#and then hand sanitizer again once youre out. and maybe carry a small bottle of lotion with you if you take my advice on the hand sanitizer

[toytulini]

Good thing most public bathrooms have a sink and soap to wash your hands with after touching all the gross surfaces 👍 and if the sink and soap is too far from the gross surfaces idk. start carrying rubber gloves? hip holster mounted bottle of hand sanitizer? im not being sarcastic here, fr, if thats what it takes to get you to stop clogging the public toilets? just make sure you dispose of the gloves appropriately in the trash as well. maybe use a small piece of toilet paper like a napkin to hold the lid. genuine for real suggestions.

There is someone disagreeing with my post about the sanitary bags/bins because its such a large bag for such a small item and it seems like a waste.

The temptation to show them one of my pads is strong.

[palbabor-writes]

Quarter-Century

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mild heavy petting, but this is pretty tame, oh & lots of fluff, likely enough to kill someone, so watch out for that, k?

What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do.

Words: 3754

Notes: if i call this a drabble are y’all gonna get mad at me? 

Quarter-Century quar·ter-cen·tu·ry /ˈkwôrdər/ - /ˈsen(t)SH(ə)rē/ noun  a period of 25 years

Twenty-five.  

It’s always spoken about like it’s some kind of milestone. Eh, it’s just another year, Kiyoomi thinks, tugging his sweaty shirt off of his back and walking toward the MSBY team dressing room, there’s nothing special about it. 

He’d woken up at 5:25, taken his first shower, kissed your sleeping form absentmindedly on the cheek before he left the bedroom, and jogged the three miles to the training facility.

He’d worked on his digs, on his jump float, and looked over the drills. The team had two practice games and had huddled up for the review at the end, the same as always. As Kiyoomi made his way out of the locker room Atsumu and Bokuto had both clapped him on the back, joking about the fleeting joys of ‘youth,’ and congratulating him on his performance on the court before they all went their separate ways, each gliding along their own trajectory. 

No, there’s nothing special about birthdays.

You’re not back from work when he gets home, so Kiyoomi pads around the empty apartment, flitting from room to room, disjointedly flipping on lights and switching them back off seconds later. It’s like he can’t make up his mind. Should he take a nap? He could sleep off these uncharacteristic and frustrating jitters that keep coursing through him. No, he reconsiders naps just make him groggy and irritable. What else?

He’s showered twice today, there’s no need for another, and it looks like you’d cleaned up the living room and kitchen before you’d left for the day, so there’s nothing for him to clean either. Ugh, what’s with this restlessness? 

There are old matches that he can watch, already primed and loaded onto his laptop, but it’s charging in the bedroom, likely tucked under some of your leaflets and various heapings of paperwork. It’d be a pain to move everything.

Eh, he could start a puzzle, maybe flip through some channels, see what’s on TV, and there’s that book that you’d told him he should check out, he’s weeks behind on starting that, but it’s in the bedroom too, and–

Damn it. It feels like he’s stuck in some kind of loop.

He flops down on the couch, tipping his dark head back, obsidian curls fanning around his forehead as he stares up at the ceiling. What’s with him today? It’s just another day. After all, birthdays don’t matter when you’re this old, right? It’s not like he’s a kid. He doesn’t need a party, doesn’t really want one either. Besides, you’ve likely got something planned, you always do. He smiles at that thought, running his hands through his hair and letting out a deep exhale. It’ll be alright, he reasons, you’ll get back and he’ll shake himself out of this funk, and then maybe he can–

The sudden scrape of the lock turning makes him jump, and he pops his head up just as you step through the door, a smattering of canvas bags tucked under your coiled hands. You spot him as you tap the door closed, a broad grin lighting up your face. “Hey there!” you call out, stepping toward the kitchen to deposit your purchases. “Did you just get home? Practice go okay?” 

“It went well,” Kiyoomi replies, hunching forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That reminds me, the next match is this weekend, you still planning on going?”

“Yeah!” you confirm, tucking a few things into the fridge before you pace over to his seated figure. “It’s right before the playoffs start, so it’ll likely be one of the last ones I can get a good seat to. Once you guys get in those end of season bouts it gets...Hey, you sure you’re alright? You look a little, I don’t know, downcast?” You kneel in front of him, your hands reaching, stroking gently over his hair and down his jaw. 

“I’m fine. Feel a little...off...is all. Happens.”

“Off?” you question, bright eyes finally catching his onyx. “Well, we can’t have that. Not today!”

“Hmph, it’s just a Saturday,” Kiyoomi huffs, catching your wrists and lowering your hands from his face. 

“Yes,” you continue, watching as he distractedly toys with your hands, trailing his thumbs over your fingers and flipping your palms this way and that within his hold. “It’s also a Saturday where I’ve played the role of good– no great, girlfriend and got us some tickets! Surprise!”

“Tickets?” he echoes, his head cocking to the side as he lifts his gaze back to yours. “To what? If it’s some kinda concert, not to be an ass, but I don’t really want to go to a–”

“Really?” you deadpan, arching an eyebrow at his morose expression. “You think, after two years of dating, that I’d take you to a concert? You? Kiyoomi Sakusa, the man who is pretty much allergic to crowds, who completely dipped out of a shoe store once because there were five people in the ‘athletic wear’ section, who abhors the mere thought of tight spaces and groups of twenty or more, thought that I, his loving partner, decided to put some some color into his living nightmares, and on his birthday no less, by bringing him to a concert?”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue and exhales a tight laugh. “When you put it that way, no. But on the off chance that you did, and you’re trying to bluff your way out of the situation by over elaborating your reasons for not bringing me, well…I’m gonna have to decline the gift.”

You narrow your eyes at his impassive face and purse your lips. “And to think, I was gonna come over here and give you a kiss and everything.” 

“You’ll still give me one,” Kiyoomi smarts, a coquettish smirk lifting his lips when you openly scoff at him. “So, out with it, what are the tickets to?”

“Oh? Now you wanna know? Suddenly you’re curious. Well you can hold on to that buddy, cuz’ I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Why should I?”

“It’s my birthday,” he intones simply, broad palms already sliding up your arms, pulling you closer. You smell nice, Kiyoomi thinks, lips barely missing your own as you twist playfully away from him.

“Pfft, what happened to ‘it’s just a Saturday?’” you tease, following his insistent tugs, one knee pressing down into the cushions of the couch as you lower yourself over his lap. 

“Changed my mind,” Kiyoomi states, finally catching you and caressing his lips sinfully against yours. “I’m allowed to do that,” he continues, sucking a rasp from you as he drags his sharp teeth across the plush swell of your lower lip. “Mmm, you might have gotten a little distracted, so let me repeat my question: what are the tickets to?” 

He is genuinely interested; he wants to know what you’ve planned for the two of you, but his hands have already started that downward journey, long digits stroking over the curves that flow down your side, cupping and pulling just the way you like. Your knees lift when he buries his fingertips into the flesh of your upper thighs and you sigh, breath warm against his flushed cheeks. 

Actually, this is fine. After all, he’s good at this. He’s had plenty of time to learn you, to practice, and he loves that he knows just what to do to make you quake between his heated palms. But when he jerks you closer, your lips slip from his and you’re careful to brace yourself away, momentarily safe from his distracting caresses. 

“Baseball,” you pant, hands resting over the hard plane of his pectorals.

“Huh?” he queries, heavy brows furrowing, wholly distracted by the rise and fall of your uneven breaths and the gentle twitch of your spread legs against his hips. 

“A baseball game. I got us tickets to a baseball game.”

“It’s smaller than what I was picturing,” Kiyoomi says, adjusting the placement of his mask before looking down at you. “And what are you gonna do with that bag? Can you even take that in here?”

You laugh at his question, hoisting the thick strap of your insulated pack higher on your shoulder. “It’s the Yomiuri Giants, they’re part of the minor league so it’s a smaller stadium and don’t worry, they let you bring coolers and snacks in.”

“Eh? Snacks? Don’t they have concessions? Seems counter-productive if they let you bring your own food. How are they supposed to make money? Atsumu said that half of our vendors make a good deal of their revenue from their booths during the playoffs and the regular season. So I don’t see how that’s practical. What do you have in there, anyway? It looks heavy. Oh. Did you want me to carry it?”

“I’m not sure which one of those I should answer first,” you grin, dodging his extended hand and stepping forward. “Come on, I think we can head in now.”

The seats are located in the shade of the upper deck, right behind the third base, giving you both a perfect bird's-eye view of the action that will take place down on the field below. True to your word, the ticket inspectors had let you and your pack pass through without a word of protest, and as he flipped down his plastic seat, you carefully tucked the thick canvas between the two of you. 

“What’s in it?” he asked again, peering over your shoulder as you unzipped the long teeth and reached into the dark depths, hands searching for something. 

“You’ll see,” you promise, leaning back once you found your prize, a small bottle of hand sanitizer. You pop the lid up and nod for his palms, carefully pressing some of the clear antiseptic onto his hands. “Game should start soon,” you inform, repeating the cleaning process yourself before closing the top and tossing the bottle back into the bag. “And I wanna make sure you’re set before I head down to the concession stands.”

“So it’s food,” he determines, slipping his mask off of his face, tucking it under his chin, an appreciative smile winding its way up his lips. 

“Of course it is! You think I’d leave you to languish for 9 innings while I sit beside you, gorging myself on the delicious food they sell at the concessions, which you refuse to eat? Alas, not even I am that cruel. Nah, I brought something that I hope you’ll like.”

“I’ll like it,” Kiyoomi replies, resting his muscled shoulder against yours, watching as you arrange a few clear sets of Tupperware in your hands, lifting them evenly out of the bag. 

“Careful,” you jab, tossing him a mischievous grin. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It’s from you; I’ll like it.”

Your hands still after his declaration and you twist your head back to him, eyes wide, searching his placid expression. “Okay,” you laugh, setting the Tupperware aside, fully turning to him and wrapping an arm around his neck, your other hand cupping his cheek, pulling him down to your seeking lips. “That was too much. There some sort of class you stoic types take? How to make others swoon in five lessons, or less?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, prying your hands from him. “It’s true. No need to make a big deal about it. You put a lot of effort into today, and I...I just think that...I mean...thanks,” he finishes lamely, dark eyes balefully avoiding yours. You chuckle again and reward him with another peck to his cheek.  

“So cute.”

“Stop it,” he grumbles, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “Weren’t you gonna show me something? Better hurry. After all, there’s still time for me to mess it up.”

“What does that mean?” you puzzle, pulling away.

“I dunno. I always say the wrong shit. You know that.”

“Well,” you ponder, tapping a finger against your chin. “We’re at a baseball game, so, in the spirit of the sport, why don’t I give you three strikes?”

“Just three? I mean, wow, that’s so generous of you.”

You flash him a quick glare, tutting your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Oooh, swing and a miss. Strike one!”

He’s just about to give you some retort when you press two of the containers into his hands. The heat of the plastic feels nice against his calloused palms, and he can see the fresh steam that surrounds the food that’s waiting inside. “Onigiri?” he questions, popping the lid, mouth watering at the sight of all of that pristine rice. Damn, when did you have time to make these?

“Homemade onigiri with pickled plums,” you inform him, a gleeful smile lighting up your face, pleased that he’s already reaching for one, a look of genuine happiness falling over his usually impassive expression.

“You remembered,” he murmurs, picking up the carefully shaped ball and lifting it to his lips. He bites into the fluffy rice, fastidiously letting the flavors fall over his tongue and across his pallet. It’s perfect, he thinks as he chews, just the right amount of pickled savoriness and clean, delicate grains. Damn, when did you do all of this?

You let him finish the first onigiri before you pass him a can of beer. It’s chilled, likely sitting toward the bottom of the bag, and he flicks a stray chip of ice off of the rim. A sealed can of beer, a carefully packed meal. Is there anything you haven’t thought of?

He’s just about to turn, to tell you that...well, he’s not sure what exactly. Maybe it is something about how lucky he is. How he’s somehow stumbled into something so sublime, so wonderful, as you, and how he should tell you that more, when you stand. 

“I’m going to hop down to the food stands. Inning should open up any minute. I’m glad this is an off season game, we’ve pretty much got this whole deck to ourselves! Be right back, ‘kay?”

He nods, eyes lingering on your hands, your smile, your eyes, just everything that he can see that’s you, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t. What’s he gonna say? Don’t go? Stay here. He’ll go down. 

He’ll do whatever you want; anything for you, anything.

You tilt your head at his stony, almost stricken expression, but you don’t comment on it, content with tucking one of his stray curls behind his ear before you spring up the steps, stepping away from his overwhelmed and utterly entranced form. 

Damn. 

He’s scrolling through his phone when the 1st inning ends, thumb whisking over the lists of required paperwork, the $50 dollar notarial fee, the Kon-in Todoke, mentally counting up the required signatures, the necessary witnesses. This is crazy, he thinks, skimming over the U.S. Embassy & Consulate regulations on the ‘Affidavit of Competency to Marry’ in Japan, he hasn’t even talked with you about this, but he’s honestly never felt more sure of anything in his life.

Right as he flips to a secondary tab, one that holds a few jewelry stores and ideas about ‘how to pop the question,’ he catches sight of you. You slide down the row of empty seats, your hands filled with various snacks and a tall glass of foaming beer. 

“Sorry! Wasn’t expecting to take that long, I completely missed the 1st inning! Good thing no one scored. Hopefully things will liven up with the 2nd and 3rd innings.” You settle in beside him, setting your beer against the cold concrete before jostling your popcorn and hot dog to your opposite hand, eyes peering over the brightly lit field. 

Kiyoomi bites back his grin and switches his phone off, obscuring the glittering pixels of diamonds and his future plans from view and tucks his device into his jacket pocket. You turn to look at him, your eyes narrowing and brow arching at his poorly controlled attempts to hide his giddiness. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he replies, slinging a long arm around your shoulders, tugging you close and planting a quick kiss against your temple.

“Liar,” you accuse, leaning back, eyes following the sharp angles of his handsome face.

“What made you pick baseball? You feeling homesick or something?”

“Hmph, no! I just...hmm, how to put this. I figured it’d be nice to take you to a game that’s not volleyball. One that we can just watch. There’s no need to worry about analyzing anyone’s performance, or your own here…you can just relax.”

Kiyoomi cocks his head at you, a few errant curls falling over his brow. “Do I do that when we go to a volleyball game?”

You nearly choke on your beer. “Mmm...koff...do you do that? Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, obsidian eyes watching you closely. Wait, is he a pain to go to a game with?

“Kiyoomi?”

“Hmm.”

“I wasn’t about to take you to a volleyball game for your birthday. That’d be like you taking me back to the office and asking me to celebrate with you in the staff break room. I mean, I know you love the sport, but it’s your job. It’s what you do all day. Besides, the last time we went to a match I don’t think you said more than five words to me and you were constantly writing down the plays on your phone. I–Oh! That’s not a bad thing, not at all! It makes sense,” you amend, catching sight of his abruptly ashen expression. 

“It’s just...you’re good...no good doesn’t cut it...you’re amazing at what you do. You’ve got that hunger that all the sports documentaries I’ve ever watched talk about and you’re constantly looking to improve. It’s impressive, really! But...I just thought this might be a change of pace. Something that we could both go to, could watch, with no additional stakes. Who cares who wins? I mean, I want the home team to, obviously, but we can leave here when it’s over and just take memories, not more worries or challenges. And definitely not any notes. Sorry, that prolly’ sounds so rude, but I really want you to relax today. You more than deserve it.”

“It’s perfect,” Kiyoomi confirms, finally leaning back against the strong plastic of his seat, pulling you closer, bringing his knee toward your thigh, pressing until he can feel the heat of you past the material of his jeans. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” you laugh. “It’s the least I could do. If you’re happy, then I’m happy! Oh! Speaking of, you gotta try this beer! It’s so good!”

He looks skeptically down at the plastic glass that’s still clutched between your fingers. “No. I’m not drinking out of that cup.”

“Kiyoomi,” you begin, fixing him with a hard stare. “You know we live together, right? If I pick anything up from this, then, and I hate to tell you this, but you’ll get it too, eventually.”

With a scoffed exhale and a curl of his lip he leans away from you, nose wrinkling distastefully at your threat.

“Come on,” you taunt, shaking the cup playfully in your hand, “You won’t regret it!”

“No.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun, you know that?”

“Never heard that before,” he laughs, coiling himself toward you, his arm around your back, squeezing you closer, holding on as tight as he can. 

It’s dark when the two of you get back home, but you won’t let him flip on the overhead lights, not yet. “Just wait, gimme a sec. There’s one more thing I wanna do...why don’t you go sit on the couch. I’ll turn on the lamp and be right back, promise.”

Obediently, he perches on the edge of the cushions and waits. 

He can hear you as you move around the kitchen, and he feels like he can still feel the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. Throughout the game, on the cab ride home, as he stood behind you in the darkened hallway, waiting for you to unlock the door, he’d kept his hands on you. It was like you were some kind of magnet and he couldn’t help but be tugged forward by your irresistible pull. 

“Hey! Close your eyes!” you call, feet soft against the wood as you pad back to him. He shakes his head at your request, a faint smile pulling at his lips, but he obliges you. How can he not? “No peeking,” you warn, and he it’s like he can almost feel you again as you come to stand in front of him once more. “Alright…I think that’s good. Now...open them!”

The space in front of him is bathed in a soft glow, with whisking yellows and gentle oranges dancing, flickering across your arms. The light from the candle illuminates your face, catching against your eyes and making them shine, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s breathing anymore. 

“I know it’s not much,” you justify, cupping your fingers around the delicate flame and lifting the cupcake toward him. “But I learned my lesson last year. Got you that huge cake and the leftovers languished in the fridge for almost a week. And you know what they say, less is more, right?”

Without thinking, his hands race forward, gripping your waist and pulling you closer. “Woah,” you exhale, a laugh bubbling from your lips. “Careful! I don’t wanna catch you on fire. Some birthday that would be. Come on, time’s a’wasting birthday boy, blow it out and make a wish!”

He’d lied earlier. 

When he’d thought that there was nothing special about birthdays. There is something special about this birthday and, for the first time, he knows just what he’s going to wish for. 

It’s easy to blow out the light. It’s a little harder to protect the cupcake from his downward tug, his hands insistent, firm, but somehow you safely tuck it behind you and twist back to him, fingers lacing into his onyx curls. 

“What did you wish for?” you ask, settling yourself across his lap.

“Can’t tell you yet,” Kiyoomi answers honestly, lips already seeking yours.

“Huh? You’re not supposed to tell me at all!”

“Too bad,” he intones, silencing any further retorts with the heady persuasion of his caresses and wandering touch. “I’m gonna tell you soon. Now let me enjoy you.”

notes: hbd! shoutout to @albinoburrito for her excellent edits and suggestions :*

[purplelurkinghini]

Narcissus by the Pond

0. PROLOGUE 

Under the cut is the prologue to yet another multi-chapter mess I am planning to write. What is different about this one is the narrator: Edward Nygma himself. Another aspect of this piece that sets it apart from the rest of my writing is its epistolary form. That’s right, baby! First-person POV!

If you’ve seen >> this << post floating around, this is indeed me actually putting that second prompt to use. 

Enjoy!

Dear ▚▛▙▙

I found a cat toy while cleaning out my closet today. It was that ashy plush mouse stuffed with dried nepeta cataria which you spent money on instead of saving up for your student loans. If he were still here, he’d be rolling around on the floor in some vivid dream in which he was a lion and it was a gazelle. And, if you were still here, I would’ve asked you to stay.

The day you got that tabby’s claws into me was the day you checked into work late. Frank, our project manager and your internship supervisor, had to drop his showman act and instill in you the fear all WayneTech employees are motivated by. After you offered your excuses and exchanged glances with the floor, you were free to enter the kitchen to heat up the coffees that you went out of your way to fetch for us each morning.  

My daily routine, which you’ve played no small role in forming during your short stay with us, was disrupted by the absence of caffeine in my bloodstream. I remember my Rubik’s cube and how I crammed a corner into my palm, squeezing down on the still unscrambled sides. I would call it an ‘absentminded’ action, but we both know that would be an incorrect assessment. My mind is never not present, even as it wanders. For this reason, when you finally came out of the kitchen, I couldn’t not wonder what happened to your sweatshirt. It must’ve been soaked in rainwater, I concluded, and that was the reason you removed it. Or, rather, that was the excuse you used as you removed it. After all, your sneakers were soggy, but you couldn't exactly walk barefoot all over a corporate. Even so, there you were, in a far too small t-shirt which was too tight around your torso and too short to cover your stomach, walking around the office with your brewed bribes. 

“Here you go, Jim” you placed the foam cup right in front of his face to get him to notice you. I’d argue that that slip of skin that was eye level to him was enough to get that scatterbrain's attention. He must’ve made a joke, or attempted to, because you laughed louder than anyone should around him. 

“Cory,” you sauntered over to him. “I asked the barista for two tablespoons and a half this time.” Sure, he might’ve taken his glasses off before taste-testing it, but his lenses were fogged-up before the lid came off. You felt the most confidence around Cory, the least confident one in our team. While no line of code was too complex for him, women were a mystery he had yet to solve. You see, I haven’t failed to notice you making the most physical contact with him, brushing your hand against his as a means of disarming him. 

After he served you a stuttered smile, you moved on to Paul who was pretending to be preoccupied with his screen. He’d been watching you since you walked out of the kitchen, yet still acted surprised when you showed up next to him. You didn’t mean to disturb him, of course, so you tip-toed around his desk, silently setting the cup on a coaster. He thanked you without taking his eyes off of his work, but took the time to watch you walk away as soon as you turned away from him. 

"I'm sorry, Ed," you pouted as you placed the coffee on top of a stack of papers. "I know like to have your coffee before 8, but the storm hit while I was in the shop and the whole street took cover in there-"

"Slow down," I released the Rubik’s cube, flexing my fingers. "I'm not your supervisor. It’s not my forgiveness you need."

"Well, no, but I actually want your forgiveness," you covered your mouth in a coquettish display. "I mean-"

“Like I said,” I brush off the blush creeping up on my cheeks. "There's no use for that." Fetching the foam cup, I take a sip of the scolding beverage and brave through it. “There's no use to ask the barista to write our full names either. This calligraphy exercise cost you a scolding from Frank.”

“Actually,” you pulled the hem of your shirt down which only uncovered more of your cleavage instead of hiding your stomach. “I wrote your name myself.”

I stroked the surface of the cup right across the script. Again, I can’t call this action ‘absentminded’ either, but my mind had wandered off again. That lovely lettering was yours and so was the green marker, so you must’ve scavenged your backpack for it on a crowded morning train. You also must’ve taken your time steadying your hand for each stroke, each dot. E. Nygma. You also must’ve cleaned up the cup as it inevitably spilled and steadied your tongue for each stroke, each lick. Maybe you ever sampled the coffee yourself, the taste of cherry Chapstick staining the rim.

“Well,” you interrupted my intrusive thoughts. “Jim’s showing me the new user interface, so-”

“Of course,” I dismissed you and my daydreams.

“Talk to you later.”

Yes, that was the day the cat got his claws into me. It was after I’d drained the drink, and found myself restless still, that I made my way into the kitchen for another one. That is when I spotted you in the corner, cradling the sweatshirt you discarded earlier. At the sound of my steps, you straightened your back, but you didn’t turn your torso towards me. 

“Hey, Ed,” you smiled and it was a painful sight because I couldn’t ignore the panic I ignited in your eyes. “Lunchtime already?”

“What are you doing?”

“Umm, trying to dry my shirt?”

The closer I got, the more gregarious you grew. You asked about what I’d like to eat, what the guys would like to eat, if I’d like to order out. You didn’t stop until I asked it of you. 

“What are you hiding from me?”

Before you could bellow out something long enough to cover the sound, I heard it.

“Did your hoodie just meow?”

It was only then that you turned, facing me fully. “Please don’t tell Frank, but this is the reason I was running late.” Two pairs of eyes were pleading with me. One belonged to you and they were begging. The other belonged to an orange ball of fur and they were unblinking. 

You were holding a bottle cap filled with water up to its meowing maw, so you must’ve been attempting to keep the animal hydrated, even after rescuing it from the streets in the middle of a storm. You bought kitten kibbles on your way to WayneTech and that had eaten ten minutes of your time and cost you a scolding from Frank.

“I couldn’t just leave Eddie to drown in a ditch somewhere.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah,” you let it sink its little teeth into your skin as it held a single finger close with two whole paws. They feel like needles, I should know, but you carried on cooing the pincushion. “He reminds me of another green-eyed ginger. Maybe you know him.”

Yes, you remember now, don’t you? That was the moment Eddie sunk his claws into me, and I do mean it literally. He released your finger only to get his paws trapped into my button-up. I also mean it figuratively, as I swore to keep your secret the very next second. And, once you were by my side, shadowing me as I was coding like you wanted to since your first day of internship, you made me swear to keep him. How could I not? Your dorm had a ‘no pets’ policy and you had named him after me. 

The two of us had time to get acquainted after you left for your evening classes. I fed him the kibbles and was careful not to get caught. And, because I wouldn't be using it that day anyway, I replaced your sweatshirt with my gym towel. While it smelled like a sad, soaked kitten, whatever fruity fragrance you were using had yet to fade from the fabric. That evening I drove straight home as soon as I left WayneTech, skipping my daily workout. My daily routine, as I’ve mentioned, had been modified by you. 

“We don't even need to potty train him,” you giggled when you saw Eddie digging through the brand new litter box I had ordered. It had been waiting for me by the front entrance along with the delivery guy and yourself.

You got into a cab before even texting me, asking for an address only after the driver started the clock. I expected that stupid stunt from the likes of Jim, not you. 

“He's a clever boy,” I smiled when I saw you were still wearing the green button-up shirt I asked you to exchange that shrunken t-shirt of yours with. “Like his namesake.”

You kneeled before the kitten and produced the plush mouse I'd only seen Eddie play with once. “Did the shampoo arrive? He should be high enough to not scratch our eyes out now.”

After rolling around on the rug with a bag full of catnip, he seemed blissed out enough for a bath. And, after only scratching you twice as you held him for me to scrub his ginger fur ever so gently, we got him all dried and drained. Those green eyes were barely opened as he looked up at us from the cat bed he was supposed to grow into and the sweatshirt he had grown fond of. 

“Now we know he hates all water,” you said through gritted teeth as I sanitized your shaking hands. Your fingers were as fidgety as Cory's, yet I doubt his skin was ever that soft. “Not just the rain.”

“I bet he'd hate flees more,” I caressed your knuckles after bandaging the bloody bits.

“I hate the rain, too,” your eyes were downcast, much like earlier that morning, seemingly searching my sheets for something. “I never knew Frank could be so-”

“Terrifying?”

“Mean,” your giggle wasn't as gleeful as I'd grown used to. “I thought he was going to fire me right then and there.”

“He wouldn't,” I squeezed down on the shadows of your hands as they were snatched away from me. Then, I leaned in close and almost brushed your love with my lips as they moved: “He will let the anxiety that comes with that uncertainty eat you alive first.”

“See, now you're being mean,” you laughed, finally looking up at me. 

“Me? Never,” I said, satisfied with myself. You were laughing - actually laughing - because of me. 

When the dryer dinged, I was confident in leaving you in my bedroom with a smile on your face. After all, I was the one who brought you in there and I was the one who brought that out of you. Once I've collected your clothes, I returned to find you had already removed my button-up and was drying up the rest of your skin with one of my towels. You were turned only half the way, so you must've perceived me in your periphery. Paul pulled the same thing earlier today. Still, you sounded surprised as you covered the side of your breasts I bet you wanted me to see. 

"Forgive me,” I turned around, but, unlike you, I did it all the way. “Here you are,” I stretched my arm behind me to hand you the bra and t-shirt. 

“Thank you.” It was only after your bomber jacket was zipped to your chin that I dared to look at you directly. Your sweatshirt was Eddie's now, so you covered up with what you had. “For everything.”

“Let me drive you to your dorm.”

"You've already done enough," you pulled out your phone as I walked you to the door. “I'll just call another cab. Eddie needs you here. You need to wear him out, or he'll wear you out tonight.”

“Cats are crepuscular creatures,” I assure you. “Not nocturnal. I'm sure he'll fall asleep before I even turn in for the night.”

Yes, I was sure he'd fall. However, Eddie was so convinced. And, sure enough, there he was, meowing in my face at midnight. 

My mistake was letting him get his claws into me. You see, I couldn't bear waking that little bastard up. Not when he looked so small in the middle of your sweatshirt, in the middle of his bed. He finally had a dry place to dream in and I couldn't take that away from him, so I let him sink his claws into me that much deeper. 

And yours, as well.

After chasing him with my hand atop of my covers and letting him swat at the finger-spider, he was ready for bed. My bed. Yes, his green eyes were drooping when he surrendered to sleep. It just so happened that he did it on the left side of my bed. And I, not willing to risk another rude awakening, placed him atop of the pillow. Then, ever so silently, I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. It was on my way back that I stumbled upon it: your sweatshirt. 

I recall calling it off the floor and taking it with me to bed. For Eddie, of course. He loved that sweatshirt, as I'm sure you know. However, as I placed it on his pillow, I caught a whiff of it. It smelled like rainwater, pet shampoo, Eddie, and you. It was your sweat and deodorant, sweet and soapy, just as I had smelled it on my shirt before tossing it in the laundry basket and I couldn't smell it on the left side of my bed. 

As I closed my eyes, I saw you. You were walking around the office, their wandering eyes watching you. You pass my desk and I am drenched in your scent. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Your sweatshirt is drenched, so you discard it. Your t-shirt is too tight, so I can see the dip of your belly button and the swell of your breasts. Though I am convinced you had a bra to cover them, my mind wanders. It wanders about the color of your nipples and it paints a picture of them peeking through the flimsy fabric. 

And, as my mind wanders further, that flimsy fabric is pulled down, your hands wriggling at the hem of it. That's when those peeks pop out along with the rest. All of a sudden, you're soaking. Sweet. Soapy. You even try to hide this from me, crossing your arms over your chest. I capture your hands, soft skin, and fidgeting fingers, and wrestle with them. Oh, how easily you surrendered to me, sighing in defeat. I lock your arms behind your back with one hand and squeeze your tit like a stress toy. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I had to taste it. 

When my tongue touched the tip, you pushed against it, filling my mouth with your flesh. You wanted this. That nipple is as sharp as a needle, but it melts in the heat of my mouth. You wanted this. After your tit is slick with my saliva and the peak is all puffy, I gather the other one in my grip and repeat. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

You wanted this and you told me as much. You said it loud enough for the others to hear. You wanted this. You wanted me. And, as if I haven't done enough, as if I haven't given you enough, I gave you all of me. Clearing the desk, cube, keypad, computer, and all, I slam you atop the surface. I had to pull down your pants for you, but your legs part all on their own. As for your panties, well, they all but dissolved under the duress. You attempt to hide from me again, tightening your thighs together. And, again, you surrender to me all too easily. After all, you want me. Your pussy? As I parted your legs and pushed your knees up to your chest, I saw how much she wanted me. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking.

However, I was not in a hurry. No matter how hot were your insides and how cold the chills were down my spine, I still took my sweet, soapy, soaking time. I set myself loose, my length slapping against your ass once it sprang free. You shivered, your back arching like a bow and your hands treading through your tangled hair. You wanted me. I took my time, sandwiching my shaft between your pussy lips, sliding across the slick and even wearing your labia as a hood atop its head for a maddening moment. It was only when you began begging, mewling to be mated that I gave myself to you. I crammed my cock inside of your cunt and went in so deep, I felt your heartbeat as your inner walls collapsed around me. 

Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. I fucked you into a fever, your skin as slick as your insides and your mouth leaking as much saliva as your pussy was spilling precum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. Soon, it would've been spilling cum. Sweet. Soapy. Soaking. When I did come, however, it was in my fist and not between your lips. 

As I opened my eyes, you disappeared. There was nothing there to greet me but the strike of the street lights slashing the darkness across the ceiling. Your sweetness had been replaced with my saltiness. It was indeed soapy and soaking, but it wasn’t you. Then, for the second time that night, I slipped out of bed and snuck into the bathroom.

The day you got cat’s claws into my shirt was the day you sunk your own under my skin. After that day, we shared a secret. I never told Frank about Eddie, but Eddie never told you about what I did in the dark. His glowing green eyes didn’t judge me, but they never let me forget. After you left without a notice, ginning up your internship, changing your phone number and never surrendering your real name, I couldn’t face them anymore. His eyes never let me forget, so I rehomed him.

I found your Gotham U sweatshirt while cleaning out my closet today. The name you gave WayneTech is nowhere to be found in their student records. Your name can’t be found in any police records either. Your real name, however, I am sure will uncover quite the mystery.

Yours,

E. NYGMA 

[sunshinesukuna]

gallon of ginseng

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x reader

wc: 1k

genre: fluff

tw: mentions of death

insp: my mom’s friend from korea sent over a pack of ginseng extract, but where i live its hot af, so there’s like... no reason to warm urself up, but it’s so good. it came in a lil bottle that you could drink instantly

summary: the wind never bothered him anyways.

How the hell did you two fall in love? 

Take food for instance. Once, you found a perfectly clean cracker on the tiled floor of your house, that you had just mopped and vacuumed, for goodness sakes. Being economical — or as he liked to call you, cheap— human being you were, you picked it up off the ground and ate it. It still tasted perfectly fine

God forbid that he, on the other hand, eat a perfectly clean meal with vegetables washed seven times (“You’ll wash away the nutrients!” you had complained) with a pair of utensils other than his custom stainless steel set. 

Sakusa stands at the corner of the park, armed to the teeth with a bottle of hand sanitizer in one hand and a bottle of that ginseng drink he's always been carrying after that match in Korea. You've tried to taste it once, but a crack of the lid and he yanked the bottle out of your hands before you could say "ninety-nine percent of bacteria."

There he waits, a hand in his jacket pocket and a face too handsome for everyone else's groggy morning visages. Maybe not face, since everything except his eyes are obscured by his trademark mask. The wind bites at your exposed ears but it’s a small price to pay when you get the opportunity to see him.

You go up to him wordlessly. The two of you exchange a long stare. It’s a small ritual the two of you have where you stare up at his eyes and try to “break” him, and he fends off your childishly intrusive glare. You sigh before standing on your tiptoes and puckering your lips at him.

He’s free to reject it any time if he wishes, all he needs to do is give you a signal. Sakusa looks down at you with narrowed eyes. You’re just about to pull back when you hear a grunt followed by the rustling of his mask.

A peck on the lips and a blush on your cheeks makes a girl happy as can be.

“Your breath smells like ice cream,” he comments. You shrug. “Did you finish the mint sundae you promised to keep in the fridge until the snow melts?”

There he goes again. Is he trying to keep you healthy or happy? There shouldn’t be a trade-off. So you fold your arms and stick your chin out defiantly.

“The snow isn’t going to melt for a long time! And I was hungry and there wasn’t any food other than the sundae!” Sakusa wrinkles his nose before turning away. 

"Come on, the weatherman said that it’s going to get colder if we don’t hurry.” He turns on his heel and walks ahead of you. Again, unorthodox, but ritualistic habit the two of you have.

Fifteen minutes haven't even passed when the cold really starts to penetrate your body. You really should have brought along those gloves Sakusa got you for your birthday last year. He sips the ginseng in his hand mockingly, not showing any signs of being bothered by the Tokyo winter. You feel your teeth chatter and curse the body heat that has left you. 

“You really couldn’t have found some better clothes in your landfill instead of,” he removes a hand from his pocket to gesture at your clothes “that?”

The jacket you picked out was thin, but it was the first thing you saw that would provide you with some protection from the biting wind. 

“Just because I don’t sort my underwear color, size, and the last time I jacked off in them does not mean my closet is a ‘landfill’.” You add in air quotes to annoy your boyfriend even further. Sakusa rolls his eyes as he takes another long sip of the ginseng drink.

“Tch.” 

He mumbles something under his mask. “What?” you ask. You cock your head forward to hear his words better. Sakusa pulls down his mask with a sigh.

“I said, don’t wear it,” he says. You tug the jacket closer to you like he’s going to take it away.

“Why shouldn’t I? I don’t know if you can feel how cold it is under all those masks and the gallon of ginseng in your system,” you sniffle, “but my fingers are about to fall off, Sakusa!”

His eye twitches as he makes his way back to you. Suddenly, he’s pulling down the zipper of your jacket. If someone looked from behind you, you could guarantee their minds would have not been in the right place. 

“Hey! What are you—” Despite your protests, he pulls off the jacket from your arms, leaving you bare against the January storms. You cup your hands to your mouth as Sakusa pulls off the jacket. 

“It’s dirty,” he says. You scoff like this man hasn’t taken other things from you under the guise of “health” or “safety. 

“Th—that doesn’t give you an excuse to—” Talking in this weather is hard, but you’re cut off when Sakusa takes off his own jacket. He too shivers as he’s exposed to the torrents of wind and snow, but says nothing that reveals his discomfort. 

“Oh, so you’ve de-decided to die with me?” Sakusa pays no mind to your sarcasm. With a tender touch thickened from years of spiking volleyballs yet soft from lack of infection, he wraps the coat around your figure and takes a long sip of his ginseng, like the passing wind is just a fly that can be easily swatted once he’s done with his meal.

 “You’re going to die, Sakusa!” you say. The wool lining of his jacket has stopped your shivering. There’s a sudden weight on your shoulder, and you realize Sakusa’s draping his arm around your shoulders.

“Not under all these masks and the gallon of ginseng in my system.”

[kasdeyathebitterwoman]

Hi! Just wondering if you can do a one shot or something of the reader that is a frontline worker during the pandemic and after a tiring day they come home and they started crying because of all the stress of their work and worrying about their families and Henry and maybe Kal as well comforts them in the best way they can. Please and thank you! Stay safe and have a great day! 😊💕

Hi love! I’m so sorry for how long this took me to get to, but I hope this did your request justice! 

CW: talking about the pandemic, stress, pandemic related stress, crying, exhaustion

The words got a little away from me, so everything is under the cut 😊

By some miracle, you had made it home. The drive from the hospital to the house was a blur and you honestly couldn’t even remember if your shift was technically over. All you could remember was sitting down in a chair and then someone telling you to go home. So you did. With all the energy you had left, which wasn’t much, you dragged yourself out of your car and up the drive. 

The house inside is quiet. Your fiance, Henry, must be out with his Akita, Kal. Silently, spray down your keys and phone with the sanitizer on the table by the door. Then you shuffle down the hall to the guest bathroom where you’ve been showering and sleeping during your breaks. On the counter, you find a stack of your clothes. Henry must have put them out for you after your last break. Running your hand against the soft fabric, you feel part of your resolve starting to break. You suck in a sharp breath and immediately lunge for the shower. Turning the handle, water begins pouring down as steam fills the small space. 

After stripping your clothes and putting them in a garment bag, all to be washed later, you step into the shower. The instant the hot water hits your skin, goosebumps begin to prickle your skin. You duck your head under the stream, feeling the warmth move down your body. With sluggish movements, you eventually scrub your whole body from head to toe. Once you’re done, you turn the water off, dry off, toss the towel with the clothes to be cleaned, and slip on the clothes that wait for you. Before the pandemic started, you made attempts to style your hair in some form or fashion, but these days you were content to tie it up and leave it. 

Exhausted, you stumble to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. That’s where you find Henry and Kal. They must have returned while you were in the shower. Kal is the first to notice you as he struggles to push himself up on the hardwood. Henry chuckles at him until he sees you standing the doorway. 

“There she is!” he declares, a beaming grin splitting his gorgeous face. He strides over and in less than a second, you are wrapped in his arms while your face is smashed against his firm chest. You wrap your arms around his thick waist and hold on for a moment. He smells like vanilla and sweat and if you turn your head slightly, you can hear his heartbeat. Before you can even wrap your mind around what is happening, you are crying. No, it’s worse than that. You are bawling like a child in your fiance’s arms. “Hey, hey,” Henry murmurs, low and husky. He tries to pull back to look you in the face, but you are clinging to him tighter than ever. 

It was like the moment you felt his touch, your entire resolve fell apart. You pull your hands from around his waist and cover your face. “I’m sorry,” you sob as the weight of the world comes crashing down on your shoulders. Henry is quick to action, helping you to the bench at the table. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, trying and failing to get yourself together. Henry says nothing, just shushes you. As you sit there, you feel a soft weight on your lap. Peering through your fingers, you see Kal’s massive, fluffy head resting on your thighs. You let out a small chuckle that causes his eyebrows to wiggle slightly. 

You look up at Henry. He’s crouching in front of you, looking up with those blue eyes you love so much. There’s fear and concern swimming in them and sends a fresh wave of guilt over you. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he murmurs. 

“I’m just tired,” you reply. The concern on Henry’s face forces deeper lines around his eyes. 

“I know,” he says and it’s like a switch. You know that he meant well, but the fire has been set and you can’t stop. 

“No, I’m sorry, but you don’t know Henry,” you begin, feeling the guilt in every bone. “I love what I do and why I do it, but these days it’s getting really hard to find the good in the bad. People come in every single day demanding answers that we just don’t have. No one wears a mask, everyone is suddenly a doctor,” you pause to take a shuddering breath. “We work so hard to keep people safe. We wash our hands until they are cracked and bleeding. We essentially wear hazmat suits to protect everyone. We don’t sleep, we don’t eat, and yet somehow everything is all my fault while not my problem, all at the same time.” you add with a huff. You look back at Henry’s eyes and a fresh wave of sadness extinguishes the fire. “I haven’t seen my family in months. I know I talk to them on the phone, but it’s not the same,” you cry and Henry nods a little. “I only see you for a few hours every four days. We were supposed to get married in a few months and we’re clearly not and I just, I just,” you try to finish your thought, but you can’t. You just start sobbing again. 

Henry immediately picks you up from the bench and carries you up the stairs to the bedroom. Silently, he tried to set you down on the bed, but you cling to him so tightly, he just lays down with you. His arms are wrapped around you tight, protective. One hand rests on your back while the other pulls out the hair tie and strokes your flowing locks gently. He alternates between shushing you when you sob and murmuring sweet words. You fall asleep after however long it takes for you to cry all of that out of your system. 

When you wake later, you’re in the empty bed. Clearly, Henry had slept on the other side, but he wasn’t there at the moment. Groggy, you stumble down the stairs to find him and Kal in the kitchen yet again. Henry says nothing when he sees you. He just sets what he’s doing down and pours you a large cup of coffee. As he hands it to you, he leans down, kissing you sweetly. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, stepping back to the counter. 

“Like I cried myself to sleep,” you joke. Henry chuckles and glances at you over his shoulder. 

“Well, you ended up sleeping for thirteen hours,” he tells you. That’s not surprising, you were dog tired. “Hopefully, this will start to improve things,” he says, walking toward you. In front of you is a plate and Henry dishes out your favorite breakfast. As you sit there, you notice the vase of roses nearby, the small box wrapped in ribbon, and other little trinkets. Kal moseys over, placing his large head in your lap again. You smile as you stroke the fur around his ears. His tongue comes out to lick your hand as he peacefully sits with you. 

Henry sits down on the ben opposite you, smiling to himself at the scene in front of him. When you look up at him, his blue eyes bore into you. “So, I was supposed to go into work tomorrow, but,” he pauses, the smirk on his lips growing a little wider. “I have asked for the weekend to myself. Which means I don’t have to be anywhere but here until Monday,” he tells you. Immediately, your eyebrows shoot up and your heart jumps to your throat. 

“Henry, no,” you try to say, but his hands are already up and his head is shaking. 

“No, no, I won’t hear it,” he says firmly. “I want to do this. Kal and I both want to do this,” he adds. You smile down at the large, bear-like dog, peacefully protecting you while you sat there. “You do so many selfless things for others, it’s incredible, but it’s time someone took care of super-woman.” You can stop the tears that are silently flowing down your cheek. A few hit Kal on the nose, causing him to jump back from you in surprise. It makes you giggle and smile. “Right, now, eat up. You’ve got a long day of resting, napping, and just general binging - basically everything Kal does while on guard duty,” Henry declares, pushing the bench back from the table. “He might even teach you how to fake snore!” he adds. You snort loudly, tipping your head back to laugh. It’s the first time you’ve truly laughed at something in weeks and god, it felt good. Things still weren’t great, and they probably wouldn’t be for a while, but right here and now, things were good. And that was all that you needed. 

[bug13underscore]

transmasc Luke anon - I was interested in the scene in which he goes to get the piercings and Reggie's there with him and holds his hand and Luke is like "I can totally do this on my own" while wincing and Reggie's all smiles like "I know you can, baby." anyway, Luke is 100% short-but-will-fight-you transmasc vibes and I love it

You’re correct about his vibes, we love a fighty-boy lol, and this was an amazing idea thank you so much for this Anon!! 

Small disclaimer, I’ve never had my nipples pierced or top surgery so this is all info I got from a few google searches soooo be warned 

“Sometimes it just feels like we’re the grey sisters.” Julie huffed, slamming her lunch tray down as she slid into the bench beside her girlfriends. 

“What the fuck is a grey sister?” Carrie raised an eyebrow, poking at her school lunch. 

“A group of three sisters in Greek mythology. They share one eyeball and one tooth between the three of them.” Julie rushed out, quickly digging into her food.

“Ew, why would you liken us to them?” Flynn whined, resting her head onto Carrie’s shoulder. 

“Cause it feels like we all get to share brain cells. Obviously there’s six of us, and usually us girls have them.” 

“Only usually?” Carrie laughed, elbowing Julie lightly. Before Julie could explain further, the other three of their group come slamming full-force into their lunch table, panting and wheezing. 

“Alex, inhaler.” Julie clicked her tongue, motioning for one of his boyfriends to get into his fanny pack. The two boys were quick to help him get it out, all slowly gaining their breath back. Julie used this moment to shoot her girlfriends a pointed look. 

“Reggie, explain.” Flynn leveled her gaze to the boy, knowing through practice that out of the three he’s more likely to give up the story. 

“We may have been making out in the janitors closet, and they may have walked in on us.”  

“Luke, excuse.” Carrie sighs, tiredly placing her hand against her forehead, the brunette letting his gaze drift towards his two boyfriends. 

“They’re just so cute! Look at their little faces, they just need to be kissed all the time.” The boy reasoned, his arms thrown out dramatically, as if showcasing valuable antiques to a buyer. 

“I don’t know who’s face you’re calling little, munchkin.” Alex snarked, reaching over to pinch Luke’s face. “We’re older than you, in case you need the reminder.” 

“Ow! Hey!” Luke pulled away from the blondes fingers, rubbing at the offended cheek. 

“Alex,” Reggie pouted, drawing Luke into his arms. Luke smirked triumphantly. “Leave our baby boy alone.” The smirk quickly left his lips, replaced with another pout as the group began to laugh around him. 

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, Molina. You’re the youngest here.” Luke snarked, reaching over to poke her nose. 

“Yeah, but I’m fine with being the baby, it just means you’re all suckered into my cuteness.” Julie laughed, swatting at his hand before poking his nose in retaliation. His hazel eyes lit up slightly, his gaze shifting to his boyfriends who were now in a conversation with Carrie and Flynn. 

“Suckered into cuteness you say?” 

Fuck, here we go, Julie thought to herself, what’s he gonna get himself into this time? 

~

Luke, much to Alex’s displeasure, was the only one of the boys who had a car. Luke and Alex both had their licenses, endlessly teasing Reggie about being the oldest without his, but they both knew why Reggie avoided getting one. 

This though, was Luke’s favorite part of the school days. Meeting his boyfriends at his car, getting to spend time with the two where they’re more alone than they are when they’re stuck in the school building. 

“I can’t hang out too long today, Moms still pissed that I skipped physics the other day.” Alex hummed, sliding into the backseat and allowing Reggie to take shotgun. 

“Lame.” Reggie hummed, pulling out Luke’s CD collection to shuffle through and decide on what disc today. “What’re we feeling today?” 

“Something soft?” Alex offered, grabbing his water bottle from his backpack as he took a sip. Luke hummed in agreement, noticing Alex’s slight nerves. Reggie nodded before picking out After Laughter for Alex. 

“It's cool if me and Reggie hang out after we drop you off then? Totally fine if not.” Luke shot him a wink through the rear view mirror as he pulled out of their schools parking lot. 

“Of course it’s fine,” Alex’s voice is soft as he reaches up to give Luke’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, doing the same to Reggie as well. “Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” 

“Of course not! We’re not idiots.” Reggie snorted, earning an eye roll from the blonde in the backseat. It’s just a few more minutes before they pull into Alex’s driveway, him only living a few minutes away from their school. Both of his boyfriends make sure to give him a kiss goodbye as he walks up the path to his house. 

As soon as Alex made it through, the door shutting behind him, Luke spun to Reggie with a wild look in his eyes. 

“I have the best idea.” 

~

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Reggie laced his fingers through Luke’s comfortingly. The brunette gives a sharp nod, sliding his phone into Reggie’s jacket pocket. 

“Totally. Doc gave me the green light.” Luke nodded, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself. “Besides, Alex is totally attracted to piercings so this is totally worth it.” 

“I know this, baby, but are you sure it’s something you want?” Their piercer looked between the two of them silently as they sanitized the needle and tools they’d be using. 

“Trust me, hun, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this piercing over the years.” Luke sent a wink to his boyfriend, squeezing his hand as he did so. 

The prepping for the piercing takes longer than the actual piercing, with how Blake, their piercer, insisted on talking with them to ease their nerves for a little while before they got into the piercing part. 

Reggie’s piercing was pretty quick, only getting his left nostril pierced. Luke’s fingers were threaded through his for comfort, although it wasn’t really needed. A little pinch and he was done. 

Luke’s in comparison took a little longer, given he was getting both nipples pierced and Blake had to adjust clamps on him to make the process a little faster and easier. 

As Luke sucked in a few shallow breaths he felt a hard squeeze on his hand, causing him to shift his gaze to his boyfriend. 

“I can totally do this on my own.” Luke forces out in a haughty tone, sucking in a breath as the first needle makes its way through the clamp. His grip on Reggie’s hand tightened, causing the leather clad boy to laugh. 

“I know you can, baby boy.” Reggie teased, giving his hand a gentle and loving squeeze back. “You’re the strongest person I know.” 

Luke shot him a dopey grin, wincing loudly as the second needle pierced his skin. Blake finished up, making sure to wipe at Luke’s piercing and handing them both instructions on how to properly clean their piercing, with notes of their gauge sizes and Blake’s email in case they had any further questions. 

They thanked Blake, following them back to the front of the shop. The couple paid, tipping Blake in the process with plenty of smiles and waves as they exited the shop.

The short walk to Luke’s car was silent, their hands intertwined once again. The brunette stopped Reggie before he could pull away and circle around to the passenger side. 

“Hey, thanks for that back there, it means a lot that you’d do this and say that for me.” 

“Of course, baby, it’s no problem.” The boy grinned at him, the new silver hoop in his nose catching the light. 

“No, no. Really, I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before.” Luke wanted to fold in on himself, not used to the nervous feeling that filled him. 

Reggie pulled the smaller boy into his arms, carefully avoiding getting too close to his chest, letting out a small laugh.

“I completely meant it, you’re definitely the strongest person I know. Well, maybe the mentally strongest I know? Alex does have to lug his drum kit around a lot.” 

“Shut up and get in before I leave you here.” Luke pushed away from him gently, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. Reggie grins and gives him a mock salute before running around the car and climbing in. They begin their trek back to Luke’s house, the boy starling when they pull into the driveway. “Fuck.” 

“Fuck?” 

“I’m going to have to tell my parents about this so they don’t accidentally fuck up the piercings.”

“Fuck.” 

“We’re fucked.” 

“What do you mean we?” 

“Well I couldn’t have legally got this without you there, Mr. I’m-Eighteen-Now.” 

“Yeah, we’re fucked. Let’s hope they’re in a good mood.” 

“You go in first, they like you better.” 

It was obvious that Emily wasn’t pleased with this outcome, but she did ease up once Luke assured her that he had checked in with the doctor beforehand and once they promised—numerous times—that they had gone to a legitimate, well reviewed shop and that Blake had sanitized all of the equipment. 

Finally, after dinner and Emily’s many questions, Mitch being very quiet and mostly indifferent on the matter, the boys made their way to Luke’s room. 

“We’re skipping school in the morning because you’re gonna wake up whining in pain, I already know.” Reggie laughed as they changed into their pajamas. 

“I am so not going to do that!” 

“Luke, honey, baby boy, my love,” Reggie leveled a look to the boy, full of love and honesty. “You skipped an entire week of school when you broke your wrist plus an additional week when you finally managed to convince me to stay here with you. You already know Emily is calling us in tomorrow.” 

“Yeah okay.” Luke conceded after a few moments. “I’m going to whine because I can’t sleep on my stomach or be big spoon right now though, that’s the worst part of this all.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Reggie grinned at him. “Shirtless for both of us, less of a chance for my shirt to catch, right?” 

“You’re a genius.” Luke grinned up at him. “You know that tomorrow when we do our prank, Alex is gonna find out and be pissed, right?” 

“Oh yeah, no for sure. Well just suck up to him after, it’s fine, he can’t stay mad at us for too long. Our puppy dog faces paired with our piercings are gonna win him over forever now.”

“These piercings just keep getting better and better.”

[wherefunsurvives]

The Ultimate College COVID Packing List

Okay kids, you’ve seen the post about packing light for college, so here’s some specifics for all of you incoming freshmen or returning students who will be living on campus! This is NOT the year to bring extra furniture, decorations, etc. This is the year to pack light and be ready to get on out of there at a moment’s notice if you have to. i proudly present to you -

“What to bring and what not to bring when going to college in a global pandemic!!!”

STORAGE

i used to swear by my camp trunk when i packed for school and while a trunk can be useful because it has more space inside it’s going to be harder to take on a plane or bus. If you go for a trunk, make sure its combined dimensions (length+width+height) are 62 inches or less (the size requirement for checked luggage). The ideal size would probably be a 32x17x13 inch trunk.

Instead of trunks or big containers, go for a combination of suitcases and duffle bags. Your goal should be to minimize luggage - you want be able to carry everything through an airport without any help. So let’s say in theory at MOST you should have a combination that looks something like:

2 checked suitcases + 1 checked duffle + 1 carryon duffle + one personal item backpack

1 checked suitcase + 1 checked duffle + 1 carryon suitcase + one personal item backpack

1 checked suitcase + 1 carryon suitcase + 1 personal item duffle

Get creative, mix and match, calculate the costs for each combination, which will vary depending on if you’re flying, taking a bus, driving, or taking a train. 

Checked and carryon luggage should ideally have 4 spinner wheels and a handle, this will make it easier to move all by yourself. Put your duffles around the handles of the luggage so you can carry everything yourself with minimal effort. If you have checked luggage and carryon luggage, consider a bag connector like this one! You can find surprisingly decent luggage at Costco and from Travelpro, which is designed for pilots and flight attendants but has massive markdowns all the time. 

A good duffle should be spacious with multiple compartments or pockets. If you’re an experienced camper or backpacker, maybe use those types of bags! If you’re not, get something that’s 40 liters of space or more. i bought this 50L duffle for $30 and it’s absolutely absurd the amount of stuff i can fit in it.Leave all other storage options at home. 

Don’t bring your own desk, drawers, furniture etc. Use only the furniture provided by the dorm. Don’t even bring a laundry hamper! Get a fabric laundry bag that you can easily fold. 

LEARN HOW TO PACK EFFICIENTLY. Choose your fighter, the army rolling method or the KonMari folding method (Marie Kondo also has a great video on how to organize what you pack and choose only what you need). This will allow you to bring the amount of clothes you need while taking up minimal space. Speaking of which -

CLOTHING

Your goal is to minimize both items and travel (meaning you shouldn’t plan as if you’re going to travel home every break to swap out clothes). Now is a great time to learn how to build a capsule wardrobe of basic items that can be mixed and matched. Keep it simple. Obviously if you’re in a warmer climate, this will be easier. For colleges with seasons, i’d say aim for 2 pairs of jeans or trousers you like, 1 pair of dress pants, and 1-2 pairs of leggings/joggers/comfortable pants. 1 pair of shorts, no more than 2 skirts, no more than 3 dresses (1 nicer, 1 more casual and comfortable). 10-12 shirts or less (include a variety of tanks, tee shirts, long sleeves, button downs, sweaters, etc.) and 3-5 “layers” like a blazer, cardigan, hoodie, etc. 2 pairs of pajamas, one for warmer weather and one for cooler weather. One raincoat, one fall/spring midweight jacket, one good winter coat - if you’re in Chicago, NYC, etc. invest in a warm parka, and i don’t mean Canada Goose. Just something sturdy that will keep you warm.

You’re going to repeat outfits. That’s fine. You’re not going anywhere important and you’ll be spending a lot of time in your room online. Being able to get out is more important than looking cute.

Pack an appropriate amount of underwear, socks, bras, etc. Bring a hat or two, one for sun and a thick beanie for the cold. Bring one tie and one pair of snow gloves if you need either. Bring a scarf or two for cold climates (they can be an extra layer of protection over a mask). If you wear jewelry, choose up to 10 items you really want and put them in a bag or a small portable jewelry box.

You only need 4 pairs of shoes maximum - one pair of sneakers/gym shoes that you could easily walk two miles in. One pair of of easy slip-on slip-off shoes for going to get mail or do laundry (because you don’t want to walk the dorms barefoot these days) and bonus points if they can double as comfortable ‘nice’ shoes such as cheap loafers, TOMS, basic flats, etc. One flip flops or sandals if you’ll be using communal showers and bathrooms. And one pair of boots that can double as rainboots AND snowboots (duckboots are great for this!) You don’t need heels, wedges, or multiple pairs/styles of shoes for the same reason you don’t need multiple dresses or a full tuxedo - you’re not going anywhere this year! Or at least you shouldn’t! Parties, formals, conferences, etc. are all a terrible idea unless you want COVID-19.

What you should have multiples of are masks and gloves! Have a few reusable face masks you can wash (RedBubble has them in every style, almost every clothing brand sells them, and VogMask/Camridge Mask are great options for something a little more heavy duty). Invest in disposable gloves and one pair of reusable gloves such as dish gloves. Some basic eye protection doesn’t hurt either - i love blue light glasses because they provide some coverage while also being great for reducing eye strain during all your Zoom calls!

SUPPLIES

Keep it basic, and that means you too studyblr kids! You don’t want supplies to take up all your space. Buy a spacious pencil case. Buy a basic back of black Bic pens and put 10-15 in. Those things last forever. Put in 5 presharpened pencils and 5 unsharpened pencils. Bring a pencil sharpener, 1 pink eraser, and 10 eraser toppers. The eraser always runs out before the pencil does. Pack 1-2 glue-sticks, 1 pair of good scissors. Fill the rest of it with your non-essential favorites like mildliners, highlighters, felt tip pens, markers etc. But no more than what can fit in the case. And nothing too expensive, just in case you can’t bring it with you.

Small multi-subject notebooks y’all!! Just get one or two. You never use as many pages as you think you will in your notebooks and multiple full size notebooks are a pain to carry and pack. For my last two years of college i would buy 1 or 2 Five Star 5x7 inch notebooks with 5 subjects for each term. They came with pocket folders inside and i never once used all the pages. i’d often re-use at least one from last term into the next term. It also means you never have to run back for a notebook if you’re at the library and want to do homework for that other class because all your notes for all your classes are right there!!

Bring 2 rolls of scotch tape and 1 roll of masking tape in case you need to repair anything. Pack any essential medication you take, a first aid kit with bandaids, wipes, tweezers, etc. Pack 1 small bottle each of ibuprofen, Tylenol or acetaminophen, any multi-vitamin you prefer, and a vitamin C supplement to help keep your immune system strong.

1 pack of pads/tampons. You can buy more when you get to school, save the space for packing.

1 reusable water bottle. Buy plastic ones periodically/accept reusable free ones given to you at school that you can take if you need to go to the doctor/hospital/etc. so you can throw them away if needed afterwards. 1 mug, if you use one. Make it one you’re willing to leave behind if you must.

1 small set of non-breakable plates/bowls and utensils. i like the Ikea KALAS ones because they’re plastic but can be microwaved or put in the dishwasher. And it’s $2 for a set of 6. 1 small set of tupperware - again IKEA has some good cheap options - that is also microwave safe. You’ll want these solely in the event it’s unsafe to eat in the dining halls. This will let you bring food back to your room and eat, save leftovers from the dining hall or takeout orders, etc. Buy a small bottle of dish soap when you get to school to be able to wash your dishes.

If you use liquid detergent, wait to buy until you’re at school. It takes up more space. If you use detergent pods, choose your own adventure. Buy your shampoo and conditioner at school if you can, same with soap. Same thing with toilet paper, paper towels, and so on. Buy it there, be prepared to leave it behind. Do bring hand sanitizer with you though. Keep a small size in your personal item for your travels and always keep some in your bag at school.

2 disposable toothbrushes, 1-2 tubes toothpaste, 2 toothbrush travel cases. Store the toothbrush you’re using in a travel case while at school to try to prevent contamination. If you become sick, throw your toothbrush away once you’re feeling better and thoroughly wash your travel case. Buy new disposable toothbrushes as needed once at school.

A small wallet or zip ID case with a lanyard. Make sure you can fit your state ID/driver’s license, student ID, transit card, insurance card, credit/debit card, and a little cash in it with ease. One with a clear window is great because you can put your student ID in it to easily show it when required without needing to open your wallet up. A lanyard makes it harder to lose and lets you put your keys on it if you have a physical dorm key.

Your phone charger, with a wall plug. And a mobile charger of some kind (many schools give them away at some point during your first few weeks, orientation, etc. TAKE THEM). You don’t need an Apple branded one, you can find sturdy and cheap ones at Target, etc. You’ll want these in case you get stranded anywhere. And you’ll especially want these because if you need to go to the ER/doctor, you never want to let your phone die while you’re there.

1 cheap tote bag or small backpack or knapsack, etc. that you’re not too attached to. This will be your hospital go-bag. Keep a mini-notebook with your name/birthdate, emergency contact information, relevant medical information, etc. written in it in the event you cannot communicate this yourself. Keep one packed and ready. Other helpful things to have in this bag once you’re at school are a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and underwear; a granola bar, and a disposable water bottle.

1 pair of cheap but reliable headphones, ideally with a microphone. In-ear headphones take up less space than over-ear headphones. These will be great if you’re on a Zoom call or something and don’t want to be heard by your neighbors. Also great for listening to music or podcasts in the event you’re at the doctor/hospital, because just like you never want to forget a phone charger, you never want to be without something to listen to while you wait for a few hours.

DORM STUFF

Now is NOT the time to decorate your dorm. i’m sorry, i love a good Pinterest dorm board and DIY project as much as anyone else. My dorm had a whole aesthetic. It was great. But it was a nightmare to pack up when COVID hit.

All you really need is a duvet/comforter, 1 set of sheets (ideally dark color so they won’t stain, just make sure you wash them regularly), and 1 pillow.

If you want stuff on your walls, don’t bring anything. When you get to school, you’ll likely get some free swag like a college pennant you can put up. Or at the least you’ll get a bunch of papers and maps and things. Hang up the maps. Make them look cool. Draw or do calligraphy on the blank sides of the papers for DIY art and signs. Order a wall calendar with fun art or images on it. Go to Walgreen’s website and use their photo system to order a bunch of photo prints. They almost always have a discount offer happening which makes it super cheap. You can upload photos of your friends and family to surround yourself with nice memories, or upload pictures of art, landscapes, quotes, images you found on Pinterest, your celebrity crush, and literally anything else. Voila, wall decorations.

The key here is to never put up too many things. Everything you put up should be able to be taken down in 15 minutes or less and without any help.

If you really really want some decoration - buy a cheap thing of string lights from Target or something to put up. They add ambiance without much effort and don’t take up too much space. If your room is freezing with concrete floors, a small rug can help if you really think you need one. But - and you already know what i’m gonna say - BUY THEM THERE AND BE READY TO LEAVE THEM BEHIND.

No chairs. No hammocks. No lamps. No furniture. No bulletin boards. No extra bookshelves. Keep it as simple as possible.

The caveat is to bring one small grounding item from home. Maybe it’s a souvenir from a vacation you took. A mug your mom got you. A framed photo of your best friends. Choose one, and make sure it is small.

BOOKS, ETC.

Buy your class books once you get there, either from the campus bookstore, a local bookstore, ThriftBooks, Amazon (if you really must), etc. Or download them online ;) Either way, they’ll take up space while going to school so just get them later unless you have to do reading in advance.

As a book lover it pains me to say this but leave your books at home. Bring at most 4 books with you to school. i’d recommend at least one you haven’t read yet and at least one that’s a “comfort” book you like to reread. Books are one of the hardest things to move and you won’t have that much free time anyways.

Pick one hobby to pack for, and keep it basic. If you like drawing, make it 1 small sketchbook and a mini-pack of colored pencils, markers, watercolors, or crayons. If it’s photography, make it 1 single camera with 1 lens. If you like gaming, bring something small like a Switch lite. If you need a hobby to keep you busy inside, grab yourself a pair of wooden/bamboo knitting needles or a crochet hook, 1 ball of yarn, and go wild. The bottom line is only what you absolutely have to have to not lose your mind.

Have 1 large (32 GB or more) flash drive or SD card to back up your files from your laptop or tablet onto. This will be a huge help in the event something happens to your computer.

Finally, always have a plan with friends/family in the event you need to evacuate. How will you decide if you need to leave? How will you get home/to a safe place? Who will help you get there? How will you afford it? And so on.

Feel free to add anything tips that might be useful!

[avaantares]

My New Ventilated Social-Distancing Movie Theatre

(or, how I bought a 2020-proof social life for less than $100)

So the USA is (still) a hot mess in terms of pandemic response. Because both my father and I are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19, and my sister and I have to work together in person to run our workshops, my entire family has been in a state of self-quarantine for six months straight (with no end in sight). But it’s hard being in constant isolation, so the four households that comprise my local family have been doing weekly outdoor gatherings -- with plenty of hand sanitizer and safely-spaced tables -- so we can see each other and socialize at a distance. However, that’s only feasible when the weather cooperates.

I’ve also really missed watching movies with friends, which prior to the pandemic had been a regular activity. I have a 70-year-old tripod screen I inherited from my grandfather and a projector I use for running panels at conventions, so we’ve watched occasional DVDs outdoors, but we could only do that on evenings without wind (which could tear the brittle screen) or rain (which would damage the projector), and we have to be careful not to have the sound too loud because it might disturb the neighbors.

A couple weeks ago, when our city delayed reopening again due to rising COVID-19 case numbers, I decided to convert half of my garage into an outdoor movie theatre. It turned out pretty well, and it only cost about what I would spend on movie tickets in an average year (and since I’m not going to any movies in 2020, it’s pretty much a wash). I’m sharing the details in case it gives anyone else ideas for making a health-conscious social hangout!

Obviously YMMV, and in areas with higher case numbers (hi, FL & AZ), this still might be too much contact. Be safe and follow official recommendations to prevent viral spread, folks!

The Space

Before I settled on the garage, I considered building a movie space under a tent canopy (nixed because they’re almost impossible to anchor through Midwest storm winds) or carport kit (too expensive and high-maintenance for me), so there are definitely other options depending on where you live, your typical weather, and what space you have available!

My garage has an unusual layout that allows for better-than-average ventilation. When it was first built, it was a 2 1/2-car garage with the doors facing the street and windows on the side. About 40 years later, the owners decided to move the driveway to the other side of the house, so they built a second garage attached to the drive-door side and knocked out an end wall to put in a new overhead door. This means that by square footage, the garage could hold four cars, but the way the drive doors are situated, it’s a divided two-car garage with a bunch of extra space at the far end. The two sides are connected by one of the original overhead doors, which means that three of the four walls have openings that allow for air movement. (More on that below.)

Normally there’s a car in each side of the garage, but I decided I was willing to park outside all summer for the sake of having a social life. Over the course of a week, I emptied and thoroughly cleaned the half of the garage that has the windows.

Air Flow

Constant fresh air flow is critical to flushing aerosolized particles that can spread the virus, so in order to make a safe indoor space, I had to simulate outdoor air movement. I opened all three overhead doors and both windows, then placed several fans to draw air through the building: One in each window, one along the side wall, and a box fan in the connecting door between the two sides of the garage to pull more air in from the outside. To make sure air was actually moving through the building and not just circulating within it, I turned on all the fans while I was sweeping the (very dusty) floor and walls, and adjusted the fan angles until the dust blew straight out the overhead door, rather hanging in the air or gathering in the corners. (Experts recommend that to prevent virus transmission, indoor spaces should have 100% air turnover every 10 minutes; obviously I have no way of testing that in a garage, but there is a constant light breeze through the building and stuff seems to be blowing out, so I feel pretty good about it.)

Projection Setup

I already had the projector and DVD player (I took the one out of my living room, since I usually just watch DVDs on my game console anyway), but I wanted a larger wall-mounted screen, since my grandfather’s 1950s screen was designed for showing vacation slides in a living room, not wide-screen films. Hanging fabric screens are very cheap, but I opted for a 120″ retractable screen so it would stay clean in the dusty garage. I also have an old set of monitor speakers that provide nice stereo sound.

Seating

The beauty of setting up in a garage is that it’s basically outdoors, so you can use lawn furniture or bean bags or old chairs you pulled out of someone’s trash (I do this regularly; it’s how I got my entire patio set). Measuring out at least 6 feet between each table and staggering their positions so nobody was directly downwind of another table, I set up all the card tables and folding tables I owned, and put a pair of chairs by each one so that couples from the same household could share a table but not be in close contact with any other groups. I put my largest folding table (which was also salvaged from the trash -- seriously, it’s the best way to get stuff!) against the wall right by the open door to serve as a snack table, so it’s on the opposite wall from the seating and nobody would be breathing on the food. I covered all the tables with decorative heavy-duty vinyl tablecloths (mostly for sanitation purposes, because those tables have been sitting out in my garage and I know I’ve had raccoons and opossums out there -- not to mention the colony of bats that lives in the loft off the back of the garage).

This setup can seat up to eight people, and even provides a place for serving food. (I put pump bottles of hand sanitizer on each table and on the food table, and people wear face masks when they’re loading up their plates, so there’s minimal contamination risk there.)

Total Cost

My out-of-pocket cost for this whole project was only about $83, though that’s because I already had a lot of stuff lying around. Here’s a more complete breakdown:

Fans: I already owned the box fan ($25 new) and a couple other fans that I’d picked up super cheap at garage sales ($5 or so), because my house is old and the HVAC is not very efficient. The only new fan I bought for this project was a refurbished air circulator from Amazon ($14), because I needed a small but high-velocity fan to fit in a window.

Projection setup: The only new thing I bought was the screen, which was $65 including shipping (though non-retractable fabric screens start around $10-15, so if you’re on a budget you can get one very cheap). I bought the projector used on eBay about eight years ago. I think I paid around $40 for it then, but prices have come down since; I’ve seen discount projectors for as low as $20. The DVD player is a cheapo region free model, which I got a decade ago for maybe $30. The speakers were secondhand; I’ve also used an old set of external PC speakers ($10 from Goodwill) when running video off my laptop, and they worked well enough in the indoor space.

Seating: Almost all the outdoor furniture I own came from other people’s trash, so I didn’t pay anything for it! Any kind of seating or tables will work, though. I did invest about $4 for new tablecloths, which I got on seasonal clearance.

Bonus Perks

I’ve discovered that the garage walls block a LOT of light and sound unless you’re standing directly outside the drive doors, so we can watch movies for half the night or stay up late chatting and we aren’t disturbing the neighbors! We couldn’t run movies out on the patio late at night because the sound would carry to neighboring houses.

Also, when we’re watching a film in the evening, we get to watch my bats fly through the garage on their way to and from dinner! (Which might be an annoyance to the bats if we were out there all the time, but we try to keep our volume low and we’re only out there about once a week, so I don’t think we’re disturbing them too much.) Bats are protected in my state, as some of the native species are critically endangered, and we try to encourage nesting as they’re essential to pest insect control. I love watching them fly around!

The setup also works well for video games. A local friend and I had been playing online, late at night because it was the only time we could get enough bandwidth to maintain connection (the ISP in my area is not super reliable), but now we can sit on opposite sides of the garage and play local co-op with no lag:

So, in summary, my “movie theatre” is by no means a luxurious setup, but it was cheap :) and it’s a great way for my small pandemic social bubble to get together and chat, have a movie night, or play games without risking being in a closed room together.

[ossa-otiosi]

Alternative containers for jar spells!☄️

I love jar spells just as much as the next guy! They're a great place for baby witches to start and they're helluva customisable- any size, shape, or ingredients you want. Not to mention they look cool as hell! But sometimes a jar just doesn't quite...work.

Maybe you just don't have a suitable one kicking around. Maybe you're in the broom closet, and a jar full of witchy ingredients would be too recognisably 'witchy' if it was found. Maybe you wanna carry it around with you, without ending up with broken glass in your bag. (Not a fun time).

Whatever your reasons, I got you covered!

💋Lip product containers💋

These would be discreet and perfect to carry in a purse or in your pocket! They're well suited to spell jars to ease verbal communication, for 'sweet talking' or persausiveness, or to help with clamming up in front of crowds and the like! Lip gloss or lipstick would also suit a glamour nicely.

💄 Chapstick in particular is an easy one. Just pull out the part that had the product on it, et voila! You might want to take the screw part out too, or you could just work around it.

💄 Once a lipsticks run out, you can pretty much do the same thing as you would with a Chapstick!

💄 The lip balm that comes in little pots is even easier to work with! Just wash it out once it's empty and fill it up with your ingredients.

📝Stationery📝

These are among my favourite diy containers! They're perfect for spell jars to boost your creativity or to prevent artblock, as well as being good for manifestation. (Drawing is kinda the same as manifesting something, right?)

✏️ Container sharpeners are an obvious choice! Just take off the lid, pop the ingredients in, and gum up the sharp part with something so nothing falls out. Candlewax would be a good choice, especially if you wanna seal it with a candle like most jars.

✏️ Spent markers and highlighters are a little fiddly, but fun! You can take the nib parts with ink in them out of the end(s), then pull the 'guts' of it out with tweezers. Save the nibs, but you dont need to keep the inside part around. Then you can fill the empty casing up with your ingredients, and pop the end and nib back on to make it just look like an ordinary pen again!

✏️ The empty pots from paint testers are another good one to use, and ballpoint pens are easy to get a hold of and hollow out!

✏️ The color of the pen/marker/paint could be matched to your intent, too!

📷Photo film containers📷

Okay, so this one is probably only practical if you're into photography. But if you use a camera with film and have a few of em laying around, they make cute spell jars! These are useful for creativity and manifestation, again, but would also suit spell jars for aiding with memory, or for spells to make something stick around. Or you could make one for helping all your pictures turn out well!

📸 Just pop the ingredients in the container, no extra steps needed! I'm personally a fan of drawing a sigil on the lid or on the side.

💅Makeup containers💅

I know I already covered lip products, but all sorts of makeup containers would make good spell jars once they're used up! Mascara containers, concealer sticks, and nail polish bottles are among the most useful in my opinion, but you could really use anything. They're particularly suited to glamours and the like.

🖌️ For any containers that have an applicator/brush in them, like mascara or nail polish, you might wanna consider taking it to get some more room.

🖌️ It gives you a good excuse to keep that empty container with a really cute pattern on it! You could match the colors or types of the makeup to your intent.

🖌️ All of them are useful for glamours, but you can get more specific for other intents! You could use mascara for a spell designed to help you 'see', like ones that aid in finding things or being perceptive, for example.

🍬Sweet containers🍬

These are particularly suited for spell jars to 'sweeten' something! The only example that comes to mind while I'm writing this is tic-tacs, but anything that comes in a relatively sturdy container like a tub or box would be good!

🍭 Just like matching colors to intent, you could match flavors! Mint could be good for cleansing or awakeness, cinnamon for strength or wealth, etc.

🚿Hygiene products🚿

These would be great for health, vitality, or cleansing spell jars! Empty hand sanitizer bottles or soap containers would work great for this.

💧This one's a little specific, but I've seen little gumball machine type things in public bathrooms that dispense little chewable...toothbrush things? They look like this-

And the containers from them would be great for these!

⭐Lockets⭐

Okay, so maybe these are veering a little out of spell jar territory. But lockets are amazing for any sort of spell that needs a container! They can be for any intent, they're super discreet, and you don't even need to carry them or worry so much about losing them.

💍 Most lockets are pretty small, so you obviously cant fit *loads* in there. But if you have some tiny crystal chips, they work great! Those, along with tiny amounts of dried herbs and single petals from dried flowers, all work great for little locket spell jars.

💍 Lockets normally have a place to put a photo in, and you can use that for a sigil to suit your intent! Or if you work with any dieties or other entities, you could put an image of them in there, if they're involved in your spellwork!

These would be great spell jar containers for health and vitality. Make sure you wont confuse these for your actual medicine! I know it'd be pretty hard to mix up the contents of a spell jar with your allergy meds, but still. 😅

💍 Any other jewellery with some kind of compartment would work too. I've seen rings which are basically tiny little lockets, which would also work great! You could even wear them on certain fingers to suit different intents. (I remember reading somewhere about each finger having different associations, but I cant find it. I remember the pinky finger being Mercury, though...?)

💚Medicine containers💚

💊 You could try matching a medications purpose to an intent, too. For example, a spell jar to help ease depression in a bottle that previously had depression medication in it, or a spell to keep away unpleasant things in a painkiller bottle.

💊 While we're on the topic- remember to take your meds today if you haven't! And always remember that magic is not a substitute for going to the doctor if you need it.

All of these have their own associations to me, but theres nothing stopping you from using them for any intent- if you wanna make a spell for good health in a camera film canister, noones stopping you. I'm sure theres a million other containers I'm forgetting about, but these are the ones I personally find the most interesting or useful. I hope this has been of help!

Good luck and godspeed to you all! 💛

[artificialqueens]

And that's on periodt (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: For anon who asked for fingering (no fingering in this one after all, I’m sorry, but hope you enjoy anyway!) in the back of a car while b & v try not to get caught. TW for menstruation/period sex and public sex. Thank you Holtz for beta-ing <3

And no, I’m not sorry for the title.

“Okay, folks, everyone buckled up?” Nina calls from the driver’s seat, making a quick glance backwards to make sure that Brooke, Vanessa, and A’keria are safe and secure in their seats in the back of the car. Meanwhile, Silky reclines a little in the front passenger’s seat, grunting out her agreement and muttering something about catching some shut-eye.

“We’re ready to go!” Brooke hums cheerfully (just a little too cheerfully, maybe?), and Nina, perfectly content, turns around and starts up the car, backing them out and beginning their journey out of town.

It had been Vanessa’s idea to drive down to Disney instead of taking a flight–it would be cheaper, she reasoned, and this way, they’d have a little more time to spend together, another fabulous experience to tag onto their already great-sounding trip to Orlando. It was going to be epic, and everyone else agreed that a road trip was a good idea.

Still, from the twinkle Vanessa can see in Brooke’s eye, she can tell that it’s probably going to be even better than she had originally thought it was going to be.

She swallows hard, and Brooke snickers.

For the first half hour of the trip, nothing happens. Everyone chats, has a turn with the aux cord, tells jokes and passes around snacks. But then they hit the highway, and Nina needs to focus, and things get quiet, settled to the point of practically coming to a halt.

Well, for Silky and A’keria at least. While those two drift off to sleep again, Brooke and Vanessa are most definitely completely awake.

“Looks like we’re pretty much alone, huh?” Brooke makes a point of casually playing on her phone, looking something up with one hand while the other roams over to Vanessa’s thigh, sits on top of it and lightly strokes the smooth fabric of her sweatpants.

“Well, Nina’s still–”

“Hm?” Nina perks up, suddenly snapping out of her focus to glance back at them in the driver’s overhead mirror. “Did you say something to me, Vanessa?”

Vanessa blushes, the heat in her cheeks only intensifying when Brooke smirks, lets out another snicker. “No, sorry Nina, we’re just chattin’ a bit. You go back to focusing on the road–ain’t a good time to crash, Mary.”

Nina laughs, but takes the advice, and the air in the car settles again, becoming quiet and still.

Well, almost still; Brooke’s hand is still on top of Vanessa’s thigh, inching inward slowly, slowly, as if to draw it out as much as possible, and Vanessa is just trying not to whimper.

“Gotta be quiet, darling.” Brooke leans over to whisper in Vanessa’s ear, her hot breath tickling Vanessa’s skin even before Brooke closes the distance between them with a nip to the younger woman’s earlobe. “Don’t want anyone to wake up or lose focus, right?”

“Yes, mommy.” Vanessa breathes, and as if to voice her approval, Brooke hums, slides her hand home between Vanessa’s legs to cup her cunt through her sweats.

“You’re so cute.” Brooke giggles. “All turned on already, and I’ve barely touched you. Adorable.” Brooke begins to move her hand slowly, thoroughly, massaging Vanessa’s pussy firmly so that even though it’s not nearly enough, its presence is definitely there, working Vanessa up until she can’t stay still, starts to grind back into Brooke’s hand without being able to stop. And Brooke must know it, because she works a little harder, a little more slowly, drawing it out until Vanessa can barely hold back her whines.

Grace comes sooner than Vanessa expected, even if it’s still not nearly soon enough. Brooke finally, finally moves her hand up, slips her hand underneath the waistband of Vanessa’s pants, and Vanessa breathes out shakily, relief coursing through her body, because finally, finally , Brooke is going to move the game along, give Vanessa what she wants.

Or so she thought, at least; she holds back a groan as Brooke’s hand stops again, this time over Vanessa’s panties.

“Fuck, are you on your period?” Brooke frowns, stroking through the cotton to hit the thick wall of Vanessa’s pad, accidentally pushing it up against Vanessa’s pussy just a little and making her hips buck.

“Yeah.” Vanessa nods. “It’s not as heavy as usual, though. Can we still…”

Brooke laughs a little, shakes her head. “Baby, you know I don’t mind that shit. Now hush, remember?”

They fall silent, and Brooke slides her fingers along Vanessa’s slit, and Vanessa can feel her own face grow hot again. She tries to keep her breath under control, tries to keep the pleas gathering on her tongue from spilling out of her mouth, but it’s near impossible, given how tension and need is building up inside her. But Brooke is cruel, absolutely cruel, because she’s still teasing and grinning at Vanessa like she’s having the time of her life, because she is. And Vanessa would be lying if she didn’t say the same.

Brooke is just moving to Vanessa’s clit, finally beginning to land light, experimental touches on it, when A’keria stirs beside them, and Vanessa’s heart stops. Despite herself, though, she can’t help but feel more than a little relieved that Brooke is completely unbothered, keeps playing with Vanessa and only getting more persistent.

“Looks like you need to be even quieter.” Brooke snickers, finally beginning to circle Vanessa’s clit with a gradually increasing amount of pressure. “What should we do about that, hm?”

Vanessa looks at Brooke in half-terror, half-excitement, until she catches her girlfriend’s eyes, and the realization hits her.

Brooke doesn’t know what to do, either.  

Luckily, though, an idea comes to Vanessa’s mind just as quickly, hitting her just as hard and making her feel giddy, her anxiety finally completely overtaken by an excitement that leaves her practically bursting, unable to breathe.

Without skipping a beat, she grabs Brooke’s face and pulls her in for a kiss.

“Don’t stop, baby.” Vanessa whispers the words up against Brooke’s lips, licking along Brooke’s bottom lip and smirking when the blonde shivers. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Brooke doesn’t, and soon enough, Vanessa is growing rigid, holding back ragged breaths carrying desperate whimpers. And she’s coming, she’s coming, she needs to come, but she can’t, not when she hasn’t asked, but fuck it, fuck the rules, she can’t hold back any longer, she needs to come–

A’keria’s eyes snap open right as Vanessa lets herself fall, a moan escaping her lips before she can stop herself. Her vision blurs over, and Brooke’s smile is all she sees, warm and approving and absolutely devilish. Because she knows, knows the power she has over Vanessa, knows how irresistible she is. How hard she’s made Vanessa work. How she plans on punishing Vanessa when they finally get to the hotel, finally gets to the room they insisted on getting that’s apart from the others, the room the others gladly allowed them to book.

And Vanessa, for her part, knows that A’keria is watching, and that even so, Brooke enjoys the fall just as much as she’s enjoyed working Vanessa up in the first place.

Vanessa loves it too, and so a smile paints itself on her face when she comes down, when Brooke finally pulls away and calmly reaches into the pocket of her hoodie to take out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, cleaning her hands as if it’s perfectly normal to be wiping away your girlfriend’s blood and slick from your fingers.

“Y’all nasty. ” A’keria wrinkles her nose. “Hey, Nina, pull over, we got a situation on our hands. Well, on Brooke’s hands, mostly.” she notes, staring at Brooke as she continues to scrub her hands together.

Nina heaves a heavy sigh, but takes the next exit, pulling into a gas station and turning around to take a disappointed look at the two giggling women in the back seat.

“You love us.” Brooke grins as she opens the car door, slides out so that she can switch seats with A’keria.

“That’s the only reason we put up with your shenanigans, I promise you that.” A’keria huffs, but she’s smiling, shaking her head, because it’s true. This is something only Brooke and Vanessa could manage, something only they could pull off without being left on the side of the road, and thank God they can. Because once they get into the hotel, Vanessa’s going to thank Brooke all night, and honestly?

She can’t wait.

[shardminds]

I picture your hands on me.

“First, I want you to drive us somewhere nice and quiet." "Then I want you to come back here and fuck my brains out.”

Pairing: Emma Swan/Killian Jones Rating: E WC: 3.8K

Here’s some Captain Swan car sex for your troubles.

Also available on AO3

Emma Swan doesn’t get drunk. That’s what she tells herself, all the while giggling and stumbling from the toilet stall into the arms of an equally intoxicated and equally giddy Mary Margaret. In fairness, she hadn’t had the opportunity to get drunk in a while. Nights these days were, more often than not, filled with street patrols and paperwork. Being a cop had many perks but the night shifts were not one of them. 

She couldn’t wear this dress or these boots out on the job anyway. The black faux leather was tight, barely reaching her mid-thigh and the stiletto boots cut off just above the knee. Definitely not regulation uniform. 

Perps would most likely hand themselves over to her if she did wear this on patrol, though. That’s one way to boost her numbers.

When David had initially asked if she wanted to take his wife out for a drink, she thought he’d been joking… evidently not. He had to buckle down on one of his larger cases and it just happened to line up with Emma’s night off. He’d offered to pay her back in bear claws from Granny’s when they were next on duty together and that had sold her. Calories don’t count if someone else buys them for you, right? David had, however, forgotten to mention his wife’s wild side that rears it’s boisterous head whenever liquor is involved. 

Tequila is her drink of choice. No chaser. No salt and lime. Just straight up tequila. Emma hadn’t even downed her second by the time the petite brunette was polishing off her fifth with a belch that would’ve had Leeroy blushing. It all went downhill from there. 

Mary Margaret yanks her out of the restroom, getting a little handsy in the process, and drags them to the less crowded hallway. Emma didn’t even get the chance to wash her hands. She’s chattering on about something or other but Emma can’t focus. Her skin is softly buzzing, the whole world around her a pleasant hum.

Emma Swan doesn’t get drunk, but when she does, it feels fantastic.

Did she have hand sanitizer in her clutch? It seems like a pretty important thing that everyone should carry in case of emergency, right? Especially on those days when your partner’s wife drags you away from the restroom before you’ve been able to take care of your own personal hygiene. It’s not like she’d peed all over her hands or anything. It’s just better to be safe than sorry. A quick rifle through her purse proved fruitless but at least it helped her regain focus… right at the end of her friend’s story. If they weren’t friends before tonight, they definitely were now.

“-and that’s how David got the scar but if you tell him I told you he’ll be so mad, Emma! Soooo so mad!” 

“About what?” It escapes before she can stop it and Mary Margaret just laughs at her. 

“Exactly!” She squeals, wiping away tears of laughter Emma hadn’t noticed before throwing an arm around her friend’s waist and leaning into her side, guiding them to the bar. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

The bartender didn’t even ask what they were having. Simply winking in their direction before setting down two shots and a couple of fingers of rum. Mary Margaret pays with a flourish of David’s credit card, index finger pressed to her lips in a shhh gesture. 

Before she can even think of all the ways David is going to kill her, Emma’s phone chimes. She tries to fight back the smile that comes along with Killian’s name flashing up on her screen, but she lost that battle long ago. They’ve been dating for over a year and he still manages to make her heart involuntarily flutter with every text. No one else makes her heart soften as he does. It had taken time, patience and a whole lot of nudging from David and Ruby for them to even get together in the first place and yet, Emma, with her seemingly endless walls, and Killian, with a metric shitload of his own baggage, managed to make it work. 

She loves him. Wholly. It had taken her forever to admit it but, between his soft kisses and even gentler touches, she’d whispered it against his skin. More a sigh than a declaration, but a promise nonetheless. 

Killian: running late, my love

Killian: nodded off marking… again 

Killian: be there in 5, does MM need a lift? 

He’s so good to her. To all of them. He’d agreed to pick her up at midnight, making a joke about pumpkins as he’d kissed her goodbye earlier. It’s almost half-past now but she can’t bring herself to be mad. She loves him. Like really, really loves him. It’s scary and exciting and if it had been anyone else she’d have run away by now but it’s him and that makes it all okay. All the tension she didn’t know she was holding evaporates away upon reading his texts. She throws back her drink in one gulp and starts typing.

Emma: i love u.  i will ass

Emma: ask

Emma: fuck

Emma: love u

Killian: haha had one too many, swan?

Killian: i’ll bring you some water x

She didn’t always understand the x’s he sometimes added to the end of his texts. He’d explained it to her once but the patterns his fingers had been tracing across the soft skin of her belly had been a far more pressing focus at the time. 

“It’s meant to be a kiss, love. It’s a common courtesy back home.” He’d said, placing a kiss of his own to the furrow in her brow. The furrow only deepened, which made him smile.

“But… why?” She snuggled closer to his chest, the coarse hair there ticking at her bare skin. Post-coital conversations about British text etiquette were just one of the many reasons she’d agreed to move in with him.

Regardless of her level of understanding, the addition brings a warm flush to her cheeks.

Mary Margaret is still at the bar, no longer drinking (thank god) but, if the way her index finger is pressed menacingly against the chest of a man almost twice her size is anything to go by, Emma’s willing to bet she was about to get herself in even more trouble. 

Behind her, there’s a familiar exasperated sigh. 

“I think it’s quittin’ time for us, Ems.” David yawned, patting her shoulder as he did. He was still in his uniform which must have scared the shit out of the bouncers on his way in. She didn’t mean to laugh but the thought had her chuckling. His case mustn’t have gone very well. His smile is soft and small, not blinding like it usually is. She’s about to ask him about it when a scream rips out ahead of them.

“DAVID!”

The thump as Mary Margaret collides with her husband’s chest knocks the air straight out of him in a dull oof. Without thinking, Emma snaps a picture and hits send.

Emma: mm has a ride

Emma: i’ll take one if u r offering tho ;)

They’re both still laughing, breathless, in each other’s arms before Emma gets pulled into the mix. David thanks her for keeping an eye on his wife with a strong hug while Mary Margaret attaches to her side like a barnacle and thanks her with slurred speech for celebrating her promotion together.

Emma hadn’t even known they’d been celebrating. That’s tequila for you.

“I better get this one home. Thanks again, Ems.”  David smiles her way before looking down to his tiny and drunken spouse who had the widest grin she’d ever seen, pure adoration in her eyes. She happily grips the hand David offers her, still beaming as they walk.

Emma knows that look. She’s had that look before. 

Love drunk (and maybe a bit of real drunk).

“I’ll follow you out.” She adds, falling into step with their rhythm. “My ride will be here soon anyway.”

“I love Killian, Emma. He’s so sweet! And he bakes! David doesn’t bake.” The outburst is followed by a hiccup and a giggle and a scoff from her husband. 

“Gee, why don’t you marry him then?” There’s no malice in David’s comment at all, how could there be? These two have been together since the dawn of time, by Storybrooke standards, at least. Mary Margaret barks out a laugh, using the arm that isn’t intertwined with David’s to punch him softly in the ribs.

“I married you, Stupid. You can’t marry two people. You’re dumb.” 

The rest of the walk to the exit is in relative silence, only the occasional chirp from their drunkest disciple on the way down the stairs of The Rabbit Hole. The crisp autumn air that meets them outside knocks Emma back a little, she hadn’t expected it to be so cold and, in a lapse of better judgement, had not brought a jacket. It doesn’t matter though. She’d already seen the familiar black jeep before her phone buzzed in her hand.

Killian: i see you x

Bidding goodbye to her two companions, Emma finds herself skipping over to Killian’s truck. She can’t help herself. The thought of him sat there waiting for her in all his black leather jacket-y goodness spurs her forward. Maybe she can convince him out of it… maybe– Fuck. She’s drunk but she wants him. Needs him.

Climbing into the jeep and immediately going in for the kill, in hindsight, probably wasn’t one of her finest ideas. Especially considering the accidental punch to the boob it earnt her. The bottle of water he’d promised, falling to the centre console between them. Clearly he’d not anticipated the haste of her advance. 

It’s a good job he’s cute.

“I’m sorry, love!” He laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners and lips pulling into a toothy smile. “I didn’t expect you to come at me with such unbridled force.” 

“Hello to you too.” Grumbling, she tries to massage some of the pain in her chest away but the ache is already there. Not the ache she wanted either. Killian’s hand finds her jaw and, despite her initial attempt at stubborn reluctance, his fingertips have her melting into his kiss. He’s overly gentle, just a chaste press of his lips against hers in apology. 

“I’ll kiss it better once we’re home, Swan. Don’t you worry about that.”

Feeling them against her lips, his words light a fire deep in her. The slow burn she’s been tending since she left their apartment earlier now seems an all-consuming need. She kisses him again, harder and deeper, a calculated move on her part, knowing he’ll take the bait and follow suit. 

The growl it pulls from him is borderline feral and Emma can feel it shoot straight to her core. Fuck, he’s such a good kisser. Every slant of his mouth over hers, every slip of his tongue, has her breathless and needy, wanting to only ever be further consumed. He always knows exactly how she needs it with very little prompting, reading her body language better than she herself could, sliding his free hand up her bare thigh until it slipped beneath the hem of her dress.

She can’t wait, she wants him now. 

“Fuck going home.” She sighs, letting him pull away only slightly so they can lean their foreheads together, his hand still continuing its path beneath her skirt. 

“What do you mean, love?” He knows exactly what she means. He always does. The smirk in his voice coats his words like syrup, sickly sweet and so wonderful. 

Pushing him away is torture, but worth it to hear his reaction as Emma crawls into the backseat. Arse in the air as she squeezes between the front seats and into the back. The firm smack to her behind has her fumbling through the gap, catching her moan as she tries to get her bearings. She’s not ashamed of it. It’s well-known that she loves a good spanking. Red palm prints all over her ass and thighs the next day are the best kind of trophies. Ones she’s proud to wear for him and him only. She’s not even ashamed at how almost uncomfortably wet she is just from thinking about it, thinking about him thick and heavy inside her, encouragement coming in the form of firm slaps.

If he wants a tease, she’ll give him a tease.

Turning to face him, she slips into the middle seat. Shimmying her dark panties she’d chosen earlier that evening down her legs with minimal effort. Killian’s eyes follow the path they take and, when they come to settle at her ankles, she offers him the scrap of fabric with the heel of her boot.

He groans when his fingers come to contact with damp lace, the faint squish as he rolls the fabric between his thumb and index finger is almost too much. The way he reaches for her is pure instinct, she can tell how her actions are affecting him by the way his eyes are half-lidded and all traces of smiles and smirks from earlier are gone. She presses her boot to his shoulder, forcing him to keep his distance and trusting him to do so before removing it. The sharp point of her stiletto catches on his collarbone on its descent, causing him to hiss. 

“First, I want you to drive us somewhere nice and quiet.” Settling down further, her legs part, faux leather peeling back from her thighs as they do, until it’s plainly visible how much she wants this. Her unfathomable confidence is definitely dutch in its origin but she can’t help herself, warm flames of arousal threatening to take over. It’s delicious and agony all at once. “Then I want you to come back here and fuck my brains out.”

Seeing his eyes slip closed at her words sends a heady wave of something straight through her. Car Sex: 1, Killian: 0

“As you wish, Swan.” His voice is deep and raspy, so very clearly fucked and Emma loves it. She loves him. Every part of him. From the way his hair always looks like he’s just woken up, no matter what time of day it is or the way his shoulders tense as he turns away from her now to focus on the road ahead, pulling off from the street with white knuckles clutching the steering wheel. Most of all, she loves knowing that he’ll give her what she wants, over and over again, rough and hard.

To everyone else, Killian is well mannered and reserved. The mix of ex-naval captain, local history teacher and baked goods connoisseur tending to subconsciously command the respect of those in his presence. 

To Emma, he is so much more. He’s soft in ways she’d never had a partner to be before, so open and forthcoming with his adoration of her while still allowing her space to grow into the person she’s always wanted to be. He’s sarcastic to a fault but, then again, so is she. He’s so unapologetically passionate about the things he loves, which usually results in them binging TV shows together until the early hours of the morning on a school night and falling asleep tangled together on the couch.  

He’s everything she never knew she needed and he’s changed her for good.

Oh, and he’s also an incredibly good shag. His word, not hers. When he says it, it sounds filthy, whispered against her body in a way that brings her out in goosebumps every time. When she says it, it sounds… not like that. 

She can’t wait much longer, heat throbbing between her legs at the thought of him. She hadn’t even realised until the slow drag of her fingers through slick folds and across her clit caused a moan to erupt from her throat, that she’d been touching herself this whole time. 

Glancing up to the rearview mirror, she caught lust darkened eyes staring back.

Fuck.

Without thinking, she brings the fingers to her mouth. Salt and lust thick on her tongue. It’s a sharp sweet taste and Killian always waxes poetic about it; telling her how damn edible her cunt is, how he loves the taste she leaves on his tongue, how he loves making her taste herself from his lips. He’s always been able to make her fall to pieces. 

Daring to maintain eye contact, she sucks them between her lips.

He fucking moans at that. Deep. Guttural. Emma can feel it in her chest and, before she can even comprehend what’s going on, he pulls the jeep up to a halt. They’re parked somewhere she doesn’t recognise, tucked between two buildings shrouded in the dark, and she has no time to worry about anything else because Killian is out of the driver’s seat and crawling into the back through the passenger door. 

He had been wearing his leather jacket before and she absentmindedly wonders where it’s gone before her brain short circuits with the smash of his lips against hers. It’s wild and rushed and the weight of him crushing her into the seat below has whines slipping out between their kisses.

“That was dangerous.” He purrs, moving his mouth across her cheek, down to her jaw, her neck. Nipping where his teeth graze and sucking soft marks into her flesh. Looks like it’s high necked sweaters for the rest of the week. “What did I do to earn that delicious torture?”

Emma hums at his ministrations, warm buzz settling through her at his touch. Better, more electric than the subtle tingle of intoxication from earlier. This woke up every nerve in her body, slowly, bringing them alive and with wisps of an earth-shattering orgasm building deep down already. “The tit punch wasn’t totally appreciated if we’re being candid.”

“Candid’s not the word, love.” His lips leave her neck, leaning up to view his masterpiece and very clearly satisfied with the mess he’s made and his smirk pushes her over the edge. She reaches for his hips, fumbling around for the zipper on his jeans. He joins in, working together to free the erection she’d been hoping for. Killian was never one to disappoint her in that department. “This is downright indecent.”

“Just shut up and fuck me.” 

She throws one booted leg around his hip pulls him closer until he nudges against her centre. 

There’s no preamble. No disclaimer. Sex for them is like coming home, a practised rhythm they’ve had down for what seems like aeons. As if they’d been destined for each other before they ever met. It’s perfect. Always is. He’s as thick and full as she’d been hoping, stretching her in the most delectable way and it drives her mad when he drags out slowly, angling himself in a way that has the head of his cock catching on that rough spot he usually finds only with his fingers. Clawing at his biceps as he fucks torturously slowly into her seems like the only option at this point. 

“Killia– fuck! Harder.” Is the only thing she can say. All other thoughts being variations of Fuck, Yes and Please.

He burrows his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent and she can feel the smirk on his lips searing into her skin. The whimper has barely left her lips before it’s cut off with a moan as he hammers into her. While one hand holds himself up, the other shoves her dress up higher around her waist before snaking down across her stomach, through the smattering of hair at the apex of her thighs and further, finally coming to a halt just shy of her clit. 

She’s grateful Killian had been able to find somewhere secluded for them to undertake their activity because, had they been in the centre of Storybrooke, people in a three-block radius would definitely have been able to hear the scream that rips out of her with his touch, back arching off the seat as he teases her clit with his fingers.

“First, you’re going to come.” His voice is way calmer than it should be. Deep and ragged but calm all the same. Emma doubts she could even string a sentence together with the barrage of pleasure he’s putting her through. Not that she’s complaining. The look on his face as she flutters around him more than makes up for the fact that he’s still got full use of his speech, even if he is using it to spew filth. “Then, I want to fill you up– fuck, I’ve been thinking about this dress all night, Emma. Do you know what you do to me?”

How can she even respond to that? He continues to fuck her deeper, laving kisses across her collar bones. Adjusting the angle, the pressure, the speed to keep her always on her toes. Bringing her almost to the edge and then dragging her back. She wants to be mad about it but she can’t bring herself to feel anything other than pleasure coiling low in her belly. Killian knows her too well. He knows what she likes, how she wants to be fucked and how to take care of her after. He knows she hates being teased but he also knows that she comes so much harder when she’s had to work for it. 

As she said, he knows her too well.

“I’m close.” She sobs, arms thrown around his neck. Her call spurs him on, fucking into her faster and deeper while he strokes relentlessly at her clit with his thumb. It’s only a few seconds before a tsunami of an orgasm washes over her in full force, wave after wave of pleasure settling over as she’s fucked through it. Gentler now than before. She can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears but she doesn’t miss the telltale grunts of her name as Killian follows shortly after with a few staccato pumps of his hips. True to his word, he comes deep inside her. The feeling of being so full warming her from the inside out. 

He collapses against her chest with a huff and she laughs, not able to resist running her hands through his hair. She loves him. From his grunty sex noises to the way he can’t seem to hold himself up once he’s spent. She loves all of him.

“Brainless yet, love?” He mumbles against his gifts from earlier. There’s a dull throb as he kisses one of the hickeys and Emma hums, wrapping him in her embrace. She doesn’t want to move, despite how awkwardly they’re tangled together and Killian growing soft inside her. If David catches them on his patrol in the morning, they’re screwed. Well, she is. He’d hold that over her for eternity. 

Pulling him tighter, she sighs. 

“Completely.” 

She’d have to ask Mary Margaret about that scar story again, for blackmail purposes.

[sunsetsinhoenn]

hiii I was wondering how Sal’s S/O would react to seeing his face under his mask for the first time?

thank you for sending something in for sally face *_* im nervous that his might not be that good, but I hope everyone likes it. 

if you are reading this on mobile, I am SO sorry… I usually edit any bunching of words on my phone so it’s easier to read, but the app won’t even let me do that anymore. if anyone knows how to stop tumblr from screwing with my posts… please tell me…. or i’ll… cry

Sal Fisher _ “expressions”

Ever since the two of you had begun dating, you realized that Sal was trying his best to make sure you both had enough time spent alone together. You both loved the rest of your friends, but you also loved each other a lot and the exclusivity of your relationship required time for the both of you to catch up together. Since you and Sal were just high school students barely going into your senior year, this time together usually took its place in the form of homework sessions or dates, but every so often there would come a time when no one else but you and Sal had any free time.

You loved these times.

“I get that your ghost friend is up here and all, but what enticed you to check the fifth floor out in the first place?” You said, slowly walking around and scoping out apartment 504. “It feels like if I accidentally get poked by whatever’s in here, I’ll get… rabies… or something.”

You heard your boyfriend chuckle where he stood by the bathroom patiently, watching you check things out.

“Well, I don’t touch anything I shouldn’t, that’s for sure. Although,” You turned your head quickly towards him, giving him a disbelieving look before he could even finish his sentence. “If I do find something interesting, I’ll take it. Random stuff pops up often up, here.”

You began walking towards him, content with your brief look-around, still eyeing him somewhat incredulously.

“That’s weird. Please tell me you carry around a little bottle of sanitizer in your pocket?”

You saw the bottoms of his eyes raise up behind his prosthetic, giving you the impression that he was smiling, but other than that he seemed rather straight-faced.

“I don’t! Are you ready to meet Megan?”

You shrugged, sighing a little.

“I suppose. You said she’s shy, though. What if she doesn’t want to meet me?” Still facing you, his hand went behind his back to land on the doorknob and turn it open.

“I’m hoping that she’ll sense how sweet you are and come out anyways. You’re cute too, so she won’t feel scared, either.” You blushed and he laughed again, walking backwards into the bathroom. With your mouth twisted into an embarrassed, tiny frown, you felt the tips of your ears turn red as well. Your boyfriend was sweet, but he really liked to lay the compliments on thick.

Following him inside, he closed the door behind the two of you and started speaking out. With the dim light of the bathroom and the fact that Sal was trying to summon a ghost, which you were pretty sure didn’t exist, you felt your nerves working up. It was just… so creepy and dirty in the bathroom and the only thing that kept your mind from running rampant was the sight of Sal right in front of you. If it weren’t for the calming image of his familiar prosthetic and blue hair, you would have bounced out already.

“Megan… are you sure you don’t want to come out? Y/N is really nice, they won’t hurt you or anything.” He turned towards you. “Do you want to say hi, to see if she might come out?”

“Um…” You fiddled with your hands, a little nervous. “H-hey, Megan. I’m Y/N… I won’t bite or anything. I-in fact, I don’t think I can, haha…”

…You were met with nothing but silence. Sal tried calling out once more as a last try to get her to come out, but received no response again. Part of you felt a little hurt for not being okay enough for Megan to come out for, but the other part was relieved, just a bit. Maybe Megan was able to sense that part of you that wasn’t ready to see her… Or maybe she didn’t. You didn’t really know.

You looked at Sal, who had been staring at you.

“She might be tired. Maybe you can meet her some other day.” You nodded, taking his hand and leading him out, rushing him a bit.

“As long as you’re with me. This place is creepy without the ghosts.” You took a few steps out of the bathroom and down the apartment to the exit.

“I don’t really like the idea of you coming up here without me, anyways. There hasn’t been any demons for a while, but this place can be dangero-“

With a shriek, you halted your steps and squished yourself against sal, frightened by the man sitting in the room. He looked like your average homeless man, but with darkness surrounding his eyes. You could tell that he wasn’t okay nor was he normal due to his subtle transparency and his crazed rocking back and forth.

“You need to leave.”

“W-what?!”

“There will be-“ It sounded as if his voice was echoed and distant, like from another world. You tried to take a step back, but ended up tripping over Sal and you both ended up falling backwards from the imbalance. Frantically, you panicked and got up, ignoring the man that had appeared suddenly in the apartments.

“Sal?! I’m sorry, are you okay?” He grunted a bit and said he was fine, but you could see that his eyes were closed and that he was trying to wipe something off. You noticed that there were dirt particles and other miscellaneous… unsanitary stuff on the ground, so you both got yourself back on your feet quickly and you pushed him out of the apartment as fast as you could.

“Come on, Sal! Let’s get to your apartment to take care of that.” Nodding, he followed you into the elevator and down to the floor below. The trip was quick, but you also noted the fact that his prosthetic had been moved on his face a little bit, revealing more of his left side and less of his right. You could see a scar popping out.

Once inside of his apartment, you guided him to his bathroom and made him sit on the toilet, so you could grab a rag and wet it.

“No, Y/N, I’m fine. You don’t have to help me. Really, I can take care of it.”

“But if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be having issues right now. I’m the clumsy idiot, please let me help you. Close your eyes.” He did as he was told and closed them hesitantly. As you kneeled in front of him, he leaned towards you, so you could clean it better. “I am… having a hard time cleaning this, though. Do you still feel dirt and stuff in your eyes?”

He nodded.

“I- yeah… I think some dirt might’ve gotten underneath too, though I’m not sure how that happened.” You continued dabbing at his eyes,trying to make sure that he wouldn’t get an eye infection because of your dumb actions.

“Well, your prosthetic did get turned a little.”

“It did?”

“Yeah.”

“…”

Sitting in silence for a few moments, he listened to you breathe as you worked. He had been thinking about this moment for a long time, shortly after the two of you had started dating. But no matter what scenario he had imagined in his head, it would always turn out bad. You would see his face, give a look of horror or disgust… and then run away.

No matter how kind he knew you were, no matter how sweet or open-minded you were, he could not foresee a good outcome to him removing his prosthetic, so showing you was something he had always procrastinated on. He knew that in order to be with you in the future, as more than just a high school couple, you would have to see him eventually, but it… scared him. A lot.

With a shaky hand, he gripped your wrist, silently telling you to stop. Slowly, you watched as he began removing the straps on the back of his head, and as your heart began speeding up for the second time that day, you watched with wide eyes as you saw his face for the first time.

His face was littered in scars, both small and big. You could see that the worst area was on the right side of his face, which was practically mauled. There was dirt on his face from the tumble you both took in apartment 504, but what drew your attention was his… expression. Part of his eyebrow was missing on the right side, but you could tell that he looked incredibly worried and scared and… that he was watching with bated breath on what you would do next. He was staring right in your eyes, wondering and waiting.

For some reason, you felt tears well up, and carefully you began cleaning his face again, having a much easier time without the prosthetic.

With a wide smile and a soft laugh, you spoke, a couple tears spilling down.

“Wow… you have dirt everywhere.” You quickly dabbed it away. “And… y’know, I’m really happy because now I finally get to say this with absolute confidence. I mean, I was able to say it before, but now that I’ve seen your face you are legally obligated to believe me when I say it.”

“Huh?” He looked at you, a little skeptical, but still worried. This was not a scenario that he foresaw. What are you saying? After setting the rag aside, you looked straight back into his face, your smile somehow growing wider.

“You are, without a doubt, the cutest boy I’ve ever met.” Your hands went up to cup his face. “I never really thought about it before because… the Sal I had always known was the Sal with the ‘mask’, but I can’t even begin to explain why I’m so happy to see you like this.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away from you.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat this, Y/N. I’m not cute. Don’t lie to me.” You frowned, turning his face back towards you. You would not accept him talking himself down like that.

“Sal, I am not a liar. I’m one hundred percent telling you the truth.” You raised an eyebrow, your demeanor becoming somewhat playful. “You’re my boyfriend and you are just. That. Handsome. I feel like giving you… a thousand kisses right now. Maybe even… a million.”

You laughed mischievously when you saw his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. You were glad he was pale, because it was easy to see. It was difficult to notice on the side that was heavily scarred, but you could from looking at the left side.

“Are you blushing, Sal? Is what I’m saying embarrassing?” You reached up and gave him a loud kiss on the forehead. “I’m sorry! I can’t help it!”

You heard him laugh and you glanced at him to see him smile at you. You could practically feel the arrow pierce your heart. You laughed as well, deliriously happy.

“I never really realized how much I wanted to see you smile. Thank you for showing me, Sal.” He gave you a deep kiss, tears falling down his cheeks.

“No, thank you.”

[stevemoffett]

Pandemics Don’t Get a Cute Pun

Being Afraid

It’s been twenty-one days since I’ve spoken to another person in the flesh. Before that, I had gone for seventeen days. And before that, a week.

The first week of no contact began when I said goodbye-for-now to my co-workers. I decided to wait to go to the grocery store until that first wave of people had passed before I tried going. On my last grocery trip, I had decided to “stock up” in case I had to isolate for a little while, and so, having no idea how disruptive the situation would become, I bought a whopping three boxes of spaghetti and one big jar of sauce.

My all-spaghetti diet ran out by Monday, March 23rd, and I had nothing else edible in the apartment. So, even though it wasn’t cold, I put on my jacket (to limit my skin-to-air exposure), a baseball cap (to stop myself from scratching my head, a nervous habit), and my glasses (I stopped wearing contacts to avoid touching my eyes). By March 23rd, the CDC and WHO had not yet recommended wearing gloves or masks in public. But I already had gloves at home (you never know when you’ll need nitrile gloves), and I had two masks that I had to wear when I was around someone who was immunocompromised earlier this year, so I put one of the masks and a pair of gloves on. Then I drove to the store.

The local store was letting about twenty people in at a time. There was already a line forming, just five minutes past opening. I walked to the end and we all stood waiting about six or so feet apart from one another.

Nobody made conversation. In people-watching moments like these, I associate whatever behavior I see with the general attitude of wherever I am, even if there is no such stereotype: Ah yes, that reserved Texas stoicism I’ve heard so much about.

When I got into the store I pulled out a cart and walked stiffly. The night before, I had gone on the store’s website and written a list of the items I needed, grouping them by what aisle they were in. I was going to snake my way through the store one time, get in line, and leave.

A complicating factor of doing it live was that there were lots of people to avoid. During an ordinary cold season, I usually watch out for people near me who might be sick. If they look like they may possibly be sniffling or flushed, I take a breath, hold it, and let it out through my nose slowly as I pass them. Here in the grocery store, I did this every time I walked past people in the aisles, and for extra protection, I scrunched my eyes shut.

There were signs posted limiting the amount of each product you could buy. No more than four boxes of pasta at once, for example. The pasta shelf was totally cleared out except for whole wheat pasta, so I took four boxes of that. I bought three eight-pound bags of dried pinto beans, a couple of bags of rice (I’d heard that beans and rice together make some kind of magical combination where you can avoid protein deficiencies even if you don’t have any meat), a big bottle of canola oil, butter, four big jars of spaghetti sauce, a bunch of hot sauce, ketchup, tofu, and frozen vegetables. The meat aisle was almost completely picked over—I managed to get two pounds of ground turkey from there, though. I didn’t get any eggs because I enjoy them too much; I knew that it would be better to make a clean break from them until after things got back to normal than to agonize over eating the last of them.

In line, I had an extremely full cart. By contrast, an old man in shorts behind me had about four things in his, and he wasn’t wearing gloves or a mask.

I heard him say, in a very low voice, “Stupid motherfucker.” Maybe he said, “Stupid motherfuckers,” plural, but I felt like it had to be at least be partially directed at me.

The teenager who rang me up seemed relaxed. I felt demographically exposed. Now that I am middle-aged, I am very aware of my interactions with teenagers. If movies are any lesson, there are about six million ways that I can make an encounter with one of them a) awkward, b) creepy, or c) both.

“Have you seen many other insane people dressed like me?” I asked, cringing behind the mask since I had already failed point a).

“Not many,” she replied.

“Well, thanks for being here,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem! I’m getting paid a lot to be here!” She said.

When I got home, I decided to take everything up to my place in multiple trips. Climbing up and down the stairs for each trip, though, I started to sweat. When I came in with the last of the bags, I set them on the floor and took my gloves off. I could feel a bead of sweat dripping down my forehead. If it got past my eyebrow and went into my eye, then maybe some of the virus that had landed on me from contaminated grocery store air would be carried into my eye, and that would be Game Over.

I hurried to the sink, tossing the gloves into the trash and ripping a paper towel off the roll. I crumpled it and pressed the part of the wadded-up towel that hadn’t touched either hand over my closed eye.

As the sweat was wicked away from my eyebrow, I felt my fingers moisten and I thought, Could any germs from my hand travel back through this sweat bridge and into my eye? It was true that I had been wearing gloves, but maybe I hadn’t taken them off carefully enough and I’d touched my wrist, or the outside of one of the gloves, and not noticed. I had also grasped the side of the roll to rip the paper towel off. Had I contaminated the edges of a bunch of sheets farther into the roll, too? Could I even be sure I’d properly bunched the paper towel I was holding to my eye without having touched the eye-facing part?

I decided to text all of this uncertainty in a big run-on paragraph to my brother. He responded, “I think you’re fine.”

After blotting the sweat, I got the bright idea to sanitize the frozen vegetable bags I’d bought before putting them in the freezer by spraying them with bleach. I brought them out to my balcony so that I could spray everything down indiscriminately. I sprayed all the bags, waited a couple of minutes, then started wiping them off with a fresh paper towel.

As I wiped the bags, I noticed that they were not airtight; there was a series of little pinholes all over the bags in what seemed like regular intervals. I assume that this was a design feature of the bags. But I could see that the bleach spray was disappearing into the holes, which meant the cauliflower and broccoli inside were absorbing it.

I realized then that I had inadvertently poisoned all of my vegetables. I tossed them in the garbage and thought again of what the old man behind me in line had said.

Now I had no source of vitamin C. I’d thought that there might be vitamin C in meat, but there is not. You get it mostly from leafy greens, a few fortified foods, and citrus fruits. I checked online and found that if I got zero vitamin C, I had at least four weeks until I got scurvy. This meant that I couldn’t go longer than four weeks before my next grocery trip. It was a relief to know that I had a date where re-stocking was mandatory, because if there wasn’t one, I might have felt overly cautious, enough to start rationing my food so that it lasted as long as humanly possible, and I’d lose an unhealthy amount of weight by cutting my calorie intake down to the minimum 1200 a day.

But without a vitamin C source, that wasn’t necessary. I certainly had enough food to last me for four weeks, as long as I was strict. I wouldn’t be able to have any cheat nights, but I also wouldn’t go hungry.

I sprayed the bleach on the faucet handle and the soap dispenser, and left the non-perishable food—Sriracha sauce, ketchup bottles, mustard, oatmeal, spaghetti sauce, and boxes of spaghetti, all standing upright—out on the floor between my refrigerator and the front door. I’d wait another 72 hours before handling them, and even after that, I would wash them with soap before use (except for the cardboard spaghetti package).

Those first few days were extra paranoid because I knew that it was possible I had already been infected. A few nights, I woke up around 3 to use the bathroom, and as I passed my upward-pointing non-perishables there on the floor, they looked less like food items and more like a bed of nails, or like stalagmites deep in a cave: hostile, and waiting for me to trip.

If I cleared my throat several times within a couple of minutes during the day, I got worried. If I sneezed or felt congestion when I woke up, the anxiety would percolate in the background until the symptom went away. I began sniffing my toothpaste to make sure I could still detect mint, since the news had come that smell loss was a common symptom.

But all of this was a distraction from the real sources of my dread: my parents and sister. My parents are old and my younger sister is frail. Each of them has at least one comorbidity waiting to gang up on them if they were infected. They all live together, and my sister requires enough close monitoring that if one of them gets it, they will all get it.

My father has had a particularly distressing habit that he likes to trot out from time to time over the last decade, but since his stroke, he’s doubled his efforts. What he does is personify the small voice in my mind that prevents me from getting back to sleep at 3 AM.

He called me the other day, just to talk. And mostly, the conversation went as normal: I tore my hair out at his and my mother’s relative (to me) disregard for proper exposure limiting, and he gave me his latest movie or TV show recommendations.

After I tut-tutted over another unnecessary trip somewhere both he and my mother had taken recently, he responded, “Yeah, that’s true, it is a risk. Well, you know, if one of us gets this, then all of us will. And we might all die.”

He let the words hang there until I responded, with as little emotion as possible to show him that he wasn’t winding me up, “Sounds like it’s a good idea to be even more careful, then.”

As I said, he’s made a habit of nihilistic portending for the last ten years. The problem is that I am always trying to banish those thoughts when they’re still merely thoughts, but then he just blurts them out, which makes them real. Does he not understand after almost forty years that no matter how irrational, uninformed, or biased a father’s words can be, they are still taken to heart by the son?

And he says these things, but then he doesn’t change his actions in kind. If he believed that the situation were that serious, wouldn’t he be battening down the hatches instead of making flimsy excuses to go to the grocery store? Does he really need to get that steak because he has a coupon? Does he really have to go there for Kandy Kakes because they’re buy two, get one free? Is it really worth rolling the dice each time?

I did ask him this directly, and he replied, “Well, we have to live.”

He meant “live” figuratively—I knew that they had enough bland food there to last them a long time. I asked him, “So the difference between ‘living’ and ‘not living’ is going to the grocery store?”

The frustrating contradiction is that for a generation so insistent on austerity being the “tough love” that the world requires, my parents sure don’t want to be austere. When I had trouble getting a job just out of undergrad, I was told to “pound the pavement,” carrying my resume with a suit on and applying to places in person, because it would be “more impressive” than applying online. The most frequent criticism of theirs was that people my age are lazy softies who can’t do anything for themselves. My dad, who had been a mechanic in his adolescence, liked to repeat a joke about my and my brother’s lack of mechanical knowledge: “If Steve had a nut, and [my brother] had a bolt, the two of ‘em wouldn’t be able to figure out how to get them together.”

Yet, if anything ever has been, this is the time for austerity: you shouldn’t make any unnecessary trips for indulgent foods. Instead, stick with the bland, nutritious diet that will last a long time, and stay away from public places. You can truly turn the risk almost down to zero that way, by being austere.

I think that my parents (I can’t speak for their entire generation, just them) have two aversions to properly responding to the virus. The first is that hiding inside one’s house is not what courage looks like. Courage is going out and showing the virus that they won’t be cowed so easily! Staying in, by contrast, is living in fear and surrendering. But it’s not true. The virus can’t be “shown” anything because it is a cell-invading machine. It isn’t trying to cow them, or “try” anything at all, for that matter. It is only spreading. It’s also confusing because the other great fear of our time is terrorism, and in cases of terrorism, that is the right attitude to react with.

To explain their second aversion to responding prudently to the virus, I believe that at a certain age, you just feel entitled. If you’ve had a life like most people’s then you’ve had your share of happy times, but you’ve also had your share of awful ones. And at this point, almost seventy years in, you probably think, the painful parts ought to be mostly over. You don’t deserve to be cooped up in the house right when retirement, really the only good part of senior citizenship, is beginning. Therefore, you deserve to be able to go out and do things. Unlike the timid young, you simply don’t have the time to waste inside.

While I can understand both aversions (as well as a younger person is able to, that is), I can still disagree with them. And I can still get extremely angry when my parents show this behavior.

For that reason, I am not without my own nastiness. I’m sure my mother didn’t appreciate the time I said to her on the phone, “I want you to remember you said that when they’re hooking you up to a ventilator,” after she told me she’d gone to the Starbucks drive-thru that morning. I mean, yes, what I said was truly ghoulish, but I said it out of love. And, desperation.

Because the 3 AM nightmare that I have lately is the one where I send my usual text to my mom asking how they’re all doing, and she texts me back, “Well, [my younger sister] woke up with a little fever, but she’s fine, she’s fine…”

*

I hear the horror stories. Funerals that have to be attended via the Zoom app. Final goodbyes said over Skype or FaceTime. People dying at the hospital, all alone. I know that it is naive to hope for this, but I still want to be one of those families that just dodges it entirely, you know? Just completely lucks out.

Even though I know those horror stories I keep reading are a textbook case of selection bias (you don’t hear about the vast majority of cases, where a person gets kind of sick but then recovers and is fine), if I want to do some simple panic math, here are the numbers.

-A reasonable infection rate over the whole US population, based on the R0 value: 50%.

-The chances that if one of the three vulnerable people in my family gets it, all three will end up infected: nearly 100%.

-The chances of them dying, given their ages/comorbidities (I’ll be more optimistic with this statistic): 15%, for each person.

Here are the likelihoods for the optimistic scenarios:

-None of them get it. That’s 50% x 50% x 50%, which equals 12.5%.

-They all get it, but they all survive: ~87.5% x 85% x 85% x 85%, which equals about 53%.

That doesn’t represent complete coverage of the probability space, since there are minor variations in what could happen, like each of them could theoretically be infected from an outside source and then give it to only one of the others. But as an estimation, it covers the most major scenarios decently.

So then, to get the probability of the “bad scenarios,” in which at least one person dies, you take the complementary percentage: 100% - (53% + 12.5%) = 34.5%.

Am I really looking at about a one in three chance that one of my immediate family members will die, to say nothing of my grandmother, sister, brother, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew? Hopefully not. The more time that goes by with them not getting infected, the more information healthcare workers and scientists can get about proper treatment courses and possible new medications. And if we go long enough (over a year) without getting infected, we might be able to be vaccinated.

In addition to the nasty pictures I paint for them over the phone if they don’t properly isolate themselves, I have also tried to exploit the older generation’s defensiveness. With a relish that was all part of the act, I told them that there was an alternate name for the disease floating around online, “The Boomer Remover.”

The other term I’d heard, The Boomer Doomer, I refrained from telling them about. My reasoning was this: while The Boomer Doomer is flippant and insensitive, the word “doom” is still scary. So, the phrase “Boomer Doomer” admits some of the disease’s weight and suggests a small amount of seriousness in the mentality of millennial-and-younger generations. That wasn’t good enough.

No, The Boomer Remover was the one I told them about because in addition to being disrespectful, it is downright adversarial. “The Boomer Remover” sounds like a cleaning product. It casts the virus as part of the young’s artillery in the culture war. And it casts the boomer generation as vermin. The name brings to mind fears that older generations must all share since the beginning of time: you will soon be gone, and your absence will be celebrated. Maybe, I thought, their defensive attitudes could be redirected to something more constructive, like making the effort to keep themselves healthy.

It seemed to do the trick. They were more conscious of avoiding exposure to infection after I said it. I don’t know if they really were persuaded by The Boomer Remover—it’s possible that they just got more information from the news around the same time—but they did cut out more unnecessary trips, which relieved me. Not down to zero, but fewer than before. I still don’t accept the unnecessary trips they take, though, and I spare no opportunity to remind them of that.

Coping, Sub-Optimally

I am lucky in my personal situation. To some extent, I can work from home. I have joined the legions of Zoom users. Keeping rigidly to a telework schedule, I have made sure that my sleep schedule hasn’t changed by more than a half hour, and I still look forward to the weekend, even though I don’t go anywhere Saturday or Sunday. The library is closed, and most of my attendees don’t have the Internet, so I can’t run my book club. I can exercise, but after hearing my downstairs neighbors furiously pound on their ceiling during one of my workouts, I’ve had to figure out how to do silent cardio so I don’t have to run through the neighborhood every other day.

One thing that I’m experiencing seems to be something that a lot of others are, too: an unfortunate confrontation with my previous excuse-making. If I had an hour extra in the day, I used to say, I would cultivate a new skill and get really good at it.

After a reliable isolation routine had been set here in my apartment, I found that I did have an extra hour each day, since I didn’t have to commute. I could wake up a half hour later because I didn’t have to drive to work, and when I stopped working for the day, all I had to do was sign out. I could still exercise, still make dinner, and still unwind before bed, so my post-work day was similar, but I gained one more hour I could use as I pleased. What have I done with it?

I am not a gamer. After about six years of not playing any games at all, I bought myself a Nintendo Switch and the newest Zelda game when I graduated in 2018 as a self-gift. I played Zelda over eighteen months. It’s a long game, but the average time you’d have to spend per day to finish the game with only moderate quest completion over that many months is low.

Playing Zelda was like a being able to eat a filling meal whenever I happened to crave it. In-game, I found the environment to be so pleasant that when people in real life asked me if I’d done any hiking lately, I’d almost respond, “Well, no, but I have done a fair bit of hiking and mountain climbing in Zelda.” If I went a couple of weeks without playing, it would take only a minute or two to remember what I’d been doing when I turned it on again. Overall, it might be the best game I have ever played. And it seems like it would be the perfect game for these times, if I were playing it anew.

But lately, the game-playing I’ve been doing over the past few weeks shows a much different mindset—one I haven’t really experienced since I was an undergrad student.

When I was in college, the adjustment to living away from home took a long time, and as a result, freshman year was sort of a wash. I didn’t do well in my classes, my suitemates were all upperclassmen I couldn’t really relate to, and it was hard to make friends in the huge introductory lectures with no assigned seating. I spent nearly the whole year playing video games in my room every evening, ordering pizza after pizza after pizza.

The game I remember playing most was a first-person shooter called Quake 2. I had tried the original Quake when it came out in 1996, but at that time it was too graphics-intensive for the family computer to run. Now, though, Quake 2 was the cooler-looking game, and my new laptop could have run either one easily, so I got Quake 2.

If I could sum up the highlight of freshman year, 2003, it would be: It is 10 PM. It is Friday night. There is a pizza on my desk, only two slices eaten so far. There is me, twenty-five pounds heavier than I am now. I am listening to Zwan, the short-lived Smashing Pumpkins-led supergroup. Quake 2 is blasting on my laptop. Somewhere far away, my future wife shivers for seemingly no reason.

After freshman year, I made a bunch of friends, and some of them became my closest friends, and from that happy vantage point, freshman year looked even more bleak. I resolved that I wouldn’t play Quake 2 ever again. In fact, I decided that from then on, I would think of the intense urge to game, especially first-person shooter games, as a kind of emotional canary in the coal mine.

But now in 2020, stuck in the relative comfort of my nice apartment and isolated from my family, and with the extra time that isolation was granting me, I started looking online for a new game to play.

My computer is fine but is also nothing impressive, processor-wise, so I can’t run a modern game on it. I felt too intimidated to play one anyway, having been out of the loop for so long. So, I searched for “retro FPS games,” and found a game called Dusk. Dusk, the game’s description said, was made in 2018, but was “meant to look like a shooter from 1996.”

I bought it and did nothing else outside of work except eat, squeeze in workouts, and play the game. It only took four evenings, but I finished it. And after that, the gaming urge from freshman year was fully back.

Similar circumstances, similar results. If I didn’t dig up Quake 2, it was only out of a pitiful sense of pride; re-downloading it would mean that symbolically, I hadn’t changed at all since freshman year. So instead, I bought Quake 1, and I’ve been playing that ever since I finished Dusk.

It turns out that since 1996, there has been an online Quake 1 fan community that regularly cranks out game modifications, so there are literally thousands of user-made levels to play in addition to the original game. And the mod levels are all free, as long as you’ve paid for the original game, which costs only five dollars. As a result, nearly every night after work, exercise, and dinner, I turn on a 24-year-old video game (with a fan-made mod that sleekens those chunky graphics up a little bit) and play it until bedtime.

First, I played through the game at normal difficulty, saving after every tough set of enemies (this practice is called “save scumming,” and is frowned upon in the Quake community). Not wanting to be bogus, after I finished it that way, I immediately started replaying the game, this time on Hard difficulty and only saving one time per level. I haven’t made it through the entire game again this way yet, but I’ve also played a bunch of fan-made levels to see what the tinkerers have come up with in the last couple of decades.

Have you ever been so completely uninterested while listening to someone explain their hobby to you that you felt a little bit guilty, but you also felt bad for the person, for being so lame? That’s how I feel right now, re-reading what I’ve just written. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t one of those I-am-quitting-my-addiction-through-the-healing-power-of-writing entries—in fact, I stopped writing this several times to play Quake, even looking up strategy videos on YouTube when I got stuck—but I acknowledge that this is not a good use of my time.

Right now, I could finally be getting those guitar skill fundamentals I’ve always wanted. I could be (getting closer to) finishing all songs I’ve written, or writing new ones. I could be working on an actual short story, or a novel, or something, to point to as a positive thing that came out of this whole crisis, and yet, all of those roads end up in the same place: worry town.

In another way, my laser-focus on playing a game like Quake makes perfect sense. It is similar to a game I already know how to play—it’s not one of the new shooters my computer couldn’t run and I probably couldn’t understand. And it lacks any need for deep thinking. Your goal in Quake is to get to the other end of the level, and if you could try to kill everything you see on your way there, that would be cool too.

If I were playing Zelda, I’d be all the way inside my head thinking about my family as my character’s horse galloped past waterfalls, sunsets, and windblown grassy fields. But in Quake, I don’t have to keep track of my inventory, my life meter, my resources, experience points, magic spells, stamina, side-quests—anything. If I’m still shooting and moving, I can still win. There’s no time for my mind to wander because there are monsters around every corner. And at the end of the level, nothing needs to be committed to memory.

Is it weird that I can’t remember anything about the actual game Quake 2, which I spent months playing as a freshman, except for how it felt to play it? Well, that, and the sparse game dialogue: some enemies would call you “trespasser” or “intruder” just before they tried to stab or shoot you, and there’s a level about midway into the game where you make your way through an elaborate torture factory and you see your comrades all being sawed to pieces, but the only thing they cry out is “It hurts,” “Let me out,” “Make it stop,” or “Kill me now.”

The time I spent playing Quake 2 and the time I’m now spending playing Quake 1 almost seem like one of those cheesy explanations of wormholes you see in science fiction movies. What’s the shortest way between these two points on this piece of paper? someone asks. A straight line, someone answers, and the person who asked the question shakes their head and folds the paper so the two points meet.

*

Life at thirty-five still feels young—I don’t have that fear of replacement yet. But I do have a new awareness of how dangerous it is to get stuck in a rut. Talking with my family over the phone in the past few weeks, I said that I was afraid that I had become “complacent enough that I could wake up one day and realize that I’m forty-five, with nothing new to show for it.” There are plenty of things I know I’m now too old for, ways of acting, ways of dressing. And my life so far is starting to have a true feeling of accumulation to it. Thinking back on it is like looking down a mountain hiking trail, with confusing turns, switchbacks, and even blind offshoots. Some of it is obscured by the trees, lost from memory. It all seems impressively far. Looking forward again, the mountaintop is still in the distance, but now it looms.

In between the previous paragraph and the one before it, I found out that my high school film teacher, Mr. Truitt, passed away. I had mentioned him in my entry about starting a book club, and in it I’d said that I’d modeled my method of discussion on the one from his film class. I now seriously regret that after all of this time since high school, I never used the very small amount of time it would have taken to tell him how much his class and influence meant to me. And, it is an embarrassing kind of regret—an obnoxious feeling, having taken him so much for granted. I’d always meant to contact him some day, but ordinary life took the foreground, and if I spent twenty minutes thinking of what I would write in a letter to him, I’d forget about it twenty minutes after that.

Just as indecent is my poring over his obituary with the obvious question on my mind that anyone has about any death in the past two months.

If something can be drawn from this entry, I hope it would be this: don’t forget to let people know how much you appreciate them. Life is long, but it never feels long enough. And the absoluteness of death is one of the scariest things about it.

[sinhuethedoctor]

6 FEET AWAY (COVID-21)

My alarm goes off. "BEEP,BEEP,BEEP." Before I even open my eyes I blindly slam my hand down onto my phone to shut it up. Rolling over onto my side I take a look at it:

TUESDAY MARCH 16TH 2021

7:30am 

66 Degrees and Sunny

I swipe my other notifications away - probably about how President Trump skewed the online voting numbers in last Novembers election - and roll my feet onto the ground. Rubbing my eyes I walk into my bathroom and immediately wash my hands; force of habit at this point. I use the toilet then wash my hands again before brushing my teeth. I begin to get dressed and consider wearing short sleeves, being how warm it will be out today, but ruled it out immediately because that's risky business nowadays. I throw a thermal over my head and slip on a pair of long pants before tying my shoes. I grab my house keys, my phone, my empty wallet, my bottle of hand sanitizer, and my 10 pack of disinfecting wipes. I slip on my rubber gloves then place my mask over my face. 

As I head down the steps and out the door I give my father a Facetime call: 

"Shouldn't you be wearing a hood? You're not being careful enough," is the first thing he says after he picks up.

"Dad, its going to be almost 70 degrees today, give me a break. You know I'm always careful," I say as pull the bottle of hand sanitizer and the wipes out of my pocket and present them to my camera to prove myself.  

"Yeah, well if everyone was a little MORE careful, we wouldn't be dealing with this shit for over a year now!! They said 1 month!!!! It's been a year!!!" 

"I hear you pop, well I'm about to go to work just wanted to say hello,"

"Work....," he say's disgiusted. "....pfff. One day you'll get sick and regret this whole working thing."

"Maybe so, Dad. I'll see you later," I hang up. 

I jump on my bicycle and start to think as I ride. I mean, maybe I am stupid, I can be getting almost the same money to sit home. I only make about one hundred more dollars a month than everyone else my age is getting from the government. No, I can't do it. Better to be out in the world, delivering food on my bike than being huddled at home scared in a corner. Scared of the world. 

I'm early so I decide to pass by my brothers house first. I get to the edge of his walkway and call his phone:

"Whatsup?" he asks.

"Come out I want to see Salvatore,"

"Give us a second, we'll be right down," he hangs up.

A few seconds later the door open's up, my nephew Sal squeezes passed my brother and begins to make a run for it down the walkway to give me a hug at the other end. Before he was able to get two feet he was yanked back by his collar.

"Salvatore, what the hell are you thinking?!!" my sister-in-law, Nicole, screams at him. "You know better than that," she says as she pulls him close to her.

 The three of them stand in front of the door wearing their mask's and gloves and I stay where I am at the other side of the walkway.

"You know, you may be back to your real job soon. Trump has a big announcement tonight and everyone thinks he's going to announce a date to lift the quarantine," my brother says.

"Right, like the four other times this happened," I reply.

"Keep hope, this could be the one. Dr.Fauci say's the curve is flattening out," my sister-in-law tells me.

"I bet it is...," I mumble sarcastically. "When I going to get to hug my nephew?"

"Right now, Uncle Mikey!!" My newphew screams as he tries to take off again. 

"When you quit that job," my brother replies while snatching his son."And then quaranratine for 14 days after that. Then we'll see,"

"Yeah, yeah. One day. I'll talk to you guys later, I gotta go. Love you, Sally," 

"Love you, more!!" he manages to get off before being hurried back into the house. 

A ten minute bike ride and I was at work. Delivering groceries wasn't what I saw myself doing at this point in my life but then again the whole world can say the same thing about their lives. 

The store I deliver for is small but they're busy. I walk over to my designated staging area to pull my deliveries. Looking at the tickets and the amount of bags, I map out my route and figure I'll have to make about 6 trips back here given what I can fit in the basket on my bike. It's a beautiful day so I don't mind at all. The first delivery I make is the largest, six bags. I load up my basket, hop on my bike and take-off. 

When I arrive at the house I grab the bags and carry them to the garage door and place them right in front of it. I walk to the front door, ring the bell, and walk back towards my bike. Moments later the garage door opens about two feet. A hand reaches out, pulls the bags into the garage and immediately the door begins closing. 

The rest of the day was most of the same. Bag placing and bell ringing. It was the safest way to do it nowadays. Mr. Scagnetti actually came the window and yelled out a Hello which was nice. It was always good to interact with people, even from a distance.

By the time I started my last delivery it was already dark. From there I'll go to my dad's. Once or twice a week I pass by and he talks to me from the balcony. It's good to get some actual face-time with him rather than the virtual Facetime.

It's actually the part of my week I look forward to the most. I miss my dad a lot and it hurts not being able to see him. 

I placed my last bags in front of the last garage and jumped back on my bike. I love riding at this time of night because curfew is setting in which means there are barley any trucks on road. This is what I live for these days. I'm always so caught up with making sure things are clean, washing my hands, avoiding people, and staying healthy that I never really feel free until I'm riding my bike. I speed down the service road and relentlessly gain momentum. I scream "FUCK CORONA!!!" as I pass through the intersection. 

By the time I saw the truck, it was six feet away. I don't even remember what it looked like. I only remember the drivers eyes above his mask. He looked scared.

When I got to heaven, my mother was the first person I saw. It had been 6 months since she died from the virus. We hugged each other tight and finally, I was free. 

[heoneyology]

Hearts on the Line: Ch.9

A/N: Things have calmed down a bit! Heads up there’s a portion where the MC has to get stitched up, I tried not to go into too much detail.

Genre: action, angst, romance, outlaw!au

Word Count: 4925

Summary: You’ve got a debt to pay, and Wooyoung has an agenda of his own. But for your help with just one last scheme, Wooyoung is willing to allow your debt to drop off—unknown to him, though, you also have your own agenda, and a loyalty to an unspoken Other. With hearts on the line, you each will end up having to make a decision that may risk what you both thought was simply just a game.

The ride back to the base camp is uncomfortable, to say the very least. You’re barely able to stay in the saddle on your own, and so Yunho rides behind you and allows you to lean back against him, an arm snaked around your waist as he holds you upright. He leads his horse along at a gallop with the reins in his free hand. He attempts to go slow and gently, but there’s an urgency to getting you back to camp that you can understand—that doesn’t make it any more comfortable, of course.

Each movement of the horse beneath you jostles you in a way that has you clenching your teeth against the pain. Every now and again, Yunho will ask you a question softly, close to your ear. You answer each time, not really able to remember what it is he’s asking and what you’re giving an answer to. You know he’s making sure you’re conscious still and not slipping away on him.

After a while, he begins to softly hum in your ear. Despite his deep voice, it’s melodic.

You don’t fall asleep, but the sound reverberating from the back of his throat soothes you enough to make the ride pass in a way that seems too fast yet too slow at the same time. You’re unable to firmly grasp at the concept of time.

“San!” Yunho’s sudden shout pulls you back to reality. You aren’t sure how much time has passed, having been lulled into a strange state of in-between by your riding partner’s humming. “Choi San!” He yells again, this time a bit more urgently.

Yunho slides from the saddle first, keeping a firm grip on you with a single hand as he does so. You realize then that you haven’t stopped clenching your jaw since the start of the ride. Slowly relaxing, you let out a breath, mentally preparing yourself for the pain about to come. There’s a frown furrowing Yunho’s brow again.

“Careful,” he croons to you, as you position yourself slowly to assist him in getting you down from his horse. Arms wrapped around you, he slips you from the saddle. You’re about to tell him that you can walk, but he’s back to carrying you bridal style without a single shred of hesitation.

“Choi San!” Yunho yells, once more, this time the urgency hovering close to a state of panic.

A sudden thundering of hooves, followed by some faint barking, makes you peek over Yunho’s shoulder. “There,” you murmur, and Yunho turns with you in his arms. The two of you watch San ride back into camp on his palomino, a small dog haphazardly barking as it trails a little too close to the horse’s hooves, pulling up short to a stop.

“You found Shiber,” Yunho comments off-handedly, before continuing, “Did you search the camp at all? Are your supplies mostly here, still?”

San dismounts, and as he does so he shoots his hunting hound a wide grin. The last you’d seen of the canine was when the dog had been curled asleep by the fire next to a contently sleeping Yeosang and Jongho. That seemed like ages ago, now, despite it only being close to a week, maybe a week and a half. You briefly wonder if Shiber had gone missing all of a sudden—it was no unknown fact to anyone that the dog was extremely fond of his owner, and didn’t take well to moments that San was away for days on end.

That’s when you notice the state of camp. You feel your head rolling along your shoulders in imitation of an owl as you do so, attempting to crane your neck around Yunho’s frame. While the camp isn’t completely torn apart, it’s clearly disheveled, as though some sort of tussle had happened. Items have been upturned, ripped open, and contents even spread around.

What happened? You wonder, just as San asks aloud, “What happened?”

He’s right in front of the two of you then, staring down at you with a stricken expression across his face. You pull your attention from the camp to meet San’s gaze, giving a meager smile.

“When you guys taught me how to fight and fend off knife attackers, you never followed up with what to do if that person had two knives.” Your attempt at a joke is quite lame, but you hear Yunho let out some sort of scoff-like laughter, and San—though he presses his lips into a hard, displeased line—gives a good-humored head shake.

“Yes, because you weren’t actually ever supposed to get into a knife fight,” San mutters, before nodding towards the center of the camp, close to the barren fire pit, a silent instruction for Yunho. San turns away, saying, “My tent was still fine, I should have enough to stitch her up.”

Yunho follows San’s silent direction, carefully setting you down on the ground next to the fire pit. He glances around the disheveled camp, moving about to collect some fresh wood to put a fire together.

“What happened here?” You ask, turning your head enough to allow you to study the state of what had been your temporary home until then.

“We don’t know.” San is the one who answers, returning to your side with a bag. He sets it down before he crouches at your side. “Hongjoong has an idea, but it hasn’t been confirmed. Seonghwa is also missing.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was the only one who hadn’t come to town that night. Yeosang and Jongho had said that they weren’t able to extract him from his tent, pouring himself over the books he carried with him. You remembered that the first night when this all had began, Seonghwa had been focused on studying something, but you could barely remember what. Considering he hadn’t been in the line of danger at all, despite his warnings, you found yourself worried.

“So, what happened?” San asked as he set about to work, he glanced up briefly at Yunho. “Get some water boiling in a pot, since we aren’t in any immediate danger ourselves and she isn’t, I want to sanitize this wound correctly. The bleeding seems to have stopped a while ago.”

You hear a hum of acknowledgement from Yunho, before the sound of a small spark against wood touches your ears. You flinch in surprise, briefly turning your head to watch Yunho tend a campfire, doing as San instructed with the water. Letting out a sigh, you turn back to San, watching him rummage through his belongings and pull out some various vials, bottles, and instruments, until he was satisfied with the assemblage.

“Short version of the story,” you begin, too tired to give all the details. They’ll hear it again, anyway, when Hongjoong inevitably sits you down to question you. “Wooyoung had a stupid idea, I went along with the stupid idea. I was acting as a spy. Got in a scuffle with a woman from Wooyoung’s past after gathering some information. We had a physical fight, I got stabbed—” You cut yourself off, glancing up at San then, “—the blade was doused in Gila monster venom, by the way.”

San has been handed a pot of boiled water by Yunho at this point, and he’s working on carefully cleaning a regular old sewing needle he’d procured. “Oh my,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Well, how are you feeling? I hear those are nasty to deal with. They won’t kill you, but they’re insanely painful. Unfortunately you have to just ride the venom out.”

You let out a grunt. “Ride it out is exactly what I’m doing, and it’s definitely not the most pleasant experience I’ve had.”

Quirking a brow, San studies you. “You’re handling the pain quite well.”

“I think the venom numbed me, to be honest. I ache inside. The stab wound I can’t really feel unless I make a sudden movement. Feels like my body has failed on me, because I feel nothing at all.”

After the needle is sanitized to his liking, San sets it aside. “Well, I hope you’re ready to feel something, because these next few things probably won’t be pleasant.” From under a curtain of hair, he looks up at you as he hovers of you. “For now I’m just going to clean this wound. Painkiller after, before I stitch it up. Can’t do anything for the venom, your body will naturally fight that off in its own way.”

You nod, grateful that he’s at least explaining to you what he’s doing and intends to do. Lying your head back, you let out a sigh, bracing yourself as you stare up at the night sky, littered with stars. You hear the tear of cloth as San cuts away the lower half of your shirt, flinching as he gently pours the hot water Yunho had boiled over your stab wound. The liquid, despite being smooth, is uncomfortably hot as it rushes around the edges of the wound and into the cut itself. San’s bare hand moves gently over the wound, rubbing away both dried and fresh blood.

As he works, you find yourself hyper focused on what he’s doing without looking, attempting to piece together a mental image of his hand at work.

“So,” you exhale, deciding the continuation of your story will distract you, “we got into a physical fight, I got stabbed—and I’m not really sure what made me think it was a good idea, but there was this lamp on the table in the room—we were in the saloon private rooms. I started to fall, my body couldn’t hold up my weight, and so I grabbed the lantern off the table and threw it onto the floor as I fell.”

“I thought the room would set on fire,” you lie, surprised at how easily it comes to you, “but then the whole building went up in flames.”

They don’t need to know that you were aware of Jean’s plan, or that you even knew Jean. They didn’t need to know that you’d smelled the gunpowder on the floor when you’d fallen the first time, and they definitely didn’t need to know you’d planned all of that to help ensure your survival. Now that Wooyoung was possibly injured because of you—these were things they didn’t need to know.

“Well, we heard that explosion from this far off—Yunho, sit her up—and let me tell you, I don’t think it was just that saloon you were in that set on fire.”

San is easy at holding multiple conversations at once, easily talented in the art of juggling multiple thoughts swarming through his head. It was no wonder he still had a shred of sanity left. Everyone liked to tease him for thinking too much, all at once, but somehow he still was able to keep a head about him despite all the ideas he had.

Yunho does as San instructs, carefully sitting you up as San presses a cloth over your stab wound to ensure it doesn’t begin to bleed again from the movement. As you’re guided into a sitting position, you’re met with a flask practically in your face, right at the tip of your nose.

You groan. You hated alcohol.

“Time to drink away the pain. Gotta numb you up,” San gives an impish grin, knowing your dislike for the whiskey.

“Quack doctor,” Yunho mutters under his breath.

San wrinkles his nose at the other. “Hey, you’ll be saying that when I patch Rosette up here nice and good. You’re going to end up being grateful.”

“What I would have been grateful for is if you hadn’t let Hongjoong fall out of his damn saddle,” Yunho argues, “quack doctor!”

“I digress, Hongjoong chose to fall from his own saddle. I had absolutely nothing to do with that—”

“A doctor should have control over his patients!”

“How many times do I have to say I’m not even a real doctor?!” San wails, and you suddenly find a headache growing, not just for the fact that he’s literally crying in your ear—but also from their bickering. It’s something they do often, Jongho often joining them, as well. That was something that created an even bigger fiasco.

“And Hongjoong isn’t, nor was he ever, a real patient! He went to sleep after a concussion! Who does that?!”

“Who lets someone do that?” Yunho retorts.

“Okay I didn’t see you wake him up, either—”

“Wait… Hongjoong fell from his saddle? He has a concussion? What’s going on?” You’re dizzy, glancing back and forth between the two of them as they continue their squabble.

But instead of answering you, San decides at that moment, it’s perfect to drop the subject entirely. Yunho seems to be in some sort of silent agreement with him. San shakes the flask in front of your nose. “A story for another time, maybe later when you tell us the lengthened version of your own. Now, bottom’s up.”

You wrinkle your nose as he presses the flask to your mouth, though you have no choice but to part your lips and accept the whiskey. Grimacing, you close your eyes against the bitter taste. San doesn’t lower the flask, and so you’re forced to keep drinking it steadily until he seems satisfied you’ve had enough. When he tilts the flask away, you sputter and let out a cough.

It’s not instantaneous, but you can feel the aged whiskey slowly take hold of your body, a sort of vertigo beginning to build up at the forefront of your mind. You close your eyes against the sensation. “Gross,” you mutter, aware that now the back of your throat burns with the rest of your body.

“Necessary,” is San’s one word answer, as he nods to Yunho, who gently lays you back down. Before you’re completely settled, San is pressing something against your mouth again. Obliging, you part your lips, greeted by the taste of old leather. Your eyes shoot back open, and from the back of your throat you let out a complaint against the leather, lifting your hands to pry San’s away.

“You’d rather bite off your tongue?” San asks, holding the leather there firmly. Though it tastes disgusting—you have to admit to yourself that you would rather not do so. San doesn’t let go until you drop your hands, positive you’re going to concede. “I’m going to start stitching.”

You’re about to close your eyes again when Yunho is suddenly reaching forward, collecting your hands in his own.

“In case it hurts too much.” He gives your hands a small, reassuring squeeze.

“Make sure she doesn’t struggle or move,” San directs, adding to you, “please try and stay still, Rosette, even if it hurts.”

You give a curt nod, feeling your jaw tightening as your teeth clench against the leather. Just as the pinpoint of the needle touches your skin, you snap your eyes closed and find yourself squeezing Yunho’s hands. The needle slides along your skin in a smooth and effortless manner, San working quickly and efficiently. You know he’s trying his hardest to not make things worse for you, but you can’t help the whimper against the leather that escapes from you. If you were to look, you were sure you’d be gripping Yunho’s hands so hard that your knuckles were white.

From faraway, you hear Yunho begin to hum again, until his voice builds up into something a tad bit stronger, softly singing, “It was you, my shine light; true light, came with destiny…”

You focus on that soothing sound, beginning to doze off. Yunho’s singing with the vertigo swimming in your head is enough to keep you unfocused—jumping between different thoughts and feelings. The sensation of the needle and thread and San’s warm touch against your stomach, the burning fire that still lingers in your veins, back to the gentle touch of Wooyoung as he tended to your lip… wondering if Wooyoung was okay, and wishing he were here.

At some point, your body can’t handle fighting against the pain any longer. Yunho’s voice and the whiskey lull you to sleep, a more comfortable warmth settling over your body. The day had been much longer than you’d anticipated, taking a very large toll on your body and mind overall. Nothing had panned out the way you had anticipated, and at the back of your mind is a small worry about what Hongjoong will say about everything. He didn’t know about your connecting to Jean, yet a part of you was concerned he was somehow aware of the buildings in the town being prepped to go up in flame—that you knew exactly what you were doing when you’d knocked that lamp over.

There was also a worry over what Jean was going to say—or even do. Did this ruin her plans? Clearly they’d been thwarted, to an extent, since the three members you’d managed to get to the saloon were all alive and well. That also made you wonder, though, where the heck had Seonghwa gone? And why was the camp in such a state of array?

You felt guilty for being relieved that everyone that had gone to the saloon was alive and well, like you were betraying your best friend. Could you even call her that, any longer? Even with the history you shared?

At the very least, you’d gotten a name out of Monica. Mr. Kim. It narrowed absolutely nothing down, but maybe Wooyoung would be able to do something with that information. You wished you’d gone alone, like originally planned. If only you’d been the one to meet with Monica, and hadn’t dragged the guys along… maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe everyone would be alright.

You aren’t sure how long you sleep for, but the sound of voices drags you unwillingly back to consciousness and reality.

“They got caught, the both of them. They’re in a holding cell right now.” Immediately, a sense of further relief washes through you at the sound of Jongho’s voice.

“They didn’t get shot on the spot?” Yunho asks, surprised.

“Sheriff wants to do a public execution,” Yeosang’s quietly calm voice interjects into the conversation. They’re talking about Hongjoong and Wooyoung, you realize. “Everyone thinks they did it—set the town on fire.”

“But—” Mingi’s deep voice suddenly appears, seemingly out of nowhere.”

“There’s no ‘buts’ to it, Mingi. I know you don’t think it’s entirely fair. With their combined bounties? Honestly, what man with a clean name wouldn’t think they did it? It’s not exactly like the sheriff needs a cause for the crime, to kill them. We’re all outlaws here.”

When you blink your eyes open, you find yourself lying on your side. A blanket has been placed beneath you, along with one covered over you, and a pack laid beneath your head. You’re met with the sight of San’s beloved hunting hound, Shiber, lying next to you. When you stir, the dog lifts his head to sniff you, before plopping it right back down and returning to his own dozing. You reach out, resting a hand on Shiber’s side as your eyes adjust to the dark and the firelight.

The dog stirring again, this time at your touch, catches San’s attention.

“You’re awake?”

There’s a pounding in your head that makes you wish you weren’t awake, but you answer with a, “Yes, kind of. Waking up still.” The fog of what’s left of the whiskey in your system and the heaviness of the sudden sleep that had overtaken you make it a bit difficult to push past the grogginess you feel.

San’s suddenly there, hovering over you. Shiber moves out of the way, tail wagging as he stares at San with such dedication and compassion in his eyes. You kind of envy the love the dog has for the man.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hungover?” You offer with a small smile.

San chuckles, smiling enough that his cheeks dimple. He reaches forward, gently taking hold of your shoulders and guiding you to return to laying on your back. At your waist, he parts the shirt you’re wearing—you realize that it’s one of the guys’, a button-down that’s only half-buttoned, that probably belongs to Yunho since it seems to fit you so loosely and clings to your frame like a curtain rather than a shirt.

“It looks good. Bleeding has completely stopped, no signs of infection at the time,” San studies his work, “I made some poultice with some yarrow not long ago that I put to help stem the bleeding. Whiskey’s all we got for painkillers around here, so if you’re in any pain, you’re either going to have tough it out or drink up.”

You wrinkle your nose at the idea of drinking anything more, not a fan of the latter option. Toughing it out seems like the better of the two ideas, considering you seemed to have done a decent job of it earlier if you’d managed to stay on your feet through all the events that had gone down.

“Good news is I think the venom is mostly out of your system. Had quite a scare after you fell asleep, you started running a fever,” San explained, letting the material of the shirt fall back down over your exposed stomach. “For a moment I thought you’d caught an infection, but then I realized your body was seemingly sweating out the last of the venom.”

“How long have I been sleeping for?” You wonder, your voice cracking as you speak.

Instead of answering, San turns away from you for a moment to rummage through some items nearby. You glance around at what you can see without jostling yourself too much, aware that the guys seemed to have cleaned up most of the camp. San returns with a jar lid in his hand, and you squint at the thick syrup sitting on it. He reaches forward, slipping a hand behind your back. You brace yourself, helping him assist you into a sitting position.

“Take some honey for your throat, I don’t know how much smoke you inhaled,” he instructs, handing you the jar lid.

You stare at it. There were plenty of cooking utensils around this camp, and this was how he served honey to you? Lifting your eyes, you narrow them into judgmental slits aimed straight towards him.

“We’ve all shared germs here before, but we haven’t shared germs with the ground. I wasn’t about to wash some dirty dishes just so you could have a spoonful of honey. Take it.”

You supposed that made sense, considering the camp had been ransacked earlier. Sighing, you do as he commands and swallow down the sweet fluid. Immediately, it soothes your parched throat.

“Well?” You ask after testing your throat out, satisfied that it doesn’t feel as itchy when you swallow. You hand the lid back to San.

“Long enough,” Yunho answers from over San’s shoulder. You shift your seated position to turn toward the fire, to the rest of the group—Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, and Yeosang were all present.

Mingi gives you a small smile, it being the first you two have seen of each other in a while. You return it, though you have to admit that seeing the latter two’s faces eases some pent up tension you hadn’t been aware you’d been holding onto. They looked worn, hair ruffled and some smudges on their face, presumably from their escape from the fire. They seemed unscathed, though.

Yunho adds, “We’re about three hours off from midnight.”

You’d been in a daze of pain, brain addled by smoke, but you briefly remembered Hongjoong’s words. “Didn’t Hongjoong say—” Before you finish the thought, Yunho nods grimly.

“That’s not going to happen,” Jongho speaks up with a sigh. “Sheriff caught them, presumably not long after you and Yunho rode off. Yeosang and I got out of that fire pretty easily, but we stuck around the outskirts of the town—helped put some of the fires out as best as we could without getting caught ourselves, but I drank too much to really do anything worthwhile. We were waiting for you and Wooyoung. He insisted on returning for you.”

“When neither of you met up with us where Wooyoung told us to wait, we assumed the worst, so we went back into the town to take a look around. Everything’s a mess at the moment and the townspeople are pissed. That’s when we got word that Hongjoong and Wooyoung were being held at the jail,” Yeosang supplies.

Jongho nodded. “We went to check it out, just to be sure—y’know how people can talk, sometimes, especially in a small town. But sure enough they were both there. When we saw Wooyoung, we realized he must have gotten you out. We rode back here, figuring this is where you’d return to since it’s the next safest spot.”

“And that’s where we’re at now, after they kind of filled us in on what happened to you and after I came back from scouting the area,” Mingi speaks up now, a frown on his face. “Trying to figure out why Seonghwa is missing, why the camp was ransacked and who was looking for what, and what to do about Boss and Wooyoung.”

You glance around the fire at each of their faces. None of them seem particularly tired, but there’s a mental exhaustion that lingers on their faces. They’d probably been discussing this for hours, you assumed, while you’d slept off what you’d went through.

“Ideally, we have until dawn to make a decision.” You glance over in surprise at Yeosang as he offers up this information. “Public executions aren’t done until noon.”

“That’s not safe!” You protest, to everyone’s surprise. They all glance at you. “Waiting that long to make a decision is really pushing it. What if they decide to do the execution earlier? If the town thinks that Wooyoung and Hongjoong did this, then now they’ve got a bounty for arson added to their heads. If everyone is as angry as Yeosang says, then that means they’re riled up enough to take action sooner rather than later.”

Yeosang purses his lips, frowning, and turning his blue gaze toward the fire in thought.

Yunho sighs. “She’s right. It’s risky.”

“Going back into town is risky, too,” Jongho muttered from where he sat next to him.

San, who had been quiet for most of this time, speaks up. “But when haven’t we been willing to take risks?” He quirks a brow as he asks this, as though it’s the most obvious question in the world. Which, in reality—it is. “Not only that, but working in the cover of the night is better for us. Things could get messier, in more ways than one, if we wait until morning to take care of this.”

“Can I help?” You ask, glancing at San. Since he was the doctor, and your care provider currently, you figured the decision fell onto him. Not that you were about to take no for an answer.

But before he does have a chance to answer, Yunho cuts in, “No, absolutely not!”

Your head snaps toward Yunho, a glare and a frown on your face. “Why not? If I did all the work I did earlier with the stab wound open and bleeding—yet made it out fine, then why can’t I do this with the stab wound stitched closed? Plus, I’m a woman! If you need into the jail, it’ll be easiest for me.”

You turn back towards San then, raising your eyebrows at him, prompting him.

San clears his throat, giving a small one-shouldered shrug. “Well, she’s not exactly wrong…”

“Quack doctor,” Yunho growls from across the fire.

San turns toward Yunho this time, wrinkling his nose at the other. “If you keep saying that, I may fall under the impression you’ve swallowed a duck.”

Ignoring their squabbling, yet again, you turn towards Mingi. “What do you say?”

There’s already a look of concentration written across Mingi’s face. When you direct your question toward him, he glances up, pulling himself out of his thoughts. With Hongjoong gone, and Seonghwa missing—leadership fell to the next in line. Mingi was one of the three founders, one of the two co-founders, to the ATEEZ gang. That left him in charge for now. It seemed to be something he was aware of, since he’d already been deep in thought.

Everyone turns their attention to Mingi, then.

“Alright. This is what we’re going to do.” He pushes himself to his feet, “Rosette can help—”

A complaint from Yunho sounds, and Mingi glances at him, but otherwise ignores it.

“San, you’re going to accompany her, for the most part. Make sure her wound doesn’t open on the ride back in. One we get to town, it’s on you, Rosette. You’ll infiltrate the jail like you’ve suggested,” as Mingi speaks, his eyes scan and rest upon everyone surrounding the fire, even yourself.

You’re part of the team, you realize.

Have you ever actually felt uncomfortable with us? Seonghwa’s words ring in the back of your mind.

You always have been a part of their team.

“Yeosang, stay behind in case Seonghwa returns. Everyone else, saddle up. We’re leaving in the next twenty minutes. I want everyone alert and on watch. When Rosette goes into the jail, we’re her backup if anything happens. San, you stay closest to her without revealing yourself.” Mingi pauses briefly, glancing once more around the fire, “Everyone ready?”

[killjoy-loveit]

Moments Like These

Request: Can i ask a got7 mark fluff where he and the reader go to the zoo?

A/N: I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and is not to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. Alrighty, so I simultaneously am upset at this request and loving it- it’s making me all soft and fuzzy, making me get all up in my feels. I now just want to hug everyone and make someone go to the zoo with me. Okay, let me get back on track: I hope you enjoy this! :)

Genre: Fluff 

Word Count: 1,075

    The weather appeared to match your mood for once, the sun shining brightly, sending you warmth on this chilly day. Even the birds flying overhead seemed happy, the sounds of their chirping becoming a melodic soundtrack to the adventure you’d planned for a week. Well, planned is such a definitive term, it was more like a week prior you decided you both needed a day to spend time together. Basically meaning that you convinced Mark that on the weekend, instead of bringing home extra work, that you both needed to do something together. Of course he was completely unaware of what you were planning, especially since he’d given you free reign- over the entire day.

    Which is how the two of you ended up at the zoo, at ten in the morning on a Saturday. A day that you tended to believe was one that required you to sleep until at least eleven, if not noon. But you’d wanted to make the most of the day ahead, so you forged ahead, waking up at half past eight, downing two cups of coffee as you got ready, and then hitting the road to make it to the zoo. The excitement was racing through your veins, making your heart beat faster, but maybe some of that was due to the amount of caffeine in you. Regardless of what was driving your enthusiasm, you were still there, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you stood in line to get tickets. A light chuckle brought your attention to Mark, who was standing right beside you with a small smile on his face.

    “What?” You asked instantly, sensing his amusement.

    “You’re adorable.”

    You blinked your eyes at him, giving you an owlish appearance. “Adorable?”

    He laughed again lightly, nodding in response to your question.

    A brief hum was your reply as you turned back to face the line, noticing that it had moved forward during the quick conversation. After this the line seemed to speed up, not giving the opportunity for further conversation as you found yourself at the front of the line within minutes. With your tickets acquired, you continued on through the maze of ropes and chains to the entrance. It was meant to keep everyone orderly and in line, but you honestly felt they just wanted to watch people struggle through it on the security cameras.

    Fifteen minutes later and you were inside the zoo, time for the adventure to officially begin. Not that it hadn’t already been an adventure, it was more akin to a small quest to bring you to the main part. This was what you had prepared for as your bag held the necessary items that might come in handy along this journey. Such items being sunscreen, sunglasses, an extra scarf, a bottle of ibuprofen, a packet of tissues, hand sanitizer, and a fully charged battery pack in case one of your phones died. Oh, and your wallet, you would never forget your wallet. Well, there was that one time where you did forget it but that is quite irrelevant right now.

    “Where do you want to go first?” Mark asked softly, pulling your excited gaze to him.

    “Oh, I’m not… I actually don’t know. You choose first.”

    “How did I know you’d say that?” He laughed lightly, shaking his head.

    Regardless he began to walk, not filling you in on your destination, which you didn’t expect of him. Sometimes he’d just forgo telling you the destination, and of course there were times you wanted to know so you made him tell you. Other times, like this one, you didn’t mind so much and just followed along. So, with an added bounce in your step, you looped your arm through his and followed his lead. It was impossible for you to focus on one specific thing currently, there were too many things out in the environment clamoring for your attention.

    Such as the light breeze that carried small leaves across the ground. Or the loud squeals of excited children running past you, exhausted parents following close behind with ignored warnings to not run. The scent of fresh coffee from a nearby kiosk called out to you, despite you already having too much caffeine in your system. And then a sparkle caught your eye as the sun hit a metal bench in the distance. Not to mention the random statues of different animals, spaced out along the path, that demanded your immediate attention. It took your utmost effort to continue on your way with Mark and not go to admire each statue.

    “We’re here.”

    Somehow you hadn’t realized you’d ended up at a specific exhibit, which wasn’t truly shocking given that you had been thoroughly distracted the entire way. A smile made its way onto your face as you turned to see which exhibit he’d chosen, one that grew once you saw the animals in the enclosure. An excited squeal managed to sneak out of you as you darted forward to peer closer, and you felt quite grateful that there weren’t many people around to see your little freakout.

    “I forgot they had sloths here! Mark, oh my god! Do you see it’s little face? It’s so precious, I can’t even breathe! No, I’m serious, I think I’m forgetting how to breathe. They’re so cute!” The words streamed out of your mouth and your tone went up an octave.

    When you turned your face back to him, to see if he’d heard you, he was just standing there smiling at you. You motioned him up to the glass frantically, wanting him to see this as well.

    “Come on, you’re missing it! You can smile at me any other time, but you can’t smile at the sloths all the time.”

    Facing the sloths once more, you took your time admiring them, the occasional sound of awe and wonder leaving you. You felt him come up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he peered into the enclosure over your shoulder. As he rested his chin on your shoulder, it was enough to distract you from the overwhelming joy of seeing your favorite animal for a brief moment. In this moment you felt genuinely happy, after all it had been quite a while since the two of you had gone out and done something like this. It’s moments like these, you reminded yourself, that should be cherished and appreciated as it’s happening.