel like it’s you, but you know it’s just a bad day, a bad mental space. But you just can’t crawl yourself out of it. I know I’m not sludge. I know my body is just doing it’s job. A belly is only supposed to keep organs inside. Arms are there to help you lift and carry and mine do that. Legs are there to carry and get you around, take you A to Z. A brain’s just there to float in god knows what up there and keep your lungs pumping, and your heart beating and to make sure you feel good every once and a while, and I’m doing all that. But then there’s models on my feed who look like they’ve been carved from fucking marble. There’s just a voice in the back of my head telling me I could be better. She’s an incessant and petulant bitch, that voice is. And I just can’t crawl out of it.”

Ashton fills your visions, hands cupping your cheeks as he holds your head in his direction. His lower lip wobbles for a moment and he sighs. You can feel the breath ghosting over your face. “Then let me help dig you out, baby. Just let me help dig you out. If you can’t crawl, then I will dig and dig and go to to the fucking molten core. But I want to get you out.”

“It’s fucked. It's hard work and it’s just me, if you dig. You’re digging only to get me.”

His laughter is soft, head shaking and you don’t get the joke. Not until he speaks. “All I’ve ever wanted was something like you. You just have a belly, okay. It’s just a stomach. It doesn’t have to be anything more and or anything less. And I know you don’t believe the words I’m saying right now. I know they’re not getting through right now. But please believe me, loving you is the hard work I want to do. I was nearly the manager of a fucking KFC if you think for a goddamn second I’m scared of hard work you are mistaken, sweetheart. You are so mistaken.”

“Was KFC harder or easier than me?” you ask. It’s a silly question but it feels like it’s the sledgehammer waiting to drop.

“You are a dream compared to KFC. I just want you to believe me. Okay, just promise me you’ll give it time so you can see. You’ll see.”

You don’t get the chance to ask Ashton to clarify before he’s pushing over the middle console to kiss your forehead. Ashton takes a moment to clear the mess off your face, careful in case you’ve put on any makeup. You can see a couple streaks of mascara and foundation on the tissue after his work, but it looks minimal to you. He peels himself out of his jacket and hands it to you. “Put that one, okay. I’ll be over in a second.”

Maybe you don’t need to ask Ashton what he meant. “I promise,” you return, slipping your arms into the sleeves.

“C’mon, we’ve got the last two episodes to finish. We need to know which couples make it and which ones don’t,” Ashton whispers to you from the open car door.

“Okay.”

You expect that once you’re inside, you’ll change, snuggle up on the couch and polish off your reality TV show. It’s one you started without Ashton and he came home from the studio one day, crawled into your lap and just watched from where you were. He asked a few questions to get up to speed but he got hooked. It’s a ritual--to watch one or two episodes a night together. There’s four seasons so you and Ashton have plenty to watch through together.

But when you get inside, Ashton walks you straight to the bathroom. “Take a seat for me?” You don’t think it was meant to be that much of a question, but you nod anyway and take yourself over to the vanity chair. The bathroom’s got your makeup counter already set up. You pull the chair out and turn it around.

Ashton digs out the step stool kept around to help reach some of the higher shelves and settles it directly across from you. From your vanity, he finds your makeup remover, cotton rounds, and some makeup wipes.

“Do-do you want me to sit there instead?” you ask, pointing to the stool.

“No, you’re good where you are. Where’s your little headband? That keeps your hair out of your face?”

Turning to your right, you pull open a drawer and take out terry cloth item. “I keep it in the drawer so I don��t lose it in the cracks. Someone mentioned to me once they’re tired of digging it out from the corners.”

“Whoever said that is an asshole,” Ashton laughs. It’s soft and short, but still a laugh.

It’s a little awkward, you don’t doubt it as Ashton gets the headband over your head and then up to hold back your hair. But he settles soon after onto the stool, reaching up to the sides of you for the appropriate items.

The first wipe is on your cheek, gentle and soft--so much so you don’t think any makeup could come off with it. “Can I tell you a secret?” Ashton whispers.

“Yeah, yeah you can.”

“I have a nasty voice inside my head too. We all do. Trust me, getting older and seeing that you just don’t have the same body that you used to sucks. Or seeing you don’t have the same body as all the Hollywood actors or influencers. I don’t expect you to. But it’s hard. It’s really hard to not let them in your head. It happens to all of us. Me included.”

“Ashton, you’re built like a Greek God. I’ll fight those nasty voices of yours,” you laugh. “I’m tough enough to go a few rounds.”

You put your fists up in front of your face, bobbing like a boxer in the ring. Ashton laughs. “Yeah? You’d get into the ring for me? Go a few rounds?”

“Absolutely, I would,” you laugh.

“Alright Ali, settle down so I can finish cleaning off this makeup, please. The point is: that voice is in your head and it may not go away. It may pop back up again. But let’s find some ways to make you tough enough to go a few rounds. I’ll dig you out, whatever metaphor you want to use. But let’s-let’s not forget your body’s doing a job. And it’s doing it very well, if I might add. This dress and your body are a killer combination.”

You retreat from his words, cheeks heating with fear. “Ashton, please.”

“I am but a man. Put my girl in front of me and I’m a goner. Sweatpants, fancy heels, doesn’t fucking matter. It’s simple maths,” Ashton laughs. His wipes are firmer, clearing off more and more makeup as he works. “You are beyond gorgeous to me. And I want you to believe that about yourself. Enough that the voice doesn’t win all the time.”

“I want to believe that too. Just feels hard right now.”

“It’s okay if it feels hard right now. I’ll do the heavy lifting for right now, okay?”

You want to believe Ashton. You really do. You’re just not sure what that looks like, what that means. You’re not sure what you need. But you only nod. It’s all you have and you don’t want to insult Ashton’s genuine efforts.

“Admittedly, I am not an expert, but tell me if it’s good enough?”

You don’t even look in the mirror behind you. “It’s good enough. I’ll get the rest when I wash my face.”

“Want to do that while I set up the shower? I’ll make sure it’s extra hot and scalding for you.”

“It just feels better,” you defend.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say as you melt the tiles in the shower.”

You only roll your eyes at the tease but stand and peel yourself out of Ashton’s jacket. “Thank you, by the way, for the jacket,” you call from the bedroom as you slip out of your heels.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Peeling yourself out of your dress feels a bit like you can breathe better. You don’t feel stuffed and held in by something irritating. The robe is softer, swallows you in the way that you want to fade away. The steam starts faintly when you’re re-entering the bathroom. The vanity is cleaned up and re-organized. Ashton slips through the door beside you, “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

The water is a welcomed respite. It cascades down your skin--just warm enough to your taste. You can only stand for a moment, letting the water hit your body. The knock on the glass door startles you a bit but then Ashton steps up and over into the tub.

“You hate how hot I run the shower,” you note.

“For you, it is worth melting my skin off.” It’s cheesy and you know it, but Ashton says nothing as he grabs your body wash and cloth. It’s not the first time you and Ashton have shared the shower together, or bathed each other. But Ashton’s moves are meticulous. He follows your neck down to your shoulder, your shoulders down to your arms and fingers. He comes back up to your chest as he works, sudsing your body as he goes.

You turn when ask, each time and try not to think about everything you wish were different. It’s only one body and there's only so much time you’ve got. Will you really spend it being upset about your body that’s just doing a job?

Ashton’s careful not to get your hair wet either with his work. And when he’s done, satisfied with his own work, he tips your head up. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Would-would you ever tell me if you had a bad body day?” you ask. You know the focus is on you, but you can’t help the question. Would Ashton try to hide like you did? Was it really productive to bottle all this up anyway?

“It’s not always to admit those. But I think I would. I could tell you about it. I know you’ll listen. You care. I don’t think I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could. But would you? That’s what I’m asking.”

“Eventually, I would. Maybe not right out at the start.”

“Eventually,” you repeat, chewing over the word. “You’re a stubborn man. I’m not surprised you’d want to do it yourself.”

He laughs, arms winding around your waist and pulling you closer. “And you’re a stubborn woman when you want to be. But that doesn’t stop me.”

“And you being stubborn won’t stop me,” you laugh, window your arms around Ashton too.

“Good, I’m glad.”

The kiss is slow. Not even meant to be more, but you don’t want to crawl out of this warm cocoon you’ve created in this shower. You want to stay in Ashton’s arms for as long as possible. You pull him in closer, and closer. With his body pressed into yours, tasting his mouth, your brain has no space for other thoughts. The only thing you can think about is Ashton--the way he feels, the way his hands press into your flesh.

You’ve never considered yourself to be small, but when Ashton touches you, cups your sex and fingers teasing between your folds, you want nothing more than to shrink. Make yourself small and puddy in his hands. Your head falls back onto the tiles, a satisfied moan leaving your throat. Ashton’s teeth sting at the column of your throat, but he hums when you sigh at the touch.

“Can I show you something?” Ashton asks, lips brushing over your ear.

“Yes,” you huff.

Ashton laughs. “You sound so desperate right now.”

“I might be,” you return. “I just might me.”

“I’ll meet you on the bed in a minute.”

A groan leaves your lips. Your body is buzzing and you don’t want those voices to come back.

“Why can’t you show me here?”

“Because you are not slipping in this shower. I am not taking you to a hospital to explain you hurt yourself trying to have shower sex when we have a perfectly good bed just a few feet from us. Not on my watch ma’am.”

“That would be a little embarrassing,” you concede, climbing out of the shower. You do give Ashton’s ass a tap on the way out. He laughs. “You’re going to regret that,” he calls out.

You don’t doubt for a second you will. You dry off and immediately follow it up with lotion, and then all there is left is to wait, perched on the edge of bed. Your robe’s some comfort, but you can still hear the echo of yourself, I feel like sludge.

“You’re not sludge,” you whisper to yourself.

The water cuts off a moment later, your eyes straining to catch anything else behind it. Not even the door can creak as you’ve left it open but Ashton returns, towel around his waist and his eyes taking you in.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mutters to himself.

You’re not sludge.

You can crawl into the space that you know is safe. It’s easy, tucked up and into Ashton. It’s so fucking easy. All you want is that little bit of reprieve. It’s all so close.

“Up for me.”

The robe falls from the push Ashton gives to a pool around your feet. There’s not a moment to think about how exposed you are. Ashton closes in, takes you up and lays you down. Lips part and meet, an echoing sound in the silence of the room. All his weight sinks into you and it’s like the noise is on a switch. All you can focus on is the lap of his tongue at the swell of your breast.

The way Ashton hums at the taste of you.

You touch always finds something solid. Each time you cling, Ashton is always there, a hum and encouraging word dripping off his tongue, Look at you. I’ll take care of you. Let me make you feel good.

You can’t possibly say no, wouldn’t dare fathom turning him away when his tongue and fingers are milking everything you’re worth. Your body grows warm as his work, praises in return falling off your tongue too, Yes, right there. I feel so good. You make me feel so good.

There’s only one place for you to go at the end of this and that is over the edge--once and then twice.

Your body is jello but Ashton stays a constant canary in your ear. You’ve always enjoyed vocal partners. Like to know that they’re having a good time too. But this time it’s different. Ashton’s words are careful and weighty. There’s not just You’re beautiful or You feel amazing. He’s praising your strength, the way you keep hanging onto the last threads that he knows in any other situation you would’ve let go of by now, most likely might’ve called it quits. But you keep digging deeper, finding what you can to stay floating.

It’s praise for a job well dog, for being so good for him and god, every word feels like a flame licking your skin. It’s hot, but you crave it. You need to hear that you’re doing a good job, that this body of your is made to take what Ashton gives to it. Maybe it’s more mental than physical at this point too. Maybe it’s just willpower, but whatever it is that keeps you hanging on, you thank it too.

It helps that Ashton knows your body like an instrument and plays it with his eyes closed just as well as he can with his eyes open. It helps that your body always wants him too.

“Ash, Ash, baby, please,” you beg. The edge of your orgasm isn’t far. You can feel the edges of it pulling in closer and closer.

“I will. I’ll get you there. Just keep being good for me. Be a good girl, please.”

You think there’s nothing else for you to be as he’s got your body pinned to the bed, holding your body open by the back of your thighs. Your knees are up to your chest. You can be good. This is a body capable of good things.

There’s no words--not that you can hear when your orgasm crashes over. It’s blinding as you find yourself in a spasm, body not quite under your control as the well placed thrust of Ashton brings about sweet relief.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” are the words that bring you back earthside.

A tiny hum leaves your throat as you blink back to the bright lights of the room. You nor Ashton had turned them off before starting as it felt silly. But you can take in how damp the sheets feel beneath you for a moment. A warm wet cloth touches between your legs and you wince just a little at the sensitivity.

“I know, baby, I know.” Ashton places a kiss to your forehead before the bed dips again.

Your eyes flutter close and in the silence you catch a door open then close again. You peek open an eye see fresh sheets in Ashton hands. “Did-what happened?”

Ashton grins as he approaches. “Well, we discovered that you can squirt and I was not prepared for that. So, the sheets are soaked.”

You laugh, but there is a hint of embarrassment licking at your cheeks as they warm. “Oh my god. No, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, do not apologize, not in the fucking slightest. But, you may need a second shower. Or a quick wash up. Let’s just say you’ve got a wide wet zone.”

You snort at the tease and finally give into Ashton’s gesture to give him your hands. He helps you up and there’s a distinct dark gray ring on the sheets as you turn to assess the damage. “Oh, that is a lot worse than I was imagining.”

“Oh, hot as hell though. So do not worry.”

“You’re just saying that,” you laugh, collecting some pj’s.

“I, Ashton Irwin, am not just saying anything about learning that my girlfriend can squirt. That was hot as well and I don’t care what I have to clean up. Having that information is fucking gold.”

“Your check’s in the mail. I’ll be back to help in a second.”

“Take your time,” Ashton calls out. But you know you won’t listen. Freshening up yet again, you slip into your pj’s and scurry back to the bedroom. Ashton’s just got the sheets and the mattress pad striped by the time you return.

“It got down to the mattress pad?” you question pulling out the fitted sheet to the fresh set.

“I mean, that is what it’s there for in some right. Seriously, not an issue.”

You’re fighting to say upright if you’re honest--as your body wants nothing more than to collapse into bed, but you refuse to force Ashton to clean this up all on his own. Besides, he never gets the tuck right for the corners. You don’t complain when he does change the sheets as it as a laborious task in and of itself. You just know you have a preference on the way the bed is made.

By the time Ashton returns from the laundry room--sheets now going through a cycle-- he finds you working on the last piece of the flat sheet. The comforter got wet too and is waiting for the moment the washer gets free, so he brings over some of the spare blankets for the time being. “Up, up, up,” he commands, light taps to your ass accompany his chant.

“Ash,” you giggle. “I’m almost done.”

“Nope, up, get in bed. Let me tuck you in and we can cuddle until the washer is done.”

You huff, as you smooth out the last piece and then push up onto the queen sized mattress. It’s plush and holds you without worry as you flop onto your side of the bed. Ashton spreads out the blanket, it’s not terribly wide, but it’s enough for the two of you.

“I have one armpit ready,” he announces once he slips in after you. It’s a joke in response to the time you told him that you could live in his armpit once. In reference to your attraction to him, but Ashton’s refused to let it die in private.

“Hmm, maybe the HOA should do something about these bushes,” you huff, tickling right at his ribs.

“Oh, c’mon. I’m a hairy man and you love it. You cannot deny it.”

You settle into his side. “I’d never change a thing about you.” The kiss to his stomach is easy and you wind an arm over his chest.

“And I wouldn’t change anything about you. Thank you for telling me today about what’s been going on. I appreciate it.”

“Thanks for, like, not freaking out.”

“Now why would I freak out?” Ashton questions. “Hmm? I can’t freak out when I’m in a similar boat sometimes.”

You get it--everyone’s got their own insecurities, their own doubts that creep up. Resting your chin into his sternum, you look up to Ashton, a lazy circle around his chest with your finger tips preoccupies your free hand. “Will you tell me? When you’re having a bad body day or just a bad time, you’ll still tell me, right?”

“I’ll do my best, baby. I’ll tell you. So you can go a few rounds for me in the ring. Promise.”

You tap his side. “You better. Carved from literal mountains, you are so I just gotta make sure you remember.”

“Yeah? Carved from mountains?”

You nod. “They’re strong, rugged, handsome. Keep up, Irwin. Keep up.”

He laughs, squeezes you closer to him. “Well, you got plucked from the heavens and I won’t be returning you.”

“The heavens now?” you arch your brow with the question.

“Yeah, angelic, beautiful, radiant. Keep up.”

“Touché. I’ll give you that one.” It’s an easy round of laughter before Ashton grabs the remote from the bedside table. “If I fall asleep, catch me up,” you inquire as the Netflix app loads.

“You say that like I’m not about to set an alarm to make sure I get the laundry done. We both might have to get caught up.”

You snicker into his chest. “Lord save us both.”

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin blurb #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes

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burnwater13 · 4 months ago

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Grogu standing in front of Boba Fett's rancor, on the streets of Mos Espa, on Tatooine. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor.

Grogu had to say, given everything he’d learned and everything he’d experienced, nothing in his training as a Jedi youngling had prepared him for a career in dentistry. But there he was. Standing in front of an angry rancor and it was absolutely clear to him that no one had taken the dental hygiene of the huge critter seriously. They just hadn’t.

The rancor’s teeth were stained, chipped, and smelled of whatever or whoever it had consumed in the recent past. Not just that day. Nope. At least six or seven days ago. It had time to ripen into something that smelled like bad spotchka. Grogu was not impressed, but actually fairly sorrowful. This rancor would need to have a lot of work done to make sure those huge sharp teeth were returned to their former glory. But like he said. He wasn’t a dentist.

After everything had settled down on Tatooine and particularly in Mos Espa, Grogu had brought the issue up to the Daimyo. Officially, Ranky was a possession of the Daimyo’s, so only the Daimyo could authorize an appropriate course of treatment.

The Daimyo very wisely suggested that they consult with the rancor keeper. If anyone would know why Ranky’s teeth weren’t being given the proper daily care, he would know. Grogu agreed with that assessment and the two of them made their way down to the rancor enclosure while the Majordomo and Fennec continued to run the meeting on mutual aid with the delegates from Mos… Freetown. Grogu was still getting used to the name change.

When they reached the rancor enclosure the trainer, Machete, came right over to them.

“How’s he doing?” Daimyo Fett asked after they exchanged greetings.

“Doing? He’s a rancor. He’s doing fine.”

Machete looked confused. Grogu could understand that. The rancor was tearing through a huge chunk of some sort of meat and didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

“My young friend here is concerned about the creature’s health. In particular the health of its teeth. I don’t need to tell you how critical healthy teeth are to a creature like this one, do I?”

Grogu was interested in how the Daimyo’s voice went from being kind and concerned to down right aggravated from the beginning of that sentence to its end. It was impressive. Grogu was sure it took experience he didn’t have to achieve that in such a small amount of time.

“Well, my lord, I have been meaning to talk to you about that. Brushing a rancor’s teeth is not quite as easy as say, brushing the teeth of a Krayt dragon. If you choose to do that to a Krayt dragon it’s happy to remove you from the living because you have identified your time to meet your ancestors. No real questions about how or when. Now with a rancor, you must decide which arm you can live with out. Unfortunately that only covers one cleaning and only for as long as it chooses to let you retain that arm.”

Wow, that sounded serious. The Daimyo thought so as well.

“I wouldn’t expect to find many volunteers for that work. Why not use droids or mechs? We have plenty of them scurrying around the place. Surely one or two of them could be trained to perform the necessary work?”

Grogu grinned at his Mandalorian friend. This was exactly why Boba Fett was the Daimyo and not anyone else. He inherently understood problem solving.

“I have considered that, my lord. I even had some of the small mechs trained to do the work. But Administrator Shand said I was not to waste valuable resources on work that the rancor should be trained to do for itself.”

Ahhh. Grogu immediately understood the caught between a rock and blaster look the trainer wore on his weary, scarred face. If Fennec told you not to do something, you didn’t do it. Easy peasy.

“Then you have begun to teach the rancor to manage this task for itself?”

The trainer looked at the ground and shuffled his feet and looked more uncomfortable than he did the time he had to the Daimyo that Ranky had escaped his enclosure to take a sand bath. Grogu had helped them both out that day. It had been a good opportunity to test his newest Force skill, ‘attract critter’. That he’ also ended up ‘attracting’ every scorpion, poisonous millipede, biting/flying insect, bird, rodent, lizard, in a 300 meter radius hadn’t been ideal, but you have to learn somehow.

“I have been trying, but I am sorry to say that the rancor likes the flavor of the brushes I’ve been able to fashion for its use. He snatches them up, crunches them down, and then burps. I don’t have access to materials that are more durable.”

“I see.”

The Daimyo seemed sad. Grogu could understand that. He’d probably realized the only thing a rancor couldn’t just crunch up was beskar and no way was any Mandalorian going to give up their beskar to make a tooth polisher and pick for a rancor. Grogu sighed.

“Well, young one. Do you think the Force could help? You were able to get him to sleep that way. Could you remove all that plaque and tarter?”

And that was how Grogu was forced to seriously consider how to clean a giant critter’s teeth using just the Force and the sweetness of his own personality. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Just a little scraping and mild discomfort and the possibility of being eaten in one tiny bite. Now, he just needed to know if the Daimyo had the proper insurance for the work.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #the book of boba fett #grogu #din djarin #fennec shand #boba fett

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kumoriyami-xiuzhen · 2 years ago

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Hakuoki Tsukikage Kazama Short Story

This is the last translation to make up for March (only four not five since i don't count a week because of my bday)... I'm probably just going to translate the rest of what I can for April...

Also I hate tax law. Taxes themselves are something I'm okay with to a degree since I'm probably more federalist and like health care and the idea of dental care, but looking through who knows how many statues and laws from the CRA for just one thing is something I wish I didn't subject myself to lol.

ANYWAY.

The story for this translation was originally published in B's-LOG 2019年11月号.

the last of these I'll be able to translate are the Souji one with the books, the Saito story with the flower in winter, the Harada story and the one for Souma.... i think those haven't been translated?

Hakuoki Tsukikage B’s Log 2019年11月 Kazama Short Story “Nagatsuki (長月)” [meaning the 9th month of the lunar calendar]

Translation by KumoriYami

"This was all that could be prepared."

"No, it's nothing. I should be the one apologising for forcing you to do this."

With a plate in my hand that I received from the hostess who bowed her head to apologise, I greeted her before going back to the room.

On our journey to Aizu, this was the only inn we could find.

The closer to the battlefield, the fewer people there were, and the once lively stores and inns tightly shut their doors.

This was something that had been realized after camping out several times, [though] Amagiri-san found that there was inn operating at the end of the road/street [not sure about the first half here].

(It was thanks to Amagiri-san...)

Chizuru sighed as she thought this.

"...Too slow."

Back in the room, Kazama-san had already put on his yukata and was relaxing as he looked out the window.

Ever since we left Edo, Kazmaa-san had been wearing simple western-style sleeves.

Although that really suited him, I still thought he was more attractive while wearing a kimono.

"Out of kindness, the hostess provided me with a choushi. What do you think about this?"

According to ChatGPT (since I could not find a response I liked through google): "In Japanese, 铫子 (choushi) is called "yakan" (ヤカン) which refers to a kettle or a pot used for boiling water or heating liquids, often made of metal or ceramic. It is commonly used for making tea or coffee, but can also be used for warming sake or other alcoholic beverages." T/N: the raw itself uses "铫子"

"Hmph… this sake is not to my taste, but if you want to pour it, I'll drink it."

In response to his arrogant statements, I smiled wryly and poured some sake for him.

I wasn't used to his behaviour before, but now I've completely accepted it.

(He is actually a very emotional person…)

I already know that now.

As I listened to the sound of insects in the distance, I poured sake into his cup.

In this private room [In private?], he was unexpectedly quiet, and was fond of silence, so I didn't have to force myself to greet him.

His posture as he looked up at the moon was so graceful, like the appearance of someone in a painting—

(What am I thinking...)

For some reason, I was now very concerned about Kazama-san's inner thoughts/opinions.

"It's almost the fifteenth night [Alternatively, this can be interpreted as "the night of the full moon" like in the Juugoyabana drama].

"This sake is no good, but I can it's not bad as a side dish to appreciating the moon."

In contrast to his sarcasm, his eyes were gentle.

"When you're satisfied and aren't asking for more, it's easy to get what you want. In this world, there are too many foolish fossils [term is for people out of date or have fallen behind] who have forgotten this."

His words penetrated deeply into my heart.

With my own eyes, I have witnessed what people who pursue profit and those who have robbed others to satisfy their own desires. I saw firsthand what that looked like to the state of my hometown.

If Kazama-san wasn't at my side, perhaps I wouldn't be able to endure it.

"...So, are you satisfied now?"

"What a foolish question."

The corners of his mouth curled into a smile at the me who was feeling shy.

"If you want me to feel satisfied, let me satisfy myself first… it is useless to have another's person way of thinking/thoughts fulfilled by someone else."

(...He truly is a gentle person.)

The words I heard were a comfort to me who was worrying about those still fighting, and those yet to fight.

As he looked up towards the moon again, and I silently thanked him.

---end---

#hakuoki #hakuouki #hakuoki other translation #kazama chikage #yukimura chizuru

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piizunn · 2 years ago

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COLD WEATHER TIPS AND RESOURCES (ALBERTA BASED)

all resources will be alberta based as that is where i am located, however i’d like to expand this list to the rest of my nation’s homelands which are saskatchewan and manitoba mainly.

i made this post the other day and i wanted to add more resources and information!

my basic tips for anyone in the cold

1. Layers will save your life wether you have actual winter gear or not. I exclusively wear baggy pants for comfort and style, but also so that i can wear at least 2 base layers, my go-to is a base layer of waffle weave long johns under tapered sweatpants (tapered is important to me personally, It makes it so i can tuck my pants into my boots easily!)

2. the rule with layering is that you still must have your entire range of motion so that you can keep blood flow to all your extremities, ESPECIALLY your fingers and toes. If two pairs of socks make it so you can’t move your toes around, ditch the second layer. Same with gloves. On that note- i prefer mittens to gloves with individual fingers. They might have more mobility but mittens are more comfortable for me personally.

3. Wind protection- staying out of the wind is the most important part of all of this. wind chill can make the air feel significantly colder, wind burn and frostbite can set in within 10 minutes of skin being exposed to extreme cold like the -40 C and below weather alberta has been experiencing. Wether you protect yourself from the wind.

4. if you absolutely have to sleep rough find a place that is a) safe and accessible for you and your needs b) out of the wind, and c) a place you can set up a tent or tarp. i can’t stress enough how much colder the wind makes things.

5. FOR HOUSED FOLKS. ESPECIALLY SETTLERS. if you see someone sleeping rough, use the resources provided. ask them if they need help. hell, if you have a spare room, heated garage, empty basement, fucking let your neighbours in!!! do what you can within your means and with the privilege you have. if you can’t provide a warm space you can provide other necessities.

necessities for unhoused folks braving this weather:

-MONEY (i can’t stress this enough. i don’t care if they buy drugs or alcohol, harm reduction saves lives)

- hand warmers

-easy to eat snacks (nothing crunchy, lots of folks have dental issues)

-gloves

-toques

-scarves

-socks

-long johns and leggings (waffle knit is everything in this weather)

-wind breakers/wind pants

-winter jackets and snow pants

-sturdy warm shoes

-water bottles

-cigarettes

-gift cards for food (i know a lot of you got tim’s cards for christmas)

EDMONTON/CALGARY/LETHBRIDGE RESOURCES:

Mohkinstsis/Calgary

Bear Clan goes out on patrol every friday night. there are also bear clan groups in manitoba!

https://instagram.com/bearclanpatrolcalgary?igshid=Zjc2ZTc4Nzk=

CALL 211 IF YOU SEE SOMEONE IN DISTRESS! THIS NUMBER ALSO WORKS IN EDMONTON.

Amiskwaciywâskahikan/Edmonton

PRAIRIE SAGE PROTECTORS

https://instagram.com/prairie.sage.protectors?igshid=Zjc2ZTc4Nzk=

BOYLE STREET COMMUNITY SERVICES

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A post shared by ʏᴇɢᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ (@yegconnector)

instagram

again, like i mentioned before you can also call 211 in calgary for someone in distress!

SIKOOHKOTOKI/LETHBRIDGE

user @goldswords informed me of Sage Clan in Lethbridge who are out there saving lives in the community! here is their profile. keep in mind these are only the major cities of alberta, please feel free to add any resources you know of!

https://instagram.com/sageclanlethbridge?igshid=Zjc2ZTc4Nzk=

REMEMBER THE LAND NEEDS THE COLD. THIS COLD IS NATURAL, WHAT IS NOT NATURAL IS THE UNPREDICTABILITY OF THE WEATHER AND THE FACT THAT PEOPLE ARE DYING ON THE STREETS.

#Instagram #extreme cold #homelessness #classism #alberta #alberta centric post #canada #Indigenous #extreme weather #survival tips #dress for the weather or die #mutual aid #community care

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thislovintime · 1 year ago

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Peter Tork, 1964 (photo by Bob Campbell); and 1965.

“When Peter flunked out of college, he went to New York, where he sang and played in pass-the-hat coffee houses. After a tour as an accompanist for the Phoenix Singers, he came to Los Angeles (‘I’d had it up to here with the Village, so when someone offered to put me up out here, I came. I worked around Long Beach as a kitchen boy and accompanist for different groups. When I heard about the ad in Variety, I didn’t want to go, but I had let my hair grow in the Village, so I was ready for the part. Now I’m glad. When The Monkees made a personal appearance in New York, and the girls screamed, “It’s them!”, it was thrilling. And now my parents are proud of my success. The last time I went home, I lorded it over the other kids. My little sister doesn’t even think of me as her brother any more - she thinks of me as a TV star.’) Peter’s father, Prof. H. John Thorkelson, says, ‘Naturally, we were disturbed when he went to Greenwich Village. But we always felt he should do what he wanted to do. However, we always thought he was college material.’” - TV Guide, January 28, 1967

“Peter Tork's ticket to stardom was definitely marked ‘round trip.’ Eight years ago he would pass the hat around an old folk's club and hope that it would come back full. Most of the time it didn't, so to pay the rent his folks sent him a few bucks every month. A few years ago money was the last thing on his mind: he was making hundreds of thousands of dollars and singing to millions, screaming millions. Today he dreams of $60 days as a street singer in San Francisco’s Ghiradelli Square, but they never happen. So last month his mother paid his dental bill. He spends most of his time now as one of over thirty choir members, who think of him as ‘Mr. Show Biz’... but he’s not. A few years ago he was one of four... and people thought he was dumb... but he wasn't. He was another Greenwich Village folkee in the days when there were a lot of Greenwich Village folkees. He worked there for three years singing and accompanying groups like the Phoenix Singers and he might still be back there today if it weren’t for Steven Stills. The producers of this T.V. show liked Steven Stills fine, his music and everything. Everything except his screen test. He wasn’t, in their words, photogenic enough. So they asked him if he knew anybody who was like him that photographed a little better. Steven Stills told them about this kid in the Village he knew who looked a little like him. Peter Tork. Peter Tork went down and got the part that Steve Stills almost had. Peter Tork became a Monkee. Each Monkee was allowed to create his own image. Michael Nesmith’s was that of a wise old country boy. Davy's was cool, cute and English. Micky was crazy and wild. Peter was dumb. It was an image he carefully nurtured and developed on the Greenwich Village stage. He found it easy humor. And he used it. One step behind the others. Smiling through it all. Peter drifts away amidst memories of those good times: ‘I was happy to be playing as a Monkee so I would allow myself to pretend that I was happy pretending I was playing.’” - San Diego Reader, December 6, 1973

Times: “Is the Monkees character something you came up with it? Or did they tell you to play him dumb?” Peter Tork: “It's a character I came up with during the personality tests, those black and white bits we did. It was a character I created on the Greenwich Village folk stages basically to protect myself from the crushing silence of a bad joke.” - St. Petersburg Times, June 23, 2000

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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Natalia Arno returned to her hotel in Prague in early May to find that the door to her room had been left ajar and a sickly sweet smell filled the air. A Russian democracy activist who was forced into exile in 2012, Arno is no stranger to surveillance, so she immediately checked the room for listening devices before heading out to a meeting.

The next morning, shortly before dawn, she awoke with a searing pain in her mouth. Fearing she was on the brink of a dental emergency, Arno—president of the Free Russia Foundation—quickly packed and booked a flight back to the United States the same morning.

As the plane soared over the Atlantic, something strange began to happen. “The pain started to wander all around my body,” she said. It was under her armpits, then it was in her eyes, her chest, her ears, her stomach. A terrifying numbness began to spread down her spine.

“If I had even the slightest suspicion that it was a poisoning, I would have stayed in Prague and gone to the clinic there,” Arno said. The FBI is investigating the suspected poisoning, Arno said, but she has yet to receive an answer as to what caused her sudden illness. In Germany, a second Kremlin critic, Russian journalist Elena Kostyuchenko, also fell ill after a suspected poisoning last October. Prosecutors in Berlin are investigating the incident as an attempted murder.

Russian spies have had their wings clipped in the wake of the country’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in early 2022. Over 400 Russian intelligence agents operating under diplomatic cover at the country’s embassies were expelled from Europe as part of an unprecedented and coordinated effort intended to hamper Moscow’s malign activities on the continent. The head of Britain’s domestic counterintelligence agency (MI5), Ken McCallum, described it as “the most significant strategic blow against the Russian intelligence services in recent European history.”

What are still operational, as the suspected poisonings of Arno and Kostyuchenko suggest, are Russian kill teams, dispatched to liquidate state enemies. Or try to.

Russia’s resident spies—who are stationed at embassies under official cover—are largely drawn from the country’s foreign intelligence service, the SVR. They would principally be focused on the lengthy process of recruitment—cultivating assets in European governments and institutions—and handling existing moles. The wet work, as assassinations are referred to in the slang of the Russian intelligence services, has typically been run by military intelligence, the GRU, operating deep under cover.

“What the expulsions really degrade is the Russian ability to recruit, not the Russian ability to kill,” former CIA officer Marc Polymeropoulos said.

High-stakes operations such as assassination attempts, coup attempts, and sabotage have been traced by investigative journalists to the elite GRU unit 29155, trained in the dirtiest tricks from sabotage to poisonings. Operatives from the unit were exposed by the investigative group Bellingcat as being behind the Novichok poisoning of former Russian spy Sergei Skripal in Salisbury, England. The officers involved flew into the U.K. for just two days to carry out the attempted assassination, though they claim to have found time to see the famed cathedral.

Unit 29155 was dealt a substantial blow in recent years as journalists discovered they had been traveling on passports with similar numbers, making them easy to identify in databases of leaked flight records. “Because the Russians don’t know how many were exposed, they have to assume that a whole generation was exposed,” said Christo Grozev, head of Russia investigations at Bellingcat.

But the ouster of hundreds of Russian spies operating under official cover has not been without impact. It has forced Moscow to rely more heavily on its sleeper agents for observation and information-gathering operations, Grozev said. “When you lose the coordination centers, the embassies, then these sleepers feel a bit naked. They have to reinvent tradecraft, and they get burned much easier,” he said. That, plus an increased effort on the part of European intelligence agencies, has seen suspected sleeper agents working for Russia exposed in the United Kingdom, Greece, Norway, Albania, the Netherlands, Germany, and Sweden since the invasion of Ukraine last year.

Russian spies have long operated with a freer hand in Europe than in the United States. “We’ve been complaining about the Europeans—about a lack of action against the Russians—forever,” Polymeropoulos said.

Basing intelligence operatives out of an embassy is nothing new—most countries take advantage of their diplomatic presence in this way, to the full knowledge of the host nation.

While European leaders were well aware that Russian embassies were dens of spies, it was a political calculus to leave them be. That has changed since the invasion of Ukraine.

In Germany, long a playground for Russian intelligence, the government has belatedly placed new emphasis on tackling Moscow’s spies, said Stefan Meister, an expert on Russia with the German Council on Foreign Relations, who noted that it wouldn’t happen overnight. “Germany is so late in building up intelligence to counter Russian activities in Germany. This is not something you build up in a couple of weeks or months.”

The expulsions and increased scrutiny have also forced Moscow to change its tactics. In its annual report, Lithuania’s intelligence service noted that the intensity of Russia’s human intelligence operations had waned since the expulsions, but that Europe would remain a prime target. “[W]e are almost certain that Russian intelligence devoid of capabilities to operate under diplomatic cover will search for opportunities to exploit other intelligence gathering methods: cyber, non-traditional cover, online operations,” the agency said in a statement to Foreign Policy.

In a bid to stymie the flow of Western weapons through Poland into Ukraine, Moscow attempted to recruit cash-strapped Ukrainian refugees via the social messaging app Telegram to conduct surveillance, with plans to carry out arson attacks and an assassination, the Washington Post reported. “This is completely new,” Grozev said of the change in tactics. He also noted that Russian intelligence had begun outsourcing surveillance activities to organized crime groups in Europe.

This could lead to more Russian intelligence activity being exposed, Grozev said, but also more collateral damage. “When you outsource to nonprofessionals, to organized crime, they make their own calls,” he said.

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henrydental · 2 years ago

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bebethsas · 6 months ago

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every evening: battle #422 in the valiant fight against tooth decay

also, while I'm here: FLOSS! FLOSSING IS IMPORTANT!!

Listen.

I know we were all told to floss as a kid. I know that some of us started doing it, and created a habit out of it. But I also know that some of us might not have liked the sensation of string sliding against your gums, and that some of us (me, it's me, I'm the problem, it's me) didn't floss because they never understood why they should bother, especially when there were never any tangible results (you'd floss, and the string would come back looking clean, so what's the point if you don't get a little dopamine pat on the back for getting something unwedged from your teeth??).

WELL

it took me 26 years, but I finally learned why flossing is important, and what it does.

You're using the string to scrape/ shave off and push out bacteria stuck between your teeth. That's what plaque is. It's not just the whitish goop that sometimes appears on your teeth when you eat, it's not just old food stuck to your teeth, it's bacteria. Bacteria that eats on the sugar on your teeth, and creates acid. (source: the internet, but mostly my dentist uncle)

And guess what? Your teeth are made of (among LOTS of other things) calcium and phosphorus. And for those of us who watched the Doctor Who episode in 2005 involving aliens taking over Downing Street, we all know that calcium dissolves in acids. It corrodes it.

by not flossing, you're basically leaving little patches of acid sitting on your teeth, slowly leeching out the minerals that keep your teeth healthy and your precious, literally irreplaceable enamel whole.

basically, I beg you, don't make my mistake--FLOSS YOUR TEETH at least once daily (preferably twice). You can get away with doing it at least once, since it takes 24 hours for plaque to harden on teeth (source: my dental hygenist aunt, said uncle-dentist's sister)

trust me, it's far easier than brushing, flossing, and slathering on MI paste nightly in a desperate attempt to re-mineralize your teeth (also, dont go for the vitamin D3 gummies; the sugar in them is ironically, also bad for your teeth, and remineralizing from your bloodstream does next to nothing)

not sponsored by any toothpaste company or anything, I just think it's necessary to warn other neuro-diverse people (and neuro-typical folks too) just WHY we were taught this ritual as kids.

oh and also: make sure to brush your gumline TOO!! apparently, it's easy to miss, and bacteria likes to sit at the gumline.

absolutely criminal how falling into bad habits is the easiest thing in the world while developing positive habits feels like fighting a literal war

#otherwise you'll end up like me #going from zero history of cavaties to suddenly having 3 over 2 years #this has been an unofficial tooth-brushing PSA #sorry for hijacking the post

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worldscollidinginone · 4 days ago

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Chapter 10 - A Bump For One, A Sinking For Another

Book master list

Everything was moving and yet still. Piya was still in disbelief that she saw him last night, albeit only for a few seconds but… he was there, and her mind would not let it go.

However, she had to move on, to be able to complete the script, so she would leave Goa, again. She would be able to come back to her life. Her exciting life, her lonely life. Staying in Goa would only cause more harm than good, even though her life started from here.

She had to run from this place, as soon as possible, so she ducked and waited until he left. She heard a bicycle’s chime and assumed that he left so that when she got up, she didn’t realise she would be in front of two random boys.

“Yes?” She said as casually as possible.

“Why are you hiding in your home?”

What could she possibly say to make the kids understand and then make them leave, then an idea came to her mind.

“There are some ghosts that live here. A friend of mine let me stay here, because she doesn’t like anything paranormal, and I love scary stuff.”

“What is paranormal?”

“Things that we cannot understand with our human logic. Something beyond us, like magic, or ghosts, demons. You know… the usual.”

“Like Dracula?”

“Even worse.”

“Imagine your worst nightmare, times a thousand. Demons like that.”

As soon as she said demons from their own worst nightmares, they both started running away from her, while crying.

She couldn’t believe that it worked, so as a response she started chuckling, and then a full-on laugh erupted as she kept remembering about the kids.

Once the kids left and her laughter died down to a chuckle, the silence greeted her again. The moon was shining, like a silver pearl in the black starry night.

The place she was staying at was pretty. It was a cute house, facing the sea.

Her assistant knew her well. Sometimes too well. The house was placed next another one which houses another writer, and on the other side of the street there was another house, which looks so beautiful.

The sea brought her calm, but also some deep seeded memories which flowing within her, like the waves.

After the eventful evening, she decided to start taking some stuff from her suitcase for starting her nighttime routine, which consisted of her skincare products, dental products, her trusted speaker, and her latest read, which either meant a new books or a reread. Finally, her pyjamas. Once she got everything she started shutting from the outside world and enter her own. The rehearsed motions before going to bed went smoothly but her heart longed for a place to call home.

Her childhood was…messy. So, she found her solace in books and everything that entailed with them.

This time was going to be a reread. “White Nights” by Fjodor Dostoyevsky. Love and life described in its stages. It’s heartbreak every time she would read, but this pain would welcome it. It was better than to think about anything else or giving herself hope that… he… No. Reading it is and after reading the first chapter, she fell asleep holding the book close to her heart.

The morning after reading had been emotionally exhausting, so today she would take it easy and the first thing is sorting her stuff for her makeshift office, which consisted of a decent office table, her trusty laptop, her notebook and her vital cup of tea. She definitely did not forget to get her earbuds, her headphones while she was packing, but she made it check from her secretary twice, and she still took about 20 minutes to find her earbuds and headphones. And an office lamp, you know, so she could actually work.

Her mind actually worked better at night, where the world would be quiet, and ideas would start flowing.

During the day, however she would plan what the story would be.

Themes, colours, characters, music and so forth, and while she was doing that, she got a call from her secretary.

“Yes, my dear assistant, how can I help you?”

“Ma’am, I have booked you an appointment with someone.”

“Okay, can you send me all the details regarding this?”

“Already did, ma’am.”

“Great, thank you dear. I’ll let you know if you need to confirm it.”

She pulled out her laptop and started looking for the email, that she got call from one of her acquaintances. So, the email remained unopened.

Once everything was finally ready, she took everything to her desk, and before setting herself down, she made sure to put everything in the proper place, where it belonged.

The email was in the back of her mind, so she decided to tackle that first. And when she found it, she was enraged.

Her face was flushed with anger. Eyes were blazing and her breathing was getting ragged, her nostrils were flaring, and her mind could only see anger, rage and denial.

The first thing she did was call her assistant.

“How dare you schedule a therapy appointment for me without my permission?” she shouts, her voice trembling with fury. “I don’t need therapy! I am perfectly fine!”

The assistant tries to explain, but she cuts her off, the frustration boiling over. “This is a complete invasion of privacy and a huge overstep of your responsibilities. I rely on you to manage my schedule and my company, not to make decisions about my personal life!”

Her anger is intense, but beneath it, there is a layer of denial. Piya’s left hand is shaking slightly. Despite the clear signs that everyone in her life mentioned it to her, the only response, she could come up was this. Her mental health was deteriorating, but she refused to accept or even acknowledge. So, to deal with the onslaught of emotions, she’d rather focus on her frustration with her assistant, rather than accept the reality of her situation.

On the other side of the phone, the assistant takes a deep breath, trying to remain calm on the phone call. She hopes that her soft but firm voice guides her through her frustration.

“Piya, I understand that you are upset, and I apologize if I have overstepped,” she begins, keeping her head straight, even though Piya wouldn’t be able to see her.” But I have noticed in the last few years how much stress you’ve been under lately. You’ve been working long hours, and it’s clear that you are exhausted. I scheduled the appointment in hopes that you can see how much I care about you.”

She pauses, giving her a moment to process her words. “I have known you for a long time and I can’t see you suffering like this. I am also not questioning your ability to handle things. I just want to make sure that you have the support you need. It’s about making sure you have someone that can help you. Everyone needs help sometimes, and there is no shame in that. You, of all people should know that.”

The assistant’s voice stays steady and compassionate.

“Please, just consider going to this one appointment. If you don’t find it helpful, we can cancel any future sessions. But I really believe it could make a difference for you.”

Her words are filled with concern and genuine worry about Piya’s mental wellbeing, hoping to break her denial and to help her understand that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but of strength.

After a while, Piya answered softly.

“Okay.”

Her assistant questioned. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

And just like that, the call was cut.

And after all that, she was finally ready to start, except now her mind was wondering about Kaira and in that moment, she saw Kaira for a second, and then she was gone.

The therapy felt like a bump in her mind. A big, ugly bump in her road. What could she do?

Her mind was not able to process the fact that Raghuvendra had gotten engaged. He left for America to get the project going, but instead… The sadness, heartbreak, betrayal and anger were creating a powerful and destructive cocktail in her mind and how she was responding was causing rifts in all of her relationships.

At night, when the world tends to rest from the day, Kaira’s mind was going in overdrive.

“I can’t believe he’s engaged… How could he do this to me? We had something special, didn’t we? Or was it all just in my head?”

“I trusted him. I thought we had a connection. How could he betray me like this? Was I not good enough?”

“Why didn’t he tell me? Did he think I wouldn’t find out? For God’s sake, we work together! Or did he just not care about my feelings at all?”

“I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see them together, happy. It’s tearing me apart.”

These thoughts would prevail in the night, making her numb from everything. Tears would be flowing from her eyes, but her mind…

After the restless night, she would be waking up, going through the motions, and the mind would replay thoughts, like a broken record.

“I can’t focus on anything. My mind keeps drifting back to him. To them. It’s like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.”

“My friends are worried about me. I can see it in their eyes. But how can I explain this pain to them? They wouldn’t understand.”

“I feel so alone. I don’t want to burden anyone with my problems, but I don’t know how to handle this on my own.”

“Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s him. But then I remember… he’s with her now. And it’s all over again.”

I need to able to live without him. But why is it so hard?

I feel like I am sinking.

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