#night blogging to distract from nausea & pain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

secretlittleclover · 4 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

*18+ suggestive themes, swearing, daddy kink if you look at it that way, mentions of nausea/vomiting, crying, begging to be loved (not really i’m just being dramatic), angst if you squint,mentions of p in v, squirt, there's a lot in here,unprotected sex (I don't condone this behavior) I think that is all but let me know*

p.s- this is based off my life but I wrote it as reader x JJ and the sake of it I'm making him like my partner (they act similar) we'll call him Lover!JJ (if you know then you know)for the comfort of any readers. Some people have other names just in case they didn't want to be apart of this mess. This is for pure fun and petty behavior.

Playlist link-https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ITpX19rUCHse1J5toJCm7?si=lPFu6-E9Sq6RIENVdG1iNQ

You loved to travel, experiencing new adventures and food were the best things life has to offer. The keys were fun but a small portion of you wanted nothing more than to lay in JJ's king size bed and to snuggle with all the plushies you had left over there,drowning in his scent until you fall into a deep sleep. You desperately needed it after throwing your guts up first thing in the morning.

Sitting in the car for hours was pure hell especially when you were having the worst headache,it felt as though your brain was trying to break out of your skull. You aren't someone who likes sitting down for even twenty minutes so to do it for almost three hours was making you beyond anxious,practically shaking in your seat to get out of the car. JJ noticed you were suffering and suggested you put on music to distract yourself so you picked the one playlist that would have your mind very occupied. As you selected the playlist titled yearning , Janet Jackson's soft, seductive voice fills the silent void in the truck. About two minutes in your eye fucking JJ while singing along- "I just wanna touch you,tease you,lick you,please you, love you, hold you, make love to you" - lover shook his head and let a soft smirk cross his face. It was cute until you reached over the center console staring right at him with your hand softly grazing across his lap singing "and I'm gonna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you, feel you deep inside me" . A lesson was learned after that instance, unless you want your face fucked 'til your jaw is sore in the far away parking spot of a bass pro shop, never tease JJ while he's driving.

After what felt like a lifetime of driving you finally made it home, JJ's home that is but practically your home, right? Not even ten minutes into making it home JJ's friends invited him to dinner, usually you would be excited to tag along but with the nausea and headache you decided to sit this one out. JJ did feel bad with how bad you had been feeling so he gave you a bit of money to get whatever you want, "If it can help bring back my baby's smile that's all I care about" he smiled. Before leaving JJ insisted that you take some medication and stop saying that you don't need it and you'll just "thug it out". After trying to fight it, you realized you really did need medicine, it was just your luck that there was nothing in the medicine cabinet. What did you expect from a single man in his late 30s,hm?

After an hour of agonizing pain and responding to anons you get the bright idea to make a reenactment of you and JJ having sex in the form of a smut, it would give you a reason to write plus it would be petty, doesn't get much better than that after all your only eighteen, you have your whole rest of your life to be mature. As soon as you heard the sweet sound of that Yamaha R125 , you texted a quick ask to your favorite blog, Star, and rushed downstairs awaiting your lover, your skin buzzing with excitement as the door unlocks. As JJ steps into the door greeting you, he kisses your forehead, you give him time to get out of his gear while asking how his night out was. "It was great sweet pea, would have been much better if you were there" Lover smiles before delivering a few soft pecks on your lips. "You have that flavored shit on don't you?" JJ asks, of course you have on flavored lip gloss, it was JJ's favorite and if JJ loved it, you loved it too.

JJ wasted no time almost dragging you upstairs, it wasn't anything new to you, there was little to no moments where he wasn't in a rush to stuff his thick cock inside of you. His lips clinging to your body,barely coming up to breathe, his hands raking up and down your body. Pushing up your (technically his) shirt just enough to reveal your bare breast and panties, lowering his head to kiss the two perfect mounds, trying his best to give them both equal love but honestly spending more time with one than the other. As JJ's lips wrapped around your nipples, lightly sucking on them (something you usually enjoyed), you started to feel disconnected from the experience, your mind preoccupied with comments made by anons and bitter women on the beach. You knew it was silly and you should have been present but something was just bugging you, now JJ has noticed your sudden disconnect.

"You wanna tell me why you are in la la land" JJ says sternly. You tried to play it off but JJ isn't one to try and lie to. When you do tell him what is bothering you, he laughs right in your face. "Really?" he raises his eyebrow "Come on puddin I know you better than that, since when have you cared so much about some random bitches on the internet?" he shakes he head and awaits for your answer but when you just sit there, trying to hide the fact that your eyes are swelling with tears he simply replies "It's because of that day at the beach,ain't it?" you nod, he sighs while pulling down your shirt, holding you close to him, letting you cry into the crook of his neck. For a while he just lets you cry, not saying a word until you say "I wish you'd love me the way I love you" to which he replies "I know sweet pea, I'm sorry" while rocking you back and forth. You tried to get him to just touch you even a little bit in the way you wanted but he wouldn't. "I know this isn't what you want but it's what you need, focus on your breathing baby" he instructed you.

Eventually you stop crying, your breath starts to steady, you look up at JJ, big doe eyes and all, pressing your lips against his. When you pull away he smiles, swiping his thumb over your pouty bottom lip. "You done with all that crying now?' he asked, you nod still sniffling a little. JJ maneuvers you both so that your laying down, head perched up slightly by the silk pillows he got for you-he knows it has something to do with your hair but he doesn't bother to understand the benifits- his hands trail over you body before lifting your shirt once more, kissing down your neck, to your chest, to your tummy, you stop him once you feel his mouth hovering over your panties. "Papa-" he quickly shushes you "It's okay sweet pea, daddy's just gonna make you feel good okay? 'm gonna make all those bad thoughts go away" maybe it was the way he spoke so deeply and stern, so determined, that made you wanted to give him anything he asked for.

JJ comes back up capturing your lips into a deep kiss. His hands finding a way between you legs, thumb circling your clit painfully slow, panties long gone. You knew that whining and bucking your hips to get any once of friction you can was pathetic but you didn't care anymore, you needed him. He wasted zero time diving his head back down and wrapping mouth around your clit,sucking and licking like his life depended on it. Hearing you let out soft mewls of pleasure was music to his ears. Seeing your face contort in pure pleasure as his fingers worked simultaneously to spread you open was like rainbows to his eyes.

Once he feels that you are ready or rather is too impatient to keep going he drags you to the edge of the bed, softly rubbing your soaked puffy folds with his thumb while his other hand works to get his pants and boxers down, removing his thumb only to slap this his thick cock against your pussy a few times before sliding his flushed, swollen, tip against your sex. JJ pushes your legs to your chest before sinking into you. It's still a new feeling for you since you were a virgin when you met lover. His hands rested on the back of your thighs, letting his head fall back and his eyes close, softly stroking your thigh with his thumb to comfort you. "It's alright baby, I know I know" he coos slowly pushing as much of his cock your tight cunt could take. "There you go puppy, feels much better now right? Fuck this is all mine,this is real, nobody can take that away from you". He gives you mercy on holding your legs to your chest and allows you to drape them over his shoulders, resting his forehead against yours momentarily. JJ thrusts faster, making sure he hits exactly where you need, not that he needed to try so hard, his cock curved slightly downward exactly where you needed, it was like it was made for you to take. "I've got the sweetest little angel in my bed every night you think I give a fuck about what bitter motherfuckers say,hm? People talk sweetheart but as long as I'm buried into this sweet greedy little cunt I don't give a fuck about who has a problem with it" you wish you could say something, anything, but nothing but needy whimpers and moans fell from your lips.

You felt yourself getting closer, as JJ's thrust became sloppier yet still rough while ramming into you, you knew he was close too. Your eyes slowly start to fall until JJ grabs your face forcing you to look at him. "Keep those pretty eyes on me sweet pea 'wanna see your eyes when you cum" he chuckles as you grab at his shirt he didn't bother taking off as your legs tremble, you brain was pretty much mush at this point, it was all so overstimulating and as soon as he saw those tears start to form in your eyes and that desperate little cunt clenching around him, he knew.

"You gonna cum, you gonna cum for papa sweet girl" you nod mindlessly, staring into his eyes as your toes curl. It didn't dawn on you that squirted all over the floor but it didn't matter once JJ pulled his cock out, stroking it right over your pussy, practically coating it with hot spurts of cum.

JJ grabbed the nearest cloth he could find to wipe you up,throwing it in a random corner of the room before laying down next to you and holding you in his arms. "I love you" you whispered into his neck, "I know sweetheart" he kisses your forehead. You knew that you weren't going to be a life long partner. You knew that this wasn't going to end the way you needed but this made you happy. Being his made you so happy. One thing was for sure, he really did have a magic stick in his pants that made all the sickness go away.

~Clover

#jj maybank #why did i do this #Lover!jj

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gabbagepatch · 9 months ago

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It was my new birth control 3-11-2

I have not been in a good way, as anyone can tell by my previous blog posts, but things are looking up finally!

I blame nearly all of this on the birth control I was prescribed two weeks ago, Tri-Lo-Marzia. I cannot shout this enough:

IF YOU HAVE A HISTORY OF ANXIETY OR MENTAL ILLNESS TAKE TRI-LO-MARZIA WITH EXTREME CAUTION.

I stopped taking it after Friday, March 8th. It is now Monday and I feel so, so much better. I had a bad feeling about it for some reason, did some research and found hundreds of reviews from other women describing how it absolutely destroyed them with anxiety. I have not had a panic attack since I stopped taking it, although I still have some residual anxiety.

The crazy part is that my endo prescribed this birth control to me virtually, did not really discuss it at all. It was just, "I want your periods to be more regular, here's a birth control." over messaging on Healow.

Just to recap:

Two weeks ago I began feeling anxiety almost constantly. This was after the death of my family dog, who I had since I was seven years old. I thought it was some kind of delayed grief and I have had other traumas so far this year so I figured I was just having a dip in my mental health.

I began to be terrified of taking any medications, having intense panic attacks after I would take any pill. This was a huge issue because I am now experiencing daily pain and vertigo which I felt I could not medicate out of fear. I was also terrified of OTC medications, afraid of overdosing even if I only took 200mg ibuprofen.

Throughout the day I would feel short of breath, getting chest pains. When I was home alone I would just count down until someone came home because I was terrified of being alone. I was worried I was having a medical emergency and nobody would be around to help. I could not eat because I felt like I was choking constantly and had constant nausea. I would only eat if others were in the house because I was scared of choking. I lost more than ten pounds in two weeks.

At night it would be at it's worst, all I could do was sit on the couch late into the night playing Tetris trying to distract myself from the full body terror I was experiencing. I got sick (possibly viral, not so sure anymore) and began vomiting constantly and experiencing intense hot flashes.

[TMI incoming] I specifically was having the most intense sensations in my groin area, the first time it happened I was so terrified. I thought I had wet my pants the heat was so intense, I thought something was so wrong with my body I lost control of my bladder. It is the most fear I've ever felt and I've nearly drowned before. The heat flash and/or panic attack so intense my teeth began screaming in pain and my tinnitus shot through head like an arrow.

My lovely mom drove me to the ER were they treated my anxiety with Ativan, the rest of that day I cannot remember. Ever since then I had to cope with intense paranoia, daily panic attacks, heart palpitations, chest pain, a rattling within my body that would not leave, random twitches and muscle spasms, and the worst anxiety I have ever experienced. I have been in two weeks of hell.

I was a functional, healthy 20y/o girl before this. Even with the death of my dog and a new illness I was coping well. Tri-Lo-Marzia knocked me on my ass in three days, and I have to relearn how to be normal after two weeks of constant fear.

Guys, I'm being vulnerable when I tell you I thought I needed to check myself into the ER and get inpatient mental health treatment because of how debilitating this anxiety was. I was having dark thoughts, tired of being terrified for two weeks straight after the loss of my dog and a developing vestibular disorder that pulled me out of school.

Take this as a vent, PSA, whatever, but for the love of all that is good if you get prescribed Tri-Lo-Marzia please look out for this and talk with your doctor. It feels criminal that I was prescribed this medication for a nonemergent issue, with absolutely no preparations or warnings from my doc when there are hundreds of women reporting symptoms just like (or worse!) than mine.

I'll be telling my endo about this and encouraging her to remember this next time she prescribes it. Especially for patients who have a history of GAD or other mental illness. Stay safe and informed, ask your doc questions.

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anaiswriterr · 4 years ago

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The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part four, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW. This chapter has descriptions of blood, and nausea and vomit!

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you’d marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he’s not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him…

- chapter six: the dragon queens ceremony -

•

The crowd cheers in entertainment, screaming and yelling to drench the Queen. You are passed out in the arms of the guards as villagers bang their drums even louder as you are lead, barley conscious into the plaza.

Fire torches light the room.

You are thrown onto a heavy stack of hay bales, roughly. You stir awake slightly at the sound of Kirishima's muttering. "Don't throw her like that unless you want to be my dinner for the night!" He scolds the guards, you hear a growl come from his throat. You try to open your eyes, but the headache you were facing with continued to beat at the sides of your temples. You whimper in pain as your hands are pulled harshly, you finally open your eyes when you realize it's another guard.

His hands carry heavy pales of blood, your vision sees two of each person. Blinded by the torches and startled by its heat.

You feel warmth quickly rush down your body, you cough. Choking on the red liquid, your hands quickly shoot up to wipe it away off your eyes, mouth and nose.

"Relax.. you're not going to choke." Kirishima says, holding onto you hand. "Bakugou should be here in a second.."

You struggle to stay up, "I don't want to see him."

Dots surround your line of vision but you can still manage to make out your surroundings, the plaza mainly looks like a barn from the inside. People are surrounded on the balcony and even on the first floor. Hay bales litter the floor and torches are set up on each pillar. Women and children cheer with their husbands, shouting as they watch the heart being drenched in blood. They yell, "Bring out the Queen!"

You are wet, and slightly cold but the warmth of the blood regulates your body temperature. The beating drums sound even louder, horns and bells play from the outside.

"He'll be the first you go to as soon as you're finished," Kirishima states, as he pulls you lightly to the sidelines. He looks over you, pointing out the King. You nod your head in attempts to see straight again, their are two of him and you didn't know which was which.

"H-How do you know I'll go to him?" You ask, gulping down the vomit that taunted your throat. The nausea makes your knees weak, his two versions of himself smile softly.

"Trust me."

You can barley focus on his words so instead you nod your head, a guard clears their throat, gesturing to one of the politicians. "It's time." He said, reaching out to grab you by the arm you seethe at his roughness. His fingers press harshly into the sunburn skin. You whip your head around in search for the Dragon who was meant to watch over you, he grimaces to himself, nodding to you. You look back towards the guard, his stoic expression shows he doesn't care. But what's new?

You lick your chapped lips, nearly gagging at the metallic taste that latched onto your tongue.

Cheers and yells quiet down with the drums, you are pushed onto a small wooden stage.

An old man who you assumed was the Counsels President stands beside you, roaring the crowd as he hands you the heart. His blue eyes boar into your E/C ones, trembling you reach out with both hands to take it. The warmth of the pigs blood dribbles down your arms.

Hungry eyes all around you, watching in entertainment.

You stare down at the muscle in your hands, trembling, nauseated, you have no idea what to do. You weren't cut out for this, to be part of the dragons and their clan of fearful members. You look out into the crowd, who were you searching for? What were you trying to prove? You've gotten so far, and here you are, searching for the part that tells you it's worth it.

It dead silent in the plaza.

You don't know who you are searching for, but the pair of vermillion eyes that settled softly on yours prove to be worthy. He nods.

And you take that first bite.

***

You heave with each bite, gnawing at the tough, uncooked muscle. The scent.. the taste of blood is enough to pull you to your knees in front of everyone. You fight back the urge to vomit, still your teeth tear into the heart and blood rushes down the corners of your lips and onto your chest. Coating the now dried blood all over your neck and torso in a fresh layer of crimson, tears trail down your cheeks as you inhale through your nose.

Loud cheers drown out in your head.

You take another bite, keeping eye contact with the King as the only way to distract you from its foul taste.

Choking on a combination of blood and the pieces that refused to go down you lean forward harshly, gaging up the remnants of heart. You sob quietly as the drums halt and the crowds buzzling stops. For a moment, you lean over, a hand clamped shut over your mouth. You can feel it right at the top, the heart, the blood, resurfacing, fighting to get between the cracks of you fingers. You look back up to Bakugou, his eyes glare into yours masking away the hint of worry that settled in them.

It was almost like he was telling you to swallow.

You gag again, this time fighting through and gulping down the rest while shoving the remaining piece into your mouth. You struggle to stand, chewing away at the last piece. It's tougher than the other bits and pieces. You can hear the rumbling of the drums start again from below your feet and the cheering begins.

You swallowed the last piece, sticking out your tongue to show off you had finished the last god forsaken piece. You feel the corners of your lips tug in a tired smile, people are hugging, and cheering and you could've sworn the Counsel President cursed beneath his breath. You sigh in relief and watch as Bakugou makes his way towards you with a proud smile, you walk towards the edge of the wooden platform and allow his strong muscular arms to wrap around your knees. Pulling you close to his chest with his chin buried into your stomach, the king never showed emotion.

But as his rightful Queen, he promised his mother to try.

You thought his affection was because they were in front of their people, which made more sense. You had earned his respect, your vision is slightly blurred but you hear his hushed voice tell Kirishima to ready the carriage.

"Ready the carriage, we're taking her back home."

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stickyy · 4 years ago

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could i get a reader x ururaka where the reader kidnaps her and forcibly 'protects' her by coddling her and keeping her in a soft room with everything she could need and not letting her leave, even if it means restraining, or even injuring her? tysm! i'm really looking forward to seeing your blog grow! (btw if you cant/dont want to write ururaka, midoriya or shinso are also good!) ♡

thank you so much for your kind words!! :D i hope you enjoy, i kind of went for a more somber tone bc i like Angst, so this was moody and fun to write!

warnings: yandere!gn!reader, kidnapping, very mildly graphic mutilation (hands and ankle), drugging mention, very vague vomit mention, angst, best friends to lovers (gone wrong) /s

word count: 1.5 k

note: the scene describing mutilation is sandwiched by two dashes (-), incase u dont want to read it :D

AFTERMATH

The pattering of rain against the kitchen window is loud, accompanied by the sizzle of food on the stove and the distant chatter of news anchors coming from your TV in a domestic cacophony of sounds. It’s a Saturday morning, and it would be a pretty relaxed one if not for the deep pit of dread in your stomach. You had a rough night, to say the least. Trying to keep yourself present, you rub the dark bags under your eyes as you tend your routine of making breakfast every morning. Maybe a meal between the two of you will fix things. You hope so, at least. You tune into the television in an attempt to distract yourself.

“... are still in search for missing Hero, Urav-”

You’re suddenly uninterested, shutting the cable off with haste. Breakfast is as good as finished, anyways.

The house is quiet, save for the rain, and the silence settles as a sickly chill under your skin. Taking your time to ensure your footsteps are quiet, you head towards the door at the end of the hallway. The normally innocuous door frame looms over you and you want to shrink away, go back to a time where things were okay. You place the tray on the small table outside of the room, fishing for the keys in your pocket. There are 3 locks; two require keys, while the other is an opposite facing deadbolt. You make quick work of opening them, daily practice rendering you nimble. With the door open and the keys back in your pocket, you grab the tray and push the door in with your hip, your stomach dropping and your heart fluttering simultaneously at the sight of Uraraka, still sleeping peacefully.

You place the tray on her bedside table gingerly, opening the curtains to her window afterwards. The dim, muddy light wakes her, her form stretching under the plush covers.

“Good morning!” you chirp, over enthusiastic as you sit on the edge of her bed. Her hair is messy, skin splotchy from laying in one place all night (you give her sleeping pills at night, and they tend to keep her in one place). She rubs sleep from her eyes cutely, sighing before speaking to you.

She hums in response. Even when she’s angry, she’s always so polite, sweet enough to offer you any response after what you did to her. Her gentle voice, no matter if she’s laughing or talking or screaming or crying, is music to you. The noise does more to set you at ease than you’d like to admit, her voice like stitches to your wounded heart. You can’t help but smile, warmth spreading over your skin. You love her so much, it’s why you do what you must to keep her safe.

“Did you sleep well?” you ask, as you do everyday, setting up her breakfast in front of her. She’s silent. You expect as much, yet it still stings, and you spare a glance at her to see an expression you can’t quite read and don’t quite like. That’s all it takes for the pit to return, guilt and remorse stirring through your veins. You can only muster offer a soft noise in response, sitting back with your own plate of food. You start first, choosing to focus on the flavor of the food, the softness of the duvet, the rain- anything but the silence.

But it’s so difficult; you want nothing more than to be able to ignore her, to not feel so attached and needy and sorry. She burns so brightly, even when she’s upset, and you’re a moth to the flame, unable to look away for long. You don’t even realize that you’ve scarfed down half of your food, but it’s glaringly apparent when you look to Uraraka’s food to see it untouched, cooling rapidly. You glance at her face yet again, and her forlorn expression prompts you to break the thick silence.

“Does it still hurt?”

She flinches but doesn’t respond, hugging her arms to her chest and turning away from you. The rain is deafening against the window, and you notice you’re not hungry anymore.

“I told you I was sorry,” you say softly, eyes unconsciously darting to the bandages on her hands, trailing down to her legs, obscured by the covers. She continues to ignore you. You can’t take it, you need to hear her say something, anything.

“You know I hate hurting you. I hate it, but you tried to run again. Why? We’ve been doing so good, I thought you were happy! I thought you finally understood! You have everything you need here, and even if you don’t, I can get it for you. I’m not even mad, not anymore, so please just-”

“Just let me leave,” her voice is hoarse, and you can see stray tears trailing down her flushed cheeks, pained eyes trained on your face. You swallow, using all of your willpower to turn away from her gaze. You stand suddenly, taking a deep breath before heading into the bathroom, grabbing the first aid materials you left in there. You make the executive decision that it would be better if that conversation never happened, so you pretend as such when you return to the room, replacing your somber expression with a warm smile.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” you peel back the covers and take a look at her ankle.

Her shin is twisted slightly straightened yet still awkward in angle, absurdly swollen, skin littered with large splotches of wine purple, faded blue, and putrid yellow bruises. It looks like it hurts, and you feel yourself deflate, guilt chewing at your insides yet again. You’d never meant to do this to her, but you had no choice. Last night, while you were cooking dinner, you figured you’d let Uraraka keep you company as you chopped vegetables, seeing as she had been extraordinarily compliant recently. That was a mistake, as you had to act quickly when you heard the screech of the chair pushed back suddenly and the loud stomp of feet against hardwoods. You caught her before she could reach the front door, threw her to the floor, and in your irrational fit of panic you stomped hard, once, twice, three times, over and over until the sickening, dull crunch of bone snapped you out of your frenzy. In all of your time with Uraraka, both pre and post living together, you’d never seen her cry quite like this. Her loud, pained, fearful sobs made your stomach turn, and no matter how hard you tried to console her, she wouldn’t stop, thrashing to get your arms off of her. She couldn’t move far, and so you had to wait and watch her writhe in agony until she tired herself out, chest heaving, face covered in tears and snot and drool. You helped her to her room and quickly wrapped the wound, leaving her alone for the rest of the night. You were unable to sleep, hunched over the toilet for the majority of the early hours due to waves of nausea, crying spells ebbing and flowing.

(The bandages on her hands are different. Ridding her of her quirk was the only way to ensure she’d stay put. You’d had a few drinks, taken the largest kitchen knife you owned, and did what you had to. The wounds were cauterized and healed, but you kept the bandages on so she wouldn’t have to look at the scar tissue where the last ligament of her pinky fingers were missing.)

You clean her ankle, gently caressing the distorted flesh with rubbing alcohol. She returned to her reticence, save for small (cute) pained noises when you pass over a particularly tender spot. You take solace in the moment, cherishing the chance to take care of her.

(When you rewrap the wound, you’re deliberate in doing it incorrectly. It will heal, but it will heal wrong, and then she’ll have to rely on you to get anywhere. The idea is tantalizing, and you suppress a shiver.)

“There, all done,” you grin up at her, surprised to find her looking back, expression exhausted but aware, awake. You pack the materials up quickly, climbing back onto the bed. You take note of her breakfast, undoubtedly cold now.

“I can heat that up for you.”

“‘M not hungry.”

That’s that, then. You decide not to push, instead opening your arms in a gesture of peace, knowing how much she loves (tolerates) your cuddles. She gives you a scrutinizing look, before nodding once, the only invitation you get. You move the tray to her bedside table, quickly scooting next to her and wrapping your arms around her gently. She doesn’t quite reciprocate, settling for just leaning against you, but you’ll take anything you can get. Your nerves are set alight, and you vow to yourself that you’ll never hurt her again. You know you did the right thing, keeping her fed and pampered and safe. You’d make up for it, devote yourself to seeing her smile again, even if only once.

“You’re not mad at me, right?” you can’t help but ask, always seeking her approval.

She’s silent. The rain doesn’t stop.

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kaiunkaiku · 4 years ago

Note

Could you do some Todoroki sickfic (emeto if you can) where he just kind of pushes through and tries not to let anyone know because he’s only ever been treated like he’s weak and useless when sick. And when the other students in the dorms find out they fuss over him and he doesn’t know how to take being taken care of like that. Also I just found your blog tonight and I love it!

I have discovered that writing Todoroki is exhausting and writing Midoriya is plain weird and doesn’t feel right, but I enjoyed writing this nonetheless. Emeto isn’t really my niche and I find writing it hella difficult, so here’s an attempt.

This is like vaguely 2nd/3rd year, Tododeku and Kiribaku are established, and even though it’s not mentioned Mineta has been kicked out. Content warnings include referenced canonical child abuse, emeto, implied panic attack, and vague discussion of trauma left by mentioned child abuse

Now on Ao3!

Enjoy!

He wakes up feeling… off. That’s the only way he can really put it – he’s not in pain, his head isn’t swirling with unpleasant thoughts, he’s not reeling from a nightmare, he doesn’t feel ill. Just off.

So he tries his best to shake it off.

By the time lunch rolls around, there’s a persistent hum in his head. It’s distracting, and leaves him just a touch woozy, but he’s worked through much, much worse. It’s no big deal. He’s lagging maybe half a second behind everybody else today, but no one has commented on it, or asked about it, so he assumes he’s doing a good enough job at hiding it.

By the time Kirishima ropes him into a video game tournament, Shouto feels like he’s going to puke. There’s a churning pit in his stomach that makes him regret eating lunch, makes him regret eating breakfast, makes him regret last night’s dinner. Definitely makes him regret waking up.

It’s a well-known fact that video games are the one thing he’s genuinely terrible at, and no amount of Kirishima trying to teach him has improved his skills, so no one questions it when he surrenders his controller to Shinsou after three consecutive losses.

The room gets loud as Jirou gives her controller to Kaminari, like it always does as soon as someone gets the insane idea to pit couples against each other. Shouto retreats to the far corner of the big couch, decides to tough it out for a game or two. Leaving immediately would look suspicious, and someone might notice, so he sits quietly with his knees pulled to his chest and hopes no one will look at him twice.

Bakugou is staring at him from the other end of the couch.

It’s fine, Shouto tells himself even as a cold wave of anxiety washes through him. Bakugou continues to stare, face completely blank, and Shouto knows this is the one person in the class who genuinely does not care, but there’s something unnerving about his eyes. Maybe it's just the hollow bruises under them – Shouto knows for a fact Bakugou didn't sleep last night, because he woke up to explosions sometime around three in the morning, and Kirishima has been hovering worriedly all day – but the blankness of his expression seems very deliberately arranged. Observant. Shouto swallows thickly and tries to find something else to look at.

The motion on the screen makes his nausea worse. The shouting of his classmates makes his headache worse. He can’t concentrate on his phone. Bakugou keeps staring at him.

Shouto finally excuses himself quietly when he’s fairly sure he’s about to start smoking soon, because he can feel his control of his powers slipping. It's fine. He can let that happen once nobody can see him.

They can't see him weak. They can’t. He knows it’s irrational, because these are his friends and they care about him and he cares about them, but the thought of it sends him into a spiral straight down to such a dark place he throws it away before he can do more than scratch its surface. So he escapes into the stairs, not wanting to stand in the elevator, he can’t be still right now, and tries to look as casual as he possibly can.

He doesn’t even make it to the second floor before he hears his name from behind him. His heart jumps to his throat and his stomach drops, and it takes him a second to sort out that it’s his last name and not his first, and there’s no threat, no anger, no fire in the voice. He can’t help but freeze on his tracks anyway.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Shouto comes face to face with wide red eyes as he turns around; feels he can’t breathe with the rush of relief when it’s not piercing turquoise that greets him. Some of it must show on his face, because Kirishima takes a step back immediately and raises his hands up, concern clear in his expression. Bakugou is standing a few paces behind him, leaning on the wall and staring at his phone. “Because you don’t look like you are.”

Shouto feels sick. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be in his room, alone, so that nobody can see him like this, so that he can take the time he needs to pull himself together. He swallows and takes a breath.

“I’m fine,” he manages. He thinks his voice is steady.

“You sure?” Kirishima looks suspicious. Shouto knows he means well, really, he does, he does, but he just… God, he can’t do this. Even thinking about admitting weakness, let alone showing it, sends alarm bells in his head ringing, makes him see the floor of his home through tears, has his father’s voice in his head yelling at him for being useless, and his scar burns all over again, scalding water running down his face and the tears in his mother’s eyes–

His breathing is picking up pace. He’s gonna start crying. He’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna have a panic attack. His body is hot and cold on the wrong sides. He’s gonna– he can’t– he doesn’t– he can’t–

“Todoroki, shit, Todoroki, hey, come on, sit down, okay?” Something touches his arms, but it doesn’t feel like human touch so it doesn’t make everything worse. By the time he realizes it’s Kirishima’s hands with his quirk activated Shouto has already catalogued the touch as non-threatening, so he lets Kirishima guide him to sit down and push his head between his knees.

It takes him too long to notice that there’s steam coming off his skin.

“That’s it, man, just listen to me and breathe. You want me to get Midoriya?”

That sends a new wave of conflicting feelings through him – yes, he wants Izuku, yes, please, Izuku is good, would be great right now, but Izuku would just worry and fuss and worry and Shouto doesn’t want to make Izuku worry, doesn’t want to bother him, and besides, isn’t Izuku out training with Uraraka? Or was it Tokoyami? Why can’t he remember? Uraraka and Tokoyami are two totally different people who hang out with totally different groups and have totally different quirks and Shouto can’t remember which one of them his goddamn boyfriend is training with– did Izuku even say? He can’t remember that either.

“N-no,” he forces out. Realizes he’s been gritting his teeth. “He’s, he’s training, don’t bother him, it’s–”

“Okay, no,” Kirishima interrupts him. “I asked if you want him here. It’s about you. You’re the one that’s not okay, yeah? So do you want him here?”

It… makes sense, what Kirishima is saying. But it doesn’t. It does; he feels terrible and he would like to have his boyfriend here, and it’s what other people do, too, even in their class. It doesn’t; things like this can’t be about him, he can’t want or need things, how horribly selfish would that be of him.

In the end, he nods. He has to force the motion, to force himself to allow it. He’s still got his head between his knees, but he swears he can almost feel the way Kirishima grins at his response despite not looking.

“You gonna be okay if I step into the hallway for just a sec?” Kirishima asks. He hasn’t stopped touching Shouto’s arms, and the touch is somewhat grounding. He still has to put conscious effort into breathing, and he’s just a tad afraid he’s going to lose the focus he needs to keep it up if Kirishima lets go and leaves him alone with Bakugou.

There’s a steady tapping sound, almost background noise but not quite; a persistent, consistent tapping, volume just enough to be clearly audible even without concentrating. Just a bit louder than a clock. Not as sharp. Shouto is not entirely sure how long it’s been there.

Without even meaning to, he starts counting it. Pacing his breath to it. It’s easy; almost natural. Maybe he’ll stay on track even if Kirishima steps off for a moment.

Tap, tap, tap, tap. Breathe in four, hold four, breathe out four. Every exhale feels like he’s going to throw up, but it’s almost a background thought. He makes an affirming noise to tell Kirishima that he probably won’t spiral down if he lets go, so Kirishima pats his shoulder and tells him that he’s okay.

He’s not okay, but he also doesn’t start panicking again. He risks a look around him to see Kirishima take two steps up and disappear into the second floor hallway, and notices something that damn near messes up his newly-found breathing rhythm all over again.

Bakugou is still standing several stairs below, leaning on the wall. He’s typing something on his phone, and he doesn’t look quite as murderous as he usually does – tired, still, but his frown is considerably less deep than usual. He’s probably texting Camie, then, since it’s likely not Kirishima.

But the thing that really catches Shouto off-guard is the fact that he’s steadily tapping his right foot on the stair he’s standing on.

The rhythm sounds very purposeful.

Shouto is not going to chase that thought.

He keeps breathing.

XxX

Izuku is going to apologize to Uraraka later. He doesn’t make it a habit to just ditch his friends, really, but Kirishima sounded worried over the phone and he has barely seen Shouto all day, so he takes off running the moment he hangs up, leaves most of his stuff behind along with Uraraka as he puts his quirk to work.

He dashes straight through the common room and into the staircase, and almost collides with Kacchan, who graces him with a glare and turns his attention back to his phone. Normally, Izuku would say something to him, even just a greeting, or an attempt at placating his temper, but before he can say anything he spots Shouto sitting a few stairs higher. Kirishima is sitting next to him, close but not touching.

“Shouto.” The name escapes from his lips in a whisper before he can even think it. Shouto’s head snaps up, and Izuku has to restrain himself from launching at him with One for All activated; Shouto’s face is pale, almost white, and the fleeting look of terror that flashes in his eyes before recognition makes something clench in Izuku’s chest. Shouto’s breathing is labored; controlled.

Kirishima moves away as Izuku hurries forward, knees hitting the stairs so he can get his hands to Shouto’s face. Faintly he registers Kacchan moving past them to join Kirishima, and the two continue their way up the stairs. He’ll thank Kirishima later.

“Hey,” he begins, thumb coming to trace the edge of Shouto’s scar. Shouto shivers. “Talk to me, what’s going on? Kirishima sounded worried so I came as fast as I could, I need to apologize to Uraraka about that later, it was kind of rude of me to leave her there like that but you’re not okay, are you? She’ll understand, she’ll probably bring my stuff back too, I should probably text her, though, just to let her know, I probably won’t be going back anyway…”

“You’re rambling,” Shouto says, voice faint but a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Izuku snaps his mouth shut and feels heat on his cheeks. Then Shouto shivers again, and Izuku manages to see him swallow thickly before he ducks his head back down. He frowns.

“Sorry,” Izuku offers. “But really, what’s going on? You don’t look good.” Shouto doesn’t feel good, either – his skin is clammy, and just by touching him Izuku can tell he’s not in full control of his quirk. There’s steam coming through his now-damp clothes.

Until now, Shouto has been somewhat curled into himself, hunched over and hugging himself. Now, though, his grip on his biceps tightens and and he curls up some more, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It pains Izuku, how Shouto always seems to try and make himself disappear when he’s feeling bad.

One day, once he’s graduated and established himself as a reputable and reliable hero, he’s going to punch Endeavor as hard as he can, and then he’s going to bring flowers to Shouto’s mom.

“I’m not him,” Izuku reminds gently, still tracing the scar. “Nobody here is. It’s okay.” It breaks his heart to even have to say the words, but Shouto takes a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly, so at least it’s a useful reminder. Shouto tends to forget, sometimes. And sometimes Izuku tends to forget that it’s all too easy for Shouto to follow that train of thought. So they’re kind of even, however that balance works.

“I don’t feel good,” Shouto finally whispers. He sounds almost scared. Izuku is about to start prodding further, ready for a guessing game, when he sees that same swallow-shiver combination he saw earlier.

“You’re sick?”

A shrug. A still moment. A hesitant nod.

“Okay.”

It takes some convincing, and some coaxing, and some help, but Izuku manages to get Shouto up and into the hallway. His room is closer, as opposed to Shouto’s which is located in the fifth floor, so Shouto agrees to relocate there.

By the time they make it into the room, Shouto is shaking, and also swallowing repeatedly. He hasn’t stopped hugging himself and he’s still hunched over. Izuku keeps a steadying hand on his back, but he doubts it does much.

He leads Shouto straight into the bathroom with little resistance. Shouto sits down against a wall next to the toilet, draws his knees to his chest and rests his head on them. His breathing is picking up again, and Izuku doesn’t know whether it’s anxiety or nausea or both.

Minutes tick by as Izuku draws patterns on Shouto’s arm and shoulder and rubs his neck, and Shouto’s swallowing becomes convulsive and he keeps shaking. One particularly harsh shudder runs through him and causes a patch of frost to spread on the wall. His breathing is becoming shallow.

Izuku doesn’t know how much time has passed when something finally happens. One moment they’re leaning on the wall and the next, Shouto is scrambling to get the toilet lid open. A sick-sounding belch makes Izuku wince, and is immediately followed by a retch. Shouto clutches the rim with white knuckles, and Izuku moves to hold him.

Shouto shivers against him and heaves, but brings nothing up. Izuku wraps his arms around him for support, both emotional and physical, and gently shushes him at the probably involuntary whimper that follows. Presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“Just let it happen,” Izuku mutters. “You’re okay, just let it out.” It’s like being in a sauna, holding Shouto like this when he’s not in full control of his quirk, but Izuku brushes it aside – it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable it is. Shouto is definitely far more uncomfortable.

Shouto shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, but the following attempt at a deeper breath is interrupted by a gag. Izuku resists the urge to sigh, and instead continues muttering reassurances as he rubs Shouto’s back. Keeping him grounded in the present is important; vital, almost, Izuku would say. He’s witnessed too many times how things like this – feeling bad, vulnerable, not in control – tend to throw Shouto right back to his childhood.

He’s not profusely apologizing and promising he’ll do better next time, so what Izuku is doing must be working.

It takes a couple more minutes of heaving and retching before Shouto brings up anything, but when he finally does, it’s like he can’t stop. Izuku very deliberately does not look, instead focusing on trying to calm Shouto down. He runs his fingers through Shouto’s hair, down his spine, and eventually brings one hand to rub his stomach. Shouto whimpers at the contact but doesn’t reject it.

Izuku loses track of time. Shouto keeps dry-heaving for a good while after it’s clear there’s nothing in him to throw up anymore, and he’s shaking like a leaf. Izuku can’t tell whether he’s feverish or not; one of the few drawbacks of his quirk – even medical professionals have hard time with that, since Shouto’s temperatures tend to go haywire when he’s not in full control, which is almost every time he’s not feeling well.

When even the dry-heaving eventually tapers off, Shouto slumps lifelessly against Izuku. His eyes slide shut and his breath slowly evens out, and the shaking dies down. An occasional shiver still runs through him, as if as a reminder, but otherwise every sign of what just happened melts into exhaustion.

They sit on the floor until Izuku decides a cold, hard bathroom floor is no place for anything. Shouto is not asleep, not quite, but he’s well on his way there, so Izuku nudges him alert from his exhausted not-quite-slumber gently.

“Shouto, hey,” he almost-whispers, smiling a little as Shouto’s eyelashes flutter against his skin. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

Shouto makes a sleepy noise that could mean literally anything, and it sounds absolutely adorable; there’s just not much Izuku can do with that. Shouto’s eyes open more, left one somewhat droopy, and he maneuvers himself so that his face is against Izuku’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” he replies. It’s not really what Izuku was looking for, as far as responses go, but it’s something.

“Then how about a bed? Some sleep?”

Shouto makes another sleepy noise, though this one sounds distinctly approving. He makes no attempt to move, however. Izuku lets him be for a moment.

“That means we have to get up, Shouto,” he tells him.

It takes some effort, but not as much as Izuku feared or suspected it would. He could technically just lift Shouto up – he’s strong enough to carry him and has done so in the past – but he doubts the swift change in position and altitude would be of any benefit. So he helps Shouto up from the floor slowly, makes sure he doesn’t go suddenly white again now that some color has returned to his face, and carefully walks them out of the bathroom. He gets Shouto a soft, oversized shirt to change into (it’s probably Shouto’s own shirt that’s been left in Izuku’s room at some point, actually). Manages to convince him to drink some water.

Shouto seems to fall asleep the moment Izuku lets him do so, looking completely drained. Izuku likes the sight of him surrounded the All Might themed bedsheets – it looks right, like he should be right there. Like he belongs in Izuku’s bed.

Izuku texts Uraraka and Kirishima, and picks up a book.

#my writing #emeto #tododeku #sickfic #fanfiction #whump fic #bnha #cosycrow #askbox

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dancingboba · 4 years ago

Text

Promise

Request from @shondideaira-blog (thank you for sending this, sorry it took a while, but hope you enjoy it!). A one-shot where instead of Mona, Ellie got shot by Jason at the final chapters of the book.

Colt x MC

Warnings: Angst, Gunshot, Swearing

Wordcount: 2166

Summary: Ellie gets shot and Colt goes through a whirlwind of emotions.

He moved the same time as Mona did, leaping from his position and willing his legs to pick up as much as speed as humanly possible to get to her.

It all happened within a span of a few seconds as Mona tackled Jason from the side and knocked him onto the ground. The stretch of distance between him and her, all of a sudden, felt like miles longer and everything played out in slow motion in front of his eyes as Jason wrestled his arm away from Mona and hooked a finger around the trigger, squeezing a deafening bang that made his heart stop.

He swore he could even see the bullet shooting out from the barrel, its cone-shaped head slicing and whizzing through the air before it pierced through her skin and flesh.

“Ellie!”

This can’t be fucking happening.

The universe couldn’t possibly be this unfair and cruel to him. He had barely recovered from the horrors of witnessing her car crashing and tumbling airborne until it slammed down onto the asphalt upside down. Now this...it was all too much.

By the time he reached her, she had collapsed onto the ground, hand clutching at her abdomen where a red stain was quickly spreading through her shirt.

“C-Colt...I...he...” her eyes were wide in shock, panting and gasping in pain.

“Fuck. Fuck, Ellie, you got shot.” he immediately dropped to his knees beside her and pressed his hand over her wound, a wave of nausea hitting him as her blood seeped through the gaps between his fingers, slicking all over the back of his hand.

For the first time since his Pops died, revenge wasn’t the first thing on his mind. No matter how much rage was boiling inside of him, the rapid rounds of gun shots behind him faded into mere background noises as he focused on her. She’s all that mattered to him, nothing else.

A knot twisted painfully in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the pretty face that unknowingly stole his heart now marked with scars and bruises, the usual smiley face replaced with a look of terror, the stretch of smooth skin he used to place his lips and fingers now tainted with a hole gushing out red.

“You’re going to be okay, El. You’re going to be okay.” he mumbled, words that were meant to comfort her but needed for himself as reassurance either.

Judging by the sound of skidding tires and the empty click of the gun, Jason had escaped. Part of him wished Mona managed to shoot him dead, ideally a slow excruciating pain as payback for everything he’s done.

“Oh my god. Sweetie, are you okay?” Ximena came bursting through the building doors, followed by Toby, both rushing to her side to check on her. Meanwhile, Logan was explaining to Mona the rest of the plan when the wail of sirens cut through the air.

“The cops are almost here. Go guys, go!” Ellie said weakly, her breathing growing heavy and laborous.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, trying his best to stay calm. “Fuck the cops. We need to get you to the hospital.”

“I’ll distract them.” Logan volunteered, both Toby and Ximena immediately chimed in to help as well, ensuring all routes would be covered so that the route to the hospital would be clear without any cops tailing.

“Take my car,” Mona offered at last, her arm outstretched towards him with her car keys dangling in between her fingers. “Go take her safely to the hospital. I’ll get your bike there.”

He hesitated for a second, eyeing at Mona dubiously, the image of her chasing down Ellie’s car alongside with the Brotherhood still burning behind his eyes, the betrayal still stinging him.

“Come on, we don’t have time to waste!” Mona urged, as if reading his mind. “I get you don’t trust me but you know I care about her too!”

He knew she’s right.

He snatched the keys off her hand and tossed her his keys in exchange without further questions, scooping Ellie into his arms and carried her into Mona’s car, slamming down hard at the accelerator and sped through the city.

“I’m going to kill him...no, all of them.”

“Colt—”

“He. Fucking. Shot. You.” he bellowed, rage and pain dripping from his every word, knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip at the steering wheel, clenching so hard that he thought, for a split-second, that he might have caused a dent if that’s even possible.

“Colt.” Ellie rested her free hand on his shoulder, and miraculously, the anger instantly dissipated, the fists clenched on the wheel immediately relaxed a little, the comfortable touch of her hand on him somehow anchored him from the growing self-destructive rage.

How funny, he thought, that she was the one calming him when he should be the one comforting her.

He took a couple of deep breaths and squeezed her hand, lifting it to his lips to press a gentle kiss at the back of her hand. “Hang in there, El. You’re going to make it.”

***

She insisted in walking into the ER herself, refusing to put him into any risk of getting caught. He tried to argue, but he knew from the stubbornness and determination in her eyes that he won’t win this one no matter how hard he tried.

So he could only reassure her (and himself) one last time that everything’s going to be okay, giving her one last desperate kiss, before watching her limp towards the hospital until her petite frame disappeared behind the sliding doors.

His hands shook the entire time, a tornado of emotions eating him up on the inside that’s becoming too overwhelming to bear.

The familiar sound of his Cavalieri Novanta approached, a soothing rumble saving him from drowning deeper into a blackhole of emotions. As promised, Mona had brought his motorcycle to the hospital for him.

“How is she?”

"She wouldn’t let me go in with her.”

“That’s probably smart.” Mona hummed and climbed off his bike. “You were going to take the bullet for her.”

“She’d be worth it.” he replied, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and eyes staring down at his feet, hoping to hide any trace of distraught on his face. “I was still too fucking late though.”

“He said he wouldn’t hurt her...” she trailed off. Colt glanced up and wondered if that’s guilt he caught in her eyes.

"Well yeah, you shouldn’t have trusted that prick.” he bumped past her shoulder to get to his bike.

“Hey, Kaneko?” he paused for one moment and turned over his shoulder to acknowledge her. “Always watch your back.”

He nodded in response and slipped his visor down, gunning his bike away into the night with a roar.

The exhilarating feeling of speed coursing through his body helped a little in distracting his emotions. It was late enough in the dead of the night for him to gun down the road freely, turning up his engine to maximize his horsepower and pushing his bike to its speed limits.

Frustration seeped in. He wondered if things could’ve gone differently, if there was anything he could’ve done differently to save her or prevented any of this to happen in the first place.

Eventually, he slowed down to an uphill viewpoint at Ladera Heights, the quiet residential street dimly illuminated by a few street lamps in front of his eyes.

He wasn’t alone.

Logan was there too, shrouded in the shadows behind a tree, eyes trained at one particular house surrounded by flashing cop lights.

“You’re still here.”

“Had to make sure that bastard get taken away.” Logan replied and a silent understanding passed between the two. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah.”

“She’ll live.”

“I know.”

Just then, the doors of the house swung open, with Jason being dragged out of the house in handcuffs by FBI agents.

Colt clenched his fists at his sides, trying to contain the loathe and fury that were rapidly building inside of him. That man had been responsible for hurting all the people he ever cared about, responsible for all the nightmares that he knew would come haunting him for years to come.

Detective Wheeler stepped outside of the house a minute later, phone pressed onto his ear. The distressed expression on his face could only mean he’d received the news of his daughter from the hospital.

It was damn satisfying to watch Detective Wheeler throwing a solid punch at Jason as soon as he got off the phone, hitting him square at the jaw, and again, drawing blood from the corner of his mouth.

Serves him right.

For one moment, they shared a smirk with each other, him and Logan, that one rare occasion where they actually agreed on something.

Logan left first, but he stayed and watched until each flashing red and blue faded into the darkness.

This one’s for you, Pops. And he’d never hurt you ever again, El.

***

Sneaking into the hospital was easier than he anticipated. He waited till he saw Detective Wheeler leave the hospital, making sure there’re no cops stationing around before he went in.

It took him a minute to locate her room but once he found her, the sight of her lying peacefully on the hospital bed sent him a wave of relief.

She’s fine, she’s alive.

He slipped into the room and quietly pulled a chair next to her bed, taking her hand into his, gently stroking the smooth skin of the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Colt?”

“Shit. Sorry, did I wake you?”

She propped herself up, briefly wincing, and glanced nervously around the room. “What are you doing here? What if the FBI —”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

“Weird.” she admitted. “But they took the bullet out and the doctors said everything looks good after the operation so I should be out soon.”

“Good.” He slid next to her on the hospital bed, eager to feel her physically close to him, seeking for the reassurance that she’s truly fine and okay.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, simply enjoying each other’s presence, and his whirlwind of emotions finally settled in.

“You could’ve died,” he croaked suddenly, breaking the silence in the room, voice broken as he buried his head into the crook of her neck. “I love you, El. I fucking love you and I don’t know what I would do if...if you...”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m okay now.”

“You’re all I have left, Ellie.” He pulled back to look at her, gazing deep into her eyes and baring all of his vulnerabilities in front of her.

“I promise I’m not going anywhere.” she said softly, doe eyes staring into his with sincerity before closing in the distance between them, capturing his lips with hers, pouring all her love and promise through the intimacy of their mouths moving against each other.

He’d learnt every single curve of her lips by heart, familiar with every sensation she pulled from him every time her lips touched his. But of course she still managed to surprise him. This kiss? It was stirring the rawest emotions and drawing a whole different level of intimacy that had him breaking down every last of his walls. Once again, he wondered what on earth had she done to him, reaching into the depths of his heart that he didn’t know existed himself.

When they broke away for air, his eyes were glossy from the pooling tears despite he’s not one who easily shed a tear, leave alone for a girl. But Ellie’s special, a girl who’d continuously done wonders to him. If he were going to cry for a girl, for anyone, it’s going to be for her.

“How are you supposed to keep your promise when you’re leaving LA as soon as you get out of here?” he asked half-jokingly, in attempt to distract himself enough to prevent his tears from falling.

“Knew you’d say that.” his lips tugged into a smirk at the way she rolled her eyes, the familiar feeling of their banter making his heart bloom. She playfully bumped her shoulder against his, “we’ll work something out. I promise.”

The possibilities of their future together played out in his mind. There’s no easy path for them, but he realized he would fight with all his efforts to be with her, moving mountains for her if need to because she’s all he’s got. She’s home, his anchor, his better half, and he needed her like she’s oxygen.

She squeezed his hand, eyes soft filled with affection. “We’ll make it work.” she said determinedly. “It’s you and me against the world, right?”

The knots finally untwisted in him. For the first time all night, things finally somewhat felt right. He looked at her amorously, a genuine smile slowly stretching across his features. “Yeah, you’re damn right.”

#long post #hope you like it #dancingboba tries to write #cw: police #cw: gun #colt kaneko #colt x mc #colt x ellie #i'm crap at involving more than two characters in one scene #colt kaneko x mc #ride or die: a bad boy romance #choices ride or die #choices rod #dancingboba #colt fanfic #colt kaneko x ellie wheeler

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wordsablaze · 4 years ago

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3. it steals all my reason

your beauty hides the pain Lost on the mountain, Jaskier accidentally angers a mage who decides to curse Yennefer with his company and for once, it might actually be a blessing in disguise…

A/N: idk who canon is anymore but yen and jas are fun ^.^ @random-nerd-3 x

previous chapter

Jaskier wakes to someone pulling him upright.

He blindly reaches for and pulls his lute case to his chest, letting himself be none too gently guided until the walls of what he hadn’t noticed is a tent are replaced by trees.

“What…?” he starts, only to trail off as said tent bursts into flames.

“You just cost me a room, bard,” Yennefer mutters, irritation dripping from her words.

Jaskier blinks, staring at her in confusion. “How exactly am I in any way responsible for your tent room thing deciding to set itself on fire?”

Yennefer shakes her head impatiently as she brushes practically non-existent dust from her dress. “You were covered in unnatural ash when you got here, it was a delayed spell.”

“Not my fault you didn’t sense it,” he scoffs, slinging his lute over a shoulder.

She glares at him. “I was a little distracted by your idiot self getting us cursed and bound together.”

Shifting awkwardly under her pointed gaze, Jaskier shrugs and offers her his best sheepish smile. “I did try telling her you and Geralt were better suited but she pretty much ignored everything I-”

“You did what?” Yennefer interrupts, her glare turning into some of the most deadly glowering Jaskier has ever had the misfortune of experiencing as she steps towards him.

He steps back automatically.

“You saw my memories, didn’t you? She said she could smell you or something and I tried to tell her that it was impossible because I’d been wandering around a mountain all day and the only person who could even possibly smell like you is Geralt because the two of you shared a tent before the whole- woah!”

The ground disappears beneath his feet as he’s thrown back into the air and all he can think to do is twist so that he lands on his side rather than his lute case.

Which he does.

Only to gasp as pain spikes up in his very bones again, every inch of his skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze much like Yennefer’s tent.

Cursing internally, he picks himself up and stumbles back to Yennefer, who somehow looks elegant even as she sits slumped on the slightly dead grass with a pained grimace on her face.

“Maybe don’t do that again,” Jaskier suggests breathlessly.

Yennefer rolls her eyes but nods. “It seems we can’t be very far apart, bard.”

“How romantic,” he mutters, tightening his grips on the strap across his shoulder as he exhales softly, the pain melting away again.

They don’t move for a while, not until the tent is nothing but ashes.

Once the smoke clears as if there’d never been a fire in the first place, Jaskier turns to Yennefer. “So, where are you headed?”

She rises to her feet and frowns down at him. “Aren’t you meant to be trailing your precious white wolf like a lost puppy?”

Jaskier flinches. “He’s not mine. He never was and he never will be.”

And he’d been stupid to think otherwise because look where it had gotten him: stuck with the mage who’d stolen Geralt’s heart within the blink of an eye. He wants to pretend he’s not bitter about it but…

“I take it you had an argument then?” Yennefer asks, having the audacity to sound bored as he struggles with his recent heartbreak.

But he couldn’t care less about being mocked. “Not so much an argument as a swift farewell,” he ends up saying, almost wincing at himself for sounding so forlorn.

Yennefer gives him a strange look that he can’t quite decipher, something like disbelief and pity and anger rolled into one. But she says nothing so he doesn’t think much of it, pushing himself to his feet again and replacing his frown with a grin.

“So, once again, where does the merciless Yennefer plan to target next?”

He only grins wider when sparks crackle at her fingertips before she sighs loudly. “I should probably go and explain that moron’s death.”

They both know which moron she’s referring to and although Jaskier doesn’t find him particularly worthy of being honoured or anything, he can’t really argue with her. In fact, he doesn’t think to question anything about their plan until they arrive in a town he only dimly recognises as one he was kicked out of for sleeping with both of the blacksmith’s children.

(Not that he knew they were both his but that probably wouldn't have changed his mind anyway.)

“Uh, Yennefer? You should probably know that-”

“If you’re about to tell me there’s someone here who wants to kill you, I don’t care,” she interjects, starting to walk faster.

Jaskier just sighs and ducks his head, wishing for one that he wasn’t wearing something so beautifully made.

But they make it to the Lord’s house with no vengeful interruptions, where the central guard at the door raises a judgemental eye at them. “Lady Yennefer, and…?”

Yennefer sighs. “He’s with me, unfortunately. Won’t you let us in?”

Against every one of his urges, Jaskier stays silent and only smiles brightly at the guards once they’re let inside, starting to follow Yennefer only to be roughly yanked backwards.

“I know who you are and if you weren’t with her, I’d have gutted you on the spot,” one of the guards hisses under his breath, and Jaskier isn’t sure if he should be more concerned about that or the prickling sensation of starting to be too far from Yennefer.

“I’m terribly sorry if I remind you of anyone but I really haven’t had the pleasure of visiting your lovely town before. And I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding so-”

“Unhand him or lose the hand,” Yennefer says coolly from where she’s now glaring back at them, her voice somehow crystal clear despite the distance.

The guard spits at him before reluctantly letting go, turning back his post.

Jaskier suppresses his flinch as he wipes it away and exhales softly, speeding up so he can fall into stride with Yennefer again. “I thought you said you didn’t care?” he teases.

She hums. “I don’t. I just don’t care for you getting me into any more trouble, it’s bad enough that you’re here at all.”

Ouch.

He wants to think she only means to match his teasing but he can’t help that her comments always know how to sting in the worst way and all he can do is try his best not to let it show lest she use it against him in future.

“It’s not like I chose to accompany an arrogant coward from a terrible town up a mountain,” he snaps back.

They don’t get to say anything else because a Lord greets them at the door, welcoming Yennefer and sighing at the sight of Jaskier instead of his son. “I take it the quest wasn’t successful?”

“No, it wasn’t. I will, however, be taking payment regardless.”

The Lord nods quickly. “Of course, as promised. It’s just that the payment you requested has yet to be delivered. If you could stay just one night…?”

Jaskier tenses but Yennefer nods slowly. “One night, and then I take your blood instead. Noble blood does so well in potions.”

Never has anyone so quickly offered up their best spare rooms.

Said rooms happen to be across an opulently wide hallway.

“Yenn-”

“Not a word. Endure for two minutes, bard,” Yennefer mutters, letting the servants guide them to the two separate rooms.

Jaskier digs his nails into his palms as he thanks the girl whose curiosity regarding his lute he’d otherwise have loved to feed, waiting until she’s retreated fully before sliding down the door with a quiet gasp.

True to her word, Yennefer yanks him through a portal after just under two minutes.

Gagging at the wave of nausea that hits him, he waits until the room isn’t spinning before offering up a weak smile of gratitude.

“I’ll portal you back when we’re invited for dinner,” she tells him, settling on the bed.

“Sure. What kind of payment did you demand?”

She smiles mysteriously. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Jaskier shrugs off his lute and leans on the wall, stretching his feet out and trying not to laugh at the absurdity of his life. “Not really, darling, but I’m sure your malicious tale will distract from the after-effects of a portal.”

“I am not here to be a distraction for the likes of you,” Yennefer all but snarls.

After that, the two of them lapse into silence until the tension in the room builds to a palpable level at which point Jaskier pulls out his lute and starts idly strumming.

To his mild surprise, Yennefer doesn’t even bat an eye. But then again, she might be magically tuning him out because if she doesn’t care for him, she certainly won’t care for his music, no matter how beautiful it is.

Jaskier sighs at the thought, wondering how he’s meant to play for a receptive audience if he can’t convince Yennefer to enter a tavern. There’s also the small issue of finding an audience that can be receptive without him having to play Toss a Coin and suffer through the memories it brings back.

But those are inevitable concerns for another time, he decides, closing his eyes and absently letting his fingers dance across the strings as they please.

He just hopes they’re both invited to eat.

i’d say i promise to increase the pace next time so it’s more interesting but i can’t seem to rush these two...

thanks for reading! | masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

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danscape · 4 years ago

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ANNAPURNA CIRCUIT - Day 6 - Pisang to Manang

SUMMIT SNICKERS | JUMBLE GEOLOGY | DEHYDRATION | YAK SELFIE | CREAM CAKE

25th October 2018

THE DAY IN NUMBERS

9 Miles

8 Hours 20 Mins

Starting Elevation 3250m

Finish Elevation 3520m

Average Temperature 23C (Low 16C - High 27C)

Average Heartrate 113bpm (Max 156bpm)

Day 6 on the Annapurna Circuit - A STEEP CLIMB TO enter A land of jumbled GEOLOGY + yaks

Have I mentioned Tibetan bread yet? Well in case I haven’t I will reiterate that Tibetan Bread is the king of breakfasts on the circuit, nothing else fills you up quite so well as you tackle the mornings of ‘Nepali flat’ walking. Breakfast consumed we packed up and weaved our way through the narrow paths of Upper Pisang before the trail opened up ahead of us towards Ghyaru.

There is a choice from Pisang to take the high route (via Ghyaru) or the low route following the road. The choice depends if you want to get in a practice ascent climbing to over 3700m before dropping down to Manang or stick to the gradual climb to Manang. We had decided quite early on the high route would help give our bodies a chance to test our acclimatisation to the altitude. It would also test our minds a little with an insight into what the uphill struggle of pass day might be like.

We had been talking about the climb the previous evening, and so at first there was a sense of nervous anticipation, but it soon dissipated with each breath of the fresh morning air and the distraction of morning light hitting the giants of the Annapurna range.

Day 6 is split into two halves by the climb to Ghyaru.

Our gentle stroll through scattered pine trees and cool morning air was abruptly ended by the sight of the zig-zagging path which rose some 400m to our right, it’s final destination hidden. It was time to join the chain of hikers slowly making their way up the narrow dust trail. The steep climbs on the circuit bring groups of hikers together. It seems no matter if you set off a little earlier or later each day at some point on the slow plod uphill you will overlap or be overlapped by some familiar faces. My tendency to stop every few minutes to take photos (and catch my breath) means I’m particularly likely to see the same faces plenty of times. The momentum from the constant chain of hikers helps nudge you onwards. Finding a rhythm that allows you to keep going for as long as possible becomes a mini obsession. I became acutely aware of the creaking sound my backpack would make with each sequence of steps and this became a metronome I could concentrate on to keep moving.

Reaching Ghyaru after 45 minutes of relentless uphill we joined the crowd in dropping our packs to the floor and taking a seat to enjoy our reward, yes another stunning view of the Annapurna Range. At this point I felt great, the endorphin hit that comes after exercise added with the appreciation of where we were I was on a high. I suppose the sugar from my summit Snickers also helped.

THE VALLEY OF JUMBLED ROCKS

We lingered in Ghyaru for around 45 minutes and gradually familiar groups of trekkers came and went, all heading towards Manang. It was still only just after 9 am and our plan for the day was flexible, we would either stay in Bhakra or try and push on Manang. So we were again in no rush and now we were high in the valley the views across to the Annapurna range had revealed a new perspective. It felt like we were almost level with the snow line and the harsh faces of the mountains became more pronounced. I stopped often to photograph the textures on the other side of the valley where snow fought rock and patterns the likes of which I hadn’t seen before grabbed my attention.

We stopped after another hour or so at a tiny teahouse, I was still awestruck by the mountains opposite as I chewed on a rather crunchy pain au chocolat. Above my head hung on the teahouse walls was a Yak’s head, a sign we were entering Yak land. The next village we would reach would be Ngawal where we would most likely stop for lunch and see how much further we’d go on that day. The standout memory from this part of the trek and the rest of the day was the geology that surrounded us. It feels too simplistic to say it was unlike anything I have ever seen before, but it really was. [Here I wish my geological knowledge would allow me to describe the scenes in more detail.] In each direction you looked there seemed to be a completely different form of rock, rising to different heights and different angles. The individual formations seemed familiar, towers that reminded me of places in Spain, or the sandy colours of the American west but it was the assembly of such variety all in one place that seemed remarkable. Laid bare, we were getting a glimpse into the jumble of geology that was being slowly pushed up from below the surface. The landscape felt alive, a sense of movement you don’t get in the landscapes at home where the hills are rounded by time. In some ways, it reminded me that we really were walking amongst the chaos of a changing landscape where the continent of India continues forcing its way northwards.

GOING DOWNHILL

Reaching Ngawal and catching up with Ryan & Andrew it was still quite early in the day and we decided to continue on without a lunch stop here, mindful that the trail was busy here and arriving as early as possible would offer more accommodation options. Unfortunately for me, the day went downhill, both literally as we now descended back to the valley floor but also physically as I developed a headache and brief spells of nausea. At this point, I was spending most of my time hiking a couple of minutes behind Ryan & Andrew as I stopped often to take photos.

We were now back walking among the sparse pine trees but they offered little shade. At some sections, there were multiple choices of paths that weaved through the woods and it became a little disorienting until the view of the path ahead opened up again. Eventually, we came across a single tea house tucked into the woods and stopped for the classic veg noodles lunch. At this point, I realised I was probably dehydrated more so than suffering from altitude so the break and chance to take on plenty of liquids helped improve my physical and mental condition.

We were now over 5 hours into the day’s walking and after the earlier effort of the climb and despite the benefits of a lunch stop I still found it slow going. The path seemed much quieter now, the long day dispersing the chain of trekkers and with many deciding to stop in Ngawal. We reached Bhakra around 3 pm, it was quiet here also and so we decided to continue on to Manang only 30mins ahead. We were going to rest in Manang for a couple of days anyway so another few minutes would mean we could hopefully unpack and relax there.

As we moved through Bhakra a yak wandered in front of a Buddhist gompa, below houses nestled into rock towers that looked like the pipes of an organ. A memorable Himalayan scene.

YAK LAND

The final approach to Manang wasn’t far and the main attraction for me was again the Yak’s that wandered around the paths. I was completed unaware as to their temperament but I assumed with them being allowed to wander along the busy trail I could probably stop to take a few photos without causing them too much aggravation. We were now down again at river level in an amphitheatre of giant peaks on all sides. The sun was quickly falling in the sky, not far from being consumed by the Annapurna massif and already casting shadows on the landscape.

I lingered in these plains outside Manang for as long as possible, had some fun getting a Yak selfie before joining Ryan & Andrew in wandering the streets of the town in search of accommodation.

As I walked through the uneven streets of Manang Andrew was stood on the roof of a guesthouse being shown the rooftop toilet and signalling it was a no/last resort for that accommodation. Manang is always busy at this time of year as many people stop over a few days to acclimatise then accommodation is in demand. We only had one option, the North Pole Hotel. I’m reluctant to complain about any accommodation in a place such as this, but I can say there are plenty of better options in Manang.

MANANG

Bags dropped it was time to sit and enjoy a pot of tea at the Nilgiri Guesthouse mostly being enticed in by the cunningly placed cakes in the window. Chocolate & cream cake never tasted so good.

I had planned to head back out to the edge of Manang to take more photos in the last light of the day, however, the sun fell much quicker than I expected. As darkness came we headed back to our guesthouse for a cosy night playing cards and eating dal bhat. We just caught a glimpse of the sunset illuminating Annapurna III through the window. Not quite a colourful as a couple of nights before but still a beautiful moment.

MORE FROM THE BLOG

#Nepal #Annapurna Circuit #Trekking #Himalayas #Photography #Travel Photography #Pisang #Manang #Yak #Ghyaru

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sevenincubistolemyheart · 5 years ago

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Contrivances Chapter 4

Au: Yandere!

Tag List: @xsunnyhoseokx @amiraclerenee

Rating: M

Potential Triggers: Lots of violence in this story and explicit gore and manipulation. Please be aware there is yandere themes. Thank you.

Pairing: BTS x Reader/OT7 x Reader

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Hurt & Comfort

Length: 1k

A/N: This is in collaboration with @jooniescupcakes @girlmeetsliv3 @smileyoongle @likeamourningglory @junglekookbook @seven-souls, please check out their blogs as the story will be continued there and we're all writing together!

Waking up the next morning was anything but fun for you. But you did it nonetheless as you always did. Namjoon’s appearance last night had affected you far more than you’d like to admit and you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed and to the shower to properly get ready for the day. You had to meet up with Jimin at that new restaurant that just opened up to go over what happened at the police station yesterday.

Even with prepping as much as you could, he saw through you anyway the second he laid eyes on you. The perks of being friends since childhood it seemed.

“Y/N! Did...Did you not sleep well last night? Your eyes are puffy…”

You gave him your best smile as you waved your hand in dismissal.

“I’m fine!! Yesterday just shook me up a bit is all, it’s only natural that I’d look a little worse for wear.”

Jimin’s slight frown told you that he didn’t buy your story but he seemed to deem it not worth a fight as you were led further into the restaurant and to your seats.

You made yourself comfortable and felt peace sweep over you for what felt like the first time in days as a soothing piano melody greeted your ears; a contrasting background track to the chaotic mess your life had now become.

“So...do they suspect you? Are you all cleared?”

Jimin’s concerned voice brought you back to your surroundings and situation both as you bit your lip to hold back your sigh.

“I wish it was that simple. I don’t think I’m a suspect but the interrogator did keep me for as long as they could before releasing me.”

You closed your eyes and swallowed back your nausea at the bloody scene that had haunted your nightmares last night.

“Not to mention the pictures he showed me of Benji...God. It was horrible Jimin.”

Your eyes teared up and you clutched your chest as with every beat of your heart it seemed a deep emotional pain flew through your body along with blood.

“He may have been a vile, disgusting Human being...but he was still a living breathing person. No-one deserved what he went through.”

Jimin frowned deeply, reaching out and gently taking your hand in his in a show of comfort.

“I can only imagine. I’m so sorry Y/N. You know you’re always welcome to stay at my place if you don’t want to be alone right now.”

You almost flinched at the warmth of his hand on yours but instead forced a shaky smile as you opened your eyes and quietly squeezed his hand in silent thanks. Jimin was the one constant you could always rely on to be there these days it seemed. You couldn’t be more grateful to have such an amazing friend to be with you through school, to your break up with Namjoon and now was comforting you after you’d witnessed a murder.

God, he was really something else.

The thought made you smile suddenly and his eyes crinkled with happiness as he smiled gently back at you.

“There’s my favorite smile. Now; pick out what you want to eat, will you? I didn’t eat lunch in preparation for this so I’m starving. And I have got to tell you about these clients of mine…”

He changed the subject to one you were used to and you fell into habits of the past that served as an easy distraction from the horrors that seemed to be plaguing your life lately. Your food arrived and you ate as you talked; enjoying the food with a grin,

Jimin suddenly popped up just as he was finishing up his meal with a pout on his face and a groan fell from his lips as he turned his apologetic gaze your way. You already knew before he even opened his mouth.

“Go ahead you nerd. I know you’ve got people to help and you’re understaffed.”

You said fondly giggling as he pulled you out of your seat to kiss you on the cheek and pull you into a near bone-crushing hug before beaming at you and rushing off to pay for his section and head out. You shook your head with a caring sigh. That boy was too loving for his own good. He’d worked all day only to get called in for an overnight shift. They better give him off to make up for it. He cared about his clients too damn much.

You were making your way up to the doors having left your share of the tab and the tip on the table already for another night unwinding at home only for a familiar sound to reach your ears.

The piano again. You found yourself moving towards the sound and realized it was emitting from a black-haired young man currently playing towards the back of the restaurant. You couldn’t help but approach; once again feeling overwhelmed with the peaceful feeling that washes over you as you politely waited for him to finish the piece before gently tapping him on the shoulder and offering him your name before voicing your thoughts.

“Hello there! Forgive my intrusion I just wanted to say that your playing really affected me. Music hasn’t gotten to me like that in quite a while and I really needed it tonight. So thanks.”

He turned to look at you, piercing dark chocolate iris’s scanning you initially with cautious curiosity before a small genuine smile gradually turned into a large one as you spoke, letting his gums show as his eyes sparkled with happiness at your sincere praise breaking his initial cold appearance to something warm and interesting.

“I should be the one thanking you. I haven’t had anyone talk about my music like that in...too long. I’m glad I could offer you comfort. Would you...want to meet up for coffee tomorrow afternoon? I’d love to hear your honest thoughts on a few other pieces I’m working on. The name’s Yoongi by the way.”

Something in your gut told you to decline, felt something prickle at the back of your neck. But...you refused to let your paranoia rule your life. The murder was a fluke and it was a horrible accident. It was all said and done.

So instead your smile almost matched his with wideness and pure happiness as you replied.

“...I’d love that.”

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scottrunsultras · 5 years ago

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7 year blog birthday

7 years ago I created this blog as a way to publicly hold myself accountable and document the process as I trained for my first 50 mile ultra. To that point I’d finished two 50k’s and neither was that great. But I was at a place in my life where I needed something to focus on while I watched the calendar move. We were living in Twentynine Palms, California at the time and honestly, it kind of sucked. So this process was a good distraction.

My first 50 was the Leona Divide 50 in socal. And I was pretty terrible. Cramps, dehydration, nausea, blisters, and a 12:30 or so finish. There weren’t many good moments, but it was the start of a process and the first chance to really learn something about longer distances. It’s hard to practice ultras. So there’s a lot of race day trial and error. About a month later I ran the Ranier to Ruston 50 that finished in my home town of Tacoma, Washington. It was a little long - about 53 miles - and I finished in under 11 hours. The route and terrain was mostly easy, but still... 50 miles.

Shortly after that my family and I moved to Beaufort, South Carolina and I got to experience running in real heat and humidity. The desert was tough, but nothing like this. Apparently my body handles heat okay because I thrived. To that point I’d still never managed to pace myself properly in a marathon and was still cramping and blowing up at the end. Then came the Wambaw Swamp Stomp 50, just north of Charleston. And somehow, for one day, I managed to kill all my bad finish demons and finished in 8:28. I still don’t know how that happened. I almost completely imploded at mile 29, fought through it, and kept the wheels on for all 50 miles. That was a trajectory changing moment for me. Though I seldom had a race like that again, I knew somewhere inside me it was possible.

A couple of months later I finished the Waldo 100k, my first race at that distance. I was pretty worried about the 16 hour cutoff going from sea level to some altitude and complete flatlands to mountains. But I had a good day until about mile 55 and finished in 14:24.

Then I made a pretty bad mistake that is still costing me 5 years later. I was so overconfident that I immediately started hard marathon training after Waldo. I got over-training syndrome, didn’t recognize it, tried to push through it, and got terrible plantar fasciitis. Despite that, I ran my first sub-5:00 50k (on a VERY easy course) and PRed a few marathons. But the plantar was the first step in the achilles injuries that have been plaguing me for 4+ years now.

I moved to Boulder that next spring and despite the injuries really tried to embrace the mountains and the altitude. I severely sprained and slightly broke my ankle on July 4th, 2015 (didn’t know the extent of the injury at the time). Then I ran a 10:42 White River 50 three weeks later. Rather than shutting it down for the year, I felt a lot of ridiculous pressure to get a Western States qualifier, despite having no intention or confidence in running a 100 miler. So I once again pushed too hard, over-trained, and promptly DNFed the Cuyamaca 100k near San Diego. My first ever DNF.

2016 had a few unimpressive performances. I started physical therapy and eventually got the plantar fasciitis under control. But my heels were getting worse. I finished the season by finishing my second 100k, limping at last 2/3 of it. But for some reason I was still convinced that I could just rest a couple of months and it would get better. And at that point, I decided to take the real plunge and try to prove myself a real Colorado ultrarunner - I signed up for the Leadville 100.

2017 was entirely focused on training for Leadville. I was still having pretty bad injury problems, but I was registered and determined. I hired Sage Canaday and Sandy Nypaver as coaches, ran 6 days per week, injured my ankle badly enough to need a steroid injection the week before the race and toed the starting line. I won’t recap the whole ordeal. But very long story very short: the injuries didn’t stop me. But poor nutrition and hydration coupled with severe altitude sickness did. And I scored my second DNF at the 62 mile Twin Lakes aid station.

I was demoralized for months after that. I tried as hard as I could to figure out what I did wrong and how to fix it. It haunted me. But as a momentary psychological band-aid, I went to Arizona and finished the Javelina Jundred. It was no Leadville, but it was my first buckle and my first time running (figuratively) through the night.

In 2018 I did the most racing I’ve ever done. I raced at basically every distance: 5k, 10k, marathon, 50k, 40 miles, 50 miles, 64 miles, and wrapped up the year at Javelina again. I pulled out another transcendent performance and cut almost 4.5 hours of the previous year’s time, finishing in 22:14. My first sub-24 buckle.

2019 was more injury problems. I’m still having heel issues, though at many times they seem to be improving. This year I had major knee issues until April, giving me 4 months to basically train from nothing to Leadville again. I won’t recap the race again, but I got it this time.

So that’s the 7 year blog summary. I’m up to 16 marathon and 20 ultra finishes. And with a Leadville finish for this year, I’m finally committed to doing what it takes to fix my achilles problems. It’s going to be frustrating and difficult, but it’s time. I have this dream every year of being able to train and race without pain. It hasn’t happened in 5+ years but I also haven’t given it my full attention. It’s funny how easy it is to convince myself to train for a 100 mile race through perpetual pain but i can’t convince myself to take the time in the day to do flexibility, mobility, and strength work to hopefully fix it. Maybe 2020 will be the year.

#Runner #running #runblr #runblog #trail running #ultra running #scottfixeshisachilles

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theunkillablebitchseries · 5 years ago

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5. I don’t know if I’d call it vulnerability

Lately I’ve been getting the question, “How are you so vulnerable?” And vulnerable I guess is what they think of my transparency when it comes to what I’ve experienced. My mental health/therapy journey, my cancer/treatment story, my survivorship stuff, and every other bump along the winding way.

I hadn’t really thought about it much. What got me to this point of being “vulnerable.” The easy answer is my diagnosis prompted this need to share/overshare.

But when I actually think about it, when I want an answer that feels honest, I think back to some random 3am night during the early days of my treatment. Probably March or April. I remember being in a lot of pain, my stomach was a riot of nausea and aching hunger. I hadn’t eaten in days because everything I ate would come back up either way, but I was working on eating a mandarin.

I was sitting on floor next to my bed, the light from my closet glowing, the citrus burning my sensitive mouth and kind of having an out of body moment. I remember thinking, “this really can’t be happening to me.” Honestly, I had a lot of moments like that during treatment- moments of shock and disbelief that I really was a cancer patient. Strangely enough it rarely happened when I was actually hooked up to the drugs twice a week. It’d mainly happen when I’d be doing normal things, like going to the store or just sitting at home. Living in that dichotomy of doing “normal” while being a cancer patient was disorienting now that I think about it.

Back to that night, I remember after a particularly vicious bout of pain (I really don’t know how to describe the pain other than it felt like my bones were being crushed, my skin was overheating and I was just very dizzy) that night, I tried getting my breathing under control, just trying to breathe in and out and unclench my tense body. I didn’t have many moments when I thought I was going to die, but when I did it usually was prompted by pain I could not see my way out of.

This was one of those nights. So this really sharp all over body pain happens right, and when I’m able to catch my breath the first coherent thought I have is, “Fuck if I die, do my parents even know me???” While it was a very unsettling question it did distract me from the pain so I continued down that lovely train of thought and my gut answer at the time was, “No Jenni, if you die at the ripe age of 20 your parents would not know you.” And then it became this rabbit hole type thinking where I thought, would my sister be able to say she knew me well? Would my best friends? Do the people I love know, without a doubt that I love them as deeply as I do? And at the time I was sure the answer would be no. And that scared the fuck out of me.

While I think I was open to some degree about my life before this little cancer situation happened, I think I was very open about my thoughts and opinions on things. Not so much my feelings. I had always held my emotions pretty close to my chest. One because I’m really shy contrary to popular belief, and two I think many of us can agree that being discerning with who we share ourselves with is very necessary in many situations. I learned that from an early age and never really let it go. My reticence has served as a very necessary survival mechanism for me throughout my life. But I’ve said before on my other blog and this one too I think, that cancer really just cracked me open in the best most uncomfortable way.

So I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, mostly in the dark, in some of the worst pain in my life and my panic went from, “this pain is going to kill me” to “I don’t want to be this impossible and unknowable person.” I used to have this fucked up idea about love, that is comes in short supply- or not to get weird or anything but it’s almost like I had this capitalistic view on my love “supply.” I thought, for some reason I’m not too sure, that the less demonstrative I was with my affection and love, the more meaningful it was when I would give it and show it. I operated under this idea that I shouldn’t be demonstrative because it would cheapen the emotion, when in reality there is no such thing as a limit to love and caring and empathy. At least, not for me.

I just started thinking to myself, that I have always been a pretty straightforward person, but never really direct with my emotions. People think I’m very comfortable with being vulnerable but I’m not- it’s an effort to be transparent and it’s uncomfortable still for me to be so open but I want to be knowable (if that’s a word), I don’t want to be this mystery, I don’t want my loved ones to not know where they stand with me, even though emotional intimacy is something I still struggle with, even though being straightforward with my emotions feels like such a risk. And not just with emotions but just with everything- being transparent about my life struggles is still difficult for me.

But I want to be an open book. I don’t want to be cool or closed off or distant or give the impression everything is always fine and I’m living in the silver lining always. I want to be honest. Because what’s the risk in letting someone know I care about them? What’s the risk in saying, “I am confused and excited and figuring things out.” What’s the risk in saying, “I want to spend more time with you,” or “you are so important to me.”

So this endeavor to want to be this “knowable” person started with a really excruciating night and a mandarin and a tangential thought about dying.

And it’s lead me here.

Conversations with my parents. I tell my mom I love her even though we both get awkward about it. I call my sister my best friend. I tell my best friends I’m proud of them. I call one of them the love of my life because she is amazing. I’ve declared myself the third wheel to two of my favorite couples ever because I love spending time with them. I double, triple, quadruple text sometimes because I miss my friends. I tell people I want to spend time with them. I tell people I want to get to know them better. I say, “I love you,” before hanging up the phone or saying goodbye. I write a TMI blog that gives way too much insight to my convoluted head, where I write for myself but then share with whoever. I have emotional days and spill to twitter or instagram or Facebook to whoever will listen that I’m so grateful to be alive and in this complicated and frightening body because fuck it- I could die today. In the next 2 minutes. Or I could not. I don’t know. I’m not big on regrets, but being an island of a person would be a huge regret of mine. A regret I care not to have.

I have found so much freedom in being wildly straightforward. I have found so much freedom in having no chill. I have none. And I love it. Because I get to author my life, I get to let the people in and around my life know what my story is, and what their place in it is without any grey area.

I know some people may call this brave, at this point I try not to think too hard on my choice of sharing/not sharing, so is it really bravery if I try not to put too much thought behind it? I’m not sure. I don’t know if this is vulnerability or a product of survivorship or both, but I know I just want to be honest. Mess, no chill, cringe and all.

- Your Favorite Unkillable Bitch

#cancer survivor #theunkillablebitchseries #cancer #hodgkin's lymphoma #5 #vulnerability #honesty #transparency

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heroesarelife · 7 years ago

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I have just realized I have never posted it here. My first ever english fic/piece xD I only posted it on AO3 eons ago, much before I made this blog. Might as well leave it here.

Was originally written to train my english writing and as a self-comfort piece (bc I have panic syndrome) using one of my bnha oc’s (and then turned into a reader piece). I actually had a long fic planned with plot and stuff and actually did nothing less than 7 chapters for this - which are all in portuguese. I have it in mind to maybe make english versions of it at some point, but I’m not fully confident if there’s interest, so let me know. Either way enjoy the wee piece as it works well as a stand alone one.

It is written on a 3rd person narrative, as I don’t do 2nd person. Fem!Reader. Look at tags for warnings.

Title: Miles Away

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Reader Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Additional Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mental Health Issues, Like panic syndrome, Panic Attacks, You Have Been Warned, just an excuse for more aizawa really, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Female pronouns, Established Relationship Summary: Some nights can be pretty bad, especially if you are alone. But sometimes you can be helped, even if from a distance.

Read on AO3 or down below.

Miles Away

She woke up suddenly, a strangled cry lodged in her throat. Panting, she stared at the darkened ceiling, trying to situate herself, separate herself from the nightmare. Her heart was beating rapidly, she felt as if she was battling to breath and, for a desperate second, thought it possible that she would stop breathing altogether. No, no, don’t think that, nobody ever died from a nightmare before.

She closed her eyes, intentionally taking slow deep breaths, consciously relaxing each muscle of her body, ordering her heart to pick up a normal pace. It’s alright, I’m alright.

After what seemed an agonizing eternity, her heartbeat began to normalize. Not anymore trapped in panic, she was able to shift her focus to other sensations, looking to anchor herself. She moved her legs haltingly, trying to reconnect with the rest of her body. A gentle breeze caressed her sweat-covered skin, making her hairs prick out in silent protest against the thermic shock. Distant sounds came through the window: a car alarm, the soft ruffle of tree leaves, a lonely bird singing in the dark. The sounds of a city night. A voice, murmuring on her ear, making her hairs prick in fear “you think you can escape from me?”

No, no. It’s not real, I’m alone, I know I am. In defensive reflex she closed her eyes, feeling, with renewed anguish, her heart rate rising again, her muscles trembling; if from cold or fear, she couldn’t tell. A ghost sensation of a hand, holding her wrist. No, stop it, this is your mind, playing tricks. A soft whimper escaped her lips, mixed in with a car engine sound in the street outside. Shaking, she gripped the bed sheets with all her strength, looked towards the window, where some streetlights could be seen. She needed something, anything.

I’m in control, I can’t be hurt, everything is alright. She repeated mentally, in a desperate mantra. Focused back on her breaths. In, and out. In, and out. Slowly, surely. I’m alright, all is well. Her breath was shaking, bur her heartbeat was slowly normalising. Yes, that’s it. Suddenly, without warning, the peak of the panic took over and she found herself bolting from the bed, barely in time to be violently ill in the toilet.

With reflex tears from the pain running down her cheeks, she sat down on the cold tiles, hugging her legs, supporting her head back against the wall. Breathing, just breathing. It’s over, it’s fine, the worst is over. God, she was tired. Her muscles shook with the adrenaline hangover, her head pounding painfully.

After what seemed a rather long time, she slowly felt fit to get up, supporting her weight in the sink. Washing her mouth and face, she looked at her reddened eyes in the mirror, her tired reflection staring back. This sort of incident had become more spaced out through the years, but when it happened it was always much more intense and tiring. There weren’t many things that helped, mostly she just had to get through them.

It was easier when he was around. Supporting her weight against the bathroom doorstop, she looked at the empty bed. She needed rest badly, but didn’t think it possible after what happened. She still felt somehow disconnected from her limbs, numb. Resigned, she gathered the bed sheets and cocooned them around her body, as she was still shaking and the breeze – however gentle - felt cold against her skin. With a sigh, she sat by the window, looking out. The clock marked 4am and it was still dark outside, or as dark as a big city could be. She could see the streetlights, an overnight bus going about its business, darkened buildings. Saddening, you could never really see the night sky in the city.

When he was around, even when this happened, she always could go back to his arms, to his warmth. Snuggle against him, waiting for his breath and heartbeat to lull her back to sleep. But he was in Japan, some thousand miles away. Foolishly, she felt tears begin to form, and bravely fought them back. What was she, a child? She spent so many nights like these without him, she could survive another without lamenting his absence.

As if on cue, her phone vibrated against the wooded side table, the sudden and invasive sound startling her. It’s just the phone.

She sat back on the bed, getting the phone, a hand against her heart, trying to calm it back down. So jumpy. She felt in no state of mind to hold a conversation, but it could be something important about work.

Eraser

Her heart leapt. Was he a psychic? What time was it in Japan? Too tired to think, she answered the call instinctively; he would worry if she didn’t.

“…Hey”, she tried to clear her voice, hoping it didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.

“Hey. Did I wake you?” His deep voice came in, distracted. Just hearing his voice was like a balm to her soul, making her feel ridiculously close to weeping. “Shit, it’s the middle of the night for you, sorry”

As it seemed like he would hang up, she hurried to answer, “No, don’t worry, I was awake”, a sigh of relief from the other side. “Don’t hang up yet. It’s… really good. To hear your voice”, she managed to prevent her voice from trembling.

“Hmm? Well, it’s pretty late for you though. You sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s alright” gathering herself on the bed, she hugged her knees, smiling weakly. There it was, her anchor. She searched her mind for something to say, “do tell, how was Hizashi’s birthday? I’m that sorry I missed it”

“It was loud. You missed nothing, really. Just everyone getting loud and pissed.”

“Oh, are you drunk? You are a funny drunk,” she teased.

“No, as a matter of fact, I was the designated driver” he answered, dryly. “Just barely managed to prevent Nemuri from vomiting the whole car”

She made a sympathetic sound in her throat, appreciating that the conversation was beginning to distract her, “She never did hold her liquor very well”.

“Yeah, was just a mess, better to be home” he said in a tense tone, with a heavy sigh.

They fell into silence. She squeezed the bed sheet in her hand strongly, battling back her nausea. She felt like her mouth was trembling, but the night wasn’t cold. A small ‘meow’ came from the other end of the line. Miku, their kitty. Shouta made a sound for the cat, “are you hungry? Come here, Miku”

“Maybe she’s missing me,” she joked, rather feeling like she could use the cat’s soft fur against her skin, Miku being quite the cuddler as well.

“As if. She only wants food, the selfish wicked creature”, he said, though his tone was one of fondness. Shouta was a softie for cats. There was silence again, but she relaxed in the homely sounds of him serving the cat, talking to it absentmindedly, as he always did. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel as if they were both at home.

“…Maybe I am” she heard him say, almost inaudibly.

“Hmm? Sorry, what did you say?”

“…Missing you. Maybe I am missing you”, he repeated softly, “maybe Miku too” he added, for lack of something better.

Ah, there it was, the knot on her throat was back. Oh god, she wanted him close so badly. Not feeling equal to answering him without crying, she kept silent, trying to recover herself, taking in a deep breath. She didn’t want him to worry, to think she couldn’t handle herself.

“[Name]”

“…Yes?”

“What’s wrong?” he said very softly, worry merely hinted. The tone he used when he knew she was hiding something. Damn, she couldn’t get anything past that man.

She opened her mouth, closed it again, “I… I’m alright. Just tired” she stumbled on the last word, voice trembling. Shit.

He made a low throat sound, indicating he wasn’t buying it, “Talk to me”.

She bit her lower lip, feeling torn. Still suffering the hangover of the nightmare, she didn’t feel equal to revisit it. Maybe I’m going weak. I should be stronger than this.

“[Name], I’m here for you. Talk to me.” Shouta insisted gently, voice soothing.

Her emotions spilled down her eyes, the warm tears almost shocking against her cold skin. Sniffing discreetly, she wiped her tears. “It… it truly is good, to just hear your voice”, not wanting to let the sobs take over, she battled them down, voice shaking “Sometime is… hard for me, that’s all”.

“I know” he said, “I know.” he repeated, shuffling something, she could hear him changing positions wherever he was siting. “If I was there… no, no use in dwelling on that.” He said, resentfully. She laughed meekly through the tears, all but seeing him shuffling his fingers through his hair, as was his habit when thinking. “It’s late for you, [Name], do you want to sleep?”

“I do.” she said, quietly. She stopped, searching for the words, the strength to admit her own weakness. He waited patiently. “I’m scared to go to sleep. It’s silly” she added, forcing a nervous laugh, wiping the tears that resurfaced with a trembling hand. Suddenly drained, she let her forehead rest on her knees, as if trying to find security within herself. “it’s silly” she repeated, weakly.

“It’s not. It’s okay.” He murmured, understanding her mood. He grunted softly to himself, thinking. “Are you in bed?”

“Yeah” such an incongruent question “you?”

“Yeah” he sighed, stretching his body “I will make you company, so… You can sleep” he murmured, as if sharing a secret “I can’t be there, but I will stay here with you, until you can fall asleep, okay?”

Slowly she laid down on the bed, “You don’t need to, I can tell you are tired”, she said, hesitant to hold the offer, remembering how demanding his workload was. However, it was almost appalling how her body responded just to the idea, her muscles relaxing for the first time in the last hour.

“It’s alright. I’ll sleep after you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, suddenly feeling guilty “but,” she interrupted what he was about to say “Thank you” she let out a sigh, “I’m happy you called”.

“Don’t worry.” He looked at the ceiling, feeling his dry eyes sting. Closing them, he tried to imagine her close “I also like hearing your voice”.

He kept talking to her, whispering about the day, Hiazashi’s birthday party, some bit of news he saw recently. She paid little attention to the content, soothed by the rhythm of his voice, the deepness of it, slowly relaxing into it like she would in his arms. Closing her eyes, she could imagine he was beside her. Without realizing it, she began to drift.

He went on about any events he could think of for some more minutes. Finally stopping, then, listening to her soft breathing, making sure she was asleep. “I love you,” he murmured, before letting sleep take over him as well.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa shota #bnha #bnha imagines #aizawa x reader #scenarios #original content #sfw #angst #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #amethyst #amethyst scenarios

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stomachflu · 7 years ago

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prompt for T /// A /// Z: carey is an emetophile and gets a stomach bug, so she's miserable but sooo turned on. could be solo or carey/killian? OR with any other characters, really.

Could you write a fic where character A is puking while character B is holding her belly and masturbating her ? Thanks

tip jar!

🚫don’t rb/share to non-emeto/sickfic/kink blogs, thanks!🚫

first anon, are we the same person?? because i was literally thinking about this exact concept when you messaged me. hope that you don’t mind that i, uh, took your prompt and ran with it!! (sidenote: i know none of the physiology hcs i put in here are anywhere near canon!)

anyways this fic is very long (nearly 5k) and very nsfw, and has an excessive amount of buildup even for me.

Carey feels it when she first wakes up: this slow, sickly ache in her stomach, her insides churning sluggishly. It’s not bad enough to tell whether she’s truly sick or just suffering from a bit of indigestion, so she rolls over to the empty space on the bed where –

Her girlfriend isn’t there. Right. Killian’s on an important-save-the-world mission, or maybe also the kind where she just has to kill some dudes. It’s unclear, but she’s been gone for the past few days, and Carey misses her like hell, but she’s supposed to be back tonight.

So she just lays there on her back, pulling up her shirt to expose her soft underbelly, where her scales just sort of… trail off, and then stop, leaving an expanse of warm, velvety flesh. Killian loves this, has spent many times kissing her belly or slipping her hands under Carey’s shirt to feel it or sometimes just admiring it, and godsdoes it feel good to be admired by someone like Killian.

She can’t tell, but it feels like her stomach is slightly bloated. Then again, it’s early, artificial grey pre-dawn light trickling in through her window, so she just lazily rubs her belly, trailing two claws gently over the exposed flesh, enjoying the thought of what Killian would do if she was here.

It’s enough to make her wet by the time her alarm goes off, but Carey isn’t sick enough (or turned on enough) to skip training, so she reluctantly scrambles out of bed, pulling her uniform on one piece at a time. Her limbs ache, and getting dressed is actually a slow process for once, like her arms are encased in molasses. Could be that she’s sick, but then again, could be that she just trained too hard yesterday. Which she did, so.

She thinks about when Killian comes home tonight – telling her, my stomach hurt this morning, I almost thought that I was sick, and Killian’s strong arms coming around to encircle her middle and maybe saying, I wish I was there, and, maybe: them making something of it.

Then again, it’s not like her stomach hurts, more like she just feels… weird, and off. And then again,it’s fifteen minutes past her alarm and she’s sitting there thinking about the passionate kinky scenes she could be playing out with her girlfriend, and she is definitely gonna be late for training if she keeps this up.

The cafeteria is oddly empty for this time of morning, but then again, it seems to be built for far more members than are currently employed here, so it’s always a little empty. Carey is actually never in here this morning, but she figures that some food might be a good idea right now (her stomach gurgles obnoxiously, as if to agree), so she grabs something that’ll be easy to digest – a plate of fruit, as it turns out, and takes a seat next to… Taako, actually.

Dude’s sitting alone, which is both weird and par for the course for him. Par for the course, because she knows a loner when she sees one. Weird, because she’s never seen him without his group to back him up, no matter how hard he tries to lose them.

“Hey,” she says, thumping her tray down. “Where’s Magnus? And Merle? Aren’t your buddies coming to breakfast?”

Taako shrugs, cutting off a section of pancakes. “Dunno. Actually I do know, but, like.” He stabs a forkful and shoves it in his mouth before responding. “Magnus is really fucking sick, he’s been puking all night ‘n shit. And I’ve been dealing with that for long enough –” he stabs his fork in the air for emphasis “–so Merle’s looking after him while I get the fuck outta dodge.”

“Oh. Jeez, poor guy. I hope he’s okay.” Carey stabs a piece of fruit with her fork and swallows it down. She’s not as hungry today as she is usually.

“Yeah.” Taako looks tired, but sits up in his seat a little. “Apparently, there’s a flu going around the Bureau? So, like, be careful, I guess.”

“I will. I mean, I will, but Dragonborns can’t get sick, so…” Carey squirms in her seat a little bit. The idea of a flu going around is… enticing, to say the least.

“What, like in an elves-don’t-get-sick-but-actually-we-do kinda deal? Or some other fucked-up bit if physiology that you’ve got going on?”

“The latter. Physically? We don’t, our stomachs are like… We’re meant to keep food down? So Dragonborn can’t actually puke. Like, almost never. All that happens is we just feel kinda gross for a bit.”

Carey has, as a matter of fact, thrown up once in her life, when she took a blow from an enemy’s axe that was so bad she’d collapsed to her knees, retching up bile and blood. She still has that scar, and Killian loves it. Between the two of them, her girlfriend’s only been able to make her gag once, after half an hour of trying with her fingers and any object available. It would be a good skill to have, if she had certain… inclinations.

Other than that, she just gets super fucking nauseous, and she and Killian have plenty of fun with that.

“Jeez. That’s… really weird, actually. Fucked up.” Taako’s actually really quiet after that, playing with his food rather than eating it, and throws away his tray before breakfast ends.

For her part, once she’s alone, Carey realizes that the fruit hasn’t helped her stomach much, which feels like it’s bubbling under her fingers. What if I did get sick, she thinks to herself, and the resulting arousal is almost enough that she sneaks to the bathroom to take care of matters, but she’s saving her libido for when Killian comes home tonight. Sick or not, they can have fun then, so she just goes up for seconds.

Training starts off easy, with some stretches (Carey can’t help but notice how many absent spaces there are in today’s lineup) and then some light boxing, which she’s grateful for, because ever since breakfast, her stomach’s felt weirdly tight, her gym shorts creating an uncomfortable band of pressure around her middle.

Then everybody splits off to do their own style of training – Carey sees Taako pairing off an instructor for spellwork and guesses that Angus must be an unfortunate victim of today’s flu. She’s not sure who she feels more sorry for, Angus or the instructor.

Carey practices some half-hearted flips, but her mind isn’t really on it. She feels dizzy and distracted, and halfway through a particularly tricky maneuver, there’s a sudden sharp pain in her belly. She curls in on herself instinctually, missing her foothold and crashing to the ground.

She lands wrong, knows she’s landed wrong before she has the chance to catch her breath, one arm folded awkwardly under her, the other wrapped around her middle. Carey opens her eyes to a crowd gathered around her and swears quietly, quickly removing the hand that’s on her stomach. She tries to sit up, but the pain racing down her arm from her shoulder tells her that putting weight on it isn’t a good idea.

“Okay, everybody clear out, go back to your routines,” says the instructor, a middle-aged halfling woman. “Carey, are you alright?”

There’s another pain in her middle, more dull this time, and Carey nods. “I’m fine, just… kinda sore from yesterday, I guess? Think I hurt my shoulder, though.”

Stupid, stupid move. She’s usually the best at this, and she can’t afford to be outta commission the way a long-term injury would make her. The instructor just shakes her head and sends her to the infirmary to get ice and come back tomorrow.

She ducks into the bathrooms on the way, stopping at the sinks to splash water on her face and change. The dull cramps in her stomach are coming on and off again, with no discernible rhythm, just a sickly ache. She’d worn a sports bra to training, and her underbelly is showing signs of bloating. To anybody else, it wouldn’t be visible, but Carey knows what to look for.

She stands there for a moment, rubbing her hand up and down the bulge of her stomach before changing and leaning in close to the mirror. Nobody can tell she’s ill, thank goodness – Dragonborn run much, much cooler than humans, and although Carey realizes once she’s back in uniform that she’s been shivering slightly not from being underdressed but from fever, she’s probably still cold to the touch, enough that nobody will notice. A little-known fact is that Dragonborn can blush, and a faint flush is spreading across the scales on her face right now, nearly invisible except to those who specifically look for it.

Carey touches a slightly-shaking hand to her forehead as her stomach does a slow, oily flip. This is probably the sickest she’s ever been, exempting the time she and Killian’d both got food poisoning from a shitty inn in Phandolin (may its residents rest in peace) and had made a night out of it – Killian vomiting while Carey fucked her brains out, nearly ill enough to gag herself.

The infirmary is packed. There’s healers moving every which way, bustling between beds, and the sound of retching seems to come from all directions. A nurse leads her to an empty cot, placing a basin on the bedside table, and Carey shakes her head. “Oh, no, I’m not gonna throw up! I just hurt my shoulder.”

I think. Her stomach isn’t doing too hot, actually, and she’s starting to feel the beginnings of nausea in the pit of her belly. The experience is as hot as it is sickening, and she shifts uncomfortably in the cot, aware of the warmth between her legs. Later, she tells herself.

The nurse heads off to grab some ice, and the figure in the bed next to her draws aside the curtain. It’s Johann, of all people, looking even more pale and sickly than usual.

“Oh…” he says miserably. “I was just wondering… if you’re not sick…. if I could have your basin?”

“Sure thing!” Carey passes it over, briefly entertaining the thought of being sick in a basin with Killian watching. “You’re sick too?”

“Yeah… I’ve been throwing up all morning… and the healers took my basin to clean it… and I’m feeling – urk!” He claps a hand over his mouth, but it’s too late: liquid sprays through the cracks between his fingers, and Carey watches, fascinated, as he retches water and bile into the bowl.

“You okay, dude?” she asks, and he gives her a shaky thumbs-up as a harried-looking healer hands her an icepack and a sling and informs her that the slight sprain should heal in a few days’ time, thanks to her body’s healing properties.

“No clerics?” she asks, and the healer shakes her head.

“They’re all out making rounds. With this bug and all, we’re spread so thin…”

Carey nods in understanding. Her shoulder isn’t anything a hot water bottle and a good massage can’t fix, so she thanks the healer and steps out of the infirmary. Briefly, she considers retiring to her quarters for the day, but it’s nearly lunchtime, and does she –

She does.

Carey is definitely sick and definitely queasy and she is definitely going to pack away an entire plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She thinks about how nauseous she’s gonna feel, how her body isn’t digesting any food right now, how her lunch is just gonna sit in her stomach, churning away, and a pulse of excitement shoots through her.

She has to force herself to eat, though it’s with more gusto this time. Taako doesn’t comment on the sling, just picks at his own meal, so it’s just Carey, forcing herself to swallow down small bites of spaghetti even as her throats keeps trying to close up, until he abruptly pushes back his chair and stands up.

“What are you –” she manages to ask before he vomits all over himself, the table, and his lunch. There’s no warning except for a quiet hiccup the first time, but he retches and brings up a second, equally large wave. Carey can only stare, but Avi grabs him by the shoulders and escorts him away once he finished gagging.

Several employees stop by to clean up the mess on the floor, and Carey’s not prepared for the sudden wave of nausea that washes through her, nor for the arousal that follows. She has to excuse herself quickly, taking off to the bathroom at full speed. Once there, she slams the stall door shut, taking hitching breaths as she rubs her churning belly with one hand.

As a general rule, she’s not into guys, so it’s not Taako or Johann puking exactly that gets her, it’s just – thinking about it being Killian vomiting that much, or maybe what it must have felt like –

Unconsciously, she slips her other hand into her pants, playing with herself as she presses on her lower stomach, enjoying the low gurgles and dull bursts of pain from each push. Despite herself, she manages to get off twice, and as she climaxes a second time, her stomach honest-to-god lurches, and she tastes bile in the back of her throat, and this alone is able to tip her over the edge for round three.

She’d promised to save her libido for Killian, and she has; even after shakily emerging from the bathroom, she’s still well aware of the throbbing between her legs – her nausea is doing a good job of that, especially once she returns to the cafeteria, orders a second plate of meatballs, and tries not to think what the sauce would look like if she vomited it up.

Afternoons are reserved for paperwork, which is good, because Carey is quickly becoming too nauseous to handle more than anything else. It’s a bit exciting – she’s queasy, nauseated, and nobody else knows that she wants to throw up so fucking bad. Her stomach is churning, gurgling so loudly that at one point Avi asks her if she’s feeling okay.

It seems like everybody is ill – even though she’s trying to concentrate, both on her work and on her sick stomach, Carey keeps catching bits and pieces of conversation about who else is down with the flu. Supposedly even the Director is sick, unable to leave her quarters.

At some point after lunch, she starts hiccuping, a process that upsets both her stomach and her shoulder. Hiccups aren’t impossible for someone like her, just rare, but she’s never experienced them as a product of nausea.

The dull cramps are near-constant now and increasing in strength; Carey can’t wait to go home and massage her aching stomach. As is, she slips a hand under her shirt to press on a particularly painful spot and surprised herself when the pressure forces up a small, squeaky burp.

“Wow,” Avi says from two desks down. “I didn’t know that Dragonborn could burp.”

“Me neither!” Carey says. Then: “Actually, I’m not feeling so hot. Mind if I scoot early?” This is part selfish desire on her part, part honest truth: she’s quickly feeling too ill to even stand upright, chills and fever taking her over by turns.

Avi agrees to do the last of her paperwork, and Carey starts the slow trek back to her quarters, both arms wrapped around her sloshing stomach.

The first thing Carey does when she gets home is strip. She’s kind of a no-shirt gal in the first place – she doesn’t even have breasts, there’s nothing to hide – but rules are rules, and “no shirt, no shoes, no service” applies on the moon.

Underneath her uniform, her stomach is massively bloated, distended over her waistband. Carey can’t get pregnant, but if she could, this is what she imagines it would look like. She runs a gentle but firm claw over the curve and is rewarded with another burp, this one longer and louder. A firm press yields a wetter belch and the beginning of a heave, and Carey abruptly stops, clapping a hand over her mouth in surprise.

She waits like that for a moment, expecting more nausea, but her stomach just cramps harder. Face growing hot, she changes into a pair of lace panties that Killian’s partial to, fetches a hot water bottle, and waits.

Thirty minutes later, she’s drenched in sweat, swallowing down increasing waves of nausea, and pressing the hot water bottle to her stomach when the door opens. Arousal courses through her, a pulsating warmth, and she’s swallowing down burps that taste of her last meal, choosing to nurse a bottle of water in the vain hopes that it’ll relieve some of the churning pressure in her belly.

Despite all this, she finds the strength in her to limp to the door, leaving the hot water bottle behind. Her girlfriend is covered in blood and sweat, but her eyes light up when she sees Carey, and she scoops her up and tosses her in the air the way they always do when one of them arrives home.

It’s a bad idea with the state of things, though, and Carey cries out as her stomach heaves and pain shoots through her bad arm. Killian quickly sets her on the floor, holding her at arms’ length.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

Carey keeps her mouth closed until she’s sure that her throat will stop spasming with half-suppressed heaves, one hand pressed to the front of her snout. “I’m… not feeling so hot,” she confesses. “There’s a flu going around.” She shifts so that the bulge of her belly is visible to Killian, placing one hand on it suggestively. “Actually, I’m feeling really sick.”

“Holy shit,” Killian breathes, reaching out a blood-covered hand and quickly yanking it back, like Carey is too precious to touch like this. “Do you wanna…”

“Yes,” Carey breathes, taking Killian’s offered hand and standing up. “I’ve been waiting all fucking day, are you kidding me?”

“Okay! Okay, uh, lemme…” Killian rubs the back of her neck with one hand, thinking. “Lemme shower first, if you can wait that long? I’ll, um. Leave the bathroom door open if you need it.”

That must be a testament to how bad she looks, and a bolt of desire runs through Carey. “Okay, sounds good!”

Carey sits on the edge of the couch, twitching with nervous energy, but five minutes after the shower turns on, nausea swells in her belly again, and the way her throat tightens in an almost-gag makes her feel like the bathroom is genuinely the better option. She stumbles into a spot by the toilet, kneeling like she’s seen Killian do, staring into the water below. Saliva is pooling beneath her tongue, and she spits.

The shower turns off, and Killian steps out. “What are y– oh,” she says, expression softening. “Oh, jeez.”

“’M'okay,” Carey slurs, spitting again. “Kinda felt like I was gonna hurl for a second there.”

“Okay, can you – Are you good?”

Carey nods, not trusting herself to open her mouth.

“So do you wanna do this here or go to bed?” Killian asks

“Bed,” Carey says, but when Killian makes a motion to scoop her up again, she pushes her away. “No, no, I – think I’m gonna hmk! puke, don’t… I can walk.” She can, sorta, leaning against Killian, both arms wrapped around her heaving belly.

Usually, when they do this sorta thing on the rare occasions that Carey is sick, they wind up fooling around a bit, Killian soothing away the aches and pains, then collapsing into a heap to sleep. She assumes the position that she usually does, cross-legged on the bed, propped up against the headboard.

“So,” Killian says slowly. “You’re still feeling sick.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question, but Carey nods anyways. “What do you want to do?”

In response, Carey shifts over so that Killian can comfortably sit next to her. “Whatever – whatever you want,” she says, hiccuping slightly at the end of the sentence.

Killian leans in and swiftly kisses her. It’s always an awkward affair, considering the snout and the tusks, but they make it work, and by the end of it, Carey is giggling, which isn’t doing her stomach any favors.

“You should tell me about how you’re feeling,” she says, voice low.

“I’m – I’m really nauseous,” Carey says, voice wobbling a bit. “Like, I woke up, and my stomach felt off? Like kind of bubbly and gross, and I was already a little bit bloated?”

Killian slides a hand over Carey’s soft belly, fingers splayed out. The width of her hand is large enough that it covers her entire stomach, and Carey sighs as she feels the bubbles and churning under Killian’s hand. “Like that.”

Killian’s touch is enough to bring up one of the burps Carey’s been trying to hold down, and she lets out a muffled “Urp!”

A blush spreads across Killian’s face. “Jeez, babe.”

“Yeah, and then there’s – BRUUURP! that,” Carey says. “Been holding them in for you.”

“Let ‘em out,” Killian says, pressing in a little on Carey’s stomach and visibly enjoying the resulting gurgles.

“Yeah, so, get this – I hurt my arm in training 'cause my stomach was cramping super bad, and you’ll never believe what the infirmary was like…” Carey started telling her about her day, the story intermingled with belches and moans as the pressure in her stomach grows more, not less, painful. At one point, she has to stop completely and muffle a series of burps into the crook of Killian’s neck, each one bringing her closer and closer to gagging.

Killian kisses her again, and then she does gag against her girlfriend’s lips, her tongue arching against the roof of her mouth as the nausea washes over her.

When Killian pulls back with a self-satisfied smile, there are thick strands of saliva connecting their mouths. “Hot.”

“I – I know, right?” Carey’s throat keeps hitching with tiny half-gags, and when Killian shifts, helps her so that she’s lying on her back, facing the ceiling, she thinks, maybe now she’ll help me bring something up, but, much to her surprise, Killian starts with her injured shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to the throbbing joint. Her strong hands press against the bruise, soothing away the ache that Carey hasn’t even noticed over the pain in her stomach.

Still, she squirms uncomfortably, mindful of the way her stomach sloshes. “Babe,” she moans. “I’m… feelin’ really sick. Please –”

Carey breaks off with a gasp as Killian kisses a path from her throat down to her underbelly, drawing a few light burps from her lips. She slips a hand between Carey’s legs, pausing to marvel at how wet she is already, and uses her other hand to rub her belly.

“I’m – hrmf!” Carey’s stomach lurches, and she dry-heaves. “I’m real close.”

To vomiting or coming, she doesn’t know, but Killian nods, shifting Carey so that she’s sitting in her lap, resting her chin between the horns on either side of her head. She keeps one hand on her belly still, and Carey’s slick enough that she easily can slip two fingers inside her with little testing.

Killian quickly establishes a rhythm – not fast and not slow – and Carey shivers as she ghosts the pad of her thumb over her clit, pressing light kisses to the back of Carey’s sweaty neck. “Is this okay?” she asks, massaging her stomach with her free hand.

“Y-yeah, I just –mmMURP! – Can you press harder, mayb–” Carey is cut off by another sickening retch, and she lets her mouth hang open, drooling over the soft swell of her distended belly.

Killian doesn’t need to be told twice, increasing the pressure on Carey’s stomach, causing her to gag several times, tasting bile in the back of her throat. She’s shaking with fever and quivering under Killian’s affections, her legs trembling as Killian picks up speed.

Killian pushes on her stomach, and Carey barely has any warning before she climaxes, head snapping back and keening as a wave of nausea washes over her. She doesn’t even have time to take a breath before Killian pushes again, harder this time, and she retches hard, a torrent of vomit splattering onto the bedspread.

“Holy shit,” Killian breathes, and Carey chokes on another retch. The second wave brings up even more than the first, but she’s too weak to even lift her head, so she just vomits onto herself, sending a wave of chunky puke down her front, forming a warm pile in her lap.

Killian’s pressing soft kisses to the back of her neck and she stays like that for a moment, head bowed, gurgling retches issuing from her throat, spitting threads of thick saliva into her lap. She’s shaking still, Killian teasing her through the fabric of her underwear, drawing tiny aftershocks out of her.

“Think you have any more in you?” Killian asks after a moment, removing her hand from Carey’s belly.

“I – yeah. Yeah,” she breathes, replacing Killian’s hand with her own. Her stomach is still churning and gurgling, whatever food she has left sitting too heavily to be comfortable. She grits her teeth as another cramp runs through her.

“Wanna – y'know. Puke on me?” Killian asks breathlessly. In response, Carey shifts so that she’s facing her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips but drawing back almost immediately as vomit rises in her throat.

It’s more difficult this time without any pressure on her bloated, aching belly, and she barely manages to bring up a small mouthful of vomit before a series of dry retches scrape her throat.

Killian reaches towards her, presumably to help out, but Carey shakes her head miserably. She wants to get it all up and she wants to do it herself, so she pushes Killian into a lying position, leveraging herself above her on shaky arms.

Her stomach really doesn’t like that, and Carey urps up a few more mouthfuls of vomit. She closes her eyes, lets nausea wash over her in sickening waves, and then gags once, twice, and barely has time to part her lips before her belly lurches and a massive gush of puke splatters onto Killian’s chest.

She retches a few more times, bringing up thinner, more watery streams as Killian gasps, and then collapses next to her girlfriend, panting.

“Done?” Killian asks, pressing her hand to Carey’s belly suggestively.

Carey burps, not even bothering to raise her head. “I… I don’t know. I think so?”

“Wanna shower and find out?”

To no one’s surprise, Carey finds that she’s very partial to that idea.

Under the warm water, Killian teases another orgasm out of Carey, and is well on her way to another when the nausea returns. Carey’s leaning against her girlfriend, face pressed into the crook of her neck – her legs are too shaky to hold her up, and when she’d tried to slip a hand between Killian’s legs to return the favor, Killian just shook her head, saying that tonight was about her.

She barely has time to warn, “Gonna puke,” when her throat contracts and she retches up a wave of watery vomit all down Killian’s back. Her stomach heaves against Killian’s, slippery and wet, and she finds herself emptily gagging and burping again and again until she tilts her head up and drinks deeply from the showerhead.

The water barely has time to slosh uncomfortably inside her stomach before Carey burps wetly and it comes gushing out in two massive waves.

“There,” she says once her stomach finally feels empty, pressing herself up against Killian. “Now I’m done.”

#emetophilia #emeto #3 ///#4 ///#5 ///#this is like.... 5 kinks in one #yall i don't even KNOW show to explain half the stuff i'm writing but like. anyways #Please Allow Me To Wildly Make Shit Up About Fantasy Races #my writing #my fic

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my-emotional-self · 7 years ago

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Let Me Protect You Part 2/Chapter 9

Pairings: Chris Evans x OFC Emilia

Word Count: 1,485

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, So Many Emotions, Blood

Trigger Warning: Self-Harm

Rating: R (Mature)

Summary: Now that Chris and Emilia have established their relationship, she moves into his house after her brother decides to live in New York. Emilia is in bliss, thinking maybe her life will finally be at peace. But are things always that easy in Emilia’s life?

It had been a lovely two weeks since Valentine’s Day. Things were going pretty smoothly. You were off your meds, but still had not told Chris yet. He was preparing to leave for Louisiana, to go to Wizard World Comic Con and you didn’t want to disrupt his mindset. You knew he got anxiety about these things.

Lucky enough for you, there was nothing that triggered your mood swings, which made things very easy to hide these past two weeks. Naturally, you stopped hoping things were always be this good, because let’s just face it, it never happened that way for you. You were a walking bad luck charm in your own eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me beautiful?” Chris asked as he stood in the doorway of your craft room while you worked away. “This is your thing Chris. I don’t want to distract you from your fans, or your guy time,” you turned giving him a sweet smile.

He let out a sigh as he moved towards you. “Emilia,” he said cupping your face, “You are not a distraction alright? And plus, the guys want to meet you. They are getting annoyed with how much I talk about you and they haven’t met you yet.”

You stood up from your chair, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll be fine here Chris. You go and have fun and I will see you on Monday.”

His eyes were searching yours, making sure you were going to be alright. “Well, if anything happens, I left Matt’s number on the fridge. He’s always home so he can watch Dodger if needed alright?” You nod to him, a smile gracing both your lips. “I love you Chris. Have fun.”

“I love you too beautiful. I’ll let you know when I made it there safely” Chris said before giving you sweet tender kiss.

~~~

Later that night, you were curled up with Dodger on the couch, a glass of wine in your hand. Tomorrow was Friday, and it was the day of Charlie’s hearing. You told Chris you weren’t going to go, but you were going to anyways. You would sit quietly in the back, unnoticed; you needed to know how long he would be locked up for. He deserved to rot for years in a cell. He stalked you, found out where you lived, beat you, and almost killed you.

Your phone chimed; Dodger peaked his head up at the noise. Giggling, you scratched his head, “It’s just your daddy sill boy.”

Chris: Just got to the hotel beautiful. We are staying at New Orleans Downtown Marriott at the Convention Center. I’m in room 308.

Emilia: Sounds good baby. You go out and have some fun with the guys. Get some sleep tonight too ;) I love you

Chris: But I’m going to be so lonely without you or Dodger :( I won’t get too drunk. I promise. We have an early day tomorrow. I love you too beautiful

~~~

The next morning you were up early as you quickly showered, dressed and grabbed some toast for breakfast. It was all you could handle; your stomach was queasy just thinking about being in the same room as Charlie.

Chris had texted you, letting you know he would be shutting his phone off. He had so much going on today with panels, autographs, signings and interviews. He said he would text you the first chance he got.

Driving to the courthouse, your knuckles were white with how hard they gripped the steering wheel. Your stomach was in knots and you had to sip on some water to fight back to urge to vomit.

You almost completely regretted doing this, especially alone, as you walked into the courtroom. Sitting quietly in the back, your legs and hands were fidgeting.

Charlie walked in, clad in an orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed behind his back. Blood was pumping so hard in your ears you barely understood what the judge had said; your eyes shooting daggers into the back of Charlie’s head.

“Because this is a first time offence, and your record is spotless, you will serve six months jail time and 250 hours of community service” the Judge stated before slamming his gavel down.

“Six months. SIX FUCKING MONTHS! Are you fucking kidding me” you mind roared inside your head. No, he deserved so much more than that. Who cares if it was a first time offence, he almost killed you! Your hand rose up to your throat, visions swarming your mind of when Charlie had his hands around your throat.

Charlie rose from his set, his eyes scanning the crowd, landing on you. He gave you an evil devilish grin, and then winked at you. Your insides twisted and you felt nauseas. Standing up frantically, you clutched your purse and ran out of the courtroom, never looking back.

The whole way home you cried; your vision blurred by the waterfall of tears that were relentless. Luckily you made it home with no accident. Bursting through the door, you flung yourself upstairs and to the bathroom at record speed.

Collapsing on the floor, your mouth hung open and all you wanted to do was scream; but nothing came out. You were in utter shock, rocking back and forth on the cold tiled bathroom floor. Your hands were twisted in such a way that your nails were digging into your wrists. Sobs wracked your body, causing you to tremble.

Dodgers nose nudged open the bathroom door as he came to sit by your side, licking your tears. Usually he could always make you feel better, but not this time. You let his wet tongue lick your face, while you sat there in a comatose state.

The words “six months” kept singing in your head; a vision of Charlie doing happy dance. That fucking bastard got off easy. He would be out of jail in six months, roaming freely. Dodger whimpered by your side, causing you to break from your thoughts.

You looked down to him and saw him staring at your hands. Blood seeped from your wrists, your nails embedded roughly into the skin. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing in all this mess. Freeing your nails, you hissed at the pain. Crescent moon shapes from your nails were left covering both your wrists as blood pooled to the surface.

In all reality, the thought of self-harming didn’t even come to your mind. And yet it happened; you did it subconsciously. Shakily getting onto your feet, you run your wrists under the warm water coming out of the facet. The pain felt wonderful as your breathing started to return to normal.

Once your hands were dried, you found our phone and called Chris. It went straight to voicemail. He hadn’t even texted you yet which meant he had yet to have any free time. Pacing around the bathroom, all you could think about was the pain on your wrists, and how you craved more. But you wanted to be strong. Your eyes scanned the cupboard where you hid your razor the first night you moved in.

Your mind battled with your heart over what to do. Your mind telling you to do it, get that release, as your heart was telling you to think about Chris, how hurt he would be.

Chris. Your boyfriend. You needed him and he wasn’t here. Glancing down at the promise ring on your finger, his words from Christmas morning rang in your head. “This is a promise ring. A promise from me to you. I promise to be the man you want and need. I promise to be there for you at any time, day or night. If I’m not with you physically, I will only be a phone call away.”

Why is he breaking that promise?? He’s not really a phone call away because he won’t answer his phone! Anger quickly started working its way through your body. You needed him at this moment in time, and he was breaking his promise to you. Has he really not had any free time yet? Not even enough to give you a text back? Your heart was breaking at each thought that crossed your mind; both anger and sadness fighting in your body.

A thought occurred to you. Rushing into the closet, you got out your duffel bag and placed a few days’ worth of clothes inside. You called Matt asking if he could come over to pick up Dodger and watch him for a few days. Matt happily accepted, saying he had that code to get in through the garage and he’d be over in a few hours to get Dodger.

Bending down, you gave Dodger a kiss on his forehead and scratched at his ears. You locked up the house, got in your Jeep and headed towards the airport.

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#Chris Evans x Reader #Chris Evans Fanfic #Chris Evans Fanfiction #Chris Evans Imagine #Chris Evans One-Shot #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers Fanfic #Steve Rogers Fanfiction #Steve Rogers One-Shot #Steve Rogers Imagine #Captain America x Reader #Captain America Imagine #Captain America Fanfic

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jyllandaarhus299-blog · 5 years ago

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15 Best Akupunktur Smerter Århus Bloggers You Need To Follow

Acupuncture: An Alterative To Traditional Medical Care

In case you have spent whenever contemplating the acupuncture procedure, then you definitely have likely heard something about its uses and potential benefits. You most likely are not aware of all you should know, however. Fortunately, the below article will increase your understanding on the matter. Please read on to learn more about this treatment method to ensure that you're well-informed.

Acupuncture may take the time to be effective. It might take a little while for acupuncture to genuinely allow you to. Visiting the office once may not be enough. Schedule regular appointments and give acupuncture much more time should you not notice a change straight away.

Before heading to the acupuncture appointment, usually do not follow a heavy meal. Have a small meal in order to avoid nausea and dizziness. Full meals aren't recommended. If you eat a lot of, you will feel more pain while lying on your stomach.

Be choosy about whenever your appointments are. Avoid scheduling it near to an occasion where you have to do something very strenuous. Don't have your session scheduled between two various things because you may well be more stressed out. This makes it challenging to relax.

There are specific supplements and vitamins you should not take while undergoing acupuncture therapy. Talk to your acupuncturist concerning your concerns. This will likely lessen the impact of your respective procedure if you continue.

Before and after your acupuncture sessions, you need to allow you to ultimately relax. Your system needs time and energy to release stress. Relaxation is a wonderful enhancement for acupuncture treatment.

Avoid alcohol within the days before your session. Acupuncture is a thing that helps you clear up your mind to be able to convey more clarity. Alcohol can impede the aim of ridding yourself of the cobwebs. Should you have had a couple of drinks the prior night, it is advisable to call your acupuncturist and reschedule your appointment for later.

If an acupuncturist claims their treatments can cure severe diseases, including cancer and HIV, you have to be cautious. Acupuncture does many wonderful things, however it is not much of a replacement for modern medicine. While acupuncture might help you relax naturally or relieve certain minor issues, it's vital that you continue seeing your normal doctor for almost any serious ailments.

Verify whether your acupuncture practitioner accepts your insurance and when your policy covers such treatments. You can just pinpoint the befits of your respective appointments should you discover insurance billing and information first of all. This makes it to where you own an easier time getting treated because you will possess less to stress about.

Ahead of receiving acupuncture treatment, you want a consultation. Expect a consultation with all the acupuncturist before your treatment begins. Educate your practitioner precisely what is going on in your body. Let them know of methods your pain is affecting your daily life. This will help those to create the best policy for you.

Consult with the acupuncturist and discover when they take your state of health insurance. Keep in mind that you are able to quickly spend a lot of money with acupuncture treatment, specifically multiple appointments. You are likely to need to change your policy should you ever intend to receive long-term acupuncture treatments. Pick a different one who can provide the policy you want when your health care insurance provider doesn't allow you to upgrade.

Don't carry your cellphone or some other gadgets to the acupuncture treatment. This really is too distracting. This could cause disturbances and stress, which you may not need. Furthermore, a phone call or message alert will lead you to tense up and will even ruin the full session. Help make your next acupuncture session an electronics-free zone.

Write letters to your company to acquire this treatment covered with insurance. If others would like to try this procedure, make them write to the company HR officer also, also. With sufficient interested participants, you may get your wish.

Do you possess constant backpain and arthritis? Alternatively, migraines? Is nothing helping relieve your suffering? Consider trying acupuncture. Acupuncture is undoubtedly an alternative method of healing and medicine that does not use pharmaceuticals, but the bodies own energies to give relief and heal itself.

Determine whether you might have acupuncture done in your house when you have a problem moving about. Plenty of acupuncturists will travel to the property for clients with mobility concerns. You might want to pay more, but it will be worth it to you.

Your acupuncturist should help you relax, but that can be done a great deal on your own to unwind. For instance, your chosen blanket, pillow, or relaxing CD could be excellent materials to assist you to relax. You would like to receive all you https://www.storeboard.com/blogs/general/5-tools-everyone-in-the-oreakupunktur-arhus-industry-should-be-using/1406985 can out of your sessions. Take along whatever may help.

Keeping a treatment journal a very good idea to obtain for your acupuncture appointments. Take note of specifics of your treatment experience as well as any changes or feelings you may be experiencing. Show the documentation to your acupuncturist before each session. If there needs to be any adjustments or modifications in your treatment, this will help them to find out.

Speak to your acupuncturist choices regarding what they concentrate on. Most normally have one area they are very familiar with. Your greatest choice is going to be an acupuncturist who specializes in the down sides you present.

Ask potential acupuncture specialists concerning their education. You will probably have the choice from a licensed acupuncturist, a chiropractor, or someone trained as an acupuncturist. The decision is perfectly up to your preferences, but it is essential to know which kind of training your acupuncturist has had.

Tend not to eat an excessive amount of food prior to visiting the acupuncturist. Your treatment may not be as effective if you're full. However, you shouldn't starve yourself your day of the session either. Instead, have a small snack several hours prior to your session. This will help avoid feeling nauseous or lightheaded.

Now that you have check this out, it is possible to feel better about going with acupuncture later on. People don't understand the benefits and instead give attention to learning to be a pincushion. Due to this informative article, however, you will be now more informed relating to this treatment. Speak to an acupuncturist to discover your alternatives if you are considering trying it all out.

#akupunktur #Århus

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