#Why don’t any of the pharmacies seem to know about this????

[zmaragdos]

MY FUCKING ASTHMA MEDICATION WAS DISCONTINUED DUE TO CORPORATE GREED!!!!!! I HATE YOU PHARMACEUTICAL INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX!!!!!!!!! >>>>:((((

[beloveds-embrace]

(dark poly 141 x single pregnant reader, very rushed)

You don’t know when they first appeared in your life. Maybe it was the day at the grocery store when your feet ached, your belly heavy with the weight of your unborn child, and a stranger- a man too broad, too still, lingering in the same aisle as you- offered to load your bags into the car. Maybe it was when you were late getting home from work, the weight of exhaustion pulling at your limbs, and a burly man with sharp, blue eyes and a thick Scottish brogue insisted on walking you to your door, just to “make sure ye got in safe, bonnie.”

Or maybe it was before that, when your landlord suddenly decided not to raise the rent, when the lights in your apartment stopped flickering despite you never calling maintenance.

You don’t know when it started.

But by the time you notice them, it’s too late.

They come in pieces, never all at once. Maybe that’s why your focus never quite catches them when it should’ve.

Johnny is the easiest to trust. He’s warm, friendly, a constant presence that doesn’t seem out of place- until you look back and realize you don’t remember ever properly speaking to him for the first time. He’s always just there, standing behind you in line at the pharmacy, offering to carry your bags when you struggle. He calls you “bonnie” and clicks his tongue when he sees the exhaustion on your face.

“You’re pushin’ yourself too hard, lass.” His voice is teasing, but there’s something firm beneath it, much like his hands on your shoulders. “Should be restin’.”

Then there’s Kyle. He’s the one who keeps showing up at the diner you work at, at first just another regular, but then a fixture in your days. He leaves tips that are too big and stays long after he’s finished his food, asking you questions- small, harmless things.

“How far along are you?”

“Got any family around?”

“You shouldn’t be on your feet all day. You got someone looking after you, love?”

There’s concern in his voice. It feels nice, being cared for, so you don’t let yourself worry about why he asks so many questions.

But you don’t notice the way his eyes track you when you move. The way he listens too closely, storing away every detail you give him.

Simon is a shadow. A presence you feel but never see too clearly. When your apartment door’s lock sticks one night, it’s mysteriously fixed by morning. When your feet swell too much for your shoes, a new, comfortable pair appears in a package at your door- no return address. When you wake up in the middle of the night, you think you hear movement outside your window, but when you check, there’s nothing there.

He introduces himself to you once, silently joining your side when a group of young men had attempted to follow you. You’d been to grateful to consider that he had been following you, as well. And thus, that had been your first meeting as far as you were aware.

And then there’s John. He comes last, when you’re already too exhausted to question why they’re all suddenly in your life.

“You shouldn’t be working like this,” he tells you one night when he shows up at the diner, sitting in your section like he belongs there. He watches you, steady and unshakable, like he’s waiting for you to break. “Not in your condition.”

“My condition?” you scoff, but you’re too tired to be indignant.

“You’re pregnant,” he says simply. “You need to rest.”

You want to rest.

But there’s rent to pay. Bills. A baby coming soon, and no one else to help.

Except, suddenly, there is someone. Maybe more than one person, even if you don’t notice the changes at first because they start so small.

Johnny shows up when you’re struggling with your bags, even when you don’t remember telling him where you’d be. Kyle appears at your work just when you need an extra hand. John tells you he has “connections” when your hours get cut and suddenly, your landlord is more lenient about late payments.

When your doctor’s office calls to confirm your next prenatal appointment, the receptionist mentions your “husband” already checked in about your test results.

You don’t have a husband.

But when you try to ask for details, the woman on the phone just laughs. “Oh, don’t worry- he said everything’s fine. Had a lovely Mancunian accent! You’ve got yourself quite a lovely man, mrs.”

You never get a name, and you don’t know what to do about your suspicions.

And you don’t notice the cameras.

Not when Johnny pulls you into a hug, his hands lingering a little too long on your back. Not when Kyle helps you rearrange your furniture, brushing his fingers against the edges of your walls. Not when John “fixes” your heater, or when Simon sits silently in the corner after he’s given you a teddy bear for your little bean, its eyes beady and gleaming.

But they’re there. Tiny, black dots tucked into the corners of your home. A microphone nestled near the nightstand. A wire running under the couch.

They see you.

They always see you.

You wake up one night to the sound of your apartment door unlocking.

Fear grips you instantly, but before you can move, a voice rumbles in the darkness.

“Shh. It’s just me.”

John. How-?

Your heart is pounding, but he sounds calm. Steady. You hear the door click shut, hear his boots move across your floor, even when you wheeze in fear and press your back against the headboard of your bed.

“You forgot to lock up again.” He says, a quiet reprimand. He was always telling you to do that, but-

“I- I don’t think I did-“

“You did,” he assures you. “Anyone could’ve walked in.”

Like him.

There’s a shift in the air, something heavy settling between you. You swallow hard, pressing a hand to your belly, eyes teary from fright even if he is calm.

John exhales softly, and his face softens. Then, a warm hand rests over yours, heavy and possessive.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs. “Let us take care of you.”

The words settle into you like a brand, curling around your ribs.

You should say no. Demand what the fuck is going on, why is he here, why them-

But you’re too tired. Too scared.

And his hand is so steady.

[eunuchve]

tags: mdni, smut, dragon!morax, MONSTERFUCKING, rut/mating cycles, predator/prey, double dragon cocks, double penetration, CERVIX FUCKING, size kink, mentioning pregnancy, mating, bro has a worship kink, breeding kink hints (he's in a rut dont hold it against him) a.n: (what have i done) this is the first porn with plot I've written and I gotta say; it is damn long.... happy valentines my dears, enjoy! pairings: zhongli x afab!reader

Lord Morax is a god; but he is more than that, he is an adeptus. illuminated beast. this fact needs no introduction, everyone knows. 

so when he took leave to a remote part of liyue somewhere, unknown to even his retainers, no one dared to bat an eye. the rain has fallen heavy, the season has become damp, and the scheduled time is near; Rex Lapis will have his rut.

it didn't take long for people to figure out the reasons for his absence; not when the lord became increasingly unfocused during stately meetings a week prior or when his eyes would turn to slits with a whiff of a woman's perfume for a month’s time.

You, the lone herb picker of a local pharmacy, didn't know any better when you stumbled upon a large hollowed-out cave that wasn't supposed to be there. you are familiar with the terrains, hell, you know it like the back of your hand -- so imagine your surprise when you find a nesting dragon inside, heaving, grunting alone; its horns glowing with a bright amber before its head snapped to your directly, eyes instantly turning to slits.

at first, you stumble backwards, watching as the figure slowly but surely towers over your frame; your neck cranes to meet its molten bronze eyes. it didn't take you long to realise whose privacy you had so ungraciously barged into; your mouth dries and you dropped your basket full of violetgrass, your heart beating out of your chest before your feet finally got some sense and took running to the woods. 

'fuck fuck fuck.'

you are going to die- you are so sure you are going to die. when your feet stumble and trip over branches and air, when you can hear him gliding through the sky; undoubtedly searching for you. The sounds of his scaled body burst through the leaves of the ginkgo trees, or of his deep, rough growls that echo through the forest. With every heavy step you take, you can feel him getting closer and closer. The thrill and fear mix inside of you, your body stirs with blood coursing through you. Weirdly amid the fear you feel-- somehow excitement came into the mix; something about your life being in the mercy of a chase?

Why is he there again? Rut? So will he fuck you or will he kill you? You certainly prefer one to the other. 

Your legs continue to run, even as you trip and fall, or when you stumble upon a rock or two; searching for an exit to a nearby village or open path; but no matter how far you run you can't seem to find the correct way. Your eyes scanned all directions before your body was suddenly pinned down under a sudden force and unmoving weight.

The paws of a creature so large that it covers your entire back, its talons digging into your back. The smell of freshly dug earth and exotic spices violates your nostrils and your heart can't help but thump against your chest just a little faster. You turned your neck, finding the dragon’s face mere inches from yours; his hot breath grazing the exposed skin of your neck. 

“Please don’t kill me.” god your voice sounds so desperate; with a hint of a broken whimper- even you are embarrassed by that fact. but your god didn't seem disturbed, instead he let out a low grunt, before hissing back a reply.

"don't beg."

"...huh?"

"don't." he spat the word, seeming holding something back. "beg."

"b-but--"

he didn't let you finish, picking you up by the scruff of your neck before throwing you to his back. he flew you back somewhere, you didn't care to notice since most of the flight back you are scrambling for something to hold on to; whether it is the golden spines or his actual body.

by the time you both arrive at the entrance of the familiar cave, he has waited for you to get off his back. you inclined, of course, shakily getting a feel of the ground below, catching your breath whilst adrenaline courses through you. once you get a feel yourself, your eyes travel to him, catching his large form walking slowly to the back of the cave.

"you won't kill me?" you find yourself asking; his head then slowly turns to you before, a visible look of confusion etched on it.

"Why would I?" his deep rough voice replies. he is definitely holding something back, the way his lips parted a bit to let steam out of his mouth, the sharp teeth that are visible from them make you gulp the pooling saliva in your mouth.

"Because... cave..."

weak reasoning, you'd have to admit, but if he won't kill you then you'd have to be sure of the other possibility. "then would you fuck me?"

the look on his face deepened before his head hung low, and a soft whisper came to you for a reply. "what makes you think of that?"

"It's your- Rex Lapis it's your time of..."

embarrassed, incredibly embarrassed; that's the feeling you felt, with the heat of blood rushing to your cheek and thumping heart against your chest only enforcing the fact.

"it is time for my rut, yes," he confirmed, his gaze thrown to the floor, avoiding your figure, "but I am not one with lost senses; sleep, it is night, it will be safer to leave in the morning."

you nod weakly, shuffling your way to the walls and plopping down on the dirt before curling up. the heat in your cheeks refuses to prevail as you watch him walk back, his long tail moves with each step he takes, the tuff at the end resembling that of golden clouds.

"My lord why are you moving so far away?" you asked, instantly biting your lip the moment that question escaped your mind, realising how desperate you sounded with that pretence.

"your arousal," he states matter of factly. "you. I can smell it."

you look at him wide-eyed, your face now comparable in its heat to the sun, your lips agape.

"it's safer for you this way," he continues.

"do you not want to?" archons you are greedy aren't you. "your rut- I can.. help..."

"I doubt it." his voice is precise, he says it like it's a fact, not even letting you have a space to express your desire. "they are the size of your thigh and their length..."

"I can try." bold- now you are being too bold. the size of your thigh he said? now you can feel your ears getting heated up from the shame. your thigh now pressed together as you imagine him inside of you; a second pass and your arms no longer placed nicely on your lap, instead instinctively protecting your chest.

his gaze looms over you, his snout now only a hairsbreadth away from your neck; a long deep breath he takes is audible before he groans out a reply.

"Do not test me human," something inside of him is threatening undone, you know it, "I will breed you till your womb is full and your consciousness lost-- if that is not what you desire then stay quiet and sleep; I shall bring you the village in the morning but until then speak not of this."

you gulp, now your lips parted before you crane your neck and place a shaky kiss on his scaled cheek, the heat of his body contrasting the cold of your flesh. "... that is what I desire--"

with that your clothes are torn apart; the valuable silk you spend months of your wage on is gone and your naked skin is exposed. the cold air hardened your nipples and he took notice, his head travelling down, his long forked tongue lapping sweetly onto them, earning your strangle out a moan.

"getting aroused from a chase," he breathes out, almost teasing you; hot breath contrasts that of the cooling saliva on your perked buds, sending vibrations down your spine. "thinking you can take a dragon's cocks, wanting to be the mother of my offsprings -- what bold actions you possessed."

you let out a whine, his tongue now travelling down, ever so subtly closing down to your cunt. you pressed your thighs together; embarrassed, already feeling your arousal seeping out of you before his claws forced them wide open, earning your moan.

"you are pooling my dear," he almost chuckled, his eyes narrowed as he licked his lips, his breath now grazing your quivering folds, unexpected whimper broken out of you.

"please?"

with that word you can feel the air snap hotter, his eyes now meeting yours; his form towering over you before he chuckle, training down kisses, his tongue now making sure you are covered in his scent.

"didn't I tell you not to beg?" his claws hold your thigh open and he took a lap of your cunt, almost smiling at your taste. "do you know why my dear?"

"n-no--"

your moans escape, feeling his tongue entering you, fucking you, stimulating your walls, not letting you escape. you arched your back, biting your lips as another whimper persisted. you feel his hand moving, now pressing his claws to your other hole, expecting you to open up; and you let him, your holes now stuffed full of him before you feel his tongue slip out of you, your whine tells him as much about what you want.

"Because if you beg..." he now moves his hands to your ankles, folding you in half and you watch helplessly, his two golden cocks decorated with geometric lines and veins on either side, one on top of the other- he does not lie, the size of those things are comparable to your thigh, its length will most likely penetrate your womb- "I will answer."

he chuckles subtly, aligning his cocks to both of your holes, its weight now pressing down on you, precum leaks out of them, lubricating you further.

"i am a god, my dear; I always answer."

with that he presses his cock head to your holes, hoping both of them will ease up. you moan his title out, causing him to snap his head to you, making him greedy.

Your little groan and hiss only help you muster up the strength to let loose, feeling your holes easing up before they let his cockheads in, making your chest heave.

he grunts against your neck; and you feel his teeth subtly tracing your shoulder, little nips that satiate his hunger, burying his head in its crook.

"Celestia." the way you feel around the tip of his cock is incomparable; the dragon finds himself clenching down his jaw, controlling his urges to slam you down to its hilt. "you are made for me my dear."

he grabs a hold of your hips, and you feel him sliding you down. you let out a low moan, your back still arched as you feel him inside of you more and more. the burn from the stretch doesn't scare you, even if you feel like you are being split in two- you only know the pleasure that waits for you not so out of reach.

not even halfway and you already feel him brushing against your cervix, your broken moan coupled with the way you rolled your hips almost makes him snap. his other cock too now deep inside of you- almost too deep; you feel the pressure against your throat, feeling his cocks twitch, almost making you jolt, your hand searching from his arm, nails now digging into his scales.

he looks at you, his parted lips letting out steam before his uneven breathing stops to let him speak. "I shall move now."

you look at him, biting your lips and nod firmly, affirming your readiness. you feel him trying to go out of you, your cunt and hole tightening around him, almost hungry before he slams into you, earning your cry of pleasure.

it persists; he goes out of you before he slips inside, messaging your walls before they tightened around him again, hungrily seeking him, your face now fucked out with pleasure, feeling him abuse your holes.

"I'm not even all the way in my dear." he almost smirks, you can see it. before you know it, you suddenly feel him picking you up, your walls being freed from his cocks, suddenly empty and you whine; letting him flip you to your stomach and holding your ass up in the air.

he marvels at the sight, seeing both of your holes gape yet clench down on nothing, it almost made him giddy.

"my beautiful follower," he mused, his claws now digging into your flesh before you feel his cocks lining up with your holes again; embarrassingly you can feel your cunt relaxing, ready to take him in once more. "will you be my mate now darling?"

"yes!" your desperation stays, you want him inside you so bad, "please Rex Lapis please!"

you didn't know what did, but you certainly awaken something in him. he brings you up in the air before slamming you down on his cocks, your walls now taking him fully, your stomach bulging out with his shape. your breath knocks out of you; you can feel him all the way in your womb, your hand can't help but trace the raised flesh, your spine almost shivering from the sensation.

"keep begging."

that sounds like an order; even your now fucked out brain knows that. so like the good follower you are you follow that order.

"Please make me your mate," you choke out, his slow rhythms that know your breath slowly but surely going faster, brushing up against all your pleasure spots, making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. "please please please please I wanna- I want--"

he chuckles, the way you mewl your pleas, the way your warm flesh tightens around him; he can even feel your walls hungrily sucking him in so nicely. in his mind he is thanking Celestia; because fuck, you are a masterpiece.

"a human could die from this," he grunts out, going in and out of you with an inhuman pace, your cunt and hole loosening with his movements. "not you my dear; you are made for me."

you whine from his statement, the bludge he created only drives you to the edge, feeling something inside of you tightening, your nails digging into his scaled flesh, your face supported by his nose. "R-rex Lapis i- my-- i'm--"

"you want to cum my dear?" he almost teases you with the question, his cock brushing, bullying your g spot, making you dig your nails further, your head could only nod desperately at his question. "hold it, you could only cum when I do."

you whine out with his order, and he lets out a subtle groaning with it, chuckling at your reaction. his hand moves down, large talons brushing against your hard clit, teasing the nub; knowing exactly what it will make you do.

you wrapped your arm around his neck, his golden mane brushing against your flesh so softly; and your tug your face on them, muffling out your long moan and desperate cries.

"fuck- please lord mo- morax- r-rex lapis please- i want- i wanna- please please please-"

he kept his word, his face moving and kissing your neck, feeling you move your pelvis to fit him better, your inside hungrily brushing against his shaft. his brow knits, he feels himself almost coming undone.

"now."

with a final thrust, he fills both of your holes with white ropes of cum, you yourself arching your back, feeling your orgasm hits you harder than ever before. he hear your pants before he coils around you, closing gaps between the two of your while still being inside of you, wrapped up by your own warmth.

"i shall make the wedding preparation after the season's over," he breath out; your mind finally able to join the sentence together before you move your head, repeating the most important word again.

"wedding..."

"of course my dear," he kisses you, his snout pressed against your jaw before he tugs his head onto your collar bone. his hand travels to your stomach, rubbing the visible buldge that only grows with his cum, almost making look pregnant.

"the little ones will be coming soon."

[gor3sigil]

I’m Trans and Insane and I’m doing fine.

[TW Psychosis, transphobia, psychophobia, medication, psych ward]

“Are you sure ?” she asked.

I remember looking back at her in disbelief, because that was certainly a question I never asked her when she came out.

“Why do you ask ?” I say.

“Dude, I’ve seen you go into depersonalization so hard you even thought you were a human soul in a robot vessel and now, you want me to trust you when you say that you, too, are trans ?”

That’s the memory that comes back to me as I fold and put in my bag my psychiatrist’s note attesting that I suffer from gender dysphoria, NOT LINKED to any psychotic symptoms. Here it goes in my folder with my prescription note, an increase - again - of my anti depressants and Xan, and my endocrinologist’s HRT prescription, increased too - finally.

I go to two separate pharmacies to pick up each prescription for two reasons:

There is only one in this godforsaken town that always had testosterone in stock.

I can’t explain to you with words the look you can get when you give back to back, to someone who, despite not being a doctor, works in healthcare, a note for trans HRT and then a note for psychiatric meds.

And I’m lucky, because I’m not taking antipsychotics anymore. Contrarily to what you could think, it doesn’t magically makes the voices and the shadowy people disappear, but it can make a mess of your head pretty bad and my doctor and I both agreed that I didn’t need more damage up here than what I already had. And no, it doesn’t make your delusions vanish magically too: in fact, I was still pretty certain that I was talking to my soul family out here in Argentine telepathically about my mission on Earth, the meds just made it more difficult to understand their voices, but the belief was still solid.

Anyways, I’m back home with the Hoy Grail I fought tooth and nails to get: a letter from the Sacred Council of Mental Sanity also known as Psychiatry that I was, indeed, a bit delulu, but also trans, and that both things didn’t play into each other. My transness wasn’t a delusion, my delusions didn’t have anything to do with being trans.

Or did it ?

Chicken or egg, you know the drill. Did I have my selves fractured before and one of the piece that shattered my brain happened to make me trans or was I just trans with a shitload of traumas in the back that made me insane ?

But don’t worry, at least, trans people when we’re together, we have each other’s back ! Right ?

“Transidentity ISN’T a mental illness !! We don’t DESERVE to be FORCIBLY LOCKED UP and MEDICATED and MADE TO CONFORM FOR OTHER’S SENSE OF SECURITY !!”

Neither do I, RIGHT ?

Oh

Or do I ?

Remember what she said, my girlfriend, right at the beginning ?

How I can’t be trusted about myself when sometimes I don’t even have a sense of self anymore or I have too much selves who fight against each other ?

And what do we say to that ?

Get treatment. Get in-patient. Take medication. And for the love of God, shut the fuck up about it, you’re giving us a bad name.

Because being trans and crazy can’t exist. It’s absurd. You have to fix one of these two things. Choose which jacket I’ll wear, and they call it a straitjacket for a reason it seems, so am I queer or am I insane ?

All I know today is there isn’t a universe in which I’m a trans without any mental illnesses, or mentally ill without being trans. And yet, I can’t tell you how many time I got asked “do you think you’d be trans if you never got through [x trauma] ?”. I. Don’t. Know. I’ll never know. And I deserve just as much agency as you get despite being mentally ill. If you don’t believe in that, don’t come yapping about “liberation for all of us”, but “if one of us is crazy they’ll all think I am too and that can’t happen”.

No LGBTQIAA+ person deserves to be told they need to be put away, to be cured, to be allowed out in the open only if they’re deemed “acceptable” by society’s standards. And no mentally ill people deserve to either.

No trans person should be going through years of counseling to have the access to HRT.

And I shouldn’t have had to threaten my own mother’s life to avoid being locked in an adult psych ward at 14.

If you ever think, for one second, that these two things have nothing to do with one another, you are far removed from history.

To hear queer people say “yeah but some mentally ill people are dangerous !” feels like you don’t even know where you come from.

And if I want to say, that me being trans is linked to me being mentally ill, or at least, that both are connected in a way, all hell breaks fucking loose.

So I’ll explain very carefully.

See, when I was young, my mind got shattered into a thousand of pieces I had to try to glue back on. All these pieces of myself broke further more down the line because I couldn’t catch a fucking break. And now, it happens that the final puzzle does not have the same face it had before. It happens that its shape changed over time, for reasons over the control of all of us who tried to build ourselves back. Now there’s a bigger picture, less pieces, a few other shadows, and me. Built from the shatters. With my own needs and afflictions.

And whoever you are, whatever your agenda might be, I will not let anyone take any agency away from me under the false pretext that I can’t know anything for myself. They say that about children, they say that about minorities, about physically disabled people, about the people they want OUT. And my trans siblings, you know that.

I came out for the first time 7 years ago, to my then girlfriend, who was the one asking the question that is the first sentence of this text. I came out a second time 3 years ago. Been on HRT, had top surgery, had psychotic breaks, got my meds changed, switch therapist.

Because I am trans and crazy. And yet, all these choices I made, I made myself. It didn’t have to be that hard to get the basic care I needed. It didn’t need to be. But it WAS. And I’m part of the lucky crowd of people who had access to out-patient treatment, who never have been locked up in ward, who managed to stay alive through meds withdrawals without medical assistance when I had no therapist.

Be very careful of when you start to put conditions on the rights you think you deserve. Be very, very careful about your definition of sanity and of how it warps the way you see people. When you start to say “I have access to that, but there’s people like X or Y who shouldn’t BECAUSE”, pause and ask yourself what led you to think this way. More often than not, you’ll find yourself playing the same mind games as the ones you swore to fight against, and when it gives them the upper hand, they won’t hesitate to come for you after that.

[headkiss]

hello! a summer request for my sweet hotch, maybe him taking care of reader's allergies or a cute picnic date (jack included)

hope you have a lovely day sweetheart 🩷

hiii tysm for your request!! hope you’re having a lovely day too angel 🫶 so sorry it’s not summer anymore but hopefully you still enjoy! | 0.8k words of fluff!!

Aaron is not known to take many days off, but summer seems to get him out of the office more than any other season. Even more so ever since he met you.

More again as soon as he introduced you to Jack, to the most important person in his life. Jack liked you immediately, and he never stops asking when he’ll see you next. Though there’s a void left behind by Haley that will never quite be filled, you all know it, but your presence in both of the Hotchner’s lives has brightened them in ways Aaron doesn’t think you could understand.

It’s why, today, he’s taken the day off on purpose. He’d even gone as far as to tell the team not to call him unless absolutely necessary. He trusts them, and they bug him to take breaks more than anyone, anyways.

There’s a classic red and white gingham blanket spread beneath you on the grass, the sun bright in the sky and saturating the park around you.

Aaron’s barely unpacked the snacks before Jack is jumping up and asking his dad for permission to go play.

“Only where I can see you,” Hotch says, “okay, buddy?”

“I know, dad!” Jack’s already running off before you can even tell him to have fun.

Aaron watches his son go, squinting in the sun, keeping an eye on Jack until he’s made it to a small group of other kids by the slide before turning back to you.

You’re scrunching your nose and rubbing at your eyes when he does, and Aaron frowns a little when you sniffle.

Always far too observant, he tilts his head at you and asks, “You okay, honey?”

You nod, because you really are.

You’ve had allergies for most of your life, you think, so it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just annoying. You’d woken up and could already tell it was a bad day for them, less air passing through your nose, your eyes itchy.

But days like these—the ones with Aaron and Jack and beautiful weather and nobody working—are rare, and you’d never be caught giving up time with your people just because of some allergies.

“I’m fine, just my allergies.” You smile at him and grab a nacho from the spread, dipping it into the layered salsa from the grocery store and popping it into your mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were acting up?” Hotch asks, thumb wiping a bit of salsa from the corner of your mouth gently without a thought. Sweet and subconscious.

“Because you would’ve made me stay in bed and bring me soup like it was the flu,” you say, knee bumping his. “I’m out of meds, but I didn’t wanna miss this. Jack was so excited and I was, too. I love being with you guys.”

And fuck, Aaron’s heart squeezes in his chest at the way you speak so fondly about him and Jack, like they’re your own family. At how you’re willing to be uncomfortable just to keep plans intact.

He trails a knuckle down your bare arm, all the way down until he catches your hand and gives it a squeeze. “We don’t have to stay long.”

“I know,” you scoot closer and drop your head against his shoulder.

It’s only twenty minutes later, and after many sneezes (and ‘bless you’s from Aaron), he’s packing up the picnic and not letting you argue it. Your eyes are reddened and watery, and he can hear how stuffy your nose is by your voice, and he doesn’t want you to feel worse.

And maybe he likes the idea of getting to take care of you over something small like this. How domestic it is.

“Alright, let’s go home, yeah?” Aaron pats your thigh softly. “I know you wanted to tough it out, but i can tell it’s bugging you. There’s a pharmacy down the street, we’ll stop for meds.”

There’s no sense fighting him when your allergies are bugging you, when he’s so stubborn with his plans, with how kind the tone of his voice is.

“Okay. Maybe we can watch a movie when we get back? Jack can pick since we’re making him leave early.”

“You sure?” Aaron raises his eyebrows. “He’s gonna make us watch Big Hero 6 for the hundredth time, you know?”

“I know that you secretly love that movie.”

“That wore off at the tenth watch, honey.”

You laugh, then sneeze, and Aaron shakes his head at you fondly before calling Jack back over and promising to buy him a candy bar at the pharmacy for cutting his game short.

The candy bar is long gone by the time you’re all settled on the Hotchner’s couch to watch Big Hero 6 again, and you and Aaron share a secret smile when Jack announces it as his pick.

[ticifics]

Hair Bleach

Pietro Maximoff x f!reader

Summary: He was sitting on the kitchen counter, his long legs stretched out and his messy brown hair already partially covered by the bleach you were carefully applying. “Do you think it’ll look good?” he asked, his voice low and slightly rough, but carrying a playful tone that was so characteristic of him. “You’ve done this before, remember? It wasn’t exactly a disaster,” you replied, trying to focus as you spread the cream through his hair.

Warnings: fluffy, modern!au

Maybe it was the drink you both had earlier – that cheap wine Steve insisted on serving – or maybe it was just the laid-back atmosphere of the party, with Wanda’s laughter echoing through the room and the music that seemed like it would never stop. You weren’t exactly sure what had made you comment on his hair. Maybe it was a flash of memory, a detail lost in time.

“Do you remember when your hair was bleached?” you had asked, both still a little dizzy as you walked down the empty street, heading home.

He laughed, his voice rough and a little drawn out, clearly carrying the influence of the drinks. “Remember? Hard to forget. You loved messing with it.”

“I really did,” you admitted, feeling your face heat up. It was true, after all. Pietro with bleached hair had been almost a comical version of himself – always complaining about the upkeep, but knowing how much you liked it.

“Then why don’t we do it again?” he suggested, that carefree sparkle in his eyes that was so typical of him.

“Now?” you asked, laughing.

“Now,” he confirmed, with an unexpected determination.

And before you could protest, you were standing in front of a 24-hour pharmacy, arguing over which bleach brand would be best while laughing like two teenagers.

Now, in your apartment, the wine had given way to a comfortable sobriety. The apartment still smelled like the party, as if the echoes of the night you’d spent together refused to completely disappear. Dim lights filtered through the blinds, creating an almost theatrical contrast between the dark and the light. You were still in your party dress, a piece of fabric that seemed made for Pietro to look at you like that – his blue eyes sparkling, intense and sweet, as if the thought of looking away was unthinkable.

He was sitting on the kitchen counter, his long legs stretched out and his messy brown hair already partially covered by the bleach you were carefully applying. The black t-shirt was a little askew, revealing the outline of muscles you knew by heart, but that still made you blush as if it were the first time you saw them.

“Do you think it’ll look good?” he asked, his voice low and slightly rough, but carrying a playful tone that was so characteristic of him.

“You’ve done this before, remember? It wasn’t exactly a disaster,” you replied, trying to focus as you spread the cream through his hair.

He smiled, that grin that was a mix of mischief and tenderness, before tilting his head back, looking at you closely. “It wasn’t a disaster because you said it looked good. Everything you say looks good, I believe.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile that slipped out was inevitable. Pietro had that effect on you – an almost magical ability to turn the simplest moment into something that felt extraordinary.

“Stop moving your head,” you murmured, gently pushing his face into the right position.

“Hard to do. You’re here, looking gorgeous like this, talking to me as if I don’t want to kiss you every five seconds.”

“You’re already distracting me,” you shot back, but he didn’t seem in the least bit sorry.

“It’s part of my charm,” he replied before sliding one of his large hands to your waist. The touch was warm, firm, as if he needed to feel your presence there, just to make sure this was real.

“Pietro,” you complained quietly, but your voice lacked any strength. Not when his fingers were mindlessly tracing little circles against the fabric of your dress.

“Just one kiss,” he asked, leaning forward, his short beard brushing your cheek before he reached your lips with his.

It was a lazy kiss, but full of meaning. He had always been like that with you, direct in his feelings, with no room for doubt.

When he finally pulled away, you sighed, but the laughter that slipped out afterward was involuntary. “If I mess up, it’s because you can’t stay still. It’ll be your fault.”

“Then I’ll have to live with a permanently stained head,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I bet you’d still think I’m cute.”

“Maybe,” you teased, turning your attention back to his hair.

Your fingers slid carefully through the brown strands, now covered by the white bleach cream. The chemical smell filled the air, but it wasn’t enough to overshadow the sweetness that seemed to emanate from the moment. Pietro closed his eyes slowly, as if savoring a luxurious experience and not something as mundane as getting his hair bleached in the kitchen of your apartment. For the first time that night, he was quiet, allowing you to work in peace – at least in terms of words.

His hands, however, weren’t so easily quieted. One rested on your waist, the fingers unaware of the thin fabric of the dress you were still wearing, while the other moved up to your thigh, resting there with familiarity and a touch of affection. He wasn’t exactly distracting you, but he didn’t seem willing to let you forget he was there, that he needed to touch you – as if you might disappear if he wasn’t sure you were real.

The warmth of his touch was something you could feel even through the fabric, a constant reminder that he was near, that he was yours. And as much as you tried to focus on his hair, the bleach, the time it needed to work, it was impossible not to be affected.

“If this keeps up, I’m going to mess up,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

His lips curved into a lazy smile, his eyes still closed. “Doesn’t seem like I’m the one distracting you right now,” he replied, but didn’t move, just enjoying the feel of your fingers massaging his scalp.

The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with the soft sound of his breathing and the sensation of his hair under your fingers. For a moment, you lost yourself, the movements becoming slower and more careful. It was almost hypnotic – the texture of the strands, the warmth radiating from his skin, the way he seemed so absorbed in the touch, as if nothing else mattered.

And then you looked at him.

His face was relaxed, dark lashes contrasting against his pale skin, the stubble outlining the curve of his jaw. His chest rose and fell in a tranquil rhythm, as if he were on the verge of a light sleep, but the smile on his lips was still there, a small curve that seemed impossible to erase.

It was inevitable. You leaned in before you even realized what you were doing, your lips touching his in a gesture as natural as breathing. Pietro responded immediately, as if he had been waiting for this, his hands gently gripping your waist and thigh, pulling you closer.

The kiss started sweetly but quickly turned into something more. It wasn’t urgent, but it had an intensity that made your knees almost buckle. When you tried to pull away, his hands wouldn’t let you, holding you in place as if he wasn’t done yet.

“Wait,” you tried to protest against his lips, but the word came out muffled, without conviction.

It wasn’t until you felt something wet trickling down the side of your face that reality hit hard. “Pietro!” you exclaimed, laughing as you pulled away.

He opened his eyes, confused, but the smile quickly returned when he saw the white stain on the side of your hair and a bit on your forehead. “Well, looks like you’re going to bleach with me.”

You stared at him, open-mouthed. “I told you this would happen! Now my hair’s going to be stained, and it’s all your fault.”

He shrugged, not a hint of regret. “You’re still beautiful. Maybe we should bleach it all at once.”

“No way,” you replied, trying to wipe the cream off your forehead with the back of your hand, only to spread it even more.

Pietro laughed, that warm, contagious laugh that made your heart race. He grabbed a piece of paper towel and leaned forward, wiping the stain off with a care that was completely at odds with the laughter shaking his shoulders. But then he held your face, giving you a look full of affection. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “I know, Pietro.”

His fingers ran along your cheek. “I want you to know. Really. I don’t care about the hair, or what we do. I just want to make you happy.”

Your heart tightened, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to disappear. “You already do,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, but full of sincerity.

He smiled, that small, genuine smile that was all his. “Good. Because you’re everything to me.”

You felt the words like a hug, warm and full of meaning. He had always been like that – direct, no nonsense, but full of feeling.

“Now stop distracting me,” you said, trying to refocus, but the smile on your face was impossible to hide.

“No chance,” he replied, leaning in to steal a kiss before you could protest.

[five-rivers]

chromatophore

@jackdaw-sprite

For Dannymay 2025, day 6: transformation. I'm late!

.

The ribbons were the first sign, a vibrant magenta against the dark greens, snowy whites, and subtle blues.  It wasn’t a color often seen in the Far Frozen, even if it was common among other polychromatic denizens of the Ghost Zone.  There were hundreds of them, tied together in huge, arcing loops.  

The sight made Danny pull up short.  

“What is it?” asked Tucker over the Fenton Phones.  They liked to come with him to his check-ups.  They seemed to think that if they didn’t, he’d skip his appointments.  

(Just because he missed one–)

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “There’s something about the color magenta in the Far Frozen, but I can’t remember exactly what…”

“Can you remember approximately what?” asked Sam, also in the Specter Speeder.  

Danny hummed uncertainly.  “I know that doors colored magenta are dangerous, and Frostbite told me not to go through them,” he said, finally.  “But this is a lot more than coloring a door magenta.  I don’t know if it means something different.”

“Great One!”

Danny rotated around the axis of his navel to see a yeti approaching.  That was odd.  They usually didn’t meet him this far out.  Not after the first couple times, anyway.  

“Hi!” he called, waving.  “What are all the ribbons for?”

“Stay there!” shouted the yeti.  “I will come to you!”

Danny nodded, then relayed the yeti’s words to Sam and Tucker, who couldn’t hear him from inside the Speeder. 

“Great One,” said the yeti, by way of greeting, once he got closer.  “My apologies.  We knew you would come soon, but we did not know from which direction, so I was set to watch.”

“Icespear,” said Danny, now recognizing the yeti.  He was one of the Far Frozen’s warriors, and one of the only ones who would still watch when Frostbite was training Danny in the arena.  “What’s wrong?  Why is all this stuff here?”  Danny gestured at the ribbons.  

Now, while he would like Icespear to tell him that it was all in preparation for a festival or something similar, Danny sincerely doubted that was the case.  

“The Far Frozen is under quarantine,” said Icespear, tiredly.  “Two weeks ago, one of our merchants caught the white death, and it has since spread rapidly through the village.”

“The white death?” asked Danny, alarmed.  “That sounds bad.”

“It is,” agreed Icespear, “though it is not quite as dire as you imagine.  Many ghost illnesses have the word ‘death’ or something similar in them.”

That… sounded like something ghosts would do, honestly.  

“I guess my appointment is canceled, then,” joked Danny.  His smile felt weak on his face and quickly fell off.  “How bad is it?”

Icespear’s muzzle twitched up, exposing teeth.  “Bad.  For most, even if they were willing to break the quarantine, they couldn’t.  The white death lowers core temperature.  Some of the worst off are freezing solid.”

“Is there anything I can do?  I mean, I’m not a doctor or anything, but if there’s something I can get you…  Aspirin?  Antibiotics?  Cough syrup?”

If it came to it, Danny would be… Well, saying he’d be okay with robbing a pharmacy was vastly overstating things, but if it meant the difference between someone in the Far Frozen surviving or fading, he’d do it.  

“Yes.  In fact, I have a letter for you from Chief Frostbite.  If you will read it, I can answer any questions you have.”

Icespear reached into the sash that held his kilt-like garment in place, and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Danny.  Danny slid his thumb under Frostbite’s blue ice seal and opened the letter, drifting back towards the speeder so Sam and Tucker could try to read over his shoulder.  

“He wants me to try and get this plant, then?” asked Danny.  “It’s a cure?”

Icespear shook his head.  “Nothing quite so miraculous.  It is only an ingredient, but we have all the others.  It is only that moly tinctoria is the most difficult of the ingredients to get, since the Painters consider it sacred.”

Danny nodded.  People were always weird about sacred things.  “So, how do I get it from them?”  He scrunched up his nose.  “They probably won’t sell it for anything within my budget, so am I going to have to fight them for it?”  That felt worse than knocking over a pharmacy.  Pharmacies had insurance and stuff.  Sacred stuff usually couldn’t be easily replaced.  

“Oh, no,” said Icespear.  “No, we’d prefer to have good relations with them.  When we tell them what it will be used for, they will be willing to let us harvest it.  However…” Icespear sighed.  “They require that anyone who is to touch their sacred herb undergoes a purification ritual, and we yetis are unable to do it.”

Danny frowned.  “Why?”

“We have fur,” said Icespear with a shrug.  “Their paints do not stick to us very well, and when we do, the shape of the brushstrokes is warped.”

“That sounds sort of… discriminatory?” said Danny, making a face.  

Icespear shrugged again.  “They have always been willing to let us try.  It just doesn’t work very well, and each person can only do it once.  And, I understand that the rite is important for practical reasons as well as spiritual ones.  They are often identical here, in the Infinite Realms.”

“What happens if you don’t do the ritual?”

”I fear I do not know,” said Icespear.  “But the Painters are very insistent on it.”

“Okay,” said Danny, re-reading Frostbite’s letter.  The shakiness of the writing showed that Frostbite wasn’t feeling well, himself.  “Sam, Tucker, do you want to do this, or should I take you guys home first?”

“We’re sticking with you,” said Sam, obviously unamused.  

“Okay, okay,” said Danny.  “I was just asking.  This is probably going to take longer than my appointment, after all.  I don’t even know which way to go…?”  He looked up at Icespear questioningly. 

“That is one reason I am coming with you,” said Icespear, “and why I have this.”  He pulled out the Infi-map.  

“Wow,” said Danny, reaching towards it.  “I thought it was locked away, after, um, the incident.”

“It would be the height of foolishness to have something like this and not use it in our hour of need,” said Icespear, twitching the scroll away from Danny’s outstretched hand.  “You are still banned from using it, however.  I will be directing us.”

Danny let his hand drop, disappointed.  The Infi-map was still one of the coolest ghost artifacts he’d encountered.  “What are the other reasons you’re coming with us?”

“Security,” said Icespear, “and to make sure everything goes smoothly.  There have been disruptions in the past.  Thefts, mostly.  The plant is a valuable one, as well as being sacred.”

“Well…  Do you guys have any questions?” He turned slightly towards the Speeder, inviting Tucker and Sam to weigh in.  

“What’s in the ritual?” asked Sam.  “That seems important.”

“I’m not as familiar with it as some,” admitted Icespear.  “I was chosen mainly for my good health and fighting ability, given that I will be carrying the Infi-map outside our borders.  But it is my understanding that the main portions of it are ritual body paint, a bath, removing the paint, and incense.  It is not a physically taxing ritual, merely difficult for us.”

“Alright, then,” said Sam.  “I just wanted to make sure that it didn’t involve cutting off a finger or human sacrifice or something.”

“Sam!  These guys are our friends.  Our allies.”

“Lady Sam is wise to be cautious,” said Icespear.  “Many otherwise innocuous rites and customs could be dangerous to you, Great One.”

Danny made a face.  “But nothing in this one, right?”

“Not that I know of,” said Icespear.  

“Great,” said Danny.  “Let’s go.”

.

In a typical example of how ghosts liked to theme themselves, the entrance to the Painter’s Realm looked like an art gallery.  If an art gallery had decided to turn itself into an avant-garde piece of artwork itself, splashing multicolored and in some cases eye-searing paints all over the front, then painting over that with layered dots and curlicues.

Icespear went in right away, through the glass door, to negotiate with the Painters.  Danny stayed outside, for the moment, to help Sam and Tucker land the Speeder on the thin strip of land in front of the building.  

“Do you think those are supposed to be nazars?” asked Sam, climbing out of the cockpit and pointing at the nearest wall.

“Do I think what is what?”

“Nazars.  You remember, the eye beads.”

Danny looked at the wall, and he could see what she was saying.  The dots on the wall were concentric, solid circles of dark blue, light blue, black, white, and ghost green, in no particular order.  

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  “They do look sort of similar.”

Icespear returned and motioned them inside.  Standing next to the largest painting inside, a big, abstract one, was a thin ghost whose haircut made her look like a paintbrush, which was probably the point.  

“Who is it that wants to harvest?” she asked, frowning at the three of them.  

“Me,” said Danny, raising his hand.  

She looked him up and down.  “To complete the ritual, you will come to the deepest of our depths, where we will paint you.  Then, you will go to the chamber of cleansing, where you will be sealed while you bathe to remove our paints.  When you finish, we will judge your work, and if it is satisfactory, we will allow you to harvest what is necessary.”

Danny nodded.  “That seems pretty easy,” he said.  “I mean, I got the impression that some parts were tricky.”

The ghost nodded.  “Some would say so, but occasionally, it is the simplest things that are the most difficult.”  She looked at Sam and Tucker.  “You are welcome to observe, like Icespear, but you must not interrupt the cleansing, or else the Far Frozen will have to seek out a new proxy.”

“Got it,” said Tucker, while Sam nodded. 

“Very good.  I have sent word ahead to our best artists, and they will meet us there.  Follow me.”  She looked at Tucker's PDA, and added, “No photography.”

As Tucker sulkily put away his PDA, the ghost flew briskly into the gallery, somehow looking even more like a paintbrush with her legs pressed together and her toes pointed. 

As they followed her, the gallery became… older.  At first, it was just that the exact nature of fittings on the walls began to look more old fashioned.  Then, the style of the paintings shifted.  Cigarette smoke permeated the air for a short time, then dissipated.  The walls changed, too, first just in the texture of paint, then in substance and decoration, the moulding going from minimalistic to a work of art in its own right. But that passed, too, and soon those palace-like walls became castle-like, illuminated by torches, then simpler, cruder, paintings losing perspective, then briefly regaining it in plaster painted directly on the walls.  They continued, and eventually, they were walking down a bare stone tunnel, the paintings on the walls lit only by the ghosts’ own glow.

This tunnel opened into a larger cave.  There were people there, ghosts, all of them dressed in white artist smocks, with paintbrushes in their pockets.  A stream, a tiny trickle of water, ran through the room, starting as a waterfall high on the cave wall, near the entrance, and running out an exit on the opposite side.  

One of the white-robed ghosts stepped forward.  “You wish to be cleansed, so that you may harvest our sacred herb?”

Danny flinched slightly at the word ‘wish’ (you never knew when Desiree might be around) but said, “Yes.  Um, is there something special I need to say, or–?”

A younger-looking ghost with purple paintbrush pigtails giggled.  “It's not that kind of ritual,” she said.  “The one where people talk a lot and everyone has to say exactly the right thing.”

“Oh,” said Danny, “okay.”

“But we do need your consent,” said the other ghost, “because you'll need to strip.”

“So you can paint me, right,” said Danny.  He considered the chilly temperature of the room, then the number of painters that were girls, and decided this would be unpleasant.  He looked over at Sam.  

“What?” she said.  

Danny raised his eyebrows.  

“Are you serious?  I’ve seen you naked before.”

Everyone had seen Danny naked before, courtesy of Vlad.  Yeah, Danny had done that first, but Vlad had started it.  Sort of.

Sam rolled her eyes and turned away from Danny, crossing her arms as she did so.  “Are you going to make everyone else turn around, too?”

“Um,” said Danny, looking at the ghosts.  There were a lot of 

“That won’t work, I’m afraid,” said the ghost that seemed to be the leader.  

Danny sighed.  “Okay,” he said.  He started unzipping his suit.  

“I’ll leave it to you,” then, said the thin, suited… receptionist?  She left, flying back towards the more modern part of the Painters’ Realm. 

Danny rolled his suit off his body, the plasticy fabric sticking to itself before dissipating into gaseous ectoplasm, and took off the clothing beneath it.  “It’s okay that I stay in ghost form, right?”

“You should,” said Icespear.  

“Yeah, it’s pretty cold in here,” said Tucker.  “Stay ghosty, stay toasty.”

“I’m colder as a ghost, you know,” said Danny, amused, even as he took off his undershirt and underwear.  It was cold, but nowhere near as cold as the Far Frozen.  The main discomfort was the dampness and the breeze.  And, of course, the star-shaped death scar in the middle of his chest.

Sometimes, he forgot it was there.  He never saw it, after all.  He rarely needed to take off his clothes in ghost form.  

“Yeah, exactly,” said Tucker.  

While Danny undressed, the Painters started their preparations.  About half of them had mortar and pestles, and the other half pulled dried plants, rocks, little colorful pucks, and other things Danny couldn’t immediately identify.  They crushed them, turning them into fine powders, then passed those powders on.  Some of them were, to Danny’s surprise, set on fire, making plumes of fragrant smoke.  Others were mixed with water, turning them into paints and inks.  Danny saw blue, green, white, black.  

The painters nudged him into the center of the room, to stand ankle-deep in the small stream.  Bowls of eye-stinging incense were passed under his nose, then arranged in a rough circle around him.  Then, the Painters approached with their paintbrushes, circled Danny once, clockwise, then stepped forward, past the bowls of incense.

Danny felt the brushstrokes in cold wet lines against his skin and tried not to feel apprehension.  Yes, he had volunteered for this, of course, but it was still unnerving, making him feel vulnerable, even though he had access to all the powers he usually had.  There was a sense of disorientation, too, as the room filled with smoke and frigid water swirled around Danny’s ankles.  It made his skin feel tight, electric.

At first, each brushstroke made his skin flinch, but he grew used to them, and as he learned to be more still, the Painters started to do more detailed work, layering the initial blobby shapes with finer, smaller ones.  He felt dots, spots, curlicues.  They were building up patterns, paint on top of ink, like the ones on the walls outside, the ones that Sam said looked like nazars.  On his skin, Danny thought they looked more like the spots on a leopard, or an octopus.  

The pigtailed Painter bounced up in front of him, her mortar of paint in hand, grinned, and painted a stripe across his nose, pausing to make the ends wider than the middle.  The ghosts that followed her added to her work, emboldened.  Danny got what felt like artificial blush stickers and a series of improbable freckles.  

The paint smelled.  Not badly, exactly, but strongly, dancing on the edge of unpleasantness.  For some reason, it made his mouth water, and he had to swallow.

Some Painters knelt to paint layered rings around his fingers.  One lifted one of his feet after another to paint his soles and toes, even though he had to put them back down in the water a moment later.  

But what they didn’t touch was his death scar.  They avoided it, outlined

Between the layered spots of paint and the scars, his skin was still visible, but it seemed oddly colorless in contrast, like it had borrowed some conceptual quality of invisibility without actually being invisible.  Combined with the tingly, too-tight, too-dry, almost too-hot feeling, and the sensation of the paint drying, it made Danny feel like he wasn’t supposed to be in his skin.  

Then, all at once, the Painters stepped back.  

“You must now enter the chamber of cleansing,” said the leader.  “We will seal the way behind you, and you will not be able to leave until you have removed all the paint from yourself, or failed to do so entirely.  Your friends will not be able to come with you.  Do you understand?”

“I won’t be able to leave until I’m clean,” said Danny.  “Or until I really screw things up, somehow.”

“Close enough,” said the Painter.  They gestured to the other opening in the cave wall, the one that the stream flowed into.  

Danny glanced back at Sam and Tucker.  Tucker gave him a thumbs up.  Sam’s back was still turned, but she must have sensed his eyes on her, because she waved her hand at him.  “Good luck,” she said.  

“Thanks,” he said, before walking towards the exit.  Around him, the Painters picked up the bowls of incense, then set their remaining paint on fire.  The act made him pause, but they just lined up behind him, so he shrugged and continued.  

He wanted to scrub the paint off.  It was making his skin feel itchy and weird.  

Walking down the stream, however, proved strangely difficult.  He stumbled over small rocks and his own feet, swaying into the close walls every so often, but flying seemed improper, and probably not all that much better, with how narrow the tunnel was.

Soon, the tunnel ended in a small, bulbous cave with walls worn smooth and round, like a bubble of stone.  There were niches carved high on the walls, and the Painters put their burning bowls of incense and paint in them - or did the paint count as incense, now that they were burning it?  Danny wasn’t sure.  The smoke they produced was colored, too, although not always the same color as the paint. 

Otherwise, the room was full of water, its floor completely covered.  When Danny went to stand in the middle, it came up to his waist.  

One of the Painters pulled a bundle of washcloths from one of the niches and handed them to Danny, before leaving.  Danny watched them go, wondering how they were going to seal the room.  There wasn’t a door they could close, or a rock they could roll in front of entry.  

As he thought this, the walls shuddered and pinched, the entryway sucking in on itself, then smoothing over until it looked like there had never been a door there at all, and the walls of the room had always been an unbroken circle.  

Well, that was one way to do it.  

Danny dipped the washcloths into the water and began to scrub.  The wetness, cold, clean, and thin, not like the viscous and sometimes gritty paint, was sitting against his skin. 

At first, some of the painted color dissolved and peeled off into the water, leaving clear trails, sinking in swirls, twists, and spirals.  Then, the dots shrank, the outside paint wearing away faster than the centers of the dots.  But the underlying ink layers, nearly flush against his skin, seeping into his skin, were a different story.  None of the layered dots Danny scrubbed away came off entirely.  The amount of paint coming off into the water slowed, then stopped.  Danny thought that, maybe, some of the dots got bigger when he wasn't looking at them.

Danny doubled down, leaning against one of the walls to get at his feet more effectively. 

The water was getting higher.  There must have been a source for it, other than the entrance.  Cracks in the stone? 

Danny paused in his scrubbing and considered the situation.  He floated up out of the water, hoping to get a better view of the paint spots.  They were flatter, but they were still there.  Blue, black, white, green, different shades layered on each other in a variety of orders. 

The smoke was thicker up here, near the ceiling, and Danny found himself dozing, suddenly sleepy.  He blinked back awake when he dipped into the water. 

Oh.  That probably wasn't good.  He went back to scrubbing.  His skin felt raw, but also like it needed to be peeled off, bit by bit, section by section.  He ducked himself under the water, hoping to soothe the sensation away.  No luck. 

He reemerged.  The water was up to his shoulders, now, the whole lower half of the room submerged.  

And, Danny noticed, it was speeding up. 

The smoke was thick enough and drowsy enough that he kept finding himself with his eyes closed.  He felt worn and exhausted without having done much of anything. When he dozed, he had snatches of dreams, more impressions than anything.  Or, maybe, they were better termed hallucinations. Memories of brushes on his skin, which turned into fingers, poking, prodding, scratching. 

He didn't need to breathe in ghost form the same way he did in human form, but he heaved in long, slow, smoke-flavored breaths, panting.  Colors scintillated behind his eyelids, more saturated, more vibrant than they should be.  

It would have been nice if someone warned him the incense was hallucinogenic.  Or maybe it was the paint, acting through his skin.  Either way…

The water reached the level of the niches, briefly lifting the bowls.  The bowls were too heavy to float for long, though.  The small waves Danny was making swamped them, and they sunk, extinguished.  

All at once, the water drained out of the room, and Danny with it.  The door was back.  He sprawled in the small stream as water backwashed into it before sloshing back out.  He pushed himself to his elbows as ghostly glows fell on him.  

Danny looked up at the Painters, Icespear lingering behind them, and Tucker far in the back, then down at his still-painted limbs.  “I'm sorry,” he said, ashamed.  He couldn’t even clean himself right.  He was such a screw up

“Whatever for?” asked the leader.  “You have completed the trial.  You have proven that you are worthy. ”

“But I couldn't get off all the paint?” said Danny, confused. 

“Well, you wouldn't be a very good canvas if the paint just washed right off you,” said the pigtailed ghost.  “We're Painters, not window-washers.”

“Not quite the way I would put it, but not incorrect.”  The leader of the Painters offered Danny her hand. 

“How do I get it off, then?”  Danny, feeling a little noodly, took their hand. 

“Time will– Oh my.”  

The marks on Danny's skin had changed, moving, contracting and expanding, reminiscent of the movement of iris and pupil.  Danny blinked at it, faintly appalled. 

“Chromatophores!” said the pigtailed ghost, delighted.  “When was the last time someone got those?”

“Over a century,” said another of the ghosts.  “You really must be true of heart.”

The leader ghost, meanwhile, ran her finger up Danny's arm, and he watched in disquieted fascination as the robes of color followed its path like they were water on a shower door.  “Your skin hasn't just accepted the color, it has incorporated it.”

Danny, a little overwhelmed, flitted over to Icespear, hiding half behind him. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing much.  You just won't be getting rid of those,” said the pigtailed ghost, cheerfully. 

Danny looked up at Icespear.  

“I am no doctor, Great One.”

Danny made a squeaky, wheezy noise and looked down at his arms again.  The patterns moved and pulsed in a way that just screamed anxiety, the colors expanding and contracting, like the hallucinated colors behind his eyelids.  Looking at them made him feel dizzy. 

He paused.  Had the colors behind his eyelids been hallucinations?  Or were they just on his eyelids.  

“Well!” said the Painter.  “I expect you’ll want to be shown where you can harvest, yes?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Yeah, just, let me get dressed and talk to Tucker, first.”  He turned around to face his friend.  “How bad is it?”

“You look kind of like someone poured a bucket of paint over you.  Artistically!” he added, looking over Danny’s shoulder at the painters.  “Or like those really poisonous octopuses?  I bet Sam will be into it.  She loves poisonous stuff.”

Danny blushed.  He saw colors move across the corners of his eyes.

“Ooh,” said Tucker, tracking something across Danny’s chest and face.  “You’re not going to be able to hide anything, like that.  That’s worse than if you had cat ears.”

“Please don’t give the universe ideas,” said Danny.  

“But it would be hot,” said Tucker.  

Danny stared at him.  It was Tucker’s turn to blush, the tips of his ears going darker than cherries.  

“You know,” said Sam, “I’ve been waiting here not looking at anything for forever.  Some updates would be great!”

“Let’s just–” said Danny.  He shook his head.  “You know, if this carries over to human form, I’m going to scream.”  He transformed.  “Well?” he asked, not quite willing to look down at his arms.

“No, you’re good,” said Tucker, giving him a thumbs up.  “You might have some more freckles, though?”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Screaming later, then.  We’re coming, Sam!  We are coming, right?  The plants are up there, somewhere, right?”

“Yes,” said the lead Painter, bemused.  “Your friends can come, but they can’t touch anything.”

“Okay.  These plants aren’t going to turn me weird colors, are they?”

“Not permanently,” said the Painter.  

That was, probably, the best Danny was going to get.  He inhaled deeply, enjoying the lack of smoke, then let his breath rush out in a giant sigh.  He went ghost again, because even with his t-shirt and pants, it was chilly in the cave.  With the new transformation, he regained his suit.  A noise of disappointment escaped his mouth when he saw that there were black and white copies of the ‘chromatophores’ on his suit.  

He was going to be really upset about this later.  After the Far Frozen was cured.  

Tucker gave him a double thumbs up.  “Trust me,” he said.  “It looks good!”

Danny gave him a flat look.  “You said I looked like someone dumped paint on me.”

“In a good way!”

“Great One,” said Icespear, “I hate to hurry you, but we are on an errand of some importance.”

Danny blushed again, and nodded.  “Sorry.”  He shook himself, then flew up the tunnel.  

Everything would be fine.  Probably.  

[m1d-45]

doctor's orders

summary: a mild cold in the hands of one used to life or death illnesses... he really worries too much.

word count: 1k

-> warnings: you're like.. very mildly sick.. +take one (1) pill for like .5 of one second. nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“i don’t know why you’re taking this so seriously.”

“i don’t kow why you aren’t.”

you sniffle again, wiping at your nose with a napkin he’d insisted you take. “it’s not like i’ll die, baizhu.”

“dont joke about that.” he sat at his desk, counting qingxin petals as he plucked them off. “you’ll be perfectly fine, so long as you take your medicine.”

you wanted to roll your eyes, to push off his worry and deny the pills. yes, you were sick, but with barely a cold—more an annoyance than anything—that you didn’t think was worth even half the trouble.

but if nothing else, this was for his benefit. part of the curse of being a doctor, you supposed: knowing even the most severe of illnesses started with a cough. or, in your case, congestion.

“and you’re certain that’s it? no aches or pains?”

for his sake, you checked again. nothing out of the ordinary, just as it was five minutes ago, the last time he asked you.

“i’m fine, just as i have been and just as i will be. even if i wanted to hide something, you’d be able to tell.”

he’d known you were sick before you did. you went out with qiqi yesterday, returning to the pharmacy with a basket propped on your waist. you exchanged your greetings with gui, lingering to watch qiqi set herself up in her chair, carefully prying seeds out of lotus heads. you were sat beside her sorting the horsetail from the violet grass when he came out of the back door, eyes lingering on you strangely.

“are you feeling well?”

you looked up, hands stalling. “yeah, i feel fine. why, is something wrong?”

gui smiled like he knew something you didn’t, but you didn’t focus on that. baizhu came to you, taking your hands in his, inspecting your palms like you’d miraculously developed an allergy to horsetail overnight. “…are you sure?”

“positive.”

“no new aches, not unusually hot or short of breath, nothing stiff or-”

“baizhu.” you turned your hands to hold his instead, his gloves cool under your fingers. “i’m fine. you worry too much.”

but, of course, your karma swung around and you woke up with a headache and a pressure in your sinus. the light off the stone paths felt too bright, your predicament obvious from the moment you opened your mouth to say hello. just like that, you’d been whisked away to a back room, changsheng curling around your shoulders as he tried to find any and every reason to worry.

it was cute. or, would have been, if you didn’t know he was worried beneath the fuss. if you didn’t know any better, it would seem like he was finding any and all excuses to touch you. a loose grip on your wrist to check if your heart was irregular, the back of his hand against your cheek to see if you had a fever, worrying and worrying like you weren’t stuck with the common cold and he wasn’t the best doctor this side of inazuma.

“you worry too much.”

“you worry too little. drink your tea.”

you did, bearing the bitter taste as changsheng slipped from your shoulders to his. honestly, with the way he was treating you, one could easily think you were at death’s door.

you weren’t, though. you traced the rim of the ceramic mug, watching him fuss with your medicine, carefully crushing and mixing a variety of strong-smelling ingredients you couldn’t hope to identify off sight alone, characteristics lost in the mortar and pestle.

“so,” you start, his eyes flicking to you but not losing focus. “you come here often?”

he rolled his eyes, adding an ambiguously labeled syrup. whatever shorthand he and gui had mastered was a mystery to you no matter how hard you tried to decipher it. “this is serious.”

“it’s the flu.”

“you don’t know that.”

“you’re biased.”

“and you’re not getting out of taking your medicine. have you finished your tea?”

he took the empty mug, checking the stray leaves at the bottom like they would give him whatever answers he was looking for. it’s not like you’d lied to him—not like you could, either. between he and changsheng, it was impossible to so much as bring him flowers.

with the help of a few bits of hyperspecific equipment (that looked far too dangerous to just be for a doctor), a single pill was tucked into your palm, a muted green sphere with flecks of white dispersed across its surface. another cup of medicinal tea was poured and drank, a bitter aftertaste left in your mouth as expected. but you were rewarded for your troubles with a quiet sigh of relief, all of his nerves apparently washing away with that single action. he pushed his glasses up on his nose, eyes softening from ‘stern doctor’ to ‘worried partner.’

“…and you’re certain-”

“i’m fine.” you downed the rest of the tea, lip curling at the taste as you set it down, not missing how he checked to see if you’d drank it all. “i’m not in pain. i’m not hurt. i’ve taken my medicine and you have personally seen me do it. please, relax.”

another sigh, this one tired and well-worn. “you know i can’t. it’s not that easy.”

“it was worth a shot,” you shrug.

he does all of the work that he can in your room that day, strictly confining you to the bed, but letting you sit with him in the lobby once noon passes and there’s less people bustling through. you politely ignore the subtle glow to his fingertips whenever he walks by you, just like you pretend not to notice his repeated, worried glances.

it was almost sweet, that he worried so much. and besides, who were you to tell him what to do with his time? a day spent with your doctor was a day well worth every second.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You rub your lower back as you enter the bakery. You focus on the simple task; just a loaf of bread. You have a weak spot for the sourdough there. Just thinking about it, you could salivate.

You wait behind another customer. You think she works at the bank but you’ve never been very good with faces, even in a small town like Hammer Ford. Others don’t seem to have that issue as your name easily rolls off their tongues. The whispers are getting louder now that you can’t hide as easily.

The bank clerk sidles along the counter and glances over her shoulder as you shuffle forward. She sends you a judgmental look but you reserve any of the same. Everyone knows she’s sneaking around with the manager down at her branch.

You tug your shirt down as it threatens to ride further up your stomach. Everything’s too tight these days. Everything’s uncomfortable. Your fingers linger on the hem, touching the taught flesh beneath. Four months now.

“Hi,” you greet the woman behind the till, “can I get a loaf of the sourdough. I’ll take the day old for the discount if you got it.”

She smiles brightly and repeats your order, asking if there’s anything else. You say no. You budgeted for the bread, even a tea would put you too close to the line. She grabs you a loaf and she keys in the day-old discount.

You pay as she slips the wrapped loaf into a paper bag. Before you can turn away, she stops you, “have a cookie,” she points to the plate of shortbread beside the small specials sign. “They’re not moving.”

“I can’t,” you argue.

“You’re doing me a favour. I don’t like to throw them away,” she insists.

You smile sheepishly and take a cookie, hugging the bag above your stomach as you turn and nibble on the cookie. You cross to the door, juggling your armload as you open it, and leaving without a look back. You hear your name again before the door closes.

Who’s the father…

That’s the big question. You’re not married, not dating, so who could it be? The same question got you kicked out of your mother’s house. The pharmacy let you the dingy bachelor above as you spend your days working a till at the front.

You won’t say it, even to dispel the murmurs. You know it wouldn’t solve anything, only add fuel to the fire. ‘She should’ve known better. The golden prince of Hammer Ford is a known playboy. Why wouldn’t she be safe? Why wouldn’t she be responsible?’ They wouldn’t ask the same of him.

As you turn onto the street, your arm hits someone else and you drop the cookie. It cracks on the pavement and you look down, leaning forward to see the ruins. You deflate. Oh well, it was free, after all.

“Sorry,” a voice draws your attention from the spoiled shortbread. You look up at the man. You know him, you think. Again, you’re no good with faces.

He runs his hand over his shaved head then drags it around his beard, “I’ll get you another.”

“No, you don’t have to,” you wave him off, “I should go…”

“Miss, it’s the right thing to do,” he insists.

“Really, it’s okay,” you assure him, “I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“Me too,” he agrees. 

You tilt your head and push a shoulder up, “well, have a good one.”

You turn to cross the road, looking both ways. As you step down from the curb, the man does the same. Why can’t you remember his name? You swear you ran into him before. Down at The Horn with… him.

He walks parallel to you as you cross the street. You stop and look at him, confused.

“Just seeing you across, miss.”

“Uh, thanks, that’s very nice but you don’t have to do that,” you chuckle nervously.

“I know. Just what I’m trained to do.”

You remember, he’s a soldier. Yeah, Thor mentioned that. Just thinking his name stings.

“Right, well, thanks, I appreciate that,” you put your hand on your stomach and haul the bag higher, turning toward the pharmacy just a shop down.

You hear him follow you again. It makes you nervous. Is he going to the pharmacy? It could be a coincidence, it’s a small town. Still, it’s very odd.

You go to the door just past the store entrance and take out your key. He comes right up and watches you, looming strangely at your shoulder. You hold onto your key and face him.

“You’re pregnant,” he says as if you don’t know.

“Uh, yeah,” you nearly laugh, “I am.”

“Shouldn’t be carrying all that,” he says.

“Just bread,” you answer.

“That father should be getting you bread,” he argues.

You’re put off by his demeanour. He speaks as if he’s giving orders to the world around him. You guess that’s just his nature.

“He won’t be doing that,” you shake your head. “I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t remember me,” he adds, “I remember you. You were dancing and drinking.” He looks again at your stomach. You put your hand over it defensively.

“I wasn’t like this then.”

“You weren’t,” he frowns then points to your finger, “no ring?”

This is awkward. Where everyone else in Hammer Ford is happy to whisper behind their hands, he’s interrogating you in the street. You shake your head and look down.

“Must not be a real man who did that,” he comments, “I’m Sy, just to remind you.”

“Sy,” you sniff, “right, I–”

He says your name first, “I remember.” He taps his temple, “I won’t forget.”

You swallow and the bag crinkles against your chest, “I’m… gonna go, uh, Sy, my feet hurt.”

“Be safe,” he commands.

“Thanks,” you utter awkwardly and stick your key in the slot. He stands staunchly as he is and as you pull the door open, he reaches to open it all the way and holds it, “got it.”

You keep the fragile smile on your lips and bow inside. He lets it close slowly and you pause to make sure he’s on the other side. You twist the lock into place and recoil. That was very weird.

[wosoragebaiter69]

late

barça femeni x teen!reader

request: here & here

A/N: i love everything about this request. (i did make lucy ona and keira a throuple for the memes)

also Asisat has left.. no more dedicated funny person in my stories 😔

TW: Panic Attack

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You’re late. You’re never late. That’s how you end up on the phone with Ona, stressed and out of your mind.

“I’m not sure Ona! All I know is that my period is late, and I am FREAKING out, so god help me and come over please.” You’re borderline screaming at the phone.

“Ok ok, please just calm down I’ll be there soon. When I get there you better have an explanation of why you think you might be pregnant, you are literally 17.” You can hear her disappointment.

“Yes I know, I know. Just get the tests please.” She says yes and promptly hangs up the phone as you go back to worrying.

- - - - -

All was going well for Ona, she bought two tests which were different brands and payed for them without getting recognised by any fans. She opts to not buy a bag, considering it’s 8pm at night. It’s not like she was going to run into anyone anyways, right?

Wrong, immediately as she walks out of the pharmacy, tests in hand she bumps into not only her captain. But 1 of her 2 girlfriends as well.

“Uhh, what is that?” Lucy says, looking down at the tests in her girlfriends hand.

“I, uhh.” The younger spaniard starts to freak out, not wanting to put you in a vulnerable position.

“Tell us.” Alexia says sternly, leaving no room for argument.

“Well, it’s not for me. It’s for… it’s for Y/N.” The older women look visibly shaken and shocked.

“Disculpe!”

“Qué?”

They speak at the same time.

“Ok, I’m about to go to her house. Lucy you can come with me and Ale you can come if you’d like.”

“I’ll leave the nena to you both, just update me ok?” Alexia is concerned, rightfully so. Ona and Lucy nod, before getting in the car and driving to your place.

- - - - -

You open the door, surprised to see not 1 but 2 visitors.

“Hola.” You say before allowing them access inside the apartment.

“Sorry, I uh might’ve ran into Lucy and Alexia and I had to tell them.” Ona blurts out, you don’t worry though as it would probably get out anyways.

“It’s fine… can I just have the tests now?” She nods slowly, passing them to you before running off to the bathroom.

When you’ve followed the instructions and done what’s needed, you walk out and place the two sticks on the table, flipping them upside down. Once again you begin to spiral.

“Oh god, what if it’s positive.” You mumble, pushing your knees to your chest.

“Hey, if it is positive we’ll do our best to support you, if it’s negative then there’s nothing to worry about. Might be a cyst or something. Take deep breaths for me ok?” Lucy’s reassuring voice leads you into a less panicked state, and you just hoped that time would fly by faster.

When the timer on Ona’s phone went off, you felt sick. You took deep breaths as Ona scratched your back slightly. You counted in your head to three and flipped both tests open to reveal one negative… and one positive. Oh fuck.

“Ona? Luce? Please. What do I do, I’m scared.” Tears stream down your face, your body starts to shake and Lucy immediately holds you tight against her.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok. It might be a false positive, youre going to be ok I promise.” She says as you’re crying, her words fall deaf in your ears as you can only sob harder. Now going into a full panic attack.

“Call Keira, I’ll message Alexia.” Ona nods and calls the other Englishwoman.

- - - - -

It’s around 5 minutes later, you feel like you’re going to pass out when there’s knocks on the door. You register something else happening and soon enough someone has their hands touching your knees and speaking.

The person takes your hand and puts it agaisnt something that’s beating and you try to get in sync with it.

Soon enough, you regain your senses and it’s Keira who’s pulled you back to reality. It seems she knows you’re back with the look she gives.

“Hey…” She whispers softly, wiping the tears out of your eyes. “Whatever happens, you have me, the team and we won’t judge you at all. Ok?” You nod.

It takes a few more minutes until you’re basically back to where you were. You look up at their curious gazes.

“You can ask questions if you want.” You answer the unspoken question.

“So you… you had sex.” You nod at Keira.

“With a guy?” Ona pipes up and you sigh nodding your head again.

“Ok, how about this. Give it another week and we’ll do another two tests, IF you haven’t got your period by then, sound good?” You half-smile and stare at the table.

“Do you want any of us to stay at all?” You shrug, not even sure what you want at the current moment. “Ok, Keira will stay with you and you’ll go to training in the morning. We updated Alexia and she’s worried. She agrees with us about the waiting and what we’ll do after today. She might want to speak to you tomorrow though.”

“Ok, thank you for everything Luce and you Ona.” You look at both of them, smiling gratefully. They pat you on the shoulder before walking out to presumably go home. Then Keira turns to you.

“I brought stuff over in case, don’t worry about lending clothes or anything like that.”

“Ok… could you maybe sleep- like in the bed with me?” You ask, slightly embarrassed.

“Not at all come on, you need the rest.” She leads you to your room and you immediately crash fast asleep against the pillow.

- - - - -

The next morning when you wake up, you know something has changed. There’s a light ache in your abdomen and your muscles are slightly sore. Keira is peacefully lying beside you and you’re happy that she stuck to her word and stayed.

You lazily make your way to the bathroom to use the toilet when you feel as if God has blessed you. low and behold that positive from the previous night was a false one.

You feel immediately at ease and get done what needs to be done in the morning.

“Keira!” You greet happily, she smiles slightly confused. Considering it’s such a dramatic change from last night.

“What’s up?” She asks.

“I finally got it.” It takes a second for her to register what you meant by that but when she does she’s also happy.

“Well, that’s great. Come on, eat this muesli bar and we’ll get going, then you can tell the girls about it.” You nod and head off to training.

- - - - -

When you walk in the room where all the girls are, the ones who knew look at you in surprise of the look of joy on your face.

“Why so happy cariño?” Ale asks.

“Well it seems like someone has blessed me because this morning I got what I’d been hoping for. My period.” You say dramatically and she smiles.

“YAYY THE BEBE ISN’T PREGNANT!” Mapi’s loud voice shouts as you look down, cheeks turning red.

“Welcome to womanhood elskling.” Ingrid pulls you in and presses a kiss against your temple.

—————————————————————————

i fangirled so hard today on the woso writers discord

[heartsforvin]

hi bae! I was wondering if you could write a fic about the reader having like heart problems and vinnie is always looking out for the reader if that makes any sense<3

TAKING CARE OF YOU

i loveee this because i actually have heart problems (more of a condition) and i think ab this a lot🥲 i hope you like this, thank you for the request !! also i hope you don’t mind i added a tinge of angst, just a lil small argument, but overall it’s fluffy !

+ i hope you don’t mind me implicating my own heart problems into this, it’s really the only cardiovascular thing i know most about 🥲

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: cussing?? , small argument, use of pet names, use of medication, vinnie just being the best bf , fluff

summary: after knowing about your heart problems, vinnie is by your side night and day to make sure you’re okay

you and vinnie had been together about a month when you finally told him the news about your heart. once you did, he asked you why you didn’t say anything sooner, why you didn’t tell him when you first met, but you told him you just needed time.

he understood, after the two of you had a tiny argument, it was mainly vinnie asking you over and over why you didn’t say anything sooner.

it was really no big deal, and you told that to vinnie, but he seemed to think it was. you loved that side of him of course, because it honestly was serious, but it didn’t effect your everyday life like other things.

you mentioned to him that you couldn’t do certain things like riding on the big roller coaster rides, skydive, or anything that could put your heart at risk really.

he didn’t mind that you had to sit out on some things, that just meant you two had to find something else to do if you wanted to go to an amusement park.

today, you and vinnie had one of your yearly cardiologist appointments. when you were younger it was more than once a year, but over time your heart got better and the doctors only needed to see you yearly.

“you got everything, baby?” vinnie asks as you grab your purse.

you nod as he grabs your hand in his and the two of you walk out of the apartment and to the elevator.

on your way to the doctors, vinnie’s hand finds its home on your thigh as you place your hand on his with a smile.

“think we’ll get good news today?” he asks, glancing at you for a minute before putting his eyes back on the road.

you look at him with a smile. “that’s all it has been for awhile, no signs of anything major yet,” you breathe out. “i think it’ll be good.”

vinnie returns your smile and takes your hand to squeeze it reassuringly, letting you know no matter what, everything will be okay.

⋆.ೃ࿔*

after your appointment vinnie had decided to treat you to ice cream, which you of course said yes to. once you two got your ice cream you decided to sit outside on a picnic table since the weather was nice.

“i think that went well.” vinnie said after a moment of silence.

you nodded as you put a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth. “besides the fact that they gave me medication to take.” you tell him.

the doctor had prescribed some sort of medication to help your heart, you didn’t think it was very necessary since your heart is already in almost perfect condition.

vinnie sighed, he had a feeling you’d bring this up when the two of you were alone. “you know it’s just helping you.” he reassures.

you glare at him, not muttering a word as you finish your ice cream. you knew he was right, but you felt like it wasn’t necessary at all. 

finishing up your ice cream, the two sat in silence there and on the ride back to the apartment. you were grateful for vinnie looking out for you and helping you out, but sometimes you wish he’d back off a bit.

once back at the apartment, you drop your things on the counter and take your shoes off before going to the couch to cuddle with hera.

on your way home the two of you had stopped at the pharmacy to get your medication.

once vinnie had put his things down he opened up the bag your medicine was in and read off the label.

“baby it says you have to take it once daily after breakfast.” vinnie informed, walking over to you and sitting on the couch.

you looked at him and nodded as you continued to cuddle hera. “i’ll start it tomorrow.” you told him.

.ೃ࿔*

tomorrow came and here you were arguing with vinnie about some silly medicine.

you didn’t think you’d be arguing with him about this fire thing in the morning, but here you were.

“sweetheart just take it, it’s one pill and once a day, no big deal.” vinnie said, trying to get you to take your medicine.

he stood over you as you laid on your side of the bed, still trying to get up for the day. vinnie had made you breakfast and put out a glass of orange juice and your medicine.

“i told you i don’t need it, it’s stupid.” you argued back.

vinnie rolled his eyes. he wasn’t going to force you to do anything, so he just left you how you were and waited.

hours passed and you did eventually take your medicine. you sat on the couch with vinnie as hera came up to sit on your lap.

“feelin’ okay?” vinnie asks as he runs his fingers through your hair.

you nod. “yeah, i’m sorry for yelling at you this morning.” you apologize.

vinnie kisses the side of your head and gives you a smile. “it’s okay. i’m just trying to help you out, i hope you know that.”

vinnie’s words almost make you tear up. he’s been helping you and taking care of you ever since you told him, and you can’t thank him enough.

“i know,” you sigh. “i just..i took these years ago and they made no difference, so i don’t know why i’m on them again.” you explain.

vinnie hums as he continues to run his fingers through your hair. “i couldn’t give you an answer for that, baby,” he tells you. “take them for a bit and update the doctor how you’re doing and then they’ll tell us if you still need them or not, okay?”

you nod with a smile as you lean in to hug him. vinnie hugs you tight, kissing your head as you stay like that for a minute.

“are you feelin’ okay though, like really? no chest pain or anything? ‘cause i know you do get those little pains here and there.” he asks as he pulls away from you.

laughing slightly you nod. “i’m fine vin, swear. i’d tell you if i’m not feeling good or in pain, you know that.”

he holds you in his arms and kisses your head. “i know, i know. you know i just like taking care of you, that’s what i’m here for.”

you hug him and kiss his head like he did to you moments ago. “i know baby, and thank you for taking care of me. i love you.”

cupping your face, you both smile at each other before vinnie leans in to softly kiss you.

“of course sweetheart,” he breathes, out. “it’s what i’m here for, i’ll always be here for you no matter what. i love you.”

the two stay like that for awhile — in each others arms with hera right beside you. you’re glad you have vinnie here with you, to love you and take care of you so you’re not doing any of this alone.

you couldn’t ask for anyone else, all you wanted was him. your boy.

heyyy 😜😜 i hope you all liked this and thank you again for the request !!!

taglist: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @42angelgirl , @bernelflo , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @sturnioloshacker , @slvthrs , @visualbutterflysworld , @khackerr , @leqonsluv3r , @khxna , @supabhad , @kriissy4gov , @kayleighh , @laylasbunbunny , @defnotayonna , @violet0182 , @hallecarey1 , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @eddieslut69 , @miilzzy , @skye-44 , @jpg3

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Charcuterie

Part 1 | AO3 | *This is a story told in scenes and can be read in any order though is listed in chronological order on the masterlist.

<I know you still have it. Can you take the credit card and buy a bunch of cheeses, meats, fruits, and pick up some of those fancy ice cube trays you’ve been eyeing?

The message from Simon had you fighting back the urge to rip him a new asshole. You know he isn’t trying to be rude. The guys were due home after six weeks gone and Simon needed a few days to acclimate to the fact you were not one of the soldiers and would bitch him out if he tried to treat you as such. It didn’t help that your period was kicking you down every step it could find and then dragging you into the octagon by your hair to go ten rounds.

>Incorrect. I snapped that fucker in half because it made me nauseous to have a black card in my wallet when I couldn’t afford to fill my tank.

Ten minutes pass before your phone dings with the message tone.

<You snapped a metal card in half?

>Yes. I was very determined.

You can feel the nose pinching from wherever Simon might be right now. He only did that move when exasperated. You watched John pull the same move about any number of minor annoyances.

John’s face appears on your phone for a video call within three breaths. Of course, they were talking about you.

Rolling your eyes and praying your eye doesn’t start twitching you answer the call. John is sporting a new bruise on his cheek and a split lip. You know better than to comment on it since the guys will let you look them all over when you get home.

“Hi, love. Can you do me a favor?”

Your tongue slides over your teeth behind your lip, the syrupy sweetness of his voice makes you want to reach through the phone and strangle him. Fuckers must not have deleted the period tracking app from Johnny’s phone like you demanded they did.

“What?” You ask brusquely.

“In my bedside drawer is a plain envelope with your name on it, inside is your copy of the card to the house fund. Can you take that and go buy whatever Simon already texted you and a snack for yourself?”

You can hear Johnny in the background asking to say hi and then getting promptly dragged away. From what you can see around John they are on a military base somewhere, the nondescript buildings in light beige and gray giving it away.

“Which bedside drawer John? All of your drawers can be reached from your bed.”

He had two and every time you visited his room to spend time with him or to simply sniff his pillows because you missed him you noticed the two nightstands and the massive dresser next to the bed.

Gary’s bark of a laugh reached you as John focused off-screen to glare at him.

John’s face softens when he turns back to look at you.

“The nightstand closest to the door, please.”

“Why have you been keeping a card for the house account from me? None of you let me pay anything into it.”

You weren’t bitter about that argument still. You weren’t.

He lets out a slow breath as he decides you won’t pick this fight back up now.

“I wasn’t keeping it from you. It only arrived before we left on this last job and I haven’t had a chance till now to tell you about it. But from what you did to the card from Simon it seems like a good thing I haven’t given it to you yet.” He looks at you with one brow cocked under his hat.

“Keep it up John and I will shrink all your hats one by one.”

The smile that broke across his face at your threat warmed you from the inside out.

“We love you, and we will be home by six. Be sure to stop by the pharmacy and get some painkillers for your cramps.”

With that, he ended the call.

“Fucker,” you mutter angrily to yourself as you stomp across the house and into John’s room. “Telling me what to do from across the country so I don’t bite him. Yes, I need pain meds and yes we are out. No excuse hang up the call instead of letting me yell at him like a man.”

Your angry tirade continued as you slid on your shoes and drove first to the pharmacy and then to the store. You bought two energy drinks to ensure you could survive until your guys got home and then spent an hour looking at cheese. Okay, more like an hour talking to the cheesemonger before getting yourself a couple of slices of Swiss and turkey to go along with the fancy cheeses you bought for the guys. The ice trays you did not need to buy this trip since you had already bought some two weeks ago to make your at-home drinks more fun.

At 5:30 the cheese tray sat ready, the ice had fully frozen, and all of the guy’s preferred alcohol had been pulled from the liquor cabinet. Cracking open your energy drink you transferred it into a new glass and sat down to wait for them. They would be early. John seemed to forget that when they were all motivated to get home they moved faster. Fifteen minutes earlier than John’s prediction and they rolled in the door. You rose to meet them, flurries of kisses and hugs as they all dispersed to their rooms to change and come back to the kitchen for food.

Gary came back first, wrapping himself around you like if he squeezed just right he could absorb you. You smiled and leaned into the love, having missed them tremendously while they were gone.

“You come back whole?”

He hums in confirmation and then is peeled off of you as Kyle replaces him in your embrace. Gary doesn’t fight it; instead, he grabs a plate and piles it high with the many options you grabbed beyond cheese and meat. This process is repeated until all of your men have been grounded in your presence and gorge themselves on food.

Finally able to move freely again you grab your own plate from the fridge and sit down at the table with them.

Johnny pokes at your plate.

“What’s this now?”

“I didn’t want fancy cheese so I bought some normal cheese,” you shrug as layer a cracker, cheese, and a bit of your turkey to pop into your mouth.

His hand sneaks forward to try and steal one for himself but you smack the back of his fingers before he can touch your plate. With one hand over your mouth, brows pulled together in frustration, and an angry finger pointed his way, Johnny gets the point.

Swallowing hard to clear your mouth you address him.

“If you don’t want fancy cheese next time don’t let Simon be in charge of texting me. You know he always wants the good stuff,” you finish your sentence with a sip from your glass. “Now if no one else needs me I am going to go curl up and die.”

Kyle opens his mouth to add something but you speak over his objections.

“I will lay down in John’s bed so everyone can fit in for a cuddle.”

John and Simon share a smile before looking back at you.

Your loves were home, and with them came the constant evolving chaos that was the home you shared.

Masterlist | Fallen Angel Masterlist

@lilynotdilly

[thestarfishinjootsoffice]

Hii, I have a lil request for slasher & child!reader. It’s a little bit personal, sorry haha.

Do you think you could write something with a child reader who has anemia? It’s sometimes literally just called “lack of blood,” so you can get an idea of how crappy it is to have.

It makes it really hard to breathe and makes my heart beat abnormally faster compared to people who don’t have it, and lots of chest pain. It also causes extreme cases of fatigue and headaches, and I have fainted because of it before.

I feel like having anemia would be a big struggle for slashers, (what with having to constantly run, lift thing, being real active) so they’d def feel upset that their kid has it.

There’s a lot more stuff, but you get the idea. Sorry if this one’s a bit more personal

No, no. It's perfectly fine. I hope you're doing well, I'm sorry if I made the condition sound worse than it is. Apologies for my ignorance.

And take care of yourself, anon. 🏹❤‍🔥

Cw:

Relation: platonic.

Slashers in this: Michael, Jason, thomas, bubba (sorry I couldn't write for billy & stu and sinclair twins)

Slashers x anemic! child! reader

Michael

It didn't bother him that much, but it did worry him. He didn't particularly have to worry about running... Well you running because he'd prefer you stay at your parents' house when he does murder but if you don't have any.... Well, he would rather carry you to safety if you're having trouble anyways. He'll survive. With Michael, there's always a home but never a home to stay at though.

he doesn't like standing and observing you whenever he notices you're having trouble breathing and when you clutch your chest in pain. He doesn't know what to do and he wishes he does.

Do you need.. What were those things again? Inhalers? He witnessed a few people use it when their breathing was erratic and rough so he wonders if you need it too. But for now he'll rub your back and hope it helps to support you emotionally that you're not alone and he's here. Whatever you need him to get, tell him and he'll try his best. Supplements? Give him an hour. I think he knows a pharmacy somewhere that he can break into. And don't even try to refuse them, he won't have it.

Since you're a child he worries this might be too hard for you – and he hopes it won't be the end of the world for your life anytime soon.

You're tired? That's fine, sleep on the couch or floor. Anywhere, he doesn't care. Just not on him. (You can convince him if you try hard enough.) He doesn't care if you nap 3 times a day, sleeping is good for you and helps you grow. Or so he heard. He doesn't even sleep that much anyways – your deadly father figure Michael approves. What he doesn't approve of are the headaches you get, the more painful they seem the more frustrated he gets. God dammit, why is your life so difficult? Where are the painkillers again?

Okay so the real panic sets in the first time you passed out in front of him. Fuck, did you die?

He's shaking your body slightly and pressing his ear up your chest, letting out a silent sigh when he hears your faint heartbeat. He gently lifts your body and places it on the couch – he sits beside you, watching you over like a hawk. Michael can't believe it. Never in his life had he thought he'd look after and stress for someone this hard - especially not a child. You must be absolutely insane if you think he's the type to care for one and yet here he is, listening carefully for your breath to hitch and your eyelids to be open.

He sighs, why can't he just murder peacefully? He's questioning everything. But he'll get used to it eventually. Sometimes he acts like you're a burden on his shoulders and a source of meaningless grey hairs but that's not exactly how he feels. It's.. Different.

But never hesitate to trouble him, not even when he comes back after 2 all nighters.

Jason

He is always so scared that one day your body might give up and die. The thing he stresses really hard about is that he can't give you the supplements and things you need. He's in the middle of buttfuck nowhere in the woods but he does know where the end of the woods are and he's kind of willing to step into civilization if it gets really bad, he really doesn't want to see his kid in pain and do nothing about it. He's not going to Manhattan again though. Always extra painstaking when he takes care of you and makes sure you don't need to use your body as much.

Anytime someone enters the camp he's immediately shoving you somewhere safe and deals with whoever trespassed himself. Although he's in immense discomfort when you have your headaches and difficulty in breathing. He's begging for his mom for help in his mind what he can do to ease whatever pain you're growing through.

Although Jason doesn't need to eat, he knows you do. So he searches for fish in nearby lakes (if there are even any) and he gets nuts, whatever is rich in iron. He'll get em for you.

Secretly hopes that people do trespass into camp crystal Lake. Those who happen to carry iron vitamins and supplements that is. He feels extremely relieved after going through the bags of one of the victims he's beheaded and finding a bottle, happily handing it to you and if you don't want to consume it he's very gently shoving it down your throat. Nope, you're going to eat this and that's final. Mama pam says so.

Sighs and lays you down when your chest starts hurting and stays by your side. Why do you have to go through so much? He thinks as he rubs your hair and waits for it to go away so you both can carry on whatever you were doing. Because of this, he doesn't allow you to lift the wood that he's chopped. If you insist it's either he stays stubborn or he allows you to carry the thin ones one at a time. You don't have to help him, and while he appreciates the thought. He would rather you stay inside and be safe.

Unfortunately for him, he doesn't catch on that this act of overprotectiveness and treating you as if you were made of bubble might upset you. Tilting his head to the side slightly as he watches you sulk in the corner in both frustration and feeling of being heavily underestimated. He really doesn't mean any harm. A little confused but Jason's got the spirit.

Panicks really hard every time you faint, his mind always wanders to the worst possible case scenario and assumes you have died. Incredibly frustrated since he's technically dead and a lot of his senses don't work properly. He's losing his touch and things are getting a bit hard to hear. Ear pressed hard against your chest, hoping his eardrums will be met with the thrum of your heartbeat and his fingers checking for your pulse, waiting to feel the throb upon his skin.

Got used to you getting fatigued and actually encourages you to sleep. It's better than following him outside of the cabins and into the woods where you risk getting bear trapped. Strict, very strict.

Thomas

Thomas is already very grateful for his family but he's even more grateful for them right now cause he would have no idea what to do without them. It depends, whether you're blood related or illegally adopted he will get used to it eventually. This ain't the craziest the family has dealt with.

He brushes you off whenever you try to help him carry things, what if you get dizzy and get headaches again? No! He won't have it. He carries you in his arms and sits you down somewhere. You can sit on top of his shoulders if you'd like.

Gets especially anxious when there are people comin in. He knows you won't particularly be targeted nor would the family allow you to exert yourself, but if something goes wrong? You have to run, and then your breathing will get roughed and- he doesn't want to think about it. But it does stay on his mind a lot. He makes sure to reassure you however he can when Hoyt makes you feel like you're a hindrance to the family, he doesn't know what he's talking about, is what Thomas tries his best to tell you. 'He's just scared.' He thinks and pats your head.

Heard from mama mae that meat, dark green vegetables and nuts will help raise your iron. (Assuming that he has been somewhat educated on your condition.) And then from now he will pester you to consume those. You don't wanna eat the meat? Why not? But fine, eat your veggies and nuts then.

Iron supplements? What are those?

Your chances of getting them are pretty low, I'm not sure if there's a pharmacy or clinic nearby but fingers crossed Hoyt might get in that damn truck and drive to get them for you if he feels nice enough. Tommy's not allowed out into the public.

Frowns a little when he cuddles you in his lap for you to fall asleep and feels your hands are cold. Why are they so cold?, hell why are you so cold? It's not even winter yet. Oh but when winter does come he's smothering your body with lots of layers. Will add more layers if you fall sick. And no, that's not up for debate.

When you faint he'll first stare at your unconscious body in shock before picking you up and putting you down on the couch, he puts his hand in front of your nostrils and feels air hitting his fingers. With a relieved sigh he patiently waits for you to wake up. Not too alarmed.

It's a different story when you're in pain, his heart breaks a little when your chest hurts and your head aches. You want water? Give him a break, he's trying his best.

Bubba

Out of this list, he's the one to handle this the worst when one of your more serious side effects takes place. And it really doesn't help that his family kinda don't know what to do either. They can try to help but it probably won't work that much.

It's lowkey over for you.

It also depends. All he knows is that something is wrong with you; you get dizzy, your breathing gets all incorrect, your chest hurts and you (guessing because of the rougher environment) faint a few times too much to what he'd prefer. Absolutely clueless.

Although you do have more of a leverage if you have at least somewhat knowledge about your condition. (Reading books or you were adopted and knew it beforehand way back prior to when bubba killed your parents.) This way Bubba can learn and know what to expect, he's very much happy to learn about you and take care of you to the best of his abilities.

Quite sad actually that you can't properly take part in revving the chainsaw and chainsawing people. Though the times that you can are when the victim is tied down and helpless. It's up to you whether or not you want to partake in it, though you don't have much of a choice. The family's set on tradition and won't understand why if you don't want to; 'you WILL be killing people with this chainsaw! I'm sick of this phase of yours!' 'It's not a phase.'

Seeing you faint will almost send Bubba to tears, hell, maybe it did already. He's just shaking your body while whining and babbling incoherently. After the whole incident he'll rarely ever let you out of his sight, great, now he's dragging you everywhere.

There will be a lot of problems being in the Sawyer family. But at least you're still alive... Right?

[whisperingmidnights]

So, we’re all obsessing over the pregnancy tropes 😅 but I was wondering if you’d be interested in another feysand x reader secret pregnancy… but in the Sunday Morning universe? That storyline seems like children wouldn’t be in the picture, but I honestly don’t see Rhys and Feyre being unsupportive of reader ending up pregnant? Just some crazy angst/discussions

Children are definitely not in the cards for them at this point in time, but I'll write this anyway for fun. TW for vomiting, I guess.

Positive. Undeniably positive.

My stomach turns over at the stark black words on the test. Sliding the stick carefully back into the plastic packaging, I bury it at the bottom of the trash before I wash my shaking hands. We haven't talked about this, haven't even thought about it. I've been taking a contraceptive since I was a teenager, for godsake.

I don't know what to do or think or feel...so I don't. I bury it at the bottom of that trashcan alongside the test. Surely I have a few weeks to get my bearings before any real decision has to be made.

It isn't even a full week before the vomiting starts.

That's how Feyre finds me at three in the morning, with my head hanging over the toilet in the guest bathroom. Tears stream down my face as the muscles in my back seize in the aftermath of the violent retching I've been doing for what seems like hours, I'm in no state to try and make excuses when she ducks her head in.

"Oh, honey, are you okay?" Feyre coos, running the folded washcloth under cool water before she uses it to wipe at my flaming cheeks and forehead. "Do you think it was something you ate?"

At the mention of food, I shake my head miserably and give into the urge to heave again. I won't be able to hide this long enough to make up my mind one way or another. The damp cloth is laid across the back of my neck as Feyre rubs soothing circles between my shoulder blades.

I only sob harder when the door opens again. The room is almost too small for the three of us to fit in comfortably, but I feel him settle on the edge of the tub behind me. His hands are warm against my back as they rub the knotted muscles there.

"I can run to the pharmacy," Rhys says as Feyre wipes my mouth and chin. "Grab something for nausea and some ginger ale-"

"It won't help," I mutter miserably, turning to rest my back against the wall. Feyre's eyebrows draw together as she runs a hand over my hair. "I'm sorry."

"What could you possibly have to be sorry about?" she asks, speaking in that same low, soothing tone that makes me hate myself more for my dishonesty. Rhys, however, stares down at me with wide eyes, and I'm not entirely sure he's breathing anymore. Of course, he would pick up on it first.

"Because I'm pregnant," I confess. "I was going to tell you, I just...I wanted to have a plan or - or something, I don't know. But I don't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen. I swear I've been taking my pill-"

"It's okay," she whispers, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. My ear presses against her chest, and I can hear her heart beating against her ribs like a caged bird. "It will all be okay, sweetheart. We can handle this together, whatever you decide."

Rhys rests his hand against the back of my head, but I can't look at him. Not now, not yet. Feyre smells warm and soft, the pear scent of her perfume given way to the delicate, powdery smell of the lotion she favors. Thankfully, it's not enough to stir up my nausea any further.

"Why don't we talk about this in the morning?" Rhys suggests. "You both get comfortable, and I'll go find some ginger ale and crackers."

"You don't have to," I sniffle. "I don't expect you to take care of me-"

"But I want to. We want to."

"We love you," Feyre adds. "Whatever we decide to do moving forward, that won't change. I promise."

The reassurance feels like more than I deserve.

[covid-safer-hotties]

I’m aware the current CDC recommendations for isolation seem to be woefully inadequate, but im embarrassed to say… I don’t know why? Like, what evidence supports a quarantine period of 14 days, vs something else?

I’m studying up on viral shedding to try to see how long people remain contagious, but you are way more familiar with this material than me.

Viral shedding for covid is highly variable: People can be completely asymptomatic, presymptomatic, and varying levels and types of symptomatic. Asymptomatic people tend to shed less, but they're less likely to take precautions because of that, and they account for nearly half of total covid spread. Presymptomatic people add another 15-20% of spread, because they shed more as the infection grows into something symptomatic. The record for presymptomatic covid is about 8 days, but the average onset of symptoms tends to be 2 or 3 days after infection (and this varies from strain to strain). There's been some study into all of the kinds of spread, but not enough. What we do know is each variant has a different virulence: Some are easier and harder to spread in any type of case. The best we can say is that people are infectious on average 2 or 3 days before symptom onset and somewhere in the ballpark of 8 or 9 days after they feel them, and plenty of people have no clue they've been infected. It's why we need public masking, especially in critical areas like public transit and grocery/pharmacy/etc as well as test to exit policies for quarantine instead of a set number of days. Some people pass an infection very quickly, while in some extreme cases, others have been contagious for weeks or even months. It was either in Baltimore or Pittsburgh where wastewater technitians found a cryptic strain that one person was shedding from an active long-term infection for over a year. I think the person finally passed the infection earlier this year.

I guess what I'm saying is early on, two weeks was seen as enough time to quarantine a sick person to ensure they wouldn't spread the infection to others, but even that isn't enough in some cases. The policy we need is free testing so people can exit a quarantine after they've had a (or a couple) negative tests (Depending on the type of test) to assure they are no longer going to spread the virus to others. We also need a social safety net to care for these people while they stay out of contact with others, but our government would never do that. We can't even feed kids without charging them.

[comfortless]

to the anon who was talking about konig and the rule following intention thing: i love you. he seems cheeky like that. BUT i will also climb that big man and start strangling him if he entertained or led on the recruit.

idk, maybe its my rabies, but i would start whacking him grgrgrgrg. wrangle him till he acts right!!!!! (whatever that means)

i also love that anon! 🤭

Being instructed to “act right” for König is more or less the same as following any order at work. “Shoot that target.” is the very same as “Don’t glare at a stranger.” The differences between the König at home and the König on the field are subtle things. No bloodshed and rewards in the form of tenderness and orgasms instead. He’s less rigid, less focused, but still a soldier, the strangest one at that.

Everything is taken as directly as possible, because he’s not going to question any hidden meaning behind words. That’s silly. He always says just what he means, so shouldn’t everyone else?

There’s a lot he just doesn’t get, and your jealousy happens to be one of those things.

He would kill for you, lets you graze your fingertips over his favorite weapons, allows you to hold his face and even pretends that your staring doesn’t make his fingers twitch and sweat bead at his temples. König is loyal and so trusting with you… how dare you accuse him of worshipping some other woman in the same way? How could you even believe that?

Say you, his beloved, put together the pieces, realize that surely this woman is messaging your König during his leave for a reason. There’s an argument to be had, one that’s less of a screaming fit and more of a break down from both sides. You tell him through gritted teeth and tears that you know your intuition isn’t wrong: he’s done something, you just aren’t certain what that something is. There’s no outright accusation spoken, but his face immediately grows red and his eyes narrow.

It’s not that he even cares to question why you would think that way. He just wants to know where he’s failed. What is it that you need that he’s not already providing? He takes an awful picture of his cock each time he’s hard and away from you, even follows it up with one of the aftermath of thinking of you. No other woman makes him feel so starved.

He knows he isn’t very romantic; you would probably prefer actual dates instead of watching him train or following along like a cute accessory at the gym. But he brings you flowers, licks your cunt without hesitation, buys you feminine products and chocolate any time that you’re in need of them. Sure, each picnic date ends with your chest pressed against a sturdy tree or your thighs spread atop the patterned blanket, but the confessions hissed into your hair are true. It’s never just been sex, not to him. It’s love, and that’s one word he never seems to shy away from saying. He’s greedy, wouldn’t want something so simple, not after every moment you’ve spent together.

König might not get why you’re so into some new trend or show, but he listens when you talk about them. Or tries, at least. Really, he had no idea why you would bother explaining to him why you prefer a dress with wiry straps over something cozier when he arrives home, but he’s happy to just listen to your voice and shush you with kisses when he doesn’t know how else to respond.

You’re allowed access to his phone any time you like, even shows you his bank account to prove he hasn’t taken some lady a world away off on some expensive shopping trip or spent a curious amount at a pharmacy. In fact…. He’s barely spent anything while away, all of the transactions are from the last time he was on leave or at that cute little shop he had told you about and brought you home some shiny new gift from. There’s nothing suspicious to be found… except for those messages from the woman he tells you is just a recruit.

So… what if you’re just projecting?

To him, his own jealousy is righteous.

König almost looks scary when he’s upset, not that he would ever lay a hand on you. Maybe the coffee table will be in disarray, cleared entirely when the thought of you leaving proves to be far too much. His shirt suffers a few massive tears when he grips at his chest to show you just where you’re hurting him.

You may not have outright accused him, but König can’t hold his tongue when he asks you about this imaginary other man. Is he handsome? Does he buy you nice things? Does he make you come hard? How did you meet and just where does he live? Do you love him…?

König would try his utmost to hold back tears. He feels weak when he cries, and the last thing he wants is for you to view him as fragile. He’s supposed to protect you.

But it’s all gone in a flash. His entire being seems to relax when you explain to him that there is no other man. The unshed tears are wiped away, a heavy sigh leaves him when he rubs at his face. He feels like the worst idiot just stood there blinking in surprise while you’re still pissed, but at least that scenario proves to be untrue.

You just want to understand why he’s entertaining some other woman’s flirtations. Is that what telling some recruit she’s got sharp aim and allowing her to grasp at his arm and admire his muscles is..? He will admit that maybe he’s allowed her too much closeness, even if he never has and never will return her affections.

It baffles him entirely for a moment, slows his tongue enough to have a grin curl at his lips. It’s the most flattering thing in the entire world to think that you desire him so much that the thought of sharing makes you like this. The realization that maybe you’re just as territorial as he is is impossibly cute, makes him twice as obnoxious and overbearing when you’re pulled into his arms.

His voice takes an amused lilt when he asks you just what you want him to do about it. Cut her off? He’ll avoid her entirely if it appeases you. He doesn’t want to hurt a woman that isn’t an actual enemy, so killing her is certainly out of the question, but he can be scary if you would like that. She wouldn’t like him as much if she saw his face. He would remind you that only a silly thing like yourself could ever be keen on it. Your orders are absolute, so long as he still gets a treat in the end.