#And CLeaning Dog Vomit OFf the Floor

[virgincels]

ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [THE INBETWEEN] - P4L

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[3k] Two weeks since John B and Sarah have been gone and the pogues decide it's time for a proper memorial to say goodbye, but an impulsive gesture leaves two of the four remaining pogues heads spinning.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, unestablished relationship/unrequited love (Pope x Kiara), mentions of child abuse/neglect, general angst

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ This is where things get a little tricky. Also, tumblr decided to kick me out of my mf account so thats why this is like 2 days late instead of one, I DID NOT LIE TO YALL😭 and sorry if this chapter moves a little fast

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“RISE AND SHINE, BLONDIE.” You whispered in the sleeping boy’s ear. JJ immediately slapped a harsh palm over his ear, effectively slapping himself and waking himself up, groaning in pain as you stood by giggling. 

“Fuck you.” He mumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he sat up, Marley emerging next to him from under the covers. You tilted your head at the dog, scoffing.

“You do know that is my dog, right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at a sleepy-eyed JJ who simply looked at the animal over his shoulder before turning back to you and shrugging with a sly smile on his face.

“Not anymore. Her real owner gives her bacon and she loves it.” He retorted, throwing an arm over Marley and pulling her into his side as he rubbed the top of her head. “Ain’t that right, girl?”

You rolled your eyes, your bare feet patting against the hardwood floors of The Chateau as you left the room, calling over your shoulder. “Then her real owner can clean up the aftermath when she vomits it out because she refuses to chew.” You reprimanded playfully, sliding your slippers onto your feet that were sat by the front door. “I’m gonna clean up a bit. Pope and Kie should be here soon. And I bought more cereal, it’s above the fridge.” You called out before going out onto the porch, letting the door shut behind you, the screen rattling. 

Today marked two weeks since John B and Sarah disappeared.

Pope and Kiara had finally made time in their schedules to do a proper send off. Not that you blamed them — Kiara’s parents wanted her as far away from the pogues as possible, with you being a semi-exception. They’d swamped her with work after school at The Wreck, working from the time school ended until the street lights came on. The weekends were no different, with the addition of taking the car away, only allowing her to drive it on the weekdays to and from school.

Heyward had Pope doing grocery run after grocery run, as well catching some of the seafood supply himself. Pope didn’t mind though, he was working on repairing his relationship with his parents after everything that happened. Things seemed to be looking up, Heyward didn’t scowl when you all came around anymore and his mother started to greet you all again. They were easing up on the restrictions, too — allowing Pope to drive the car again and be out past ten.

You and JJ had been managing — he was taking small, odd jobs here and there. Mowing lawns, fixing cars just to keep the lights on and the water running. You did what you could — sneaking into your house, only once or twice, to take some necessities and things to sell. You’d managed to pawn off a good chunk of your mother’s jewelry and some things you didn’t need anymore. It was enough to keep you both fed and clean.

Life was starting to seem okay again. It didn’t seem like there was such a large storm cloud over you and your friends anymore. Now, you just all felt an emptiness when you were together, which was probably why you weren’t together as much anymore.

School was…well, school. You and JJ hadn’t been since it happened. No adults to force you to go, right? Pope and Kie had been a few times, but their parents allowed them some time to themselves occasionally. 

Despite everything, today was the first day you all would be hanging out as a full group again. The Chateau always looked a mess but admittedly, you and JJ hadn’t been helping the place to look any better. The porch was littered with beer bottles, soda cans, snack wrappers. Things that had been piling up from your late night talks. 

Grabbing a plastic bag, you started gathering all of the trash and throwing it inside, the space already looking better.

“SO, HOW ARE WE DOING THIS EXACTLY?” Kiara asked, hands in her pockets as she stood in front of the big tree, next to Pope. The sun was starting to set, casting a low, orange hue over the backyard.

She and Pope had arrived not too long ago, the gathering not being as lively as it used to be. Less smiles, less laughs. There was small talk and a few jokes here and there but it just seemed so forced, as if no one wanted to say “let’s just get this over with”.

The group had been divided, although none of you would admit it aloud. It seemed as if Pope and Kiara did their thing, while you and JJ did yours. 

“We could just carve it. Might take a while, though…” Pope pitched, rubbing his hands over the top of his head and shifting his weight. 

“I mean, we got all day.” JJ shrugged simply, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. “I say we carve this baby up.” He shrugged, hiking up the toolbox in his hand, the metal objects inside rattling, and walking to the forefront of the group. You walked up beside him, looking up with your hands in your back pockets. “Care to do the honors?” He smiled down at you, flicking out a pocket knife in your direction.

Taking the object from his hand, you faced the large, loud live oak tree and began carving the initials of your fallen friend into the wood.

THREE HOURS AND TWO BEERS LATER AND THE TREE WAS CARVED AND BRANDED. A tan-colored, heart-shaped splotch in the center.

2003   2020

JOHN B ROUTLEDGE

P4L

After you’d finished carving, JJ had done the honors of engraving the words with a heated piece of metal, burning the words forever into the oak. The four of you raised a beer to John B, hoping that he could feel you wherever he was.

You’d branched off afterwards, something that never happened before but you’d grown accustomed to the odd dynamic between the group now. You all tried your hardest to ignore it or remedy it but it was useless. 

Pope was sitting on a log, staring at the fire JJ had started. JJ was swinging in the hammock as you made your way over to Kiara, who was sitting on the steps of The Chateau.

“Hey. You alright?” You asked, sitting down next to the girl as she took a sip of her beer, humming in response.

“As alright as I can be, I guess.” She replied almost despondently. You were all grieving in your own ways but something about Kiara’s grief didn’t seem like grief. It was like she was dealing with some other conflicting emotions on top of it all. “You and JJ have been keeping this place up, huh? I can actually see wood on the floor.” She joked lightly.

You chuckled in response. “Yeah... yeah, we’re trying. The place is one kick away from collapsing but it’s a home, nonetheless.”

“Have you been home? Since…” You nodded your head at the girl’s question, staring down at your sneakers.

“...Once or twice just to steal some shit to pawn off. I don’t really care for anything in that house anymore. Or anyone…” Kiara simply drew her lips into a thin line, nodding silently with no clue as to how to continue the conversation. So, you took the initiative for her. “How’ve you been? With your parents? Pope?”

She just grimaced and shrugged, playing with the rim of the open beer bottle. “They’re... going, I suppose. My parents don’t even know I’m here right now. If they did…” She trailed off, scoffing. “And Pope, I don’t know. He’s sweet, he’s just not…” She trailed off once again, but this time it was like she knew what she wanted to say but it was almost as if she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She seemed weary, hesitant — eyes fleeting between your own and the blades of grass beneath her feet. “Whatever. Forget it. Me and Pope are figuring it out, I guess. I’m trying to give it a chance.”

“That’s good.” You smiled smally, nodding absentmindedly. “If it helps, he really does like you. So, even if you two don’t work out, just let him down easy. He’s our friend and a really good guy.” She simply nodded, taking another swig of her beverage and looking out into the distance. Suddenly, she was standing from the steps, hands on her knees.

“I’m gonna go get another beer...” She sighed before walking back inside.

Maybe you were reading too much into it but Kiara’s grief was seeming more like a cold shoulder...

“YOU WARM ENOUGH, POPE?” You inquired, sitting next to the boy on the log, him shooting you a small smile before returning his gaze to the flames in front of him. The fire casting an amber glow over his skin, making his eyes seem browner, almost softer. 

“Yeah, a little too hot.” He chuckled lightly, leaning back further onto the wooden seat, placing his hands behind him for support. “...I meant to ask, is JJ okay? Like, actually?” He asked with a bit of hesitance, eyeing the blonde swaying calmly on the hammock. You followed his sights, spotting JJ swaying lowly before turning back to Pope.

“He’s…doing better than I expected. But that goes for all of us, I suppose.” You offered honestly. “Why’d you ask?” You questioned, to which Pope shrugged one shoulder before replying.

“I know John B was a really big part of his life. If I was as close as those two, I don’t know how I’d feel. I know we haven’t been around much, Kie and I, but he just seems…too calm.” You didn’t know how to tell Pope that JJ was far from fine. That you’d hear him crying at night, muffled as he tried to wake you not knowing that you couldn’t sleep knowing he was outside the door crying and you couldn’t do anything to comfort him.

You’d tried asking him about it yourself. He simply acted like he didn’t know what you were talking about and you weren't one to push him. Not now, at least.

“He’s handling it all in his own way.” You reassured with mild uncertainty. “But I’ll keep an eye on him. How are you, though?”

The boy drew his lips into a thin line, tilting his head to the side in thought before shrugging and looking out at the fire in front of him. “I…don’t know.” He struggled out, almost as if he wasn’t completely sure of the words but also unsure if he was truly unsure. His brown eyes met yours, slightly glassed over with frustrated tears. “I really just don’t know.”

You gave him a pitiful smile before scooting closer and throwing your arm over his shoulders. The two of you sat in warm, content silence. In all your time of knowing Pope, he was never either fully closed off or openly emotional. He was the definition of a ticking time bomb — bottling everything up until he reached a certain breaking point. But this time, you’d figured he’d had all the meltdowns he could. 

AS YOU APPROACHED THE HAMMOCK, another figure became clear next to JJ’s — Marley curled up in a sleeping ball of fur next to the blonde. You chuckled under your breath at the sight, nudging the swing with your knee to prompt JJ to open his eyes. The boy peeked one eye open before the other, eyes fleeting the yard at Pope and Kiara’s frames talking at the bonfire before returning to yours. 

You took a seat on the grass in front of the hammock, looking up at JJ as he made the small effort to turn on his side to look down at you without disturbing the peaceful animal beside him. 

“Done being the group therapist?” He yawned, pushing the blonde locs of hair out of his face. You simply shrugged, rubbing a hand across your forehead. 

“Yeah, my office is closed.” You sighed, leaning back on your palms — small pebbles and mulch chips digging into them but you were too tired to care. “But you know I’m always willing to listen for you.” You said playfully, shooting the blonde a wink. He giggled in response, leaning forward in the hammock with one hand clutching it for support.

“You promised no pushing.” He mumbled sleepily.

“I’m not pushing.” You assured, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I’m just... politely suggesting that you open up to your best friend, is all.” You shrugged nonchalantly, pretending to pick at your nails. 

“Right...how about we do a little switch-a-roo then, hm?” He threw out, shifting around once more in the hammock, eyes piercing yours. “How have you been? With everything. Bree, your mom…” He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours even though you avoided eye contact the moment he started listing issues. “I mean, The Chateau is nothing compared to your beachfront palace in Kooklandia. You gotta miss it sometimes. You’re telling me you never think about goin' home?”

You snarled, shrugging off his statement. “This is my home.” You declared, drifting your eyes upwards to connect with his, the amber glow of the bonfire making his eyes appear more green-toned than blue. “I never wanted to move to Figure Eight in the first place. I didn’t care about the ocean view or the fact that our living room and kitchen didn’t have to be one room anymore.” You explained, drawing shapes into the dirt. “I feel safe here.” You muttered. “I feel safer with you guys...”

He simply hummed and nodded in agreement. “I get that.” He sighed. “I feel the same about my house. I don’t really care that all my shit is there and that I have to sneak back and forth to get what I need. My dad… he makes me hate that house. And I hate myself for being able to hate the house because of him but not being able to hate him.”

“He’s your dad, though. It’s understandable. You feel like you should love him no matter what.”

“...Do you hate your mom?” You paused your drawing in the dirt to peer up at JJ through your lashes, his eyes wide and wondering. The question caused you to feel a way you’d never felt before. It was such a loaded question and even with everything that happened, you figured the answer should be easy but...it wasn’t. Saying that you hated your mother felt like venom on your tongue. Even if you knew you had every right to say that you did.

“No.” You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ears. “But, it’s like, I don’t love her either. I just…don’t recognize her anymore. In my eyes, she’s not my mother. But in my heart, she is and always will be. And I hate that.”

The two of you fell into silence after that, the only sound being cicadas and crickets. You directed your gaze up to the sky, counting the stars and silently acknowledging constellations while JJ kicked one leg out to swing the hammock gently as he stared up as well.

You figured the conversation ended there. It was getting late and you’d scored a babysitting gig for tomorrow that was paying good money. So, you figured heading to bed now was ideal because being late wasn't. You sighed, hands slapping your knees as you stood up with a groan, stretching as JJ’s eyes drifted to your frame.

“Well, I think my social battery has officially died.” You yawned, stepping closer to the blonde to ruffle his fluffy head of hair. “Night, blond-” You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence before JJ’s hand was wrapping itself around your wrist, pulling you down until your faces were just centimeters apart, him taking the opportunity to connect your lips with his, placing his free hand on the nape of your neck.

Your eyes went impossibly wide as the blonde pressed his lips to yours firmly, his eyes closed blissfully. A normal, friendly reaction would be to push him away, to say that you shouldn’t be doing this. But the way he was kissing you..

It was like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

From the way his fingers dug into your skin to the amount of force he was using to hold you in place.

Something in you suddenly relaxed, allowing you to close your own eyes and move your lips to kiss him back. Your lips moved in perfect sync with his for the moment. But you figured it would be nothing but. This was JJ, your best friend. He knew you like the back of his-

Oh. Oh, God. You were kissing your best friend. You were kissing JJ. 

You pulled back so fast you nearly stumbled over your own feet, head whipping around in panic to find Kie and Pope still engulfed in their own conversation before turning back to the starstruck blonde in front you. His hair was messy and his lips were swollen with a deep shade of red blooming within the lower one. His own blue eyes were wide but you didn’t know for what reason. 

You just looked at each other with an unknown expression. Terror? Confusion?

Neither of you said anything, just stared at each other, panting in panic. Your heart was beating wildly out of your chest prompting you to adjust the neckline of your top away from your throat, the material suddenly feeling constricting.

You didn’t know what else to do so you did the only thing you could do.

Swallowing harshly and touching your aching, wet lips, you swiftly walked off in the direction of The Chateau. The last thing you heard was JJ call out your name one, heart aching time before the door of The Chateau closed behind you.

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

[syoddeye]

everything I was, burning slow

price x reader. 1.2k words. title from 24thankyou.

tags: implied/referenced illness+surgeries, implied/referenced self-harm, established relationship, panic attacks, brief vomit mention, nonsexual nudity

banner from @/cafekitsune

Your mouth is dry and gritty as if you inhaled half the desert and, after a swallow, as tacky as a bowling alley floor. The side of your face is cold and wet, but you’re too busy mapping your molars with your sticky-shriveled tongue to bother lifting it. Once you confirm that all your teeth are in their crooked places, your limbs return online. You push, arm shaking, beneath your weight onto your back. Another swallow. Tastes bitter.

When you were dragged to church as a kid, you’d lean in your seat and gaze at the vaulted ceiling and the murals of angels. Did the same with the open sky, staring at rolling clouds or blinking stars. No matter where you were, you relished how small you felt. How insignificant.

The view from the bathroom floor is a lot like that, too. Lends perspective. Partly under the toilet bowl (you’ve got to clean under here better), you stare at chipping paint and watch particulates float lazily on by. You lay there, telling yourself you’ll get up when the world stops turning. But it won’t, will it? It’s spinning and carrying on. You hear the neighbor mowing the lawn and the dog across the street barking at him. The radio is on in the living room, transitioning from music to a talk show. This is all going to carry on without you, and—

Your jaw pops, hinging open to suck in a sudden, desperate gasp for air as if you’re a fish dropped unceremoniously onto the deck of a boat. What you get, what you taste, is turbid and stifling. It tickles your windpipe and forces you to choke as your chest tightens. You clutch your shirt and silently beg the invisible fist around your heart to loosen its grip. Not again, your thoughts slur. Not again. This is getting embarrassing.

It passes. Eventually.

How long you lay there, you don’t know, but the sound of the front door opening and closing a floor down stirs you out of your stupor. You’re dimly aware of John calling for you, his voice steady and level–your name, maybe? Sheer terror and embarrassment keep you pinned on the tile, though at least it lets up just enough to let you curl into the fetal position. It’s gut-wrenching to hear his tone gradually swell from curiosity to concern. 

The bathroom door opens at last, and your eyelids squeeze shut.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Before he touches you, the light flicks off, and he turns on the tap. He crouches. His knee skims your calves, and a warm hand slides up your back. He fixes your slightly bunched shirt, tugging it down, then rubs circles above your tailbone how you like. He’s talking, too, whispering something you know is kind and tender. It’s an internal tussle of whether or not you want to hear him. The brush of a knuckle over your temple pulls the cotton from your ears.

“–member we’re supposed to take deep breaths, yeah? Can you do that for me? In your nose, out your mouth. C’mon, with me,” He murmurs, tracing the shell of your ear as he demonstrates.

“Can’t.” It’s the first word you’ve spoken in hours. It tastes sour.

“‘Course you can. Like me, babe.” 

In. Out. In. Out. In—

“I got my results.” You croak, eyes opening in slivers. Blearily, you turn your head, looking past him to the corner of the bathroom counter.

“In a minute.” 

The hand on your back completes a few more figure eights before John hauls himself to his feet. The dull, muted sound of him punching in your passcode and typing keeps you tethered. You both hold your breath for very different reasons.

“I see,” John says a moment later, “I see.” 

With some convincing, he maneuvers your body into a seated position, leaning you against the tub. He doesn’t complain, scrubbing the toilet and floor clean of your sick and taking breaks to rub your shins and give you sips of water.

“Bed or bath?”

“Bath.”

He hoists you by the armpits and sits you on the toilet, briefly cupping your face in his hands. Scarred knuckles and palms thickened with calluses; they’re the softest things you’ve ever felt. After checking your eyes and pressing a kiss to your forehead, he starts the tub and carefully undresses you. 

“Join me?” You ask, leaning into him as he helps you step out of your jeans and underwear, fingers skimming the keloid on his shoulder blade.

A warm puff of air and a kiss to your neck. “Need or want?”

Sometimes, you need him in the shower when the shampoo bottle is impossible to lift.

“Both.”

He hums, sits you back down, then strips.

John climbs in first, offering his arm and supporting you by the hip as you follow. He situates your back to his chest, rubbing your elbows after you adjust. It’s a tight squeeze in a tub realistically meant for one, but he never complains. Steam curls off the water’s surface, and sweat beads at your neck. He kisses it anyway.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks after a time, voice rumbling through your spine.

Tracing the scars on his arm and comparing them to your own, you consider. 

When you first started dating, it took months for you to let John see you with the lights on. So used to partners seeing the brutal constellation of marks, self-inflicted and surgical, and finding reason to flip off the light. Used to them suggesting clothes with sleeves and layers. You can’t recall what changed your mind to let him have you in the morning light so long ago, but you remember how he looked at you. How, before he even really touched you, he studied each of them. Invited you to do the same. A new kind of intimacy that told you how well your bodies fit together in more ways than just the one. It lent perspective.

“Later, in bed. I’m tired.”

An arm bands around your stomach, settling you closer. You don’t feel small with John. You don’t feel insignificant.

“Alright. I’ve got you.”

You feel like the world.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?

My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.

They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.

My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.

Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.

However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.

The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.

I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.

I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.

I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.

TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.

WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?

What are these acronyms?

[blood-grove]

Werewolf Bites

nausea -> next stage of infection

tws; sickness , injuries , vomiting , violence, no use of y/n

parings: gaz x male reader (established relationship)

-> c/n - call sign

-> n/n - nickname

a/n: hehehe im excited for this. also idk how military shit works im winging it your here for gaz no complete accuracy

Why did it have to be you.

You had missed a room while clearing out this corridor of the building this mission was supposed to be a easy co-op with you and Gaz.

But now your were trying to claw off this big fucking dog from ripping your throat out your gun somewhere dropped in surprised of getting lunged at.

It sunk its fangs deep into your shoulder dangerously close to your neck as blood spewed and your cried out in agony you finally got a hold of your combat knife sinking it into the dogs body repeatedly till it slumped over dead.

Shoving the corpse off you, You bit your tongue as burning pain flared up in your shoulder Gaz's crackly voice over your radio finally audible now with the lack of your cries of pain and dog growls.

"c/n? c/n how copy?"

You swallowed back the bile building in your throat as you heaved grabbing your radio flicking it on shakily as tried to focus with the searing pain in your shoulder.

"c/n here— fuck" You hissed as you pushed yourself up with your good arm.

"c/n? give me a sitrep you went silent on me."

"..Fuckin' dog got me- I opened up a room and the fucker pounced huge fuckin' thing." You looked over at your wound grimacing at the sight of bruising blooming as blood trickled down your arm near excessively.

"Shit..Can you make it back to the main entrance?..I got the files ill radio for exfil."

"I..I can"

"c/n."

"I can"

"Alright."

You flicked your radio off as you trudged your way back where you came.

"Bloody hell c/n you gotta be more careful."

Gaz gently chided as you huffed wincing.

"Your lucky the fucker didn't rip your throat out.."

You grumbled looking aside the future rabies shots were not going to be a pleasant thing to be welcomed with when you both reached back at base.

"You alright..? Looking a bit pale."

"M'fine..Just..A bit woozy."

"Mm..exfil is a another hour or two out still don't go all rabies on me before then how about that."

You chuckled dryly as you blearing blinked as you leaned over dry heaving before puking your guts out catching Gaz off guard as he steadied you so wouldn't fall over into your own bile gently rubbing your back.

"Fuck..It's okay..Christ."

Coughing and gagging the unpleasant taste of bile lingering in your mouth as Gaz helped you sit down away from your mess.

"Just..Just sit down and rest..When we get home they'll fix you right up no? You'll have a killer scar after this all."

You got hummed coughing as Gaz wiped your face clean despite how you mumbled how gross it was as he kissed your forehead shushing your incoherent ramble.

You hadn't gotten any better and the exfil wasn't that far away now Gaz updated you as he held you close you were sweating bullets managing to keep down the water from your canteen.

He assured and updated on the helis time frame to reach you both, You could tell he was nervous never the best at hiding his emotions from you even in this fever ridden mess you were.

"There gonna be here soon love, Mm? Gonna get you back in shape..Hows the shoulder?."

You mumbled swallowing thickly as you shifted in his arms.

"You gotta speak up for me Lovie tell me how you are?"

"M'all sticky.."

"Well I'd guess so your sweating buckets..They'll be here soon okay?"

He sighed as he rana hand threw your near damp hair eventually giving you a few more sips of water as you both waited.

Exfil was quick a another solider helping you up into the heli a medic waiting along inside that went to work on you as you were laid onto the floor.

But all you remembered was falling asleep and awaking on the warm earth.

Running your hands threw the soft soil as you sat up a chill still rattling your bones.

"Gaz?"

You called out as you looked around cautiously your hand drifted too your holster to find it gone along with all other gear gone.

You felt bare exposed like a nerve the flicker and twitch of muscle felt like tremors in the earth as you looked around you saw nothing but forest.

"Kyle?"

Still nothing.

You frowned as you looked around you felt so warm you guessed it was the sun beaming down on you.

You hadn't been walking long till you reached a river bed the sudden parched feeling in your thought becoming know as you greedily gulped down water.

What was even going on?

You felt like you hadn't drank in days.

When you looked up you flinched at the sight of the dog that attacked you.

Or at least you thought it was a dog at the time.

It just stared at you, Yellow eyes staring you down as foam dripped down from his maw the foam slowly bubbling up into a pinkish tinge as blood dripped from its mouth .

It probably had rabies.

You did too.

You hoped.

[rodolfoparras]

Prepare for my goofy little essay about Soap

I definitely believe Soap likes to be treated like a dog and acts like one. Not like puppy play, but affectionately. He’s laying his head in your lap? He’s has your hand in his as he gnaws on your fingers. You’re having a drink with the rest of the 141? He bites your shoulder when he’s bored of the conversation. It gets to the point where some of the guys start to call Soap, your “puppy”, even though you two aren’t together, but both of you grow into it cause, are they really wrong? You’ve definitely walked in on Soap and Gaz looking over some plans for another prank on Ghost and had to ask Soap, “What do you have?” as he tries to hide it behind his back. I can also absolutely imagine Soap, completely silent, walking into the common area where you and the others are hanging out and just sitting on the floor either between your legs or next to them to rest his head, and you just instinctively put your hand in his hair and pet him.

This all cumulates when after Soap gets into a fight with another member, maybe they were bad talking about you. These two are throwing blows when you walk in and you finally break it up by basically scruffing Soap. You tell off the other guy and are dragging Soap back to your room to clean him up. You aren’t really watching him since you’re trying to get him to a safer place, but Soap’s face is as red as the blood dripping from his nose. Once you get to your room, you sit him on the toilet and start to clean his wounds for him. He’s all nervous and hardly speaking despite you asking him all these questions about why he did this. He says they were running their mouth, so he shut it for them. You chuckle at his need to protect you and your honor and jokingly call him your “guard dog”, but this man flushes to red again. You take a little further and call him your “good boy” while lightly scratching his head. This man absolutely melts at your words and his pants probably grow a little tighter.

All of this probably leads to you and Soap becoming each other’s comforter after missions. Sometimes he needs to grounded, so he just sits near you as you absentmindedly pet his hair until he feels good enough to shower. Usually you feel good enough to clean yourself up after missions but shut down after, so Soap will just lay on top of you like a human weighted blanket.

Sorry about the word vomit of homosexuality. The Soap brainrot is real as of recent. I showed my friend a picture of Neil Ellice and he said, “he looks like a sad dog” and my immediate thought was, “he’s a sad wet dog, and I have soft dry towel”

-🤠

LISTEN I LOVED THIS bc I talked about this with someone how soap is basically a puppy and hear me out you the new sergeant joining the squad and taking a liking to soap but it’s clear he’s got the hots for the lieutenant and really it’s more out of pettiness than anything else that you whisper good boy under your breath when he follows ghosts order without question, saying he’s loyal like a dog when soap is just standing there even barking in his face when you get into a fight

It all ends up with you pushed against the wall, with him fisting your shirt and holding a hand against your throat and maybe it had been one too many drinks post mission adrenaline or sexual frustration that has him smashing his lips onto yours

And before you know of it you’re stumbling into your room clothes are scattered to the floor and he’s riding you while you’re saying the words “come on show me how much of a good boy you can be” and although he almost spit in your face the words “go fuck yourself” being said through gritted teeth he begins to ride you more vigorously

[theboywithburninghands]

So I pushed through my writer's block. Here's the newest Funnybunny thing. Uh, well, sorta. It's got shipping stuff in it, but most of it is just Jax and getting into his thoughts, and a really nasty encounter with something horrible. The... fun kind of horrible though. Yeah, word of warning, this is a pretty violent little ditty, so if you're squeamish, I'd say either sit this one out or don't eat while reading? I'm damn proud of it either way LOL T/W: Violence, gore, vomit, horror

The Dollhouse Part 2: Reap What You Sow

Jax slid down the tube slide with his hands behind his head. You fall through enough trapdoors and they start to lose their shock value. The slide dropped into a pit full of something cottony and plush. Jax crinkled up his face upon recognizing what he just landed in. Corn silk. The cloyingly sweet smell of corn made him queasy, and he’d be picking strings of silk off of his clothes for hours. 

Jax: Not scary. Just annoying.

Jax climbed out of the pit, doing his best to dust himself off. Silk drifted off of him like hair off a shedding St. Bernard. After he was reasonably clean, he approached the door in front of him and nudged it open with his food. 

Inside was what appeared to be a disused barn, or at least an imitation of one. It was divided into a ground floor and a hayloft. The ground floor had only two things of note, a door, which appeared to be locked, and a tractor. One of those old fashioned ones that curved in the middle and had big wheels that looked more like those on a kid’s wagon than farm equipment. It was caked with rust and would probably crumble into scrap metal if someone managed to start the engine. A rickety wooden ladder led up into the hayloft above. Jax hummed and gripped one leg of the ladder, shaking it. Seemed climbable enough. 

Jax went over to the locked door, finding some words scratched into it with what looked like a knife.

Jax: “In your eye, a promise kept 

Through my eye, a line is swept

I trace the day, a circle spun

A hole in skin, a scarf begun. 

But beware, do not guess wrong

Or they will find you before long.”

Jax sniffed at the poem. Riddles, huh? Cute. Caine must’ve spent a while finding rhymes. Jax examined the lock, pausing to pick another piece of corn silk off his glove. He tried a few of the keys he had in his pocket, but they were all too thick. It was a pretty heavy padlock too, no real way to pick it. 

So what was the riddle for? In your eye, a promise kept… waaaait a minute. He was surrounded by hay. What did you go looking for in a stack of hay?

Jax: “Stick a needle in my eye.” Alright, fair point, Caine.

He smiled a bit at his deduction,  but now came the actual needle in a haystack part. He sighed, cracked his knuckles and began to climb up the ladder. It squeaked in protest a bit at Jax’s weight, and the third rung from the top made an ominous crunch when he stepped on it. He’d have to skip that one on the way down.

The hayloft was full of… well, hay. It might’ve been in bales once, but now it was a big, messy pile strewn over the baseboards. The hay on top was the usual healthy yellow color, but the hay on the bottom was damp and brown. Jax caught a whiff of rotten hay, the smell almost indistinguishable from horse manure. He looked around for a pitchfork or a shovel to make his life easier, but no such luck.

He sighed again, then began to toss hay off the loft, two handfuls at a time. It would have been easier with the others around. Heck, he could have just made the excuse that he wanted to watch for monsters down below while the others dug around in the hay. 

…Nah, it probably wouldn’t go that way anymore, actually. Pomni would scold him for it, or worse, give him those sad, wet puppy dog eyes. And then he’d do it so she’d want to cuddle with him later. 

…That, and it did feel nice to make her happy. Weird how that worked. 

Jax: *sudden coughing fit* Ugh… *hocks and spits* 

Damn haydust… it was like inhaling sand. He was gonna be feeling the grit in his throat for the rest of the day too. Man, he would have pulled out one of his teeth for a bottle of water and a hot shower right about now… Caine probably would have just thrown boiling hot soapy water on him if he asked, then told him to drink said boiling hot soapy water. Idiot.

Whatever. Maybe after the adventure he could go swim in the lake. If he did, Pomni might tag along. Or maybe she wouldn’t, since Ragatha was a thing in their relationship now. …Nah, she could come too. He could play nice with her for a little while. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember a time when he and Ol’ Rags had ever actually hung out together. He wasn’t opposed to the idea. Other than Pomni she was probably the least annoying person in the circus. Sure, the overly smiley persona got annoying, but… it was… refreshing now and then. So sure. She could come with. Actually, thinking about it, could she even swim…? He’d never seen her in swimwear. 

…Not a terrible image to conjure up… 

Jax stopped to cough again. If Caine’s idea of an adventure had gotten to the point of just doing manual labor, the future looked bleak. He cringed backwards upon touching the rotten hay on the bottom, wiping his hand on his overalls. He wasn’t digging through that with his hands, Caine could sit and spin. He hocked and spat one more time to futilely try and get some of the grit out of his throat, then began to climb back down the ladder. Maybe the needle was in the hay he’d already thrown onto the floor. Even if it wasn’t, there had to be something down there to help him shovel the-

The pile of rotten hay shifted. Jax froze mid step down the ladder, watching the pile of rancid mush churn about, before a small patch of it slid off the greater mass with an unceremonious plop, revealing-

Revealing a-

Jax: What…?

A single red eye, the size of a beach ball, swiveled around from under the hay. Hateful, malevolent, and all too familiar. It was here. 

Jax automatically put his foot onto the next rung on the ladder, determined to leave Its line of sight and wait until It fell back asleep. His stomach squeezed into a knot when the third rung on the ladder messily snapped in two like a stale loaf of bread. His chin thwacked against the floor of the hayloft and he fell a good ten feet to the barn floor. The hay softened his landing a bit, but not much, and he felt a dull, ringing pain in his chin and lower back. He scrabbled to his feet, slipping a bit on the hay, and risked a glance up at the loft.

Its eyes, burning red like irons left in the hearth, leered down at him. Well, hello, little rabbit. How nice of you to come visit. And just in time, I’m famished…

Jax: I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming! Wake up, wake up! *slaps himself in the face# You got too hot in bed, that’s all, wake UP-

Jax yelled in frustrated terror as It lazily flopped over the edge of the hayloft, sending a shower of rotten straw clumps everywhere. Jax’s eyes darted around the area for anything that might help, something to use as a weapon or that needle where was the needle WHERE WAS THE GODDAMN NEEDLE-

Rowstalker: Gnnnnnnnnn…..

It snarled, peeling back Its lips to reveal Its irregular, shattered glass teeth and blight-blackened gums. Those teeth which hurt so badly in mere dreams were now real, and they could finally shred his skin off as easily as peeling an overripe orange. Jax scurried onto the back of the old tractor, desperate for any sort of high ground, not that it would help. It could do anything to catch him… 

Jax: Caine, this isn’t FUNNY! GET RID OF IT RIGHT NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME?!

It bellowed at him, and Jax felt nausea lurch in his stomach. The stench of Its breath was like 100-year-old corn cobs and pulverized animal carcasses rotting on a freeway. He felt his breakfast snake back up his gullet and leaned over the side of the tractor to vomit, a stream of black sludge with a rainbow sheen, like an oil slick. He could have sworn he heard It snort in amusement. “Poor thing, whatever will you do when you’re inside my mouth? Well, don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with it for long after I gnaw your head off and slurp your spine through your neck.”

Rowstalker: Gnnnnnn… CHRRR! 

It lunged for him, missing his leg by centimeters and plunging Its teeth into the left tire of the tractor. Air rushed out of it in an alarmed hiss and Jax fell backwards over the driver’s seat, his head colliding with the steering wheel. Through the smeary lights now dancing in his vision, he saw It pull Its teeth from the tire, air spouting out of it with an almost relieved sigh as the tractor sagged to the left. Jax dimly groped around for the steering wheel so he could hoist himself up before It lunged for him again. His hand slid across the dashboard, accidentally clicking a few powerless switches, and his glove nearly slipped when it ran over the slick, circular face of the odometer. 

Odometer. Something was important about the odome- 

This hesitation, coupled with the haze of hitting his head, led to him being unprepared for Its next attack. He jerked upwards a moment too late as It pounced for him, successfully plunging Its front teeth several inches into his right foot. Jax screamed, his voice raspy from the dusty air. In his dreams, this was where it ended. Once It had him, there was no escape. It would eat him now, immediately chewing him into a wet and mushy wad or worse, take Its time, snapping off his arms and legs first and saving his head for last so the pain lasted as long as possible- 

But… this wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t paralyzed in his bed by sleep. He could move. He could survive. If he didn’t survive, they would never go swimming. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something. He wanted to go swimming. He was going to go swimming. 

Jax: What big teeth you have…! *hoists himself up so he can reach Its mouth and punches one of Its misshapen teeth with all his strength*

It let out a garbled roar of pain and surprise, Its tooth snapping inwards at an odd angle, rotten fluid dribbling out of the partially exposed socket. It let go of Jax’s foot to recoil, shaking Its head around violently. Had It ever actually felt pain before..? No, It couldn’t have. It was against the rules!

Jax looked at the bloodless hole It had left in the middle of his foot. Light shone right through it, and it sparked and stuttered with a glitchy shimmer. Caine’s creations weren’t supposed to hurt them this badly, anything beyond typical “stars and birdies” cartoon nonsense. That could wait, though, he had an opening. 

Jax risked a quick glance at the odometer. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt that it was somehow important. The faceplate was marred and scratchy, so he could barely see the numbers or needle- 

Needle. Of course. 

Jax elbowed the faceplate, shattering it like sugar glass. He glanced back at It, which was still reeling from Its sudden dental luxation, and he stuck his hand into the odometer. Sure enough, he retrieved a long, thin silver key from inside, a fragile little thing no thicker than a sewing needle. 

Rowstalker: GNNNNCCHHHHH!

It made a full bodied lunge for Jax, the rabbit diving off the tractor and belly flopping onto the straw covered floor. The needle-key skittered across the floor and vanished into the hay.

Jax: Nononono-NO! 

Jax attempted to stand but cried out. The massive hole in his foot flared with pain as he tried to put weight on it, jolting with glitchy after-effects as he fell back onto the floor. He glanced over his shoulder and saw It climbing around on the now upturned tractor, no doubt priming Itself to pounce. He frantically climbed forward and sifted through the hay, rotten and fresh, to find the key. A faint glint in a small pile up ahead, there it was! Jax lurched forward and gripped the key, just in time for It to leap off Its perch and land right on top of him. 

Its body was crushingly heavy and Its skin was clammy and squamous, like a reptile or worm, but nauseatingly hot at the same time. It reared back and opened Its vile maw, infected drool, rancid corn juice and a few fat cutworms raining down on Jax’s face. It lunged forward, intent on closing Its jaws around Jax’s upper half, pulling it right off of his hips with one vicious tug. Jax, yelling right back at the creature, swung his left hand, clenched around the needle key, right at one of It’s bloated, scarlet eyes. 

There was a noise like a straw being jabbed through a plastic lid, and It stopped moving. Its maw hung agape in shock. Jax clutched the key, the blade wedged into Its right eye all the way up to the bow. Without a second thought, he cranked his wrist, cutting through the vitreous humor with a fetid, wet squelch. 

It yowled in agony as crimson jelly gushed out of its eye. It wasn’t supposed to feel pain! That’s not allowed! That’s-

Jax, using his uninjured left foot, pushed The Rowstalker off of him with all of his adrenal strength. It tumbled off of him with remarkable ease, still trying in vain to process the amount of pain It was experiencing. It thrashed about on the floor, red phlegm-like goo pouring from Its eye. Jax limped to the exit door, sliding in the needle key with a rather nauseating squishy noise, not bothering to look behind him as he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving him in utter darkness. There was the click of an automatic lock. It couldn’t reach him now. 

He… beat It. 

He slumped against the door. He panted hard and fast for a good five minutes. His foot bloomed with horrible pain, and he grasped it weakly. He probably couldn’t walk on it until Caine fixed him. Caine.

Oh, he was gonna KILL Caine… Later. 

Another door opened across the way, beaming a shaft of light across the dark area. Jax tried to scramble to his feet, but found himself unable to on account of the enormous gaping hole in his foot and how achingly tired he was. Pomni: …Jax? Is that you..? Oh my God, what happened?!

Jax relaxed and fell back onto his butt. Pomni. Pomni and someone else. But Pomni most importantly. His eyes hurt. 

Ragatha: Jax, your foot..! Wh-How did th- a- *coughs, covers her mouth and nose* Oh, you reek! Did you roll around in compost?! 

Jax: Speak for yourself, Rags.  The response came automatically, along with his usual cheeky grin, but it was shaky with  exhaustion. Pomni approached him and gave him a hug, although she held her breath as she did so. Jax savored the hug. Sure, they probably weren’t safe yet. But… he had fought off his worst nightmare. And it was thanks to her. He was… really tired. 

Jax: …I love you guys.

Jax closed his eyes.

[poisonedapples]

Things that being born with no sense of smell affects:

- Cleaning. Cleaning is an absolute nightmare to me, because I never actually know if a mess is cleaned up or not. My dog vomited on the kitchen floor, and even though wiping it away made it LOOK clean to me, I had no way to tell if it still smelled like vomit or not. I also had no idea what I could use to cover up a smell that may or may not be there

- Memory. Your sense of smell is one of, if not the biggest memory retrieval device. Non-anosmics remember a lot of things based on what they’re smelling. For me, it’s one less sense to be able to remember things by, and I do notice that my memory is a lot worse than average

- Taste. Yes, I can taste, never ask an anosmic if they can taste because it is the most annoying question in my experience. But, I do notice that my taste is very dulled down. Lots of food is very bland by default, so eating is very often not a fun experience, and I rely a lot more on texture. It’s very rare to find foods that give me a strong reaction. Hence why I love blue cheese, it’s one of the few things I can eat and actually feel a good kick for

- Human connection. This is one I had to research a little bit and have no idea how true it is, but apparently pheromones which helps you connect to people and sense their emotions is by smelling pheromones??? And I can’t smell pheromones. So I probably have a harder time spotting emotions because of that, but I’m also just autistic, so I have no idea how true this is

- General life safety. I can’t smell gas leaks, so I can never live alone. I can’t detect fires until I see the smoke. Cooking for me is very dangerous, and I don’t leave the kitchen when I have something in the oven because I’m terrified of missing the beep and causing the alarm to go off. I have a MASSIVE fear of my car exploding because something is up with the gas tank and I can’t notice. Also, so many safety things are stuff you have to smell out??? Especially with vehicles??? It’s such bullshit

- CONSTANT smell anxiety. Do I smell??? Is my deodorant still working??? Is that smell people are complaining about coming from me??? No way to tell, baby! You just gotta hope and pray!

For so long in my life, people’s reactions to hearing I have no sense of smell has been “Oh my God, you’re SO lucky you can’t smell farts!” (Which has thankfully dulled down after COVID when everyone lost their smell and really hated it), and it’s the most annoying thing. I am missing one of the major senses. Missing a major sense affects everything about your life, whether it’s noticeable or not. If we could start seeing anosmia as something more than “Can’t smell cookies or farts”, I would GREATLY appreciate it

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Rollerblading Hero - Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Rollerblades + clumsiness = cutest meet cute ever

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning: Language! Very minor injury! Fluff!!! Barely edited!

Masterlist

Gif credit: @cable-knit-sweater

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Running. How the hell do people find running enjoyable. It was literally hell. Your lungs burnt, your feet ached and it felt like you were about to pass out or vomit.

Why did you decide to do this today? Oh yeah because your therapist said it would help. All the endorphins and that shit. What a bunch of bollocks, you doubted she’d even run a day in her life.

You were just rounding a corner in the road when you tripped over your foot. You managed to catch yourself with you hands to stop you from hitting your head but the impact was still jarring.

“Fuck” you muttered as you crawled over to a nearby tree sitting with your back against the trunk.

You sat for a minute or so as you recovered from the fall. Catching your breath waiting until you had the energy to stand back up. In the meantime you just watched the world go by, your attention being caught by the sound of skates approaching.

Glancing over your brows furrowed when you saw a man approaching wearing rollerblades being pulled along by his dog. As he approached and whizzed past you realised with a start that you recognised the man. It was Chris Freaking Evans. You knew he lived in this part of the world but in all the years you lived here you’d never seen him before.

Nope this couldn’t be real. What had actually happened was you didn’t catch yourself when you fell. You had hit your head and you hadn’t just seen Chris Evans the man who you’d spent all of yesterday rewatching as he did the puppy interview video, multiple lightyear interviews, specifically the be honest one. This was all a concussion induced dream.

“Hey you alright?” You heard someone call out.

Glancing over you saw Chris himself skating back over to you, dodger trotting besides him.

“Yep I’m definitely dreaming” you mutter shaking your head, hand running over your face making you wince since they were still sore.

“Huh?” Chris asked as he comes to a stop in front of you.

“This isn’t real, you aren’t here skating past on your rollerblades and I’m actually passed out a couple miles back after falling over and whacking my head” you explain still not believing this was real.

Chris chuckles gently “well I promise this is real and you aren’t passed out, but it does look like you need those scrapes cleaning up” Chris says nodding down to your knees and hands.

You blinked a couple of times staring up at him in disbelief “fuck” you mutter when you realise he was telling the truth.

Chris laughs once more before sitting down and pulling off his skates. As he stands back up he holds out his hand for you “c’mon my place is just down the road lets get you cleaned up” he offers.

You shake you head “no, um no I’m good, I’m fine” you tell him.

“Hey no c’mon, be honest those scrapes look pretty bad” Chris says his accent slipping out, making your heart skip a beat.

“Yeah” you mutter not realising you actually spoke.

“Good now c’mon” Chris smiles holding his hand out closer to you.

Unable to say anything, which is good because you didn’t trust yourself not to say anything super embarrassing, you took his hand. As soon as your hand met his you knew this definitely wasn’t a dream, especially when he easily helped you up.

“Can you walk alright?” Chris asked his arm moving around your back to support you.

“Um oh um” you mutter trying to take a few steps wincing as pain shot through your knees “not really”

“That’s alright, look just hold onto dodger for me” Chris says passing you the leash “and just lean on me, my house is literally just around the corner so you don’t have to walk far”

“Oh-okay” you nod “thank you”

Chris flashes you a winning but warm smile “thank me when we get you cleaned up”

You could only nod, glancing down at the floor to hide your flustered expression. With the help of Chris you slowly made your way back to his house, the closer you got the more you couldn’t believe this was happening.

Once inside the house, Chris led you to the kitchen. You went to go sit on one of the chairs but Chris stopped you. You looked back at him confused, you were just even more confused and shocked when he quickly lifted you up so you were sat on the kitchen island.

“Do you want a drink or anything?” Chris asks walking over to the fridge.

Still in a stake of shock your mouth open and closed unable to form any actual words so you just nodded your head. Chris smiles opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

“I’m just gonna grab the first aid kit, i’ll be right back” Chris smiles passing you the bottle before making his way out of the kitchen.

Once alone you let out a deep breath as if you’d been holding it this entire time. Your hands shaking as opened the bottle and took a few large gulps of water hoping to get rid of your dry mouth. You let out a sigh as you glanced around the kitchen still unable to believe this was actually happening.

“Right lets get you fixed up” Chris says as he walks back in and places the first aid kit down on the island “now this might sting a little” he warns you as he grabs some antiseptic and begins to gently clean your grazed knees.

You wince at the stinging sensation, Chris glancing up at you with a sympathetic look, mumbling an apology. You watched as he continued to gently work away, his brows furrowed as he concentrated.

“Do you usually rollerblade?” You ask suddenly.

“Hm?” Chris hums arching a brow “oh yeah whenever I can, dodger loves it and it’s pretty fun” he answers nodding his head.

“You were going pretty fast” you comment chuckling gently.

“I didn’t cause you to fell over did I?” Chris winces a worried an expression on his face.

“Oh no no, no you didn’t” you say quick to reassure him “I’m just really clumsy, I blame my therapist” you tell him.

He arches a brow at that “how so?” He asks.

“She told me exercise was good for the mind, but running is absolute hell and I hated every moment of it” you explain.

Chris lets out a warm chuckle nodding his head “yep running is hell, but she is right though about the exercise, so maybe try something else” Chris suggests as he gently holds your hands, cleaning the scrapes there.

“Like rollerblading?” You smirk making him laugh.

“Yes like rollerblading” he chuckles nodding his head.

“I guess I’ll give it a go” you say shrugging your shoulders casually.

Chris looks up at you with a warm smile making you feel all warm inside “right lets get you home, do you live far?” Chris asks as he packs away the first aid kit.

“Um not far, about half an hour’s walk away” you say sad that your time with Chris was already ending.

“Okay we’ll let me just grab my keys and I’ll drive you” Chris smiles making your jaw drop in surprise.

“Oh no you don’t need to do that, you’ve done enough already, i’ll be fine don’t worry” you say shaking your head.

“It’s fine, you don’t wanna be walking home with sore knees, and I’d rather know you got home safe” Chris says with a warm smile.

You feel all resistance instantly melt away with his smile, nodding your head as you took his hand and let him help you down from the counter.

The entire car ride back to your house you and Chris continued to chat as if you’d known each other for years. You were amazed at how quickly you warmed up to each other. So much so you didn’t want the car ride to end, you even considered giving him incorrect directions to prolong the journey, but soon enough he pulled up outside your apartment.

“This is me, thank you for fixing me up and driving me home like a real life super hero” you smile looking over at him.

“It was nothing, happy to help” Chris smiles warmly.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say, or do. Dragging out the inevitable.

“Well um” you say clearing your throat “thank you again”

you move to open the car door but Chris stops you by putting his hand on your arm.

“Hey um I was thinking, if you wanna try out rollerblading sometime and wanted someone to go with… you can always ask me” Chris offers glancing down slightly as he spoke.

“Really?” You ask, voice squeaking in surprise.

“Yeah sure, here’s my number, I have a few days free before I’m away for a bit so just let me know when works for you” Chris smiles nodding his head as he passes you a slip of paper.

“Yeah okay cool sounds great, thank you again Chris” you smile shaking your head slightly in disbelief.

“Its fine now go rest up and maybe bring some knee pads next time” Chris smirks.

You laugh, bowing your head hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt “okay will do, thanks a lot Chris” you smile finally getting out the car.

“It was my pleasure see you around” Chris smiles, he watches as you walk up to the door, waving when you turned back.

Once the door was shut behind you, you slumped back against it in disbelief. Not only did you meet your celebrity crush, he’d fixed you up and asked to see you again. It was the stuff of dreams, but that didn’t stop you from going out and buying a pair of rollerblades the next day.

Few years later

“And that… is how I met daddy” you smile looking between your two year old son on your lap and 5 year old daughter on Chris’ lap.

“Was it love as first sight?” Your daughter asks looking up at Chris.

“Of course” Chris smiled looked over at you warmly “I couldn’t believe my luck”

“You mean my clumsiness” you chuckle, Chris shrugging his shoulders innocently “Happy Father’s Day sweetheart” you smile leaning over press a kiss to his lips.

Chris smiles into the kiss, hand moving to cup your cheek. Only getting disturbed when the two kids insisted on the group hug, but neither of you minded because this life was a dream come true.

SHARING IS CARING SO REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED THIS!!!

Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist so follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary for notifications!

[adriankyte-writes]

Ooh can you tell us about The Derelict? 👀

A tiny bit of backstory...I decided that I wanted to start selling smut on Amazon, and the best way to do this would be to rip the serial numbers on some fanfic. So I took my favorite ideas from SGA, Battlestar Galactica and Farscape to build my setting. It's grown pretty out of hand and I'm not sure it's going to really resemble any of those series in any way when it's finished LOL.

Excerpt: (The POV character is an Air Force Major named Jasper Ward)

It is several long moments before he can lift his head. The pain in his head has lightened. He stands, meaning to find a towel to clean up the mess but the movement is too much and he drops to his knees, vomiting until there is nothing but bile coming up.

When he is finally able to stop, he’s on his hands and knees, panting, vomit on the floor. He pushes himself shakily to a sitting position. He has managed to keep his pants clean but there is vomit on his shirt. He pulls it off and uses it to wipe his face. His breathing returns to normal and he tosses the shirt aside. He pushes to his feet, his dog tags dangling from their chain.

His legs are shaky, but they hold him.

A change in the light quality brings him to full alertness and he looks up quickly, terrified to find that the Daiomon is in his quarters. Its head is tilted uncannily to the side, like an owl hunting prey. He wants to reach for his radio, he needs to call for help, for backup.

Instead, he locks up, staying put.

The Daioman locks eyes with him, and he can’t move. He’s never been this close to one, but he’s read the survivor reports. The way they can entrance their victims, drawing them in with only a look. So many people simply walked into their embrace to die in their first few encounters with the menacing race.

He feels himself take a step towards the Daiomon, feeling a sensation of peace settle over him. He knows something is wrong, something should bother him, but he can’t remember what. He feels the fabric of his shirt slip from his fingers as he takes another step forward. He is within arm’s reach of the Daiomon and it raises a cool hand to his cheek.

He closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the hand which gently cups his face. The clawed fingers trace over his flesh. Those claws, so deadly; they are hollow, used to inject a poison of some kind to neutralize prey, and yet he doesn’t fear them. Somehow, ridiculously, he feels safe.

A voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him, because this is exactly how the report, from the only expedition member to survive being fed on, described the moments right before the attack. The Daiomon’s eyes trail over him, a finger traces his cheekbones, tilts his face to examine it from different angles.

This time when he smiles Jasper doesn’t resist, doesn’t snap out from under his influence. He runs a finger over Jasper’s lips and he feels his lips slide open, an urge to lick the clawed finger creeps over him but he’s too hazy to act on it.

The Daiomon steps back, his trailing fingers falling from Jasper’s face, and Jasper steps forward, blindly following him from the room. A part of him is still screaming that he’s in danger, but there is no agency in his steps as he wanders down the corridors and through crawlspaces that lead deep into the ship. Far deeper than their explorations have reached. He notes, in a vague hazy way, that the fleshy valves which serve as doors open for the Daiomon as he approaches. He never needs to touch a wall, to find a tendon to tug, as the human explorers do.

End excerpt

This is part of a series centered around a group of explorers called the Cygnus Expedition. They are stranded in the Cygnus galaxy with no way to contact Earth, trying to find a way to fit in with the native alien species, both sentient and not. They are running low on supplies and don't have a way to repair their machinery as it ages, so when they find an abandoned Daiomon (predatory, insect aliens who communicate telepathically...hush they get way less wraith-like) ship on a planet they are exploring they decide to wake it up and use it as their own.

Jasper Ward and the science team have been working on getting it operational and Ward is expected to fly it. What they don't know is that Daiomon bond rather intimately with their ships, and to get it to accept him as its pilot Ward is going to have to get it to trust him. In this scene the ship is trying to communicate with him, but it's using a daiomon avatar because that is all it knows; at the same time Ward is pretty delusional due to exposure to some of the ships fluids during repairs.

[gumy-shark]

wow i sure love having a dog and a sick cat in the house! <- the words of a girl who has had to clean up both shit and vomit off of the floor today

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Quick family specific context for following AITA- growing up with lots of pets of various ages and continence abilities, and lots of siblings of various ages and ever shifting grudges, we had a blanket house rule: first person to see pet poop, has to pick up the pet poop.

Okay so a while back I was pulling elder sister duty and in charge of younger sibs while our parents were away. My younger sister (16ish then) had her friend sleeping over, no biggie. In the middle of the night I wake to the sound of vomiting in the bathroom, and assuming my sister or her friend or both had been drinking I went to check on them, see if they need anything. Friend wouldn’t open the bathroom door but said my sis was “under the weather” and she had it handled, so I didn’t push and went back to bed.

I woke again very early in the morning to use the bathroom, and walked in to find an absolute unit of shit on the floor- and my sisters soiled bathing suit bottom in the tub. I literally stared a moment, said out loud to myself “nope,” stepped over, used the bathroom and went to bed again (after poking my head in my sisters room to confirm her and her friend were fine and just sleeping it off on their sides)

I get up much later in the morning ready to roast her but she’s still sleeping and the bathroom is clean, so I figured her or friend got up in between to hide the evidence and I’d let it slide until later.

Only sib awake at that point was my youngest brother, chronic early riser, who starts telling me about the huge dog shit he had to clean up that morning and I nearly vibrate out my skin holding the truth in to wait for the perfect moment.

Years later we’re all hanging out, trading embarrassing drunk stories, and I Know It’s Time, tell above story more dramatically. I watch lil sisters expressions change as she realizes there was absolutely a witness to the embarrassment she thought she had escaped unscathed, and my lil bro face as he slowly realized that the memorably horrifying dog shit he cleaned once was in fact his sisters. Cue raucous sibling laughing and ribbing of them both while lil bro yells the family rule. I felt no shame and said that to his face.

WITA for inadvertently making my youngest brother clean up my youngest sisters poop and waiting years to drop that bomb?

What are these acronyms?

[alexxcorpsexx]

Bsd x reader

Hunting dogs in a nutshell part 4

"God he smells." Y/n and the other boys were fanning the room, the smell was revolting. Despite Fukuchi being in his office it still lingers. "Maybe we should get him a diaper." Y/n scoffed. "Good idea, his smell is messing with my nose and it's revolting." Jouno said. "Tell me about it."

"Where's Tecchou?" They noticed that Tecchou wasn't with them anymore, "He must've ran off somewhere." Jouno said. "We should look for him now. The smell is finally gone."

Y/n and Jouno looked everywhere, but not the training room. At least not yet. "I'm guessing he's working out again." Jouno spoke. He slouched in exhaustion because of how tired he is. "So let's go to the training room, c'mon." Y/n dragged him by the wrist, and they make their way to the training room. All of a sudden, a little girl jumps right in front of them.

"Ah Jesus!!" "Sorry y/n, there are people in the room with Fukuchi and I don't trust them. Do you mind being with him?" Teruko asked. "Ummm sure, but is he done shitting himself?" Jouno asked, Teruko nodded in response and ran off. "Welp, let's go."

........

Fukuchi was having a conversation with these 2 men, he was feeling strange during the time. Y/n and Jouno were standing right by his desk, watching everything closely. "So, Mr. Fukuchi...what should we do?..." the 1st man asked and waited for a response. Fukuchi lifted his head up as it was slightly tilted down, and stared at the 2 men. He opened his mouth, like he was going to say something. "He is about to say something!" The 2nd man said. 5 seconds passed, nothing came out of the leaders mouth yet.

".... BLEEGH!" Fukuchi threw up all over the desk and onto the floor. Everyone stared at him in disgust and Jouno felt like he was gonna vomit. "Dear God, this is disgusting." He choked out.

"Sir, you need to stop drinking so much!"

"Yeesh Y/n, you get more and more annoying every day." Fukuchi scoffed as he cleaned up his mess. "Screw this, let's just keep looking for Tecchou." Y/n grabbed Jouno by the arm and dragged him out of the room. Once they got to the training room, they opened the door, only to see Tecchou working out. The stench of sweat made it way to Jouno's nose, making it scrunch. "This is revolting, that's it-" "Jouno no!-"

Tecchou was too busy to pay attention to what was going on as he was doing push ups, he doesn't even notice Jouno running towards him. Jouno jumped into the air and landed on Tecchou's back, causing a loud cracking sound.

'CRACK'

Jouno: "...."

Tecchou: "...."

Y/n: "....JOUNO WHAT THE FU-"

To be continued ->

[spnbabe67]

Comfortember Day 7: Sick As A Dog

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Vomiting, Sickness

Summary: When Dean wakes up sick, it's up to Tori to make him feel better again.

Word Count: 1532

Day 7 of @comfortember's November Challenge with the prompt "Sick/Illness"

The last thing Tori expected to wake up to on a Tuesday morning, was Dean nearly falling to the floor as he crashed out of bed in a near sprint to the bathroom. Tori groaned as she sat up, squeezing her eyes shut and dragging a hand down her face. All vestige of sleep was gone the moment the sound of retching met her ears through the bathroom door. Tori was off the bed, legs swung over the side of the bed before her brain had a chance to catch up. She barely registered the cold cement floor on her bare feet through the laser focus aimed at Dean on the other side of the oak door.

"D?" Tori said softly, knuckles wrapping on the wood barrier. "Babe, you alright?"

When only a low groan followed by more sounds of Dean getting sick was her answer, Tori pushed into the bathroom. Tori sighed as she took in Dean's form hunched over the toilet, normally tan skin peaked and clammy.

"Alright, here we go," Tori said softly, grabbing a washcloth from under the sink and running it under cool water until the cloth was fully drenched.

She wrung out most of the water before lowering herself to the ground beside Dean.

"Come 'ere" Tori coaxed, putting a hand on Dean's bicep.

Dean groaned again, flushing his vomit down before letting himself be guided to relax against Tori's body. Tori sighed as his head found a home on her shoulder. She brought her hand up, pressing the back of it against his forehead. His skin was dewy with sweat and warm to the touch, telltale signs of a fever. Tori's hand gently cupped his cheek, maneuvering herself so she could use the damp washcloth to wipe away the spit and bile that had dribbled down his chin.

His 5 o'clock shadow bristled against the washcloth as she ran the unused side along his cheeks. So far, Dean's eyes had stayed closed, but they cracked open, forest green irises looking at her.

"You think you're gonna get sick again?" Tori asked quietly, dropping her hand from his face.

When Dean shook his head, the movement nearly imperceptible, Tori tossed the cloth into the sink. "Alright, lets get you back to bed then."

It took some maneuvering, Tori struggling only slightly to bear most of Dean's body weight, but she managed to get Dean from the bathroom to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Arms up," Tori instructed, turning to grab a clean shirt from the dresser behind her.

"If you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart," Dean replied, the smirk evident in his voice even with her back turned.

Tori huffed a laugh through her nose as she picked out a Henley from the drawer. Even in the mostly dark room, she could find the familiar sensation of the Henley fabric. Dean wore them enough for Tori to know the ruched fabric, the scent of Dean's laundry detergent. The scent had become synonymous with home to her now, with comfort and safety. When she turned back around, Dean was already struggling to get the soiled garment over himself.

"What are you- Dean!" Tori helped pull the shirt the rest of the way off with a scolding look as she tossed it in the laundry bin.

"What?" Dean shrugged, grabbing the clean shirt. In the short time, he had been shirtless, his skin had broken out in goosebumps, and started to shiver. "I'm not an invalid, Tor. I can change by myself."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Tor-"

"No," Tori pointed a finger at Dean as he groaned, sitting back on the bed. "Don't 'Tor' me, D." Tori padded back over to the bed, taking Dean's arm to help him lay back. "Just let me take care of you."

"Fine," Dean grumbled, but let himself relax onto the bed, letting Tori pull the covers up over his body.

Tori eased herself next to him, sitting with her back to the headrest. She smiled as Dean laid his head in her lap, curled up on his side, body seeking her comfort despite his protests. His arm wrapped around her bare thigh, Tori wearing a pair of boxers and one of Dean's old band t-shirts. Within minutes, he was asleep in her lap, face nuzzled into her thigh, covers pulled over his shivering body.

Dean wasn't sure how long he had been asleep by the time his eyes cracked open to the dark room. They blinked against the darkness, finding it empty when his arm he had reached out, expecting to find Tori, met cold sheets. He was hot, the long-sleeved shirt that had kept him warm against the fever-induced chills was now stifling, and the collar was drenched with sweat and stuck to his skin.

The smell of something cooking wafting from under the door finally roused him from the bed. Dean shucked off the sweat-soaked shirt, exchanging it for a T-shirt before following the scent of food. The trail led him to the kitchen where he found Tori standing at the stove in front of a large pot simmering on the burner.

Tori glanced up, doing a double take as she registered Dean standing in the doorway. "D-What are you doing out of bed?" Tori set the wooden spoon she had in her hand down on the counter, walking up and taking his arm and helping him to sit at the table.

"Darlin', I can walk by myself." But in almost an ironic protest against Dean's statement, he stumbled, saved from falling face-first into the table by Tori's grip on him. "Don't even start." He warned her seeing the 'I told you' look on Tori's face.

"I didn't say anything!" Tori teased him back.

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his forehead. Tori hummed in approval, pressing the back of her hand to the space of skin her lips had just touched to confirm her suspicions. "Your fever broke. Which is a good sign."

"You don't even have a thermometer. How could you possibly know that?" Dean scoffed, but leaned his head into her hand, placing her palm on his cheek.

Tori cocked her head, arching an eyebrow at Dean's comment. "Your skin is sweaty, you changed into a t-shirt which means you aren't having chills anymore, and your skin is no longer warm to the touch. All indicating your fever broke." Tori let Dean nuzzle into her hand, index finger toying with the short hairs around his ear.

Dean just hummed a noncommittal answer, eyes closed. Tori's mouth twisted up on one side as she watched Dean look up at her from where she stood in front of him.

"Think you can eat something?" Tori asked, pulling away from him, but not before, Dean grabbed a hold of her wrist and pressed a kiss to her palm.

"Yeah. I could eat."

Tori nodded, moving back over to the stove. "I wasn't expecting you up for a little bit yet, but it's ready."

Tori grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer, taking a bit of the soup from the pot and bringing it to her lips. After blowing on it to cool it down, she took a bite. She nodded to herself, tossing the spoon in the sink.

"What is 'it'?" Dean furrowed his brows at the bowl of food that Tori put in front of him.

"Pastina," Tori said matter-of-factly as she put some in a bowl for herself before sitting down across from him. "Pasta with some chicken Sam had in the fridge left over from his salads and some olive oil and parmesan. My mom used to make it for me and my brothers when we were sick."

Dean shrugged a shoulder and dug his spoon into the meal. Tori watched from her own meal as Dean took the first bite, letting out a groan.

"Fuck Tor. This is really good." Dean expressed.

He knew Tori's cooking could rival Gordon Ramsay's. Home cooked Italian food by Tori was like a warm hug, he felt better just on principle. It tasted like home, both the one he knew and the one he had built with the woman across from him. Tori simply smiled, taking another bite from her own meal.

After they had both finished their food and Tori got Dean to drink a glass of water, Tori guided Dean back to their bedroom, shutting the door so the room was dark.

"Alright, you," Tori said, climbing into bed beside Dean. She laid on her back, pulling him over to lay on her chest, head pillowed above her heart. "Go back to bed. Your body needs the rest."

Dean didn't protest this time, nuzzling his face into Tori's neck and pressing a kiss there before wrapping an arm around her waist, anchoring himself to her body. He sighed, content as he felt her fingers card through his hair, nails teasing his scalp.

"I love you, Tor." Dean murmured into her chest, already half asleep.

"Love you too, D," Tori whispered back, letting the warmth and weight of Dean's body on her own lull her to sleep.

[lex-drinks-blood]

A Steve harrington x male reader where Steve takes care of his sick boyfriend

ok I love this prompt, so yesyes will do!! I'm not even gonna ramble this time, let's just get to the fic.

Steve Harrington × Male Reader: steve takes care of his boyfriend who seems to have come down with a rather bad cold/flu

Warning(s): emetophobia (enough said)

"Oh you poor thing," Steve cooed, holding your fringe out of your face as you dispelled your illness into his toilet.

"I'm so sorry st-" your apology was cut short by another round of bile creeping up your throat again.

"Hey, hey, hey," steve spoke as he rubbed slow circles on your back, "It's ok y/n, it's not your fault. It's ok."

This pattern of apologies stifled by your vomit followed by Steve's reassurances continued for what seemed like forever before you finally felt confident enough to leave the tile floor of the Harrington's bathroom without worry of puking again.

As you stood up, Steve held his hand on your hip to support your weight in case you were still too weak to stand on your own. One he had you on your feet, Steve sat you down on the lid of the toilet and quickly grabbed a towel from the other side of the bathroom and wiped you off a bit. You didn't seem visibly unclean, but he just wanted to play it safe. It was better to wipe away at nothing than to have you walking around covered in vomit for the afternoon.

After tenderly cleaning you up, he gently lifted you off of the toilet and into his arms. Your head leaned into his chest as your arms found purchase around his neck. "Steve...," you moaned quietly, "I'm okay, you really don't need to do this baby."

"I know," he hummed in response, "I just want to," he cooed.

And with that, he carried you through seemingly endless hallways, up the stairs, and into his room before laying you gently on his mattress and planting a quick kiss to your forehead. "I'll be right back, I need to grab some stuff really fast. I promise I won't be long," he seemed to speak in a somewhat calmed panic.

"I'll be here," you sounded strained but managed to let out a sarcastic chuckle as you delivered the statement.

Steve let out a relieved sigh, "There's my boy," he said, pushing your fringe out of your eyes lovingly. "I'll be quick, I promise. You won't even notice I'm gone," and with that he disappeared into the seemingly endless halls of the Harrington family home.

Despite the fact that he was gone for a totally of barely 5 minutes, Steve was welcomed to his room by the site of you fast alseep on his bed, drool slowly seeping out of your mouth and on to his blue pillowcase.

What in the world am I going to do with you, l/n, he thought to himself lovingly. "Alright pretty boy, imma need you to wake up for me," he spoke as he gently nudged you awake.

You woke with a sharp, almost gasp-like, inhale, "I tried to stay awake... everything just got too fuzzy," you half-whined.

"Shh, it's ok," he spoke as he kneeled beside his bed," I brought some stuff that might help you feel a bit better. Do you wanna try and do that or just sleep it off?"

You stared at him wordlessly before responding with a subtle shrug.

"I think you should try some medicine and see if that helps babe," he said, shuffling through the bag of medicine he had gone off to hunt for just moments ago. "I've got some anti-nausea, some migraine pills, some fever reducer, i-" he was cut of by your strained voice before he could finish his laundry list of medications.

"I don't think I have a fever Steve, it's fine," you spoke, your voice still slightly raspy, "Really, I'm perfectly fine."

Steve reached his hand out to your forehead and sharply pulled back mere milliseconds after his skin made contact with yours, "l/n, you are absolutely scolding," he spoke, beginning to sound rather motherly.

"I didn't notice..." your words almost sounded small as they left your mouth in a hushed whisper.

"Just let me take care of you for today. Please?" his perfect puppy-dog eyes pleaded, "Just for today. I promise I'll let you be free tomorrow," he knew that you were aware that that was probably a lie, but he figured you were probably too sick to care about fighting him on it for the time being.

As he expected, you had given up on trying to fund snarky comebacks or fighting back against his almost motherly doting, your mind and body too weak to think of a good comeback for him at the moment. An almost silent, "m'kay," was all you could muster in response.

With your spoken consent, Steve loaded you up on anti-nausea, fever reducers, cough syrup, migraine pills, and liters upon liters upon liters of ginger ale. To be honest, he wasn't really sure if he should be mixing all of the shit he was giving you, but he figured it would be better to target all of your symptoms now than fight them all later. A theory that somewhat made sense, but was obviously lacking any scientific backing.

"Hey, Stevie," you called, almost sounding like a little kid

"Hey what?" he replied, almost sounding like said kid's babysitter (which honestly wasn't exactly inaccurate at the moment).

"You're really pretty," you strained, fingers already combing through the hair of the man still kneeling next to you.

"That's just the drugs talking hun, we both know you're the pretty boy," Steve spoke through a low chuckle.

"Nu-uh," a hint of tiredness seemed to coat your response.

A warm hand reached out to caress your cheek, "You don't think so?"

You shook your head as much as you could while still pressing the side of your face to the pillows to look at your partner.

"Whatever you say baby, I won't fight you on it today."

"You're no fun, Harrington," you whined sarcastically.

"Maybe when you feel a bit better," he chuckled lowly and placed a kiss on your forehead as he brought himself to his feet.

You watched him curiously as he pulled a blanket from the closet and layed it on the floor beside you. "Stevie?"

"Yes, beautiful?" he questioned, still focused on the blanket he was holding.

"What are you doing?" you inquired.

"I just figured since you're already so warm I could just sleep on the floor. You'd have more space that way anyway, yknow?" he said, still arranging his makeshift bed on the hardwood of his room.

"C'mere," you spoke, outstretching your arms to him, mimicking a child with grabby-hands.

"You sure, honey?" he spoke inquisitively.

"Positive," you strained.

"Okie dokie then," he said as he began to roll up the blanket and put it back where he had found it When he had finished with the blanket he made his way back to his bed and curled up beside you, propping himself up against the headboard and placing his arm around your shoulders, "You seem to be cooling down a bit yknow? That's a good sign I think!" he sounded rather proud of himself as he said that last bit.

"Maybe," you whispered into his chest, already entangling your limbs with his in a sleepy daze.

Steve rubbed gentle circles on your shoulder as he spoke, his lips almost pressed to your hair, "If you need anything just let me know ok?"

No response.

"You hearing me l/n?" he whispered a bit harsher this time.

Still no answer.

When he finally looked down ag you, he saw your eyes peacefully closed as you drifted off to a much needed sleep, "You poor baby," he spoke, almost to himself, placing a gentle kiss to your scalp again, "What am I going to do with you?"

Your drool had already begun seeping into his shirt as you clutched gently to the fabric. Steve didn't seem to mind though, as he had closed his eyes and begun chasing his own sleep almost immediately after ensuring your state of unconsciousness.

Being the babysitter of the group was getting a bit exhausting for Steve, but it seemed like he really believed that it was actually worth the work to him. It was always worth it if it meant he had to take care of you guys. It was always worth it if that meant taking care of you. Especially you.

ok so this one was a bit less organized, I wont lie to you. I'm not gonna lie, the middle of this was written while I was on my break at work 💀 So I'm sorry if this is at all lacking in quality!! Idk, I still think it's kind of cute. I hope you think so too! As always, feel free to leave requests in the comments or in my asks and I hope each and everyone of yall has a wonderful morning, afternoon, and or evening <33

[brightgnosis]

At a certain point you just want to throw your hands up and say "this is not my fucking problem anymore", and unfortunately in some cases you can't actually do that. But I'm so tired ... Just, emotionally, I'm completely exhausted and done; I feel incredibly taken advantage of and uncared for, honestly. And after the last incident last night prior to the fall, I'm also now filled with a blinding rage that still hasn't quite simmered down. I honestly don't know if it will.

@drinkbooksreadtea and @genderfluidgothwitch / @wanderlust-----witch got to hear about it a little last night, but because I had capped out my post limit for the day like a dumbo I didn't get to say anything about it broadly. But yesterday was just a shit sandwich (quite literally in some areas). My Mother in Law breaking her leg and pelvis was just the bright red screaming EMT cherry on top of a particularly bullshitier day than most. To summarize as briefly as possible, though:

I got woken up at 6 am yesterday (2 hours before my usual up time, which is not good on my Fibro) because we can't seem to get my Father in Law to understand that he is walking on the ceiling of our bedroom, and he walks like an Elephant constantly.

I was tired all day as a result. And I was in pain because it's been cold and raining, and the weather system keeps shifting- and my conditions are annoyingly sensitive to weather pressure, rain, and cold. But CBD and Pine Oil were only taking the edge off the pain barely. So I just had to suffer through it, because I can't be high while taking care of my Mother in Law.

Except I basically didn't take care of my Mother in Law yesterday because she had 2 appointments. Which I was informed about. But when we spoke about the 2nd one, I was told he'd be back at 11:30 to try and get out the door by "12:30 at the latest"- and then they'd be back "at or around 2:30". Which did not give me enough time to nap, because I know my body. If I'd fallen asleep, I wouldn't've woken up by the time they were back, as tired as I was. Except they weren't back when he said they'd be. They were back almost 2 hours later, at near 4. So I stayed awake, bone exhausted, in pain, and completely sober, for nothing.

That's ok, though, because my Husband got off work early. Maybe I can finally get a nap, take a gummy, and chill! But for some reason, the second he gets off work, in rapid succession: He takes the Dog out with him when he goes to smoke, lets the dog back in while he checks on Mom ⇾ Dog vomits at the top of the stairs without me hearing her and I step in vomit going to check on dinner in the crock pot, and have to clean it up ⇾ I go to the bathroom after, and his mom's had an accident at some point and stuffed both her underwear and her diaper in the toilet to hide it like a toddler. So now in order to piss I've gotta clean up all the adult shit all over the bathroom and fish those out of the toilet ⇾ Come back downstairs and throw the underwear and towels in the wash ⇾ Step in another mysteriously appearing pile of dog vomit ⇾ Hobble step from that one right into a mysterious third pile ... And fall on my ass.

At that point I snap and just wind up sobbing on the Basement floor for two hours, my last thread having just completely severed for the day. So my Husband cleans up the two new piles of dog vomit for me and gets my pants off, cleans my feet, and gets me new pants ... And the second he gets done with that, the dog vomits a fourth time; she literally has not been fed yet today and is vomiting up giant piles of half digested dog food. The only thing we can surmise is that someone must've thrown something over our fence- and I will fucking murder them the second I find them.

That's all fine, though, right? Because at this point it's 6:30 and my Father in Law should be back in half an hour for the night ... Oh, except he comes home for 5 minutes to change and then go to a fucking church meeting half an hour away, that he didn't inform us he was going to go to, and which he really shouldn't be going to. But priorities, amiright? Gotta go talk to God and Congregation, because Sundays aren't enough. Nevermind that your Wife has Cancer and needs care, and won't let my Husband or I change her shit stained clothing she's been laying in for hours!

Nevermind that the person doing the main amount of care for her right now is also the other disabled person in the house, who is currently in pain and recovering from an injury that made them completely unable to walk- after already having a bad luck string of illnesses that left them bedbound for the last 2 / 3 months (what is math? I've given up now). And nevermind that they currently have another communicable illness and honestly shouldn't be around someone with a severely compromised immune system right now. It also doesn't really matter that the longer they're forced to care for her, the more they risk reinjuring their own current injury, to the point where they literally can't stand anymore without their Piriformis muscle immediately seizing and spasming. This is what family does!

He was maybe been home for like 40 minutes when the whole fall thing happened.