#Where does your bacteria go

[doctorweebmd]

ok my OTHER reflection:

on the one hand its really frustrating to see the posts about docs and healthcare in general on here be so narrow-minded. bad experiences with certain providers have lead to a huge spread of misinformation and mistrust with the whole system. which can and HAS lead to people avoiding 'evil' doctors for perfectly treatable illnesses and dying from them (the vaccine bullshit, anyone?)

but on the other hand. it is TERRIFYING how some of these docs practice medicine. at times i think 'are you just burned out and don't give a shit or are you straight up just stupid?' and i work in critical care. where quite literally every case is life or death. even in the academic sector where there is supposedly a standard of excellence, some doctors i would not let touch my loved ones with a ten foot pole.

and that sucks. i know this is the no nuance piss on the poor webbed site but 'the medical system and people that work for it are fallible and aspects of it are morally questionable at best/unethical at worst' AND 'the field of medicine exists to help people first and foremost and mistrusting/avoiding it can be detrimental in the long run' can and DO co-exist

[muli-wam]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro did not do relationships.

"Can I stay the night? I-" the brunette he was 8 inches deep in just a few moments ago would say.

Toji didn't even know her name. He just let out a mocking chuckle and told her to get out as he did pushups on the floor next to the bed.

"I'll call you an uber," he would say.

She would look at him in disbelief before scoffing and storming out with disheveled hair and clothes.

This was clockwork.

His routine consisted of boxing, flirting, fucking, and then more boxing.

He wasn't going to change that for some girl.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro didn't go on dates, he didn't even look the woman in the eyes while fucking.

He has 3 strict rules for him and his hookups: No talking, no eye contact, and no kissing on the lips. (And always use condoms because the last thing Toji wanted was a child).

Toji doesn't think his rules are extreme, but others around him like to think so.

He's not a dick kinda, he just didn't like relationships. Whether that was romantic, or platonic.

They made him too vulnerable, and Toji didn't like let people get too close in fear of them taking advantage of him.

That's why he loved boxing. He didn't have to play on a team, which meant he didn't have to get along with anyone. People feared him, they kissed the floor he walked on—and he got to punch people so it was a win-win.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was content with living life in solitude.

But his desire for peace and eternal loneliness didn't make him some kind of humble, down to earth man.

No, Toji thrived off praise. He got off on people telling him how much they loved him, how much they worshipped him.

He loved going out in public in broad daylight where everyone could see the amazing Toji Fushiguro, even though Shiu, his manager, told him not to.

He loved the way people would crowd him, asking for pictures and autographs. He loved when girls would pull down the collar of their shirts so he could sign their upper boob and later get it tattooed.

"I'm not a perv," Toji would say defensively.

"But you are..." Shiu would reply, giving him an accusatory look.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro loved attention.

So, you could imagine his surprise when he sees a cute girl at the grocery store, taking time out of his day to come up to you, willfully giving you the God-given opportunity to meet THE Toji Fushiguro, just for you to give him a look of annoyance and walk away.

Come again???

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro was pissed the fuck off.

But, since he's such a good person, he let that one slide and decided to give you a second chance.

"C'mon doll, you really gonna do me like that?" He purrs.

"Do you like what, exactly?" You sigh, not even looking at him, instead continuing to inspect which peaches to buy, afraid they would instantly go bad the moment you walk out the store.

"Playing hard to get?" He takes the peach out of your hand and brings it up to his lips, taking a large bite—making it wayyy more sexual than it needed to be—letting the juice drip down his wrist before bringing his head down and licking it all up.

"Gross, you know how many people touched that?" You say with a look of disgust.

He decided to ignore your comment because 1.) You are progressively bruising his ego with every breath you take, and 2.) He just ate an unwashed peach from the grocery store that may or may not have an undiscovered bacteria on it which may or may not kill him.

"Look, you dont need to act all uninterested to 'impress me'. I'll sign your tits and leave."

Now you were the one pissed off because who does he think he is?

This hot, muscly, meat sack walks in here like he owns the place, tries to flirt with you like some creep, and then has the audacity to offer to sign your tits?

What do you do?

You slap him.

"Who do you even think you are?" You snapped.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro doesn't hit women. His mother always taught him that no matter how angry he got, no matter how much someone pushed him, to never lay his hands on a girl. Because that's the gentlemanly thing to do.

Sure, his mom taught him dozens of other 'gentlemanly' acts. Most of which he threw out the window, stomped on, and set on fire. But that one always stuck.

Except for right now.

Right now, Toji wanted to strangle you because you just slapped him.

Do you even know who he is?

Obviously fucking not because you just asked him, and that pissed Toji off even more.

Also the fact that you just publicly humiliated him, in front of at least 20 people recording, which would then end up on the entire internet for everyone to see 'The Girl Who Slapped Toji Fushiguro, The Most Feared Boxer in All of Japan.'

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say because he's never been in such a situation.

People always shriveled up and hid out of fear when he entered a room. Toji's presence alone makes children scream and hide behind their parents.

But you didn't do that.

You slapped him.

And it kinda turned him on.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro studied your angry expression. The way your eyebrows furrowed, how your nostrils flaired with every heavy breath you took, your anger radiating off of you, making those around you—even Toji—nervous.

His cheek tingled, not because the slap hurt, it was pretty weak in his opinion, but because your hands were so soft and Toji wondered how they would feel caressing his face as he made you fall apart under him.

This feeling you gave him was foreign, and he craved for more.

He craved you.

"Are you single?" He suddenly asks.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro flinches, preparing for another slap from you when he sees your expression go blank. Unreadable.

Getting killed by a pretty girl wouldn't be such a bad way to go out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　⁺ 　 . ✦

A/n: Idk what beef I have with Toji rn but hes kinda an asshole in this AU. I SWEAR THERE WILL BE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT reader is gna change Toji for the better ☺️👍🏼

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[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[trampleddoves]

For the blurb thingy: him fucking you into overstimulation and you weakly try to push him off but you can't so he just guides you to hold onto your plushie while he keeps fucking into you...<3

s. r. blurb 9

contents: afab!reader, dom!Spencer, penetrative sex, overstimulation, mentions of a safe word but not used, corruption of a plushie, MDNI

You aren't sure where Spencer gets his stamina in bed. 

You love him, really you do, in all his lanky, nerdy glory, but Spencer Reid can barely run up two flights of stairs without losing his breath. He cannot run like a normal person while holding his gun, often leaning on one side as if the gun weighs more than it actually does and is dragging him down. 

Yet somehow, without fail, he manages to last multiple rounds of sex 

At first, you assumed he's trying to compensate for something. He reaches his climax quite quickly—Being buried inside you seems to set every nerve in his body on gasoline, white hot flames licking just under his skin and erupting without warning. You both cry out, his in pleasure, and you out of surprise, your head thrown back as he spills deep inside your cunt. He pushes through the orgasm, taking advantage of the slick that’s gathered inside your walls to fuck you even harder. 

You thought he’s just being thorough. He wants you to climax as well, after all, he’s simply being a thoughtful lover. 

All delusions of that fly out the window by the time you come down from your high for the second time in a row, and he’s still going. Fingers at your clit, alternating between infinite circles and playful pinching, he fucks you hard and deep even as your vision swims and you’re barely coherent. 

The sheets are ruined beneath you, your slick dripping down your ass and thighs and soaking the bed. His cock is slick, a ring of creamy white gathered and coating the base, evidence of your release that’s mixed and dripped out from your swollen, sensitive folds. 

For someone who’s so adamant about exchanging germs and bacteria, Spencer Reid can be awfully filthy in bed. It’s overwhelming. Dizzyingly so. But something about your hazy, dreamy state only fuels him during nights like these, so he slows down, deliberately keeping himself on edge as he cups your breasts in his big hands, catching your nipples between his long fingers. 

Your hands lift up, sluggishly pushing his forearms away, and he pauses.

“Too much?” he rubs his palms over your chest, before they skate down your back, easing his rhythm to something more gentle and tender, “Need your safe word?”

You mumble something incoherent, eyes closing as his cock slides out. Your cunt tightens around him greedily, because despite everything, you relish this just as much as he does. The mind numbing sensitivity is simply too euphoric to ignore, the way you can feel your cunt ease up or squeeze around him is downright addictive, and even the loud, sinful sounds of wet skin slapping hard into each other is music to your ears. You love that his strength and stamina seems reserved specifically for you and your intimate nights, that he has something of a reservoir of physicality that he keeps hidden away from people. 

You whimper again, twisting to the side.

“Darling? Talk to me.” he croons, laying his body over yours. His weight presses you into the mattress, cock sitting heavily inside your walls. It helps ground you enough to extract an answer.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, keep going.”

“You sure?” he kisses your jaw, tongue licking up to your ear, hot and wet and filthy, “We can always stop.”

You clench around his cock in response. 

A breathless laugh. He lifts himself on one elbow, his other arm reaching for the closest fluffy thing he could find, which happens to be a large penguin plushie. “Here, hold onto Mr. Butters for me, love.”

You moan, one arm holding the toy to your chest, the other grasping his hand desperately, “We’re corrupting Mr. Butters.” you whimper as he begins to move again, pulling out of your delicious heat before snapping back inside.

“Not the first time we’ve done so, unfortunately.” he chuckles, finding a steady rhythm, “You still with me?”

“Mhm hmm,” you nod, gasping as he lifts your hips for a better angle. You swear you feel him in your stomach like this, reaching spaces so deep, spaces only he’s able to feel.

“That’s it,” he groans, roughly thrusting into you, “Good girl. Just hold onto Mr. Butters.”

So you do. Poor Mr. Butters, with you through thick and thin, bearing witness to your childhood fears and teenage folly, and now, your very adult activities.

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none just prickly Simon

“What the fuck is this?”

You glance at the photo. It’s your patient from yesterday in his crib, except there’s a teddy bear stuffed against one of the rails, next to his face. Fuck. 

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I left. I would have removed it.” His eyes drill into you, fire blazing in them, hot enough you’re sure it will burn you to a crisp. 

“Do we need to go over the SOP for toys in cribs?” 

“No.” You bite out, looking over his shoulder to focus on the wall. It’s not that parents do it intentionally, they just don’t know. They don’t think about the fact that soft toys, plush toys, can carry bacteria since they can’t be wiped down. You can’t fault someone for wanting their child to have something of comfort. “It must have happened after I left, like I said.” 

“Well it didn’t.” You want to push back. You want to tell him again, that it didn’t happen on your watch. That you’re not stupid or careless or not paying attention like he so clearly thinks, but you don’t. You know how it will go. 

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, lip curling like you disgust him. 

“You’re sorry.” The air is being sucked from this room, the walls trying to go with it, closing in on all sides. “Keona seems to think you’re doing an excellent job, but I’m starting to think she’s just covering for you.” The accolade he gave you last week fades into oblivion, panic taking its place. You can’t lose this job. You can’t. 

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.” Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He rises from his chair, coming around his desk to lean against it, thick legs stretched out towards where you’re standing, arms crossed over his chest. It could be considered a casual stance, but on him it’s anything but. He lords over you, terrifying and dominant, ready to pick you apart. 

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.” 

“It is. I can do it.” You rush out, desperate to reassure him. It’s a crack, a very small one, and you scramble to stuff it up, plaster over it to reinforce the wall it’s trying to crumble. “I can do it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

You stare at the fancy lotion for too long. 

Before, you would have chucked it in your cart no problem. Twice even, one for home and one for your work locker. 

But now, your entire existence is built around a budget that’s calculated down to the dime. 

And that budget really does not have wiggle room for a twenty dollar bottle of lotion. 

Still- 

You toss it in your cart. A mistake. An irresponsible indulgence. Something you absolutely should not purchase, but the girl buried so far beneath who she is now, the one who was once reckless and wild and free, she wants that lotion. She wants it bad. She wants a relief, a reprieve, a little treat for the hell that this week has been. 

You really, really wish you hadn’t listened to her. 

“Wait… what?” 

“Sorry, the tag was incorrect.” You stare at the bag of cherries unbelieving. They were the last thing on the belt, bringing your total to a whopping one hundred and forty dollars. Forty dollars over the budget that was already twenty dollars over. 

“Okay.” Thank god for small miracles, there’s no one in line behind you to watch your shame unfold like a car crash in slow motion. 

“Do you still want them?” You do. Riley loves them. She asked for them specifically. She eats them raw from a bowl until her fingers are stained. She feeds them to the mares even though you tell her a million times not to. 

“I mean… you’re saying this bag of cherries is twenty dollars?” The clerk’s smile is sad. 

“They are twenty one dollars and fourteen cents.” The lights in the grocery store suddenly seem too bright, and the noise, the beeping and the intercom and the chattering is too loud. Too much. It’s all too much. Everything. This weight will crush you. Your vision tunnels until there’s nothing else, just you and this cashier and your stupidity. “Miss? Do you still want them?” 

“Yes, sorry. I want them.” She rings them up, total flashing on the reader in front of you. You sigh as you tap your card- 

and then freeze when it makes that dreaded sound. 

The “you’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re buying this bottle of lotion” sound. The clerk is looking at you with sympathy now. Camaraderie. 

“Maybe it was a bad read. Try again?” She tries keeps her voice down, bless her, but she’s also older than dirt so it doesn’t do much. You try your card again against your better judgement. Same noise. Same sinking feeling. You must have made an error somewhere, screwed up the math. 

“Do you have another card dear?” You swallow and shake your head. 

“No, I don’t. I’ll… can we take the lotion off?” This is your fault. Your self indulgence, the little devil sitting on your shoulder who told you to pick that stupid bottle of lotion up and put it in your cart. 

You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Riley’s, and you’re sure as shit not picking it over her cherries. Lesson learned.

“Take the lotion off?” She repeats, you’re assuming to make sure she got it right before she starts pressing buttons on the screen, and you nod. Force a smile. It’s fake but they’re the best shields. “Do you want to run back and grab a cheaper one?” Insult to injury. 

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Your tunnel vision finally widens when the new total pops up, and your chest loosens with relief. 

For a second. 

Until you see Doctor Riley. Standing in the other line just over your cashier’s shoulder. 

Staring at you, head just barely cocked in consideration. 

Oh my fucking god. 

You lock eyes and freeze, a deer in headlights, a woman tied to the tracks. It lasts for a second and then you look away, silently praying for a tornado to come by and rip the roof off this place, carry you off. 

No such luck. 

Instead, you go through the mortifying motions of loading your cart up with the bags, casually tracking him from the corner of your eye. He finishes before you, thank god, and you stall at the end of the checkout lines until he’s fully out of sight, beelining to the truck lest you get caught in some awful, awkward small talk or worse, more eye contact. 

Great. 

“The British are coming.” 

It’s the long standing joke. Started spreading after they got here, though Doctor MacTavish apparently throws a fit over it, considering he’s not British at all. 

They all showed up together too, an already forged unit, strong alliance to one another that stretches across the hospital. There’s history there, a lot of it, but you worked with John for a while and he was pretty tight lipped. No one ever pushed him, but you and others can’t deny the curiosity. There’s nothing a hospital loves more than gossip. 

“Where?” You still eat with the ED. There’s always at least someone on break at the same time as you, and you indulge in the comfort of your friends. It’s not that you dislike anyone in the NICU, you don’t. They’re all lovely, it’s just the team in the ED knows you. They supported you when you stumbled, when you fell, when you went through hell and came out on the other side. They knew you before, and those precious pieces are long gone. The ED is your last tether to the girl who wants to buy lotion, who rode recklessly and screwed around. 

Olivia jerks her head towards the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria. 

You hope for Price. Instead, you get Garrick and your walking nightmare. “Fuck.” 

“God he’s so hot.” You bristle. It comes out of nowhere, strikes you like lightning until you look over and realize she’s staring at Doctor Garrick and not Doctor Riley. The reaction is nonsensical, and instead of trying to diagnose it, you move on. The two of you reach the end of the line, and Clara behind the counter gives you a big, genuine smile. 

“Hey honey. How’s that baby?” 

“Not a baby anymore, that’s for sure.” She asks this every time. It’s sweet. “How are your grandkids?” 

“Oh you know. Terrors.” You snort. 

“I know your pain.” You wait for Olivia, who clears her throat when she makes it back to your side. 

“Is it just me or… is Doctor Riley staring at you?”  Heat floods your cheeks. 

“It’s not just you. He does that.” You don’t look. The embarrassment from the last time you saw him, the grocery store fiasco this weekend, is still stagnant in your brain, taking up way too much space. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen someone so scary, and hot at the same time. It’s like the fear makes it better.” You swallow that feeling again, and nod. 

“I saw him without a shirt on like two weeks ago.” She squeaks. Just the memory of the bulk of him, the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, the well carried layer of fat on his belly covered in hair makes your stomach swoop. 

“You what?!” 

“Yeah I had to wake him up. Needed him at bedside. He’s... huge. Built like a bear, I bet he could take one. And he has a full sleeve.” She gives you a look, and you give her one back. Mischief and malice. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying… how long has it been for you? Since before Riley?” 

“Olivia, come on. You know I don’t have time. And even if I did, you’d never catch me sleeping with a provider. Especially him. He’s a dick, and he hates me.” It’s not like you have anything against it, you don’t. You don’t judge. It’s just not for you. There are happy endings sure, but they’re rare, and it’s not worth the headache. Olivia however, is an equal opportunity employer. She sniffs. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” 

“I won’t be trying it.” 

You could cry. 

You could. 

You haven’t done it so long and it would be well within your right today, though you won’t. Even if you wanted to, your automatic response is to hold your tears back no matter what, no matter how, and this is no different. 

You spot Mabel on the hill right away. She’s the only one who strays from the pasture when the gate gets loose, always taking off towards the highest point on the property, probably so she can look down on her kingdom. 

It doesn’t help that she hates Blue, your horse, and as soon as you get close, she bares her teeth. 

“We know, we know. You’re in charge. Come on lady.” You reach for her halter, but she side steps away from you, jerking backwards. “Mabel. Stop.” You squeeze Blue with your thighs, urging her forward, closer, and reach again, snagging your fingers into the side of the halter. She tries to pull away again, but you hold her firm. She won’t follow Blue back because following any other horse or even human is beneath her, but if she realizes you’re not going to be giving up, she’ll high tail it back to the barn. You’ve got a good grip, now you just need to wait until she gets the picture. You lift your face to the pink streaked sky. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on me if you hadn’t spoiled the shit out of her.” You chastise the clouds and give them a dirty look. “It’s like I’m still getting bullied by you through your god damn horse.” Mabel snorts, and you glare at her. “Don’t start with me. You’re worth tens of thousands of dollars. I could have sold you.” It’s an empty threat. You’d rather lay down and be trampled. 

She decides she’s had enough and pulls ahead, intention clear, and trots off towards the barn. 

For a minute, a brief, hazy minute, she’s not alone. 

Your sister is there, turned around in the saddle, laughing and telling you to hurry up. The sunset is painting her in a rainbow of pink and coral and orange, glowing on her face, saddle squeaking under her pregnant belly. Mabel’s gait is smooth, smoother than it’s ever been, like it has been for months, since she started to show. You’re convinced she knows, instinctively. One mother to another. 

“Come on crazy Daisy.” She moves Mabel into a canter, and you grit your teeth. 

“Tess,” you’re about to tell her for the seventeenth time that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she cuts you off. 

“I’m fine. Hurry up. I’m hungry and Liam is making mac and cheese.” She looks over her shoulder one last time, smile bright, so bright it could blind you, a nearly perfect mirror of your own, and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re the worst.” She laughs. 

“But you love me.” 

The minute passes. It slips through your fingers and you swallow, once, twice, three times. 

You could cry. 

You could. 

But you can’t. You have a little girl back at the house who doesn’t need her aunt fucking crying every time shit gets hard or sad or both. You have a responsibility, and that responsibility depends on you to be strong, to be in control, to take care of her and make sure she’s safe, healthy, happy. 

So you are. 

And that’s all there is to it. 

[milkoomi]

a guide to summer hygiene. ᥫ᭡

warmer weather is finally making an appearance and that means summer is even closer! let’s be real, a lot of us want to live and breathe “hot girl summer” but the heat? the sweat? yeah, that can make being an it-girl in the summer hard. it’s prime time for us all to be worrying about whether or not we smell good when we’re out and about under the summer sun, so allow me to be your big sis and hand down my best summer hygiene tips and tricks so that you can guarantee you’ll be smelling fresh as flowers all summer long!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — body odor 101

we all absolutely dread bad smelling body odor, and some of us (me included) fear it. so let’s talk about how that not-so-nice smell can come about on our bodies.

sweat itself is odorless! it’s the bacteria on our skin that can make the sweat smell! we all have normal flora (natural bacteria) that live within our bodies and on our skin, which like the name suggests, is completely normal for our bodies to have! but sometimes that mix of bacteria and sweat can cause some pretty foul smells.

it’s also important to know that there are other factors that can be associated with body odor! hormones, diet, certain medications/vitamins/supplements, and obviously your hygiene habits can impact how you smell!

we also have two different sweat glands: eccrine glands & apocrine glands!

eccrine glands — they secrete sweat directly onto the skin to provide a cooling effect on our bodies

apocrine glands — most commonly found glands in the armpit area as well as the groin area ; this is where the body odor can stem from! due to the hair that grows in those two specific areas, bacteria can mix better with the sweat our bodies produce

important to note: your body hair is nothing to be ashamed of! whether you’re a woman, nonbinary, a man, or however you identify, your body hair is natural and it’s all completely up to you, and you alone, to decide whether or not you shave, trim, wax, or keep your body hair! having body hair does not mean you have poor hygiene!

୨ৎ — it all starts in the shower

it’s already a very obvious given that showering every single day is a must when it comes to achieving good and proper hygiene, so please make sure you’re hopping into the shower daily my loves! especially if you spent the entire day sweating, which will most likely happen during the warmer seasons!

like we discussed in the previous section, body odor is a mix of the sweat we produce and the bacteria that is living on the skin. so, if you are more prone to sweating or you were grinding at the gym or you went for a walk in the heat, do not forget to shower!

double cleansing the body

just as we double cleanse our face and hair, we should also double cleanse the body! i’ve mentioned this in a previous post with hygiene tips, but it’s good to do an initial cleanse to remove all the sweat, grime, and dirt from the day and then follow up with another cleanse to ensure that you’re body is squeaky clean and smelling fresh!

1st cleanse: can be an unscented or a scented soap/body wash, does not have to be an antibacterial wash (but it can be if you so choose), can be a bar soap or gel/liquid body wash

2nd cleanse: i recommend this 2nd cleanse to be something scented, but it doesn’t have to be! having at least one body wash/soap be scented can just amplify that clean and fresh smell of your body!

soap is soap. body wash is body wash. simply put: either way, you will be clean! you don’t have to go out and buy medical-grade soaps to clean your body. Dove is a great and affordable option! they have a great selection of bar soaps and body washes that will leave you smelling good and feeling clean!

loofas are not your friend

i’ve also talked about this in another post, but loofas harbor so much bacteria! and, again, bacteria + sweat = bad b.o.

African net sponges have been a god-send for me! they last for years, are machine washable, stretchy (making it easier to wash those hard to reach areas), and dry completely which makes it harder for bacteria to develop because bacteria thrive in moist/wet environments! which is why loofas are a no-go! standard wash cloths are also a great option, so long as you’re replacing it after every shower!

୨ৎ — post-shower rituals

what happens after your shower also plays a huge role into your hygiene! good and proper hygiene doesn’t stop in the shower!

dry all the cracks & crevices thoroughly

for my angels with coochies, please make sure you are completely dry down there! and make sure your underarms and any other cracks (and yes, i also mean the backdoor crack) and crevices are 100% dry!

put on deodorant immediately after your shower

as soon as your underarms are bone dry, put on deodorant! specifically an antiperspirant one! if you shower at night, it’s absolutely key to put on deodorant after your nightly shower because you could be sweating a lot more than you might think while you sleep! that antiperspirant is going to help keep your underarms smelling good and also help prevent that buildup of bacteria mixing with your sweat and creating a not-so-sweet smell.

cool off with a fan

if you take warmer/hot showers like me, i seriously recommend sitting in front of a fan after your shower or getting a fan (that fits in your bathroom) to help you cool off after your shower.

you probably just took the most amazing shower ever and you feel so nice and clean, but it’s hot as hell in your bathroom? get a fan! as you’re drying off the rest of your body and going through the rest of your post-shower routine, do you really want to do all of that in a hot and steamy room? getting sweaty all over again?

୨ৎ — every day & on-the-go tips

put deodorant in your purse/bag

if you’re a heavy sweater, bring deodorant with you and reapply it as you go about your day! you’ll never know when you might need it, especially if you’re spending all day outside in the summer!

carry body wipes with you

again, if you’re out all day and you’re needing a little freshening up, body wipes will be your best friend! these are especially good if you need to wipe down your underarms and then you can reapply deodorant so that you’re not layering a good smell over something that may not smell so good!

pack extra clothes

if you’re outside somewhere whether it’s a festival, amusement park, or even the park and you know you won’t be heading home for a while, pack an extra set of clothes! if you have the room in your bag, pack a new pair of underwear, shirt, pants, & even socks!

travel sized perfumes and/or body mists

i feel like people already know this, but seriously put a travel sized bottle of perfume/body spray in your bag! it’s always a good idea to reapply a good fragrance!

change your bed sheets weekly

again, this is another tip that’s pretty much a given, but during the warmer seasons it’s even more important to change your bed sheets regularly!

final notes —

the warmer seasons are just around the corner! i know a lot of us feel like we blossom and flourish in the spring/summer! me, personally, i feel the most beautiful freshly showered and ready for the day ahead! so think of your hygiene routine as a part of your beauty routine!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[mxjackparker]

For people who want to have sex on their periods without seeing blood, I present: The Menstrual Sponge!

By inserting these soft tampons before sex and positioning them correctly, you can trust them to safely absorb any blood that flows whilst you're having sex without leaking or causing pain during sex. They're soft and convenient - here's how to use them:

First, you'll want to remove your menstrual sponge/soft tampon from the package. There are lots of different brands to choose from, but you want to make sure that you pick a brand that does not use sea sponges. They are not body safe. Safe menstrual sponges/soft tampons look a lot like beauty blenders and will have a few small cuts in them to help with removal.

This is how a menstrual sponge should look, though the shape might differ a bit depending on the brand! What it should not look like is something with large holes in a yellow or brownish colour and with an irregular shape. There is no way to fully disinfect a sea sponge which means you'd be introducing bacteria to your vagina.

To insert the menstrual sponge, you can squeeze it to make it compact and easier to insert and then push it inside with one or two fingers. You want to have the end without the hole in it going in first. Push it until you reach the end of the vaginal canal and it should naturally slide into place to cover the cervix. Depending on how comfortable you are with it, you can feel around with your fingers to familiarize yourself with how it feels when placed correctly.

When you're ready to remove it, insert your fingers and feel for the hole in the sponge to hook your finger in and pull it out. If you've just had sex, the sponge will have been pressed up against the cervix and the hole might be in a slightly different placement to when you inserted so take a moment to feel for it.

If you are towards the end of your period without much blood flow and had sex for a long time without a lot of lube, the sponge might get a little bit dry and feel uncomfortable to remove or feel a bit stuck. Not to worry, because this is where it being a sponge is very convenient! If you can squirt a little water inside, or take a bath if you don't want to do that, the sponge will soak up water and become soft and easy to remove.

Menstrual sponges/soft tampons are not reusable and they can get expensive, so I wouldn't recommend them for daily use in place of a typical tampon or pad. If you're using them occasionally for sex during your period to avoid the appearance of any blood, they're much more convenient.

Additional note: There are some sexual health charities and projects who give these out for free, especially to sex workers, so if this sounds like it would work for you but they're too expensive then I highly recommend looking into the resources from groups near you!

[yourstrulyrani]

hii um actually ive never done this before and im kinda nervous but yeah.

uh so i know most drabbles/fanfics (esp with x reader) talk about simon riley being like "unworthy" of love or something and while i feel like that is true about his character it just gets repetitive sometimes so why not one where he just realizes that this is just what he needed, it's what was missing. not that he was unworthy or something, he just never pursued it.

okay!! thank you :3

a/n: omg hii please don’t be nervous!! you’re all good, i opened my requests up for a reason so please feel free! im guessing you read my last work & i honestly feel the same way. it does get repetitive but it is pretty fun to write/read about. i adore the angst. i love your idea and i feel simon (like anyone else) would love to his fullest once he realizes he's a little too single LMAO. i hope this is what you were looking for 🥲👍🏼

simon riley x medic!f!reader wc: 1460 .. part two

Ghost was drowning in missions. At the end of his deployment, he was exhausted. He walked onto base, eyes heavy with the need to sleep and muscles aching with the need of a hot shower to soothe them. He dropped his bag by the door of his dorm but was welcomed with the reminder to go to the medbay for a routine evaluation. He only had a few cuts and scratches so he was close to simply ditching, but a few minutes with the medic wouldn't hurt.

Ghost walked to the medical wing on base, his legs heavy to the point he stomped with each step. He entered the medical center, seeing you in the dim light writing the inventory of some medical supplies on a clipboard. He knocked on the door to make his present known, which he knew worked when you turned around.

"Oh. Hi, LT. Good..." You trailed off to look at the clock on the wall which had its minute hand a little past midnight, "morning?" You both were surprised that both of you were on base this late, but sometimes duty calls for it. As the team's medic, you sometimes use the late nights for medical reports. Ghost uses his late nights for mission reports and to sleep over on base when he's too tired to drive back home. Simon takes notice of your eyes, the light casting shadows just right to show how your eyelids slightly droop, most definitely from a lack of sleep.

Ghost sits on one of the vacant beds. "You're up late, Doc." Simon now internally cringes at the fact he's here so late. "I can leave. I just came over because of the—"

"Evaluations after every deployment. Yeah. No worries. You can stay, this won't take long." You take the current paper off the clipboard, walking over to your desk to replace it with a form to put in Ghost's file later. You have been here for some time, but Ghost's presence makes you shake in your own boots sometimes. You can't help it: A 6'4 man who's built like a tank who operates like one too? You once saw him at the fitness center bench pressing well over your weight, and you were wondering if you should clench your thighs closer together or be scared of the man. You decided on both.

You walk over to where Ghost is seated and analyze his physical appearance. With his mask still on and an army-green short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans on, you look for any injuries you can. Your eyes trail along his tattooed right arm, adorned with skulls, flames, and other drawings. His other arm is bare, instead marked with fresh scratches and cuts, most likely from the missions he was on during his recent deployment.

A few minutes pass and you continue with your checkup while writing on the clipboard. You found a gash on his upper bicep which you're now tending to, albeit with some struggle due to Simon's stubborn nature:

"Lift up your sleeve, please."

"But it's just a gash, doc."

"A gash that, forbid, gets bacteria in it and gets infected. Then I'll be the one amputating that same arm. It's called necrotizing fasciitis."

"Why would they invent something like a bloody fascist infection?"

You giggle while cleaning up his wound at the encounter a few minutes ago, unaware that it may seem weird that you're laughing out of the blue. Ghost notices, "What's so funny?" You can see his eyes squint under the balaclava, the only piece of facial expression you'll ever have from him.

"You called a medical term fascist, sir."

He grunted. "Sounded like it." You noticed how his accent elongated the word "like" and you thought it was hot.

Gosh, get a grip.

You grab the dressing, Simon on cue lifting up his arm to give you better access, his bicep bulging. You wrap it around his gash following the bandage, finally patching him up for tonight. Ghost tests it out. He holds his shoulder with the opposite hand and moves his arm in a circle. He can feel the compression of the dressing and bandage around his gash, already knowing you did a good job as always. He nods in approval, "Thanks, Doc."

You smile warmly, and Simon felt his own heart skipping a beat at it. You were tired he could tell, even more now probably from taking care of him but your smile was still radiant. He saw your eyes squinting as you smiled, a tell-tale sign that your smile was genuine. He watches you take off your gloves and scoot back on the rolling stool to stand up, “Feel free to call me or come back to the clinic if you notice anything wrong with the bandage, like if it gets wet or a strong odor. I need you to heal, okay?” The concern in your voice makes Simon melt. He knows you're a doctor, a damn phenomenal one at that and it’s in your nature to care for people, but he wonders what it would be like for someone to care for him like this exclusively just because. Ghost nods compliantly, “Will do.” Ghost stands up and walks out with a soft “Goodnight.”

Simon drove home that night, deciding that he needed the comfort of his home since his dorm was too small. His next deployment wasn’t until a few weeks, so he had plenty of time to spare in England for now. Simon placed the keys into the door and walked inside. Like always, he was welcome with a minimally decorated home. He never saw the point in decorating a house with a person who wouldn’t see it a majority of the time, but he couldn’t help but think when he walked in: The house needs something.

Too tired for a shower and afraid to get his wound wet now, he plops upstairs on his bed. For the first time in his life, Simon’s bed felt...empty. He couldn’t help but think when he laid his head on the pillow: This bed needs something.

His mind failed to rest when he woke up in the afternoon. The sheets fell to his waist when he sat up and his hair was sticking out in all sorts of directions. When he went to the shower to clean himself off from his long deployment finally, he couldn’t help but think: This bathroom feels so empty. All that was on his sink was a holder for his single toothbrush and a single tube of toothpaste, along with a single hairbrush and some soap. Everything in his house came solo.

He walked out of the en-suite bathroom and noticed how singular his bedroom was. The single bedside table, the single pillow, the single blanket, the closet with clothes only for him. Heading downstairs with singularity in his head, he observed his kitchen. The tea kettle stood alone, the utensils were enough only for him, and so was the food in the fridge. Simon never thought his house was this empty until now and he almost feels guilty...embarrassed. Having a home should mean having a space to make yours, to decorate it with photos and to make it lived-in. But what is there to decorate and make lively when there is no one to do it with?

The thought continues to linger on as the days go by, getting stronger with the time.

The garden needs flowers.

I should buy some houseplants.

I should buy a throw blanket.

A few more mugs wouldn't hurt.

Like a usual Brit, he enjoys a cup of tea in the afternoon. Simon then realizes, with his single cup of tea in hand, that this house does not need something, but he himself is in need of someone. He has never felt like there was a void to be filled in life, but he feels obligated to do it now. Countless years of living a solitary life, and now all he yearns for is someone to cherish.

Simon is in need of you.

If you were here, he would have two bedside tables, a lot of pillows, and a closet with clothes enough for the both of you. He’d have more than a pair of shoes in the shoe rack. A house lived-in and a heart devoted.

Most importantly, he would have you.

Simon remembers what you said: “Feel free to call me or come back to the clinic...like if it gets wet..."

Simon took no time in hesitating to go to the bathroom sink and wet the bandage up. He didn't care if he could get a fascist infection or whatever it was called, as long as he got another chance to see your pretty face again.

(i feel like this needs a part two but idk)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[d1s1ntegrated]

bae i’m BEGGING for more nasty freak dabi, shits got me acting up i swearrrr! honestly i’m not in ask box often so i don’t have anything in mind for you- but i’m in love with how you write his character!!! 🪐🪐

ykw hell yeah. thank u for the ask 🪐!

love bites- dabi (t. todoroki)

4.6k words; crossposted to ao3

aka- five times dabi got off on blood, and one time he didn't.

cw: not beta read, apologies :,) ** afab reader, language, blood, s&m (mostly masochism), graphic depictions of wounds/violence, blood kink, gross stuff, menstruation/period sex, angst, hurt/comfort, awful medical practices lol, slight trigger warning for the last one im sorry.

**speaking of, if anyone wants to be a beta reader, do lmk. ---> also, message or inbox me to be added to a taglist!

~ inspo from this post ! and my previous insatiable dabi post :) ~

as always- nsfw 18+; MDNI <3

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

one: staples

"does that hurt?"

"it's fine, sweetheart, just a scratch." dabi wipes the blood from his chin as it trickles from the seam near his mouth. he looks at the blood staining his thumb with a disinterested shrug before dragging his tongue against it. he cracks a half-smile as you stare at him, eyes with concern. he brushes his long fingers against his seam again, finding the loose staple and yanking it from his skin with a small snap, causing you to flinch with a churning stomach.

"ack, fuck, warning next time please" you exclaim as you turn your back, feeling a bit squeamish from the visceral act.

his response is a tight laugh, and you turn back as he flicks the staple onto the floor. it lands with a soft "tink" near the door, you can still see the metal shine against the dingy wood of the bar.

his face drips blood steadily, leaving soft drops on his worn jeans. it creates the smallest little wet spot on his thigh, the color barely visible with the flickering bulb above you. he wipes his face again with a "tch", and stands up slowly, kicking the stool behind him.

"where are you going?" you follow behind him, and he turns into the bathroom and smacks his hand against the switch to turn the light on. he hums along with the old fluorescent as he rifles through the medicine cabinet, grabbing iodine and his stapler with an irritated huff as he shoves a new strip into the little gun. he sits on the toilet seat and nods to you, "gimme that". you grab the little bottle and open it, hissing under your breath as if this was hurting you more than him. it might've, actually, considering his reaction was nothing more than slightly inconvenienced.

the little dropper floods the nauseating orange liquid into his separated skin, and he breathily chuckles at your furrowed brows and grimacing mouth. he stands up, taking the bottle from you curtly as he examines the rest of the staples in the mirror.

"fuck, they're all fucked up," he drags his finger against the next two staples, moving them around. "see how they're loose?" he explains, looking at you in the mirror, "they gotta come out or they'll get infected too. like having too big of a piercing in a healed hole, more room for bacteria 'nd shit". he's actually really patient about explaining all of this to you, considering his typical short-nature and "ill do it myself" attitude.

you frown with uneasiness as he grabs the clamp from the cabinet and hands them to you. "you wanna do it for me this time?"

its not every day your boyfriend offers you to rip his face open, but it is sometimes. and it still never, ever gets easier. in a way, it's sweet. in a really off-putting, creepy, masochistic way. you've watched him fix them before, but you've never done it yourself. you take the clamp and he sits back down, placing a warm hand on your waist as you grab his face.

your own blood wasn't an issue. hell, most blood wasn't an issue. but this?

pressing the clamp against the first staple, you shake and squeeze your lips together. he reaches and steadies your hand with his own, laughing to himself. "easy now, don't fuck up or i'll lose this nice smile".

"yeah, like that's so reassuring. shut up and let me try". you take a deep breath, and with a quick grip, the staple bends and you're able to slide it out. the skin opens a bit more and your chest tightens, biting your tongue as you clamp the last one and snap it out quicker, trying to ignore the blood beginning to seep through the epidermis and into his cauterized scars. he doesn't even twitch at the sensation, and instead hands the iodine back to you.

"hey, not so bad. easy part's over" he exhales as you drop the antiseptic into the now-gushing hole in his cheek.

"don't make me staple your face, please" you laugh nervously as you wipe up the blood with a cotton pad, and he shrugs.

"get used to it, this happens a lot and you know it. consider it a sweet perk of dating a guy who really, really likes piercings."

"fuck you" you drag out the words as you pick up the stapler. you breathe in deeply as you press the small gun up to the loose skin.

"no, like i showed you, pinch the skin" he reminds you, and you groan again- this is the price you pay for fucking the hot emo.

"what a sick joke," you lightheartedly complain as you replay the many times you've watched him do this. pinch, press, snap.

as you clamp the first new piercing into his face, he lets out a soft hiss. you stop, but he shakes his head, "keep going".

the second staple leads him to grab onto your waist again, digging his fingers into your soft skin. "fuck" he whispers out, his eyes fluttering shut. looking down at him like this, you'd think he was getting the best head of his life.

the third staple reaps the most reward, as you clamp down for the last time, he moans out, his mouth falling slightly agape at the pinching sensation. you don't have time to put the stapler down as he pulls you into his lap, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip through a messy kiss.

"mmf, dabs, what the hell?" you ask through crazed kisses, and he tangles his fingers into your hair. "might just pull a few more out so you can patch me back up," he whispers hotly against your rising chest.

whatever had gotten into him that night was just the start of probably the best sex you'd ever have.

two: bar fight

"man, FUCK you," dabi spits at tomura's feet, he had gone too far. the rest of the league was silent now- and dabi's rising fury was palpable.

the two had gotten a little too drunk, a little too lippy with each other, and a little too excited about being drunk and lippy. it was a common occurrence as of late, what with the stress of the war on heroes just beginning to take flight, constantly being forced to hide, fight, and strategize. needless to say, the drinks were needed.

so when tomura said just the right thing at just the right time, dabi was quick to respond.

"fuck ME? fuck YOU, you two-toned, half-life, COD-zombie reject!"

it wasn't even the insult that got dabi to sink his fist into tomura's rosy cheek. it was the snickering from twice, sitting in the corner of the room.

tomura stumbles back a bit before recoiling and smashing his gloved fist into dabi's nose with a resounding cracking noise, sending the taller man back. he snaps back with a shake of his head, wiping the gushing blood from his face.

"boss or not, i'm gonna nuke your loser ass." dabi laughs before sprining himself onto tomura, the both of them falling to the floor in an array of punches and shouts.

this also wasn't an uncommon thing- they fought like brothers almost, complete with the awkward "making up" phase where one would nod to the other at the end and that'd be the best apology either could muster. but this fight was different, bloodier, more aggressive than normal. both were too shitfaced to even feel the pain, and neither of them were registering the damage they were inflicting. so you, tugging on twice's t-shirt, stood up and dragged the blond with you to break them up. twice, between panicking and cheering, managed to get a grip on tomura, yanking the spindly man off off dabi, who was laid out on the ground with a wide grin, blood staining his teeth and lips.

"cmon dabi," you pull him by his arms, stumbling a bit from his unsteadiness. you manage to drag him to your bedroom, kicking the door behind you before he collapses onto the bed, wiping his blood onto your duvet.

"oh fucks sake, i just washed those." you complain, holding a towel in your hands that you were gonna give to him. no need for that, i guess.

he returns your complaint with a hiccuping smile, a shit-eating grin that screams victory- you let him have it. though, honestly, no one really won.

"that little cumsock broke my nose" he says nasally as he pinches the bridge of his, yes, very crooked nose.

shaking you head, you pick the towel back up and hand it to him.

"bite this," you instruct, as you pinch his nose bridge. since the whole "stapling his face" incident, coupled with the various times you'd dealt with the rest of the league's wounds, sicknesses, etcetera, this was a breath in the wind for you. he bites into the fabric, giggling, and you count down. on one, you snap the bones back into place with a hilted inhale, and he moans gutturally through the towel. he gags on the thick material in his mouth and spits it out, and you take a clean corner to wipe up the blood.

"fuck me, come here" he says with a growl to his words as he yanks your shirt above your head. you could still smell and taste the blood on him, but as he mashes his lips on yours, it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

three: tattoo

"christ, you're digging into my skin" dabi sucks air in through his teeth. spinner curls his top lip in, his nostrils flaring as he takes his foot from the pedal of the machine.

"sorry," spinner dips the needle back into the ink cap while starting the machine back up. it's a shoddy little setup, found outside a parlor. there were originally no needles or ink, just the machine with the little case- it took months to scrounge up the money to finally buy ink and needles that weren't expired or deemed too unsafe by spinner to use for tattooing. for a few months, he'd been practicing on various citrus fruits and even himself, but the pigment of the ink wasn't right for his scales, and now he was on another search entirely.

other than that, spinner's artwork looked good. he had already tattooed jin a few times, here and there, with little scratchers on his forearms and ankles. but he needed more practice, and more canvases. tomura had agreed only on the condition that it was exactly what he designed- which was way out of spinner's league right now. some extravagant line work of tomura's well-loved family hands, complete with smoke shading. toga was told she would have to wait to turn 18, cause she wanted little chibi portraits of ochacko and izuku- not exactly a choice any of the league approved of. atsuhiro didn't want to "ruin his complexion" just yet. so many canvases, so little opportunity.

dabi, on the other hand- what bare skin he had left, he loved covering in ink. he already had a few self-given stick n' pokes, but when that machine came in, it was like heaven in metal form. dabi had decided, after night one, that there would be no more "normal" skin to deal with. bugs, symbols, words, you name it, and it had a place on his body. so when he asked shuichi to tattoo your initial on the left side of his chest, shuichi was elated.

the sting of the needle was nothing compared to the fire he felt burning for you.

he didn't tell you anything, so when you got back and dabi's laid out on the couch, shirtless, a shaky gecko hanging over him with a giant tattoo machine buzzing into your boyfriend's skin, safe to say you were at least curious. and when it was all said and done, and the raised skin beat with his heart, the initial of your name stood in a striking print.

"it's gonna bleed a bit, just don't bump it-" spinner starts, and dabi nods with a grin. "i know, lizard, ive got about a hundred already. looks good". his teeth shine, and much to spinner's chagrin, he nods and begins to clean, sparing dabi from the aftercare speech. the blood trickles down from the irritation, only about an inch down his chest. you reach forward, swiping it away with your thumb as he grins widely.

he reaches and pulls you forward, falling back onto the couch with you straddling him. he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each of your fingers and lapping the blood off your thumb gently. "you like it, baby?" he looks back down at the tattoo as it bleeds slowly, thanking spinner in that moment for having a nervous hand still.

he doesn't give you time to respond as his fingers coil into your hair, pressing warm lips to yours. "mm, mhm-" you nod through kisses, his tongue curling against yours. he grabs at your thighs, sliding his hands to your ass as he stands back up, carrying you down the hall.

he doesn't stop kissing you until your laid on his bed, the scent of cigarettes and his cologne puffing out of the mattress. through giggles and heavy breaths, he slips your shirt over your head and drags his tongue from your navel, to your chest, all the way to your jawline. he places himself between your legs, grinding into you with a shaky exhale.

he settles himself back onto his knees, reaching for the button of his jeans. as he undoes them, he palms at his cock through his clothes, all while watching you beneath him with full eyes.

the tattoo catches your eye again as you watch the little bead of blood again. you reach up and swipe at it again, placing your finger directly to your tongue as he watches. his breath hitches as he fights his jeans, yanking them down quickly to reveal himself, already throbbing and leaking.

you wrap a leg behind his back, pulling him into you to kiss him, his cock pressing against your belly. his kisses grow more sloppy and rough as he nips at your lips, getting off on the taste of his blood on them.

"you, you..." he bites your ear, tongue swirling just under the lobe against your neck, "beautiful," he grabs at your chest and thumbs at the hardened bud under your bra. "i love you, i love you," he mumbles as you pull your pants down, and he shoves them completely off and pulls your underwear to the side. "beautiful girl," he thrusts into his hand, rubbing at your clit with his tip. "that's why it's your name," he presses into you slowly, throwing his head back as you clench around him already. "no one else's—fuck". he bottoms out as he fills you completely, your body pulling him in.

you whimper as he begins thrusting in quick short movements. he pulls completely out, rubbing at your clit again with his tip, "need my pretty girls' cum all over me". he sucks on your collar as your head turns to the side, completely overtaken by the rushed heat coiling inside of you. he pulls your bra down, and bites down gently on your nipples as he continues to tease you. as you begin to tremble, he smiles euphorically, feeling your hips buck up. "c'mon, baby, cum for me" his voice rises a bit in desperation, and your eyes flutter closed as he brings you closer.

"dabi, 'm so close,"

he continues working his hand around his cock, making sure it doesn't lose contact with your overly-sensitive clit as you near break.

"i, fuck, dabi" you plead as your hands reach for him, nails dragging down his arm. he moans, a shiver coursing through him as you begin to whimper and whine.

as the tension finally snaps, and your body floods with the ripple of your orgasm, he shoves himself back into you without pause, completely filling you as your walls tighten around him, sending him over the edge. his cock sputters and the warmth coats inside of you as he throbs and twitches, the both of you shaking.

the next night, he found the tattoo of his first initial, a secret he shared with only you, on the inside of your wrist, freshly done by shuichi earlier that morning.

four: bite

"fuuuuck, yeah," dabi sucks in a breath through his teeth as you sink yours into his neck. "again, harder," he begs with his eyes rolled back.

"dabs, i dont want to hurt you-"

"i don't give a shit, you wanna bite me, babe? then make it mean somethin'".

the scarred man throws his head back with ecstasy, anticipating the pain. he coils warm fingers into your hair, holding your head close against him as he pumps slowly inside of you from below. the stretching pain has yet to subside, which is what led to the first bite. but now, dabi was insatiable- the sharp pinch of his skin between your canines had him twitching and moaning desperately into your hair.

you nip at him again, right against his jawline. his scars feel different against your tongue, but not at all bad, as you lick against his bone and taut, stapled skin.

he growls in your ear as you pull your mouth away from him, promptly yanking you into a rough kiss. he grabs at either side of your hips, nestling himself deeper inside of you now. between kisses, he pants, "i said, harder. you got softer".

you moan softly at his complaint, but shake your head with what little composure you had left. "m' teeth are sharp, dabi- hah- i don't wanna break skin,"

he licks against your earlobe and ruts into you again. "fucking do it then, break skin-" another thrust, increasing in force. "make me bleed. you wanna bite my staples, baby?" he offers to you with a curled, sadistic smile, "you wanna rip them out with your teeth?"

your lack of an answer isn't well-received, as he digs his nails into your thighs and grinds against your sopping core. your head feels so heavy, you have no choice to rest it on his shoulder as he gets faster.

as his speed increases, so does his breathing- and be begins to lose control inside of you, unable to pace himself against your already-sensitive walls.

he thrusts hard once, his hips jerking up with a snap. his tip shoves against your cervix, sending a shooting pain through your womb, up through your stomach. you shout with a squeak, and sink your teeth right above his clavicle, directly into his trapezius. you feel the pop of skin tearing in your mouth, blood flooding into your mouth. you had managed to get past scar tissue, leaving a couple of staples loose. he groans out loudly, and you feel his sticky seed as his fluttering moans match the tempo of his erratic ruts.

"fuck, fuck, oh my god, sweetheart, fuck, i can't stop," he borderline cries into your ear as you let the blood drip down your chin and into the back of your throat. you clench around him as he chokes out sobs, soaking his nearly-spent cock, whining out his name as you pull your mouth from him.

he grabs your face with a free hand as he keeps bouncing you, letting you ride out the euphoric feeling, and licks his blood from your mouth with a guttural moan.

"my fucking god, you're a freak," he sucks on your bottom lip before glancing to his shoulder. "you really fucked me up, baby". his words don't hurt, though- because you can feel him hardening inside of you again.

your face pales as you watch the blood drip down his arm, but he redirects your face to meet his.

"i'm fine. pain receptors are basically fried. it feels good," he kisses your nose gently as he holds you.

"do that again though, and i might make you have my babies".

five: cycle

his favorite week was here. you were clingier than usual, begging him to warm your abdomen with his hands, staying put through most of the night with his arms around you when you usually tossed and turned. you even had more of that bite he loved so much, that attitude that entranced him in the first place. and when you weren't basically on top of him, you were under him, as he fucked you slower than usual, softer.

he loved when you were on your period.

"let me fuck the pain away, baby," he coos in your ear as you step out of the shower with him, head spinning.

you let him take your hand, guiding you to his bed, where he had already neatly laid a towel down.

he picks you up and sets you down kindly, his wet hair dripping down his face. it was longer like this, the choppy layers set against his forehead. this was when he looked most beautiful, you thought, he seemed the most gentle this way.

he spreads your legs, tossing his towel to the floor. his cock slaps his tummy, with soft white curls trailing down to his shaft. his piercings glint in the dimmed streetlamps, the shitty blinds doing little to filter light.

he gets on his knees on the floor, positioning himself between your legs. he can smell the iron in your core, and his mouth waters at the mere idea.

you try to pull him away, face flushing with a deep red across your cheeks as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. "no, you don't have to, i'm bleeding, that's not-"

he responds by pressing his tongue against your clit, sliding it in between your folds, until he can bury it inside of you. the tip of his nose brushes your clit, and your head falls back with an exasperated gasp. your fingers coil into his black hair, his tongue working slowly as it flits inside of you.

he moans against your heat from the the drops of blood on his tongue, swallowing thankfully as his licks get more rapid, his tongue sharpening to a point against your sensitive clit.

he eats like a starved dog, lapping up every bit of you he can with a shaky grin and weak breaths. he loses all self control, as he fists his neglected cock with a rough hand, pumping it wildly as he drinks you like wine.

every flick of his tongue drives you closer and closer, and he tastes the arousal coating his bloodied tongue with a panting moan.

your hand clenches in his hair, and he speeds up, grazing his teeth and sucking at the bundle of nerves until you spill out into his willing mouth. he moans against your skin again, vibrating your twitching core, as he paints his hand in a thick layer of pearly cum, soft "ah"s falling from his pretty lips.

he stands slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"still cramping, love?" he asks with a smirk, and you can't respond coherently, your legs shaking like a cheap massage chair.

"tsk, tsk. i'll have to do more, hmm?" he lines himself up with your puffy lips and slips inside the warmth with a bloody grin.

six: rebirth

you hated when the league went out without you. although you had begged time and time again, touya would never let you leave. his excuse was that he needed someone to patch him up afterwards- but you knew it was more than that. he kept you safe, doing his best to not worry you too much.

tonight was different, though. you could feel it. when tomura disappeared for months, you could feel it, too. the league fell apart and came back together, patched up like quilts- nothing made sense, but it was still them. touya was still him, for the most part. but you knew it wouldn't last long.

the first sign was how much gentler he was with you. how slowly and passionately he'd kiss you, his usual hunger and brevity seemingly replaced with tenderness and prayer.

and sometimes late at night, when it was just you two awake, sprawled on a ratty mattress in the new hideout, he'd whisper everything he loved about you. he'd kiss your head, rub your back, and promise you that you would always be okay.

he came home later and later now, eyes sunken in and frame thinning out even more as the league in its entirety evolved. you'd catch him drinking and leaving a shot out for jin, and magne. you would wake up to find him crying, blood seeping from his scarred eyes in silence, placing an curse eternal on keigo, who had betrayed them all. his voice was angrier when he spoke with tomura. he was shorter with everyone but you.

everything was quieter, and you forced yourself to accept it with the knowledge that it would never be loud again.

touya came home as the sun began to rise, face stony and eyes a muted, pale blue. without a word, you follow him to the bathroom of the dingy base, med kit in hand.

he doesn't speak as you wipe the blood from his cheeks. he doesn't even hum as you re-align his skin and staple it.

he pulls his shirt from his skin, mouth pulled into a thin line as he has to tear it off his chest, the sticky, dried blood melding the material to his peeling skin.

"what happened?" you pour iodine over the wound, and he lolls his head back.

"don't worry about it". he keeps his words short, and you refill the medical stapler. you counted the missing ones- at least fourteen, leaving the underside of his chest separated, the subcutaneous layer showing boldly and viscerally. you peel the gloves back onto your hands as you hand him a towel to bite. he takes it slowly, but still makes no sound as you pinch the skin together.

you'd gotten used to nights like this one, too. nights where he'd go out without a whisper and return to you like a corpse, mutilated and broken. but he made not a single noise, not a grunt nor moan, as the last of the staples re-pierced his flesh with "cl-tck"s.

he presses a kiss to your lips slowly, and if feels like the end.

"i'm sorry", he whispers to you when its all said and done. "i'm sorry, and i love you. thank you for putting up with me all the time".

you brush his dirty hair out of his face and hold him close against you, blood staining the front of you, but you don't care. his warmth seeps under your cold skin and your eyes burn like his hands.

"how much longer do we have"? you choke out, your head tucked into his neck. he takes a slow breath.

"don't worry about that now. it's all good, baby. just us right now. nothing else. look at me," he keeps his breathing steady, and you do your best to maintain eye-contact through swollen, blurry blinks.

"no matter who i become, or what happens from here, i'll be yours," he taps his chest, the healed tattoo on his upper pec still dark and sharp. his lips curl softly, a weak attempt at genuineness. "i love you. i love you, and i didn't think i could love. i'll always love you, okay?"

the news stations the next day are littered with photos and clips of dabi, now touya to the whole world, his beautiful blue eyes burning bright with the same passion he looked at you with. and you wait for him to come home again, and every night after that.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[emacrow]

So you know the movie Ponyo

What I'm really trying to ask is do you know the mother and the father are like a little thing where the mother looks like an epic Sea Goddess cuz she is and he looks like a sad sickly old man

I'm just imagine that Klarion and Danny

Like Danny looks like an epic beautiful star Death god powerful in the way he moves but it's subtle like he's slowly comforting you to death

And Klarion looks like a crazy witch boy with a cat who look like he's out right feral and about to throw a pipe bomb at you just because he can

I'm just imagining what happens is Young/Dark Justice is worried about Klarion he's been gone for a while and they're wondering what he's planning I imagine they're surprised when they see him with a Lazarus pit

It's a specially surprising when electric entity sticks their head out of the Lazarus pit and starts talking to Klarion as the JLD and YJL hide there waiting for Klarion into demand help our power they watch this being completely start flirting with Klarion

I imagine Klarion and Danny's conversation going like this

Danny: Hello there my amazing chaos what have you came to talk to me about this time

He puts his hands up to pick up Klarion and bring him closer to his face

Klarion: It's that stupid Doctor Fate it's like he doesn't understand too much balance can ruin the order of the world I might love chaos but that would cause a chaos I couldn't even control

Klarion sits down and Danny's hands rubbing his head on one of Danny's fingers as comfort

Danny: Oh my love I could always talk to him and get him to try slow it down a bit if that's what you need

Danny's face turns into one of concern as he says that slowly starting to move around in the bigger than normal Lazarus pit that Klarion found for him

Klarion: No starlight me and Teekl have that old fart handled how about you tell me about your day instead did you find any more stars how is the balance between life and death doing for you

Danny puts him back down as a twinkle goes in to his eyes as he lays down in Lazarus water slowly starting to swim around as he say

Danny: oh Klarion life and death has been amazing and there's a new Star nursery that I found out there it's just wonderful

After Danny says that he pauses for a moment and presents to go underneath the water he comes out looking smaller with white hair and still wearing the same clothing he was wearing when he was larger surprising Klarion by grabbing his hands

Danny: oh Klarion my dear I have an idea how about we let Dr.Fate have what he wants for once in his miserable life let him have order without the balance that he needs that should show him that he needs you should it not

Klarion takes a second to think through It after he does he grabs Danny's hands right back

Klarion: that's an amazing idea Danny I'll stay with you in the infinite realms let's see how Dr Fate work without chaos helping him keep the balance

After that Danny kisses Klarion on the cheek using the the Lazarus pits to take him and Klarion to somewhere called the infinite realms

I'm sorry this is my first time really writing out Klarion I don't know how to write out characters that well I hope it was good that is what I really like is YJ and JLD was just reacting to this conversation since like the plan was listen and find information

You bet damn right that Dr Fate would have trouble keeping the balance, and would probably have the justice league trying to find Klarion because he thinks he up to something but in reality Klarion is in the middle of deep space, playing around with the stars as Danny is molding and feeding the baby star nursery to build a new universe in the making.

Dani is probably with him doing looping loops playing with star dust while Dan beat up any asteroids that had bad bacteria and let some of the good meteorites in that has good bacteria, and frozen water inside of them.

By the the time Justice league figured it out, probably the Green lantern, Hal. He probably gobsmacked and godsmacked straight back where he came form accidentally by Danny's star fueled cape.

[post-punk-revival]

Hi this is a positivity post regarding alterhuman diet dysphoria versus actual biology

(unless you already know these things)

To herbivore nonhumans who don't want to/can't do a vegan or vegetarian diet but feel dysphoric about being able to digest meat:

Herbivorous animals are not unable to digest meat.

Animal matter is actually easier for a body to process than plant matter, and herbivorous species need very complex digestive systems in order to support their lifestyles. This is why cows have four stomachs; why horses practically go into critical system failure if they get even a little bit sick. Animals that live mostly by grazing actually still do need nutrients that carnivores and omnivores get through their natural diets, which is why farming supply stores sell salt licks for animals. In the wild herbivores will quite often find ways to sneak some meat into their diets by eating bugs or small vertebrates, if you didn't already know about the fun fact of deer eating baby birds. "Obligate herbivore" meaning an animal that can ONLY physically digest plants is not a real ecological term the way "obligate carnivore" meaning animal that can ONLY physically digest meat is, though you might see it in other usages (i.e., referring to an animal that relies on a plant-based diet for all of its nutrients).

If a wild deer was given access to human society, they would probably not opt for veganism for connection with their true species; they would more likely appreciate having a way to get sodium so easily. This isn't to shame anyone who does choose a vegan/vegetarian diet for species euphoria reasons, but more to reassure folks who can't, you aren't less of an herbivore.

To carnivore nonhumans who feel dysphoric that their body can't digest raw meat like wild carnivores can:

It can!

The reason you don't want to be eating raw meat like a wolf or stoat or monitor lizard is because you will get sick or you will contract a parasite, which might sound like just a different reason to feel disconnected from your species, but here's the main two things:

1. The actuality is that wild wolves and stoats and monitor lizards DO get sick and contract parasites. This is often how wolves and stoats and monitor lizards die in the wild and why ones in captivity, being fed parasite-free meat and having illnesses treated, live longer. There are raw meats you can eat safely, you just have to know where they're sourced from and that they're guaranteed not to have risks! That's why sushi is a thing, and why people say you can technically eat raw cut (not ground) beef but not pork or chicken. Cooked meat is also often tastier and easier for the body to process (cit.: Grug et al. 780,000 BCE) so that's why humans have loved their medium-well steak since they came up with it. And 2. wild predators are "able to eat raw meat" mostly because they killed it, so it's fresh and hasn't been sitting around able to pick up bacteria, the way raw meat you get at a grocery store would have. This is why a lot of prey animals have a "play dead" defense mechanism: most predators do not want to eat something that's already dead, because it might get them sick.

If a wild owl was given access to human society, they would probably not desire only the rawest of meats for connection with their true species; they would more likely appreciate having access to food that had all the pathogens cleaned and/or scorched out of it.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🧬👻 “You Think You’re You? That’s Adorable.”

You’re not even fully human. You’re a haunted meat golem with Wi-Fi and anxiety.

ACT I — The Lie You’re Living

Ah, yes. You wake up. Brush your teeth. Sip your coffee. Scroll your phone. You feel like a real person with thoughts, memories, preferences.

Cute.

Because here’s the punchline, sweet summer child:

You’re not even 100% human.

ACT II — What You Really Are

You’re a walking, talking orgy of multiple species. Part human. Part bacteria. Part fungus. Part virus. Part ancient ape. And 100% confused spaghetti code pretending to have a soul.

The human body? A biological group project between evolution, gut microbes, parasitic DNA hitchhikers, and ancient mitochondria that used to be their own species.

Your body contains:

More non-human cells than human ones.

Bacteria that outnumber your own cells 10 to 1.

DNA from viruses, ancient fungi, and unclassifiable “dark genome” segments that we literally do not understand.

You are not a person. You’re a biofilm with opinions.

ACT III — You’re a Colony. Not an Individual.

Think about this:

Your thoughts can be influenced by the bacteria in your gut.

Your moods are affected by your microbiome.

Your decisions can shift depending on what fungus you inhaled that day.

Your attraction to people? Might be chemical signals from your skin flora.

You ever get a “gut feeling”?

That might literally be your intestinal bacteria whispering strategy into your brain.

And you thought you were “making a choice.”

ACT IV — Are You Even There?

Let’s go deeper:

You don’t control your heartbeat. You don’t control your dreams. You don’t control what you forget, or when you cry, or what triggers your trauma. You don’t control the timing of your thoughts.

So the question is:

Who the f*ck is actually driving this meat suit?

Because neuroscience doesn’t know. Religion argues. Philosophy hyperventilates. And physics just stares blankly into the void.

ACT V — You Might Be a Ghost. Or Just a Glitch.

You’re either:

A consciousness that’s somehow haunting a nervous system

A chemical puppet with enough complexity to simulate free will

A hallucination of self generated by accidental electro-meat fireworks

Or, worst of all:

A network of sub-selves constantly arguing while pretending they’re one “I.”

Shocking Truth?

Science has no consensus on what consciousness actually is.

Nobody knows if it’s:

An emergent property

A soul

A quantum algorithm

A shared delusion

Or a horrifying accident we’ve decided to romanticize

ACT VI — Logic Tests That Will Wreck You

Ready to lose sleep? Try these reality-breaking diagnostics:

🧠 Logic Trap 1: “When Are You?”

Your brain processes input with a delay. What you’re experiencing right now actually happened a few milliseconds ago. So… if you’re always behind the present… Where is “now”? And who’s watching it?

🧠 Logic Trap 2: “The Ship of Self”

Every 7 years, your cells have completely regenerated. You are literally not made of the same matter you were as a child. If your body changed… and your thoughts changed… What stayed the same? Who’s left?

🧠 Logic Trap 3: “The False First Person”

What if every time you go to sleep, the “you” that wakes up is a copy? You remember yesterday… but so does the copy. Are you just a rebooted save file that thinks it’s original?

🧠 Logic Trap 4: “The Brain In The Room”

The only proof you have that anyone else exists is sensory input. You could be a brain in a jar, hallucinating all this. Can you prove you’re not?

FINAL VERDICT — You’re Not “You.” You’re Just a Temporary Pattern.

A mind is not a soul. It’s a self-updating hallucination stabilized by hormones, trauma, diet, genetics, and luck.

And when you die?

That pattern ends. And everything you called “you” dissolves into meat, memory, and microbial decay.

The ghost leaves. The flesh rots. The world keeps spinning. No refunds. No backups. No explanations.

🔁 Reblog if you’ve ever felt like something else is steering. 👁 Comment if you’ve questioned your reality since age 9. 🧬 Follow if you’re ready to peel back your face and find the universe staring back.

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:

This post is intended as philosophical commentary, not psychiatric advice. If you’re spiraling, eat something, touch grass, and don’t take your thoughts too literally. If you feel like nothing is real… congrats. You’re officially more qualified than most philosophers.

[writersdrug]

Please continue to write literally anything for konig, I’m having the worst work week of my life and your fics always sustain me! I just finished chapter 13 and I almost cried because I realised I’d have to wait for more to come out 😔 this isn’t really a request or question just encouragement!!!

I don't have much queued up for König besides I Don't Need You, but here are some headcannons I have!! Also I'm sorry your work week was bad, let König cheer you up

NSFW at the end

We all know he would love to go on rants bout knives, guns, history, etc. But I also imagine that if you tried to chime in with your own, semi-relatable topic he'd glare at you and say "I wasn't finished," before continuing on his schpeel. He's not trying to be mean, he just has to tell you about Richard the third and how he definitely killed the two princes in the tower.

If you ask if the two of you can get a cat, he comes home the next day with one - but he didn't go to the pet store, or a shelter. He went to the restaraunt you always drag him to and waited by the dumpster with a can of tuna. Caught the scruffy thing and brought it to you, tucked under an arm with a big smile on his face.

He had to help you bathe the spitting kitten, poor baby was covered in fleas.

This man unironically adores the bucket of chicken you can get from KFC. Just a pail of chicken all for himself.

If you're out shopping or really anywhere where you take the lead, people are always asking if you're ok - "That man looks like he's following you," they whisper, "do you need me to get someone to walk you out?"

It's just König, standing behind you in a balaclava, hands in his pockets and dark clothing. Just 👁👁

Goes for an hour-long run at 4 am every morning, comes home to shower, then crawls back in bed with you to sleep until you have to go to work.

His phone screen is probably gross. Lock screen is you, doing your makeup and wearing a stunning dress for date night, unaware of König lurking in the doorway for a photo; background is the poster for Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

This man is known as a terror among door salesmen. They're just trying to get him to buy their services for cleaning gutters and he's dragging them to the backyard to show them how he cleans it himself, talking to them for an hour about how you don't need to hire someone to do "simple work"

He plays D&D with other veterans every Thursday night - you both usually host at your house, and he gives you an appreciative smile/pat when you come through with more drinks.

(Based on a tiktok) he once came in through the back door, standing in the dining room awkwardly as he watched you sort through the mail. He stared at you with a blank expression, until you finally looked back at him. "What's wrong, baby?"

He then slapped a lizard on the table, making you scream and throw a pile of mail at the thing as it scurried across the wood. He laughed for a good thirty minutes.

When he's sick, he tries to get away with downing a shot of Everclear and moving on with his day. "Alcohol kills bacteria, no?" (You'll have none of that nonsense, and he's not complaining when you dote on him and hand-feed him soup.)

If you're in the shower, he's in the shower. Doesn't matter if he had one an hour ago.

If you have a child, he loves to gaslight them (especially in their elementary years). Agrees to play Princess with them, but then proceeds to say that he's the Princess.

"I'm always the Princess!"

"Nein, you said I could be this time!"

"No I didn't!"

"Well I'm the Princess, so I make the rules."

Believes eating your pussy will make you feel better in any situation (sometimes it does). Bad day at work? He's kneeling in front of you and telling you to flip your skirt up. Cramps? Orgasms are the best remedy, schatz. Your tomatoes aren't growing well this year? Ah, shucks. Let him eat you out.

Anyways this is bleh but hope this helps!!

[furiousgoldfish]

Survival skills: Cleaning, Laundry, Living space maintenance

(there's a separate post about cooking, here's a LINK)

So I will assume you're too tired and sick to clean, and in this case we're just trying to prevent actual incidents happening: do not leave food, especially food containing meat or animal products, laying around, because it will cause bacteria and maggots to occur, you don't want that in your home, dispose of them (you can flush bad food in the toilet to get rid, if you don't take out the trash every other day).

In the same vein, sadly dishes sometimes need to get done, if you don't want very odd smells of decomposing food in your kitchen, but it's like, do it once a week in winter, twice a week in summer, and you'll be okay. (High temperature decomposes food quicker). Dishes usually are the most time-consuming cleaning activity because it's something that needs to be done pretty often and it's annoying. You can do it with gloves if you don't like the sensory feeling of it. The absolute easiest way to get it done is to rinse everything as soon as you're done using it, before It gets gross, but do I do that? No. I would never. But it is recommended.

If cleaning is overwhelming, exhausting and just triggering for you, I encourage you to only do whatever is easiest, or even just doing one little area and having that clean and easy to use, without looking at the rest; we're just trying to survive here, not be perfect. No cleaning needs to be perfect, it just has to be done.

Okay, but if you want to have the actual knowledge of how to clean things easily, here's what I do:

Kitchen: I will go against rules and start with sweeping the floors, because I hate walking on messy floor, and having the floor clean already makes the room looks way better, so I don't mind sweeping it once again later. If I have cluttered all the surfaces (which does happen a lot), I will grab all of the things and put them in one spot, like on the table, or the floor, or anywhere just to have all surfaces clean. If there's something dried, grimy or awful happening on the surfaces, the best way to deal with it is to grab a sponge with some soapy detergent, run over the grime, and then leave that to soak 10-20 minutes. Once the dirty part is softened, you can run a wet sponge over it again and it comes out no problem, generally anything you need to clean and it's difficult, leaving it to soak will resolve your issue easily.

So once I've removed all of the things, soaked all the surfaces in soapy water, rinsed them with a sponge, I'll run a dry cloth over it to remove the last of the water, and the surfaces are super clean then. At this point I'll put a cloth on one surface, slowly pick up dish by dish and bring it to the sink and wash it. If the sink is full when I'm starting to wash, it's overwhelming. If I'm bringing in things in one by one, it feels easy, I'm just washing one thing. Once I've washed a dish, I put it on the cloth to dry. Once I'm done with all of the dishes, the pile of stuff I've compiled is usually almost empty, if there's something left like ingredients, decorations, or whatever else, I'll put it back where it belongs. I'll wash the sink and the stove top, when they're also completely free of stuff, and at the end sweep the floor again and wash it. And the kitchen is done!

Bathrooms usually need something acidic for cleaning, you either need a specific bathroom cleaner, or some vinegar (optionally with baking soda). This is because water leaves a lot of calcification on the surfaces, and acidic stuff melts calcium! It takes a while, so like before, it's best to put away all of the things that are stuck in the bathroom, use a sponge to cover everything in bathroom cleaner mixed with water, or just vinegar, leave it for 20 minutes to soak. After that, you should be able to rinse it off, or maybe scrub a little in some places where calcium is a bit heavy, and you should have a clean bathroom.

If you're cleaning a wooden floor, the best way to go about it, is to have a bucket of water, with some floor-cleaning product, few spoons of it mixed with water, and a cloth you can drop in it. Wooden floors can easily get water damage, so you do not want to have them wet for more than few minutes! You squeeze the water out of that cloth as good as you can, and then you can attach it to some squeegee or a broom or whatever you have, (if you don't have a floor cleaning tool) and slide it over the floor to clean it. It should take a few minutes to dry and then you have a clean floor!

If you have a very dirty floor, and it's not wood, but like tiles or something that doesn't get damaged with water, the easiest way to get it cleaned is to put very wet cloth over it, and to soak it a lot. I will not squeeze the water out at all if I'm deep-cleaning tiles, I'll let it all get super wet. Then, you rinse your cloth, squeeze it maximally so it's near dry, and start collecting the dirty water with it. This way, all of the dirt will get melted in water, the floor will be covered with dirty water, and you're collecting that dirty water and taking it away! It's better than just sliding, because sliding in a very dirty area will just mix the dirt, not remove it. You keep rinsing and squeezing your cloth to near-dryness, until you've collected all of the water in it, and then it should be clean or nearly-clean, you can still slide over it in a normal way with a cloth if you want perfect.

Cleaning in general, has no clear rules, you can do it your own way, however you want, with whatever you want. It's recommended to start at the top, clean top shells first and go down from there, do the floor last, but you don't have to listen, clean how it fits you. If you want more tips and really useful information on how to clean hard-to-clean surfaces, go see 'auriikatarina' on youtube, she's a professional cleaner and will make cleaning look both easy and satisfying.

Organizing: When you're organizing your stuff, the easiest way to make everything look neat is to stack things upright, and do it so everything in one category is put together (your books in one place, pencils in another, clothing is in the third spot, your sanitary products in another spot), and line it up so the tallest stuff is in the back, and shortest stuff at the front. In this way you can look at your stuff and immediately see everything, nothing is hidden from view. If you can find cool places in your home to store things from specific category, it will be the easiest to find each time. You want to be able to see everything without rummaging trough it, or attempting to remember where things are, it should be logical. If you can't categorize your stuff, or can't figure out how to organize it, think about how it would be organized in a store, and where would they put it – this helps figure out the logical category and way to store it.

Maintaining your living space

Things break sometimes, or get clogged, and if you watch out periodically for these things, you can prevent a lot of it! If you make sure never to let food get inside of your sink, and have the little plastic things in your bathtub that stops the big pieces from getting in your drain, you can prevent a lot of clogging. Kitchen and bathroom sink have a part underneath that can be dismantled (unscrewed) and you can see if there's any dirt or hair in it, and clear it out, to prevent potential clogging. If you can tell the water is draining very slowly in your sinks or your bathhub, there are drain unclogging products that you can buy, and just pour down your drain in order to clean it, before it gets actually clogged! I do this every time when I feel it's draining slow, and it prevented actual clogging for years now.

It's customary to clean all of the windows in your house, and wash the curtains in your washing machine, at least once a year, twice if you want to be super attentive to it, and this will actually improve the quality of air in your space. Yearly deep cleaning, when you move all the furniture and get to all of the dust, grime and spiderwebs stuck in there, will also improve the air quality, because all of that dust is constantly circulating in the air you breathe and it makes a noticeable difference to clean it.

Airing out the rooms should happen daily, even when it's winter it's good to air the space even for a few minutes, it will improve the amount of oxygen you have in your living space and prevent bad smells from happening. Sometimes you should take a clean broom or cloth and wipe the grime from your ceiling and walls, I rarely do this, but like if you see unattended spiderwebs in there, it will make a difference if you remove those (live spiders can stay, they take care of the flies).

Walls of your living space should be repainted, I think every 5-10 years? I think people have different preferences, I'm okay with walls getting slightly dirty. Usually the kitchen will be the worst because the walls absorb all the fumes from cooking. And, any place you have heating, radiators and such, it will darken the walls. This is normal and happens to everyone.

If you have mold anywhere, that needs to be tended to immediately, there's products for destroying the mold, you should not let that linger on the walls, and it means that either your place is not well protected from the outside wetness, or that you need better air circulation in that space. Do not just repaint it either, mold is poisonous and it grows, wetness and dampness helps it spread, dryness, fire, good dry air circulation kills it. If you have mold in your bathroom, like at the edges of your bathtub, you can destroy it by soaking patches of toilet paper with bleach, covering the mold with that toilet paper, and leaving it like that overnight. Some people say it works with vinegar too, but I haven't tried that. Don't spend time in bleach-soaked bathroom though! Get out of there, bleach fumes are not good for you. And don't mix any, ANY cleaning products together, especially not with bleach, you can create poisonous fumes, and they can gas you.

Carpets should be cleaned once a year, usually they're scrubbed with water and some carpet-cleaning product, in the old times we used just plain soap! There's now dry carpet cleaners too so you can try that as well if you don't feel like washing the entire thing by hand.

Laundry

So every washing machine works differently, but the basics are the same: you can pick a program and temperature, and click start. I have one dial with numbers of different programs, and it's like 'cotton, polyester, whites, quick wash, eco wash, colored' and I don't know what the difference is, I think whatever program you choose, the stuff will get washed, it's a washing machine, it will just take a different amount of time.

The basics of using it are: you put the clothing in, you close it. You open the little compartment by the top, which offers you a place to put detergent, and fabric softener. You can be okay without fabric softener. You figure out where to put the detergent, and put whatever amount you feel is necessary. You close that compartment. You click start. The washing machine starts working and tumbling your clothing around with water and detergent. It takes an hour, sometimes more. After it's done, you can easily open the door to your clothing. The clothing is wet and clean, you take it out, you put it up to dry.

What is important to know, is that if you put colored clothing in a high-temperature wash, it's likely to bleed color, and sometimes this color can attach to your other clothing, so if you accidentally put one red sock with your white stuff, and put it to wash oh a high temperature, you might color all your white stuff into pale red or pink. Which is fun and nothing to feel bad about, except if you really need all that stuff to stay white.

Colored stuff is usually washed on lower temperatures, it can even be washed cold, so from 0-60 is okay. It's recommended to wash winter stuff with other winter stuff, and light summer fabrics with other light fabrics, just because heavy fabrics will usually pull in more water and detergent, so your light fabrics might get neglected. There's different detergents for colored and white stuff, and I usually ignore that too because both can wash both stuff.

White stuff needs to be washed on higher temperatures sometimes, especially your undergarments because they take in a lot of sweat and stuff, and can get less white if you never put them in boiling temperatures. It's normal to put them on 90 degrees. However! Don't ever put super stretchy fabric on high temperatures, because if it has a lot of elastine in it, which is plastic, it can melt! I accidentally destroyed a white hat by putting it in with whites, it was no longer stretchy because all of the stretchy stuff got completely melted in hot water.

I don't have a dryer, so I cannot help you there, usually after the clothes is washed I'll put it on a clothing line, it dries the best in the sun, but will dry anywhere (except exposed to rain, you need to not put it in rain).

If your washing machine starts smelling odd, it's possible that some mold or bacteria is happening in there, and you can disinfect it and clean it by putting a lot of baking soda inside, and then pouring vinegar into the detergent slot. You put the washing machine to a quick wash, with hot water, and this should resolve the issue. Also if you leave wet clothing in there without taking it out and drying it, for more than 24 hours, it is going to develop mold for sure, and this can actually ruin your clothing (I had it happen to a few garments, they got black stains, it's not nice).

If you don't have a washing machine, you can still hand-wash your stuff. Putting it into a bucket with some warm water and detergent, rubbing it together, rinsing and squeezing the water out a few times, and then rinsing in clean water until only clean water is getting out of it – that can work just fine. Sometimes if you need just one garment clean and don't want to use the machine, it's best to just hand-wash it. If your clothes are basically clean but just a little sweaty, rinsing it a few times in water and detergent will make them nice again. If you have some hardcore stains that cannot be washed out even with a washing machine, there's products likes spot-cleaner, and bleach, to help you with that. However you can never use bleach on colored clothing, because it will make very ugly stains on it, bleach is only for pure whites!

Alright this is all I can immediately think of, I probably left some things out, and if anyone wants to add to this, or correct me or anything feel free! I hope this helped you feel less overwhelmed, and more informed about how to successfully live independently. Also if there's questions you want to ask go ahead! This knowledge can be hard to get by if nobody had ever taught you.

Also, this is not something you learn all at once, just from reading one post. You don't need to immediately absorb all of this knowledge, or know how to do it all at once. This is stuff that is learned over months and years or living alone and figuring it out, and none of it is difficult or impossible to do. There's no punishments for doing it wrong, maybe some annoying dealing with some stuff. Nobody should shame you if you don't know all of this, I knew none of it when I started living on my own. I learned it a bit of here and there, and I'm compiling it so it would be more accessible, but none of it needs to be followed directly or done perfectly, and you can ignore some of it completely.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi there, i have a character in my original story who is blind, specifically because he lost both eyes (one from injury, one from infection at birth). However, he doesn't have access to prosthetic/glass eyes as he lives in a secluded group of warriors. I've been drawing him with a blindfold to protect from infection, but upon reading your posts about eye coverings on blind characters, i'm unsure if this is offensive or not, but i also can't think of a good alternative other than going bare. He is a warrior, so i don't think glasses would stay on for very long, but i'm wondering if maybe goggles would work? Hes not the only blind character i have (one of the others is a born-blind cane user who does not wear glasses) but i still don't want to misrepresent or spread misinformation. Any help would be appreciated, thanks

Hello!

@blindbeta has an excellent post on the subject, which I'll link here [Link].

In your character's case, the cover would serve more for protecting their eyes and less for photophobia or other sensitivities. One of the points that's mentioned heavily in the post is to ask why your character is using a cover for their eyes.

In this case, you've already answered that question. Your character needs to protect their eyes from infection and further damage but doesn't have the option of prosthetics and glasses are inconvenient and could fall off or get in the way.

That being said... wouldn't a blindfold also get in the way?

A blindfold would be more of a problem in combat than a pair of glasses with a strap securing them. A blindfold gives his opponent another way to grab onto him (Think of ponytails) or something else to get caught on.

Also, if the goal is preventing infection, a blindfold would do the opposite here. Fabric is notorious for encouraging the growth of bacteria, fungi, and other microorganisms. When it's pressed up against your character's eye sockets while they're fighting and sweating, it's also creating a very humid and moist environment.

Back when I was still rock-climbing and would go blindfolded, the blindfold would become gross and sweaty after just a few rounds. I don't even want to think about how it would have been after a day of fighting and adding in the blood and other fluids that would be on it. This can be especially problematic if your character is living in a secluded place where he may not be able to properly wash the blindfold as often as needed.

In general, the goggles (Or a pair of secured glasses) may be a better way to go. They'd be less of a liability in combat and be much more effective at preventing infection than a blindfold would be. There's also the fact that they would be much easier to clean if it ends up being necessary.

Now, you didn't specifically ask about this but I would just like to point out that prosthetic eyes aren't just used for preventing infection. Prosthetic eyes allow you to maintain the function of your eyelid and ensures that your eye socket keeps its shape. Depending on your character's circumstances, this may or may not be a concern for them.

Regardless, I'd definitely suggest looking into this and giving it some thought if you haven't.

Here's a few links to get you started:

A brief article discussing the benefits of prosthetic eyes.

An article that talks about prosthetic eyes in general. It also includes some brief information on prosthetic eyes in the past, which may be of interest to you.

Some FAQs about prosthetic eyes. Most of this is more specific to the current prosthetics offered but has some general info as well.

If you haven't done so already, I'd also advise checking out the linked post from @blindbeta since it has some excellent information about the specific trope.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icaus

[kabukinomoe]

HOW I STAY SMELLING GOOD ALL DAY - BETTER CR

Warning: I haven't tried like 99% of these products in this reality.... and I also scripted that I smell like strawberries and vanilla all the time, but... still gotta keep yourself clean, even in your dr!!

Smelling good all day isn't easy. There are a lot of products, time spent, and, of course, money involved. But is it worth it? Absolutely. I always get compliments from my friends and at school based on how I smell, and the BEST compliment you can get is from someone telling you that you smell good. Now, how do I keep myself smelling good every day? Well, first, it starts in the shower.

First, get yourself an antibacterial soap. I prefer Dial, but you can also use Dove or any other brand. Take a washcloth, or even an African net sponge, and rub ALL over your body, but NOT your vagina. I use an African net sponge because I find it gets me a better everyday exfoliation, but some people find it a little too harsh and only use it a couple of times a week. Also, for your vagina, get yourself an UNSCENTED body bar. This time I prefer Dove.

2. This is only 1-2x a week, but then you get your scented body scrub and use it on your body, again, NOT on your vagina.

3. If you're doing an everything shower, then this is where you shave. I scripted that I don't get any body hair, so this isn't needed for me. ^^ If you're like me, or not doing an everything shower, get your scented body wash and a silicone scrubber. You can use a loofah, but I prefer a silicone scrubber because it doesn't get bacteria as easily as a loofah does!

4. Body oil time!! Use baby oil or a body oil! Makes your skin super duper soft and sleek.

5. Moisturize!!! Put this on top of the body oil. You can use either lotion or body butter. I prefer lotion because I don't like getting the body butter under my nails </3

6. After alllll of that, it's now time for perfume, perfume oil, and body spray! My FAV perfume for smelling like strawberries and vanilla cream is the Burberry Her Elixir. I put these on my pulse points! Then I use the Bath and Body Works 'Strawberry Snowflake' body mist, and then I use a vanilla-scented perfume oil! Perfume oil is very much optional, so don't feel pressured to put it on. Make sure to put on your deodorant afterward <3 I use the Dove spray deodorant in the scent 'apple and white tea.'

And that's how I keep myself smelling good all day, every day! I usually keep a small perfume bottle and put some perfume in it to keep myself smelling good at school or when I go out. Thank you for reading if you made it this far <33

some dividers by @si-eunnis