#uses of eucalyptus oil for cold

[johnmalevolent]

coping from BACK PAIN ueheggrf. retches

also tbh hijikata rly shouldn't work that much at his age precisely bcs he's only 28

[eootymade]

Eucalyptus Oil Unveiled: A Guide to Uses, Benefits, and Buying Tips 1#Ni...

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Moon Boys Sleeping Headcanons

Rating: PG •  Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged? • ko-fi •

Warnings: some fluffy fluff, mentions of reader, not beta read

Word count: 861

Steven:

I firmly believe that this man constantly moves in his sleep.

He’s rolling around all over the place.

One of those people that hold their arms/legs up in their sleep in the most uncomfortably looking positions. 

There has been more than one occasion where you wake up and see Steven sitting up in bed, fully asleep, and you have to coax him back into lying down.

He is taking up all of the space, then hardly any. 

He’s got all the covers and then none. 

Side and back sleeper, for sure. Loves to be the big or little spoon when going to bed and will twist himself into the most uncomfortable positions for himself if it means you're comfy. 

There is normally at least some part of him touching you, even if he is out of it. 

You have woken up to him holding your hand or your arm in his sleep. Or curled up into a ball and snuggled into your side. 

His feet are always warm, no matter how cold it is.

Delights in eating in bed, watching TV cuddling with you. (Will tell Marc he never eats in bed with a completely straight face.) 

Once he knows about Marc and doesn’t worry so much about sleepwalking he has the ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime. Literally his eyes are closed and a second later it’s lights out. 

Mumbles in his sleep. It’s never actual words, just little sounds. You video him sometimes to show him in the morning. 

He laughs about it for ages. 

Remembers his dreams in vivid detail. 

Always wakes up with messy hair, no matter how hard he tries or what material his pillow is. 

Prefers to sleep in pyjamas even when it’s burning hot, because it doesn’t feel right otherwise.

Marc:

Back sleeper. Literally lays down like he’s going into his coffin, so stiff it should be uncomfortable. 

However if you’re in bed with him he will snuggle up and lay all over your chest and tummy, and please play with his hair while he goes to sleep. He needs it. 

Doesn’t talk in his sleep, but flinches and twitches. The movements are usually small, like a mini electric current runs through his nerves. 

Pulls a face at eating in bed, will get the handheld vacuum cleaner out and hoover the sheets. “Steven, why are there crumbs here?” 

“I don’t know mate, don’t ask me.” 

“They're those stupid seaweed chip things you eat, you’re the only one of us that eats them.”

“First, they're crisps Marc, say it with me crisps.”

“Steven-”

“Secondly, Jake eats them too.” 

“I know it was you Steven, you always eat in the bed-”

“I’m the only one who changes the bloody covers, aren’t I? I think I’ve earned it.”

“That’s not-”

“I changed the covers last week.” Jake chimes in. 

“You’re right, you did mate, sorry about that.” 

“No problem.” Jake gives him a mental thumbs up.

Marc is just like !!! Where is my apology for eating in the bed? !!!

However, if Marc wakes up before you he will bring you breakfast in bed and purposefully ignore Steven when he playfully calls him a hypocrite.

Sleeps in pyjamas if it’s cooler, but will also sleep naked if it’s hot. 

Falls asleep quickly and doesn’t remember his dreams at all. (He prefers it that way.)

Deep, but light sleeper. Goes into a deep sleep very quickly, but is awake and alert if something sounds ‘wrong’. You once stubbed your toe on the bathroom door and let out a little yelp and he was up and by your side before you’d even realised.

Likes to put lavender and eucalyptus sprays and oils on his pillow. 

Jake: 

Very good at sleeping sitting up and power naps, but prefers you to be laying on top of him if you're in bed. 

It makes him feel grounded to have your weight on him. If you’re happy to lay completely on him he is so content, it doesn’t matter what weight you are, he just loves wrapping his arms around you like you’re his own weighted blanket. 

You buy him a weighted blanket for a gift and he wraps himself up in it constantly. 

Often complains about the cold when sleeping, even when it’s hot his feet are still freezing. He has taken to always wearing socks in bed.

Which leads to a rather amusing sight in August when it is boiling hot, so he’s sleeping naked, but his feet are still covered in fluffy socks. 

He calls them his ‘sexy socks’, and has pairs in a variety of colours. He prefers ones that have loud patterns and colours. 

(I headcanon Jake as a kniter, so I think he would definitely make some for himself as well.) 

Doesn’t usually eat in bed, but does on occasion to affectionately annoy Marc. 

Remembers his dreams, and remembers Steven’s and Marc’s as well. 

Likes to dramatically push you into bed, and throw himself in after. 

Doesn’t move around a lot in the night, but occasionally talks. 

Never wakes up first if he can help it, usually stays asleep while Marc and Steven are up. 

Thank you for reading!

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[stardust-swan]

The complete masterpost on how to smell like a Princess 💐🧴🌸

ARMPITS

🌸 Long armpit hair traps sweat and the smell can be quite noticeable. Wax or nair off the hair (instead of shaving, which causes dark discolouration), or if you don't want to have completely hairless armpits, trim the hair down short with a small pair of scissors.

🌸 Know the difference between deodorant and antiperspirant. Deodorant: stops the smell. Antiperspirant: stops the sweat. Some products may do one but not the other, although most do both.

🌸 Use a men's deodorant instead of women's deodorant. The antiperspirant is much stronger than in women's deodorant. Old Spice makes nice ones that don't smell particularly masculine despite the brand being associated with men. Old Spice Deep Sea smells like sea salt, Old Spice Fiji smells like coconuts, Old Spice Oasis is sweet and slightly vanilla scented, Old Spice Wolfthorn is sweet citrus, and Old Spice Timber smells like sandalwood.

🌸 Apply deodorant after you shower instead of waiting a while.

🌸 Apply antiperspirant at night instead of morning so that it has all night to get absorbed

🌸 Vanilla extract can be used as a natural deodorant. Because it's alcohol based, it kills bacteria and the vanilla scent stays all day.

🌸 Use deodorant as a preventative measure, not a fix for an already-stinky armpit or a replacement for washing.

🌸 Use salicylic acid toner on the armpits. This lowers the pH of your armpits to be inhospitable to odour-causing bacteria

🌸 Hand sanitiser can be used in a pinch (not regularly though as it's bad if you use it too often)

🌸 Washing your armpits with Head & Shoulders shampoo and letting it sit for a bit before rinsing off is really good for getting rid of bad odour due to the zinc in it

🌸 Exfoliate your underarms in the shower to slough off dead skin and deodorant build-up that could be making any products you use under your arms less effective. You can use the same exfoliator you use on your face or body on your armpits.

🌸 To dry your armpits completely, use a hairdryer, apply deodorant, then dry them again. It will make such a difference, as it gets your armpits completely dry, whereas as towel drying alone can often leave some moisture, which is more likely to make you smell.

🌸 If you suffer from excessive underarm sweating, go see your doctor. They can prescribe you an industrial strength antiperspirant which may solve your issue.

CLOTHES

🌸 Don't leave your clothes in the washing machine for too long after they've finished washing, this makes them develop a bad smell. Put them to dry as soon as possible after washing.

🌸 If possible, use the tumble dryer instead of leaving your clothes to air-dry in winter. If clothes are left for hours and hours and not really drying because it's too cold, they develop a bad mildewy smell.

🌸 Dry your clothes outside in the sun whenever possible

🌸 Use scented dryer sheets (but make sure the scent isn't one that clashes with your perfume).

🌸 An old-fashioned tip is to keep cut up soap and lavender in the same drawer as your clothes. You can just stick a scented soap or sachets with potpourri in the closet with your clothes to make them smell nice.

🌸 In hardware stores, you can buy cedar blocks to put in your closet, which as well as making your clothes smell nice, also keep spiders, moths, and centipedes away

🌸 Add a capful of white vinegar to the washing machine when you're washing your clothes (no, this won't make your clothes smell like vinegar. It kills unwanted scents and helps remove stains).

🌸 Add a few drops of essential oils such as lavender, peppermint, tea tree, or eucalyptus to your laundry detergent (you can add some to your dryer sheets as well). Make sure they're clear, light, essential oils, and not dark resiny ones, as that will stain your clothes. You can put a few drops of essential oils on the bottom of your drawer, right on the wooden part too.

🌸 You can buy special laundry perfumes to put in the fabric softener department. The scent lasts for ages

🌸 Avoid harsh or heavy scented laundry detergent and washing powders. Stick to neutral, light-scented ones

🌸 Wear breathable fabrics like cotton, hemp, linen, and silk. This will make more air circulate around your body. Avoid nylon and polyester.

🌸 Wash your bathrobe once a week

🌸 Spray Febreeze or perfume on the clothes in your closet once a week

🌸 Wash any clothes you haven't worn in a while, even if you're not planning on wearing them soon, to prevent a stale smell. It will make your whole wardrobe smell much better

FEET

🌸 Wear clean cotton socks. Don't reuse worn socks days in a row

🌸 Always wear socks. Not wearing them makes it much more likely for your feet to start smelling bad

🌸 Don't wear the same pair of shoes every day, as this can make odour-causing bacteria grow because they don't get a chance to dry out.

🌸 If you're staying somewhere overnight, remember to bring a 2nd pair of shoes to change into instead of wearing the same pair twice in a row

🌸 Put baby powder on your feet before putting socks on

🌸 Always dry your feet thoroughly after washing, including between each toe. This prevents the development of foot fungus

🌸 Use foot spray or shoe spray

🌸 Scent rises, so spray a little perfume in your shoes or on your ankles

🌸 Pat some glycolic acid on the soles of your feet with a cotton pad each morning

HAIR

🌸 Spray some perfume on your hairbrush before brushing. Grace Kelly swore by this

🌸 Apply dry shampoo the night before instead of the morning of so that your hair has time to absorb it

🌸 Hair absorbs scent a lot, so wash it regularly

🌸 Add a tiny drop of perfume oil into a few drops of hair oil and apply to your hair

🌸 It's obvious, but using a shampoo and conditioner that smells good will make your hair smell good

🌸 Consider using a hairspray or hair mist

HOME

🌸 Change pillowcases and bedding regularly. Oils, sweat and dead skin cells will accumulate if you go too long using the same sheets.

🌸 Open the windows regularly and leave your bed to air before making it once a week. No airflow means your environment will be more warm and sweaty, making it more likely to develop bacteria that makes you smell bad

🌸 Light a scented candle or incense regularly so that your home always smells lovely

🌸 Have multiple towels so you can use a new one each time you shower. Once a towel is wet, germs start growing, which can make you smell. Clean your towels regularly

🌸 Above all, make sure your house is clean. It doesn't matter how many of these tips you follow, if your home smells bad, you'll smell like it. Plus if you bring someone home and your house smells, no matter how good you personally smell, that's the impression they'll have of you. Clean regularly.

MOUTH

🌸 Floss after eating. Food particles trapped in between the teeth can make your breath smell bad. Even if you don't notice it, others will.

🌸 Use mouthwash after eating or drinking. Avoid mouthwashes with alcohol, as they can dry out your mouth, and your mouth should be moist if you want to reduce bad breath.

🌸 Brush your tongue or use a tongue scraper. This gets rid of bacteria that can build up and make your breath smell bad.

🌸 Keep a pack of mints or gum in your bag for after you eat or drink out (avoid chewing gum if you grind your teeth or clench your jaw though - it's not good for overworked muscles that need to relax).

🌸 Brush your teeth morning and night. Make sure to brush the hard to reach places, like the back molars. And brush for at least two minutes.

🌸 Bad smelling bacteria builds up in your mouth if it's dry and saliva isn't being produced, so drink water consistently throughout the day and eat every few hours, even if it's just a small snack

🌸 Take probiotics for mouth health to replace bad smelly bacteria with good bacteria

🌸 It's not too important, but if you're talking at close range with someone, you'll be able to smell if they have a scented lip product on, so if you want, put on a scented lipgloss, lipstick, or lip balm. My personal favourites are Glossier Birthday Cake lip balm and Fresh Rose Lip Treatment.

🌸 Chew a sprig of rosemary or mint after eating, it makes your breath smell clean and herbaceous.

🌸 A Princessy mouthwash recipe you can try is putting 60g of dried rose petals in 240ml of rosewater and heating gently for 2 hours, then straining and adding 180ml of liquid honey. As well as making your breath smell beautiful, it also helps to soothe a sore throat.

🌸 An underrated tip is to gargle with hot salt water to kill bacteria. This is good when you're somewhere without access to mouthwash.

🌸 If you take good care of your mouth hygiene but bad breath persists, you may have tonsil stones. You can extract them by rubbing a Qtip on your tonsil.

SIGNATURE SCENT

🌸 Learn your body chemistry. Get a variety of sample perfumes and see what they smell like after 30 minutes, 2 hours, a day. Scent profiles develop and change over time, and a perfume that smells good at first might not after a few hours. See what smells good consistently.

🌸 Apply Vaseline or a light unscented lotion to the area where you'll be spraying the perfume to make it last longer

🌸 Buy a rollerball of your favourite perfume so you can reapply when you're out and about if the scent of your perfume fades

🌸 If possible, spend money on a high end Eau de Parfum. 1 or 2 sprays will suffice, and the scent lasts all day. Sprays from Bath and Body and Victoria's Secret smell nice and all, but fade quickly.

🌸 Keep in mind that some perfumes may only be suitable for certain seasons. A light citrusy scent may be fine in summer, but confusing in winter

🌸 Scent rises, so rub scented lotion on your legs. If you want you can spray some scent inside your shoes or on your ankles.

🌸 Hot skin areas close to your veins like behind the knees, behind the ears, the back of the neck, and on the wrists are good areas to apply perfume. Currently, it's popular in the perfume community to spray on the stomach and forearms too.

🌸 If you're sensitive to perfumes, a perfume oil could be a good substitute (in former Ottoman countries, perfume oil is more popular than spray perfume).

🌸 Less is more with perfume. Never overspray. It's better for the scent to subtly creep up on people than to overwhelm them. Perfume should be intimate, a beautiful association people make with being close to you (isn't it a lovely idea that nobody will know that your hair smells like rose hair mist until your lover buries their face in it, or that your neck smells like Hypnotic Poison until your lover leans in to kiss it?)

🌸 Be aware that people may have sensitivities or allergies to perfume if you're going to be in an enclosed space, for example on an airplane, a cinema, or an office cubicle. It's okay just to smell clean rather than of perfume (Kate Middleton and Megan Markle don't wear any perfume at official state events for that reason).

🌸 Don't be afraid to ask other people about their opinions on your perfume. Of course, it's important that you like your perfume, but everyone else around you will have to smell it too. Some perfumes have associations that you may not necessarily want to portray. For example, Victoria's Secret perfumes are often associated with teenagers, and Chanel No.5 is often associated with grandmas. If you love them, you do you, but just keep this in mind if you're wary of creating certain associations with yourself.

🌸 Choose moisturising and hygiene products that go well with your signature scent. For example, vanilla or cocoa butter moisturiser with a perfume in the gourmand family of fragrances.

🌸 In the same vein as above, you can also choose moisturisers that add dimension to your signature scent, like making a floral perfume smell more summery by using a coconut moisturiser, or making a vanilla scent smell more Christmassy by using a peppermint body wash and lotion.

🌸 Don't mix scents that don't go well together. It will smell confusing if you use a warm vanilla sugar lotion with a musky perfume.

🌸 Don't overload on too many strongly scented products, it's overwhelming. If your perfume is very strong, use a lightly scented or unscented lotion.

🌸 It's okay to have more than one signature scent. The perfume you wear at the office doesn't have to be the same perfume you wear at parties, which doesn't have to be the perfume you wear relaxing at home.

🌸 It's also okay to have no signature scent, and just pick a perfume that fits your mood on a given day

🌸 Try and find a perfume that matches your lifestyle. If you're a minimalist, pick a fresh, light scent, such as Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue. If you love to bake and adore the smell of vanilla, sugar and buttercream, try a gourmand perfume, like Dior's Hypnotic Poison or Ariana Grande's Cloud. If you live an outdoorsy lifestyle, try a woody scent like Santal 33 by Le Labo. Your scent should match your vibe, if you're not naturally a party girl or a chic lady, don't try to fake it with perfume, it will just be confusing.

🌸 Don't pick a perfume you don't personally like just because someone else recommends it, like wearing a scent you find grandma-like just because someone said it will make you smell Old Money. You're the one who has to smell it all day

🌸 Spray a little perfume on your hair and wrists before going to sleep to feel soft, pretty, and luxurious, like a Princess or an Old Hollywood star

🌸 A tip from exotic dancers is to spray perfume right after showering, moisturise, then spray the perfume again to really lock in the scent

🌸 Read books like The Secret of Scent by Luca Turin, Fragrance and Wellbeing by Jennifer Peace Rhind, and Scent and Subversion by Barbara Herman to understand the science of scent and what smells great from the point of view of a perfume expert.

🌸 If you want free samples, try e-mailing a perfume house saying you've seen a promo of their perfume and would be interested in a complimentary sample (send your address too). Usually they read lots of complaints, so they'll be glad if they can make someone happy (this may not always work with every perfume house though). You can also go to a quiet counter at a boutique and ask for samples of a perfume you want, even tell them that you're young and can't afford much and they'll give away lots.

🌸 Science has shown that women are much more sensitive to musk scents than men, so lesbian/bi ladies may want to consider trying a musk scent while on a date. And as for men, they prefer lily of the valley, as well as gourmand scents like vanilla, cinnamon, and oddly, pumpkin and lavender together. [Source]

YONI

🌸 Take probiotics

🌸 Wear cotton underwear. Avoid tight underwear and underwear with dye if possible.

🌸 Sleep without underwear. Letting your yoni breathe is great for achieving an attractive smell

🌸 Don't clean your yoni with regular soap. It can throw off your pH, which can cause yeast infections and a bad smell. It's generally okay to use soaps specifically formulated for your vulva, or gentle soaps like Johnson's baby soap or Dove sensitive.

🌸 Drink natural 100% pineapple juice and cranberry juice, or buy pills with those respective ingredients in the health store. Even if you don't want to drink it all the time, drinking cranberry/pineapple juice an hour before intimacy will make you taste sweeter.

🌸 Instead of using scented feminine hygiene products (which are bad for you), change your pad or tampon regularly. Switch to menstrual cups if possible, as there will be no smell at all (whereas the pads and tampons themselves will start smelling bad if left for too long).

🌸 Rub some roll-on deodorant in the crevice where your inner thigh meets your vulva. It develops its own B.O smell (like a leg pit). Deodorant improves the smell immensely.

🌸 Make sure your partner has clean hands/a clean mouth before touching you sensually. Also, use a condom if possible, as ejaculate inside of you can mess up your pH balance

🌸 Use Dripsticks for post-sex clean-up

🌸 Boric acid suppositories after your period help rebalance microbial flora

🌸 Use a little water to rinse after you pee. You can buy a peri bottle for postpartum to make it easier

🌸 Make sure to only wash your vulva, not inside the vagina. The inside is a self-cleaning oven, and douching or even just inserting a finger with soap is bad for it. Avoid the inner, pink parts of the labia too.

🌸 Make sure there's no discharge build-up in your pubic hair

🌸 Clean well in-between the folds and under the clitoral hood so that sebum doesn't get trapped

🌸 Make sure not to scrub too hard, as it can make soap get somewhere it shouldn't or irritate a sensitive area

🌸 Use a hairdryer to dry after showering if you don't have the time to towel off till you're completely dry. It will stop you from feeling swampy and sweaty down there.

UNCATEGORISED

🌸 Keep feminine hygiene wipes, hand sanitiser, mini deodorant, mini dry shampoo, mini mouthwash, rollerball of perfume, scented hand cream, etc in your bag to freshen up during the day

🌸 It's obvious, but shower at least once a day. If you're having unusually hot weather or live in a warm climate, take a couple of quick showers throughout the day.

🌸 Use a very strong soap on your yoni, armpits, and feet, and scrub your armpits/feet very well as they retain scents.

🌸 If you sweat a lot during the night, take a light shower in the morning to get rid of the smell of stale sweat

🌸 Before your regular shower gel, use an antibacterial soap. It will kill bacteria that can make you smell bad.

🌸 Useful websites: Fragrantica, R/Perfumes, R/Fragrance, Parfumo, R/FemFragLab

🌸 Take parsley pills. It's like an internal deodorant. And fenugreek pills make you smell sweet like maple syrup

🌸 As well as on your armpits, put deodorant under your breasts as well, and anywhere else you may sweat a lot from (if you're spraying in the crease between your thighs and abdomen, make sure you have underwear on).

🌸 If you tend to sweat under your breasts a lot, you can buy cotton breast liners that absorb sweat on Amazon

🌸 If you're doing all that you can to prevent body odour but it persists, talk to your GP or dermatologist. You may need an antiperspirant stronger than what you can buy in shops, a PanOxyl wash, or even botox injections in your armpits

🌸 A tip from Marie Antoinette is to wear perfumed gloves

🌸 Don't eat too much onions, garlic, eggs, dairy, alcohol, processed foods, red meat, fast food, or vegetables like cauliflower and broccoli. The smell will seep through your skin (a little is fine, of course). And eat plenty of leafy greens.

🌸 Eat more fruit 🍎🍇🍍🍒🍓

🌸 Drink mint tea in the morning

🌸 An obvious tip, but hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Drinking more water will help you sweat less. Plus fragrance doesn't last as long on dry skin

🌸 Avoid drinking too much alcohol or smoking cigarettes

🌸 Take chlorophyll supplements

🌸 If you tend to suffer from a sweaty face, wear a waterproof mascara and keep a setting powder on you

🌸 Most important tip of all: Stay hygienic! You need a good base for any of these tips to work. Spraying perfume and applying scented lotion on an unclean body is like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound.

🌸 And of course you don't have to use all of these tips (if anything, you'll probably end up creating a toxic fume cloud instead of a beautiful scent). Just find a few that work for you and incorporate into your routine.

[little-doll-of-glass]

Period Relief for Littles:

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Something I don't see talked about is period relief for age regressors, so I decided to write what helps me. Hopefully, this will help you too!

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Raspberry Leaf Tea:

I have really bad cramps and I've found this helps a lot. It's a nice warm drink, which I find soothing. It doesn't taste like raspberries, unfortunately, but I do like the taste.

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Mint Tea:

This helps my nausea and once again, it's a warm drink I find soothing. It helps my nausea and makes it so I don't have to take as many meds.

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Fluids:

Keeping your fluids up is very important because it helps reduce many of the symptoms and clots. Avoid anything that is a diuretic (it'll make you pee more) and try to drink some things with electrolytes in it. I personally like liquid IV for the electrolytes, but Gatorade and other such drinks works too!

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McDonald's Chocolate Shake & Fries:

Okay, so this one isn't necessarily helpful. I just get cravings for salt and magnesium, so this helps knock those cravings out. Plus, it's a nice treat that I don't get very often.

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Heating Pad:

When my tummy hurts really bad, I pull out my heating pad and cuddle up with it. Sometimes I'll put a stuffy against the heating pad to help hold it in place. As an added bonus, the stuffy gives me something to cuddle!

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Ice pack:

When I'm swollen or bloated I like to use an ice pack because the cold helps reduce the swelling. Make sure to wrap it in a towel or pillowcase because cold right against your skin isn't good! I personally like to wrap it in a baby blanket because the material is soft and calming to me.

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Oil in a Diffuser:

Eucalyptus and peppermint help with the headaches I get and makes me feel less cranky.

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White Flower Oil:

I like to rub this on my temples because it also helps relieve my headaches. However, if you're sensitive to smells or have bad allergies, I suggest not to use it.

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Meds:

Mydol or Pamrin are my go-to meds. They help relive bloating, headaches, and cramps. Please, please be careful while taking these because they do have asprin in them, which is a blood thinner, and the caffeine in them might make a headache worse if you take too much.

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Shower & Bath:

I always feel really icky during my period, so I take lots of showers and baths. It helps with my body pain, cramps, and makes me feel more clean.

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Comfort:

🌸 Having comfort during a period is super important, especially if you experience mood swings or if you go regress.

🌸 Having someone you trust comfort and reassure you is very helpful.

🌸 I personally like cuddles, so my friend or CG will hold me. If they aren't around, I make a nest out of my pillows and stuffies.

🌸 Your favorite regression things are immensely important too. If you're upset while in littlespace because you hurt, having your favorite stuffies, sippy, paci, etc. will help give you comfort and give you something to help feel better.

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I help this helps you feel better. Best wishes and hugs if you want them!

(ᵔ◡ᵔ)

[seriouslysnape]

Soak and Scrub

Sirius Black x James Potter x Remus Lupin x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Poly! Light smut.

Word Count: 2.6k

“You act like neither of us would jump at the chance if she had asked us.”

Sirius wasn’t typically a bath man. 

The idea of sitting in a bathtub for an extended period of time with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling didn’t exactly intrigue him. He didn’t like how he could only seem to get the water too hot or too cold. He didn’t like the way that the water sloshed all around the tub when making even the slightest movement — he hated the mess. He didn’t like the complete still and silence of the washroom. Sirius could count on one hand the amount of times he had willingly sat down in a tub for a proper soak and scrub. Baths just weren’t for him. He’d take a standing shower over a bathtub any day.

But it had been a long week. Sirius had taken hit after hit over the course of the five day school week. Between an unreasonably difficult Potions exam, a failure of a group project, and a week full of piles of homework — Sirius needed a different way to wind down. Sirius had been a bit absent in the past week. 

He had been unintentionally under the radar from being swamped with work. If he wasn’t in a classroom or The Great Hall, he was in his four-poster bed snoozing away. Sirius was more than overjoyed to see you come Friday afternoon. While your presence did bring a little pep back into his spirit, he was still visibly rundown. That was when you suggested that he take a load off in a way that was unconventional for him.

Sirius declined at first. He gently rejected your suggestion, simply because it wasn’t his thing. But you assured him that you’d make it extra special for him, and you’d even join him if he so wished. 

That was an offer that Sirius Black would never turn down. 

Sirius had followed you to the boys’ dorm (after making a quick pit stop at your own for “bath supplies”), watching you toy with the knobs on the tub until the water was to your liking. Sirius immediately began to notice that your bath time routine was much more extensive than his had ever been, because that was about where his would’ve ended. Oh, but you had a collection of soaps that varied from basic to seasonal scents. Sirius eyed a few of them, reading the labels with a quirked brow.

Lemon lavender, cinnamon vanilla, apple spice — all flavors and scents that Sirius could identify as not something he would pick himself.

“Which one would you like?” You had asked. 

Lemon lavender didn’t exactly cause him any excitement. Apple spice seemed a bit too Autumn-like for his taste. Cinnamon vanilla was his chosen winner, only because it seemed the most regular. He watched you pour an appropriate amount of the scented bubble soap into the rising pool of bath water. Clouds and poofs of suds began to appear and grow larger as the tub filled higher.

Sirius was caught by surprise when you swept his hair back momentarily to rub something behind his ears. Some kind of liquid that just barely had an oil consistency. He refrained from groaning when he identified the smell of eucalyptus. It was a routine trick that you used for yourself when you needed an extra boost in getting chilled out.

Sirius all of a sudden felt…girly. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. He felt like he was surrendering his masculinity for this of all things. He could just as easily down a bottle of Firewhisky and pass out on one of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room. That was a sure way of relaxation. 

But as he felt his pupils grow a size bigger upon witnessing you strip your clothes off…

Yeah, he could sacrifice his man card for an hour or so.

Sirius followed suit, removing his own clothes before dipping his right foot into the tub first to make entry. Sirius had to admit, you managed to get the water temperature just right. He settled in first, leaning his back against the cold ceramic of the tub. You joined shortly after, lighting a few candles to give the dim room some better energy. You positioned between his legs, careful not to jostle him too much. Neither of you talked much at first. 

You were enjoying the quiet of the room. The washroom was about the only place that you couldn’t hear boisterous first year Gryffindors running around the halls or the general commotion of the common room. Much to his own surprise, Sirius wasn’t totally opposed to it either. He supposed that it was because he had someone else to focus on, and he wasn’t stuck in his own head. 

Sirius even managed to get comfortable enough to close his eyes, blocking out the minimal light from the candles burning safely at the opposite end of the tub. It didn’t take long, however, for Sirius to gripe about something.

“Stay still, puppy. Quit moving so much.” Sirius’ lips brushed against your ear as his voice rumbled.

“Sorry. Just trying to get comfortable.” You mumbled, and once again settled your back against Sirius’ chest.

Sirius closed his eyes once again, his second attempt at trying to get relaxed. A long sigh expelled from his chest, one that was thick with stress and exasperation. Sirius’ hadn’t meant for his words to come off as sharp as they had. His irritation had nothing to do with you. Besides, you were the one actively trying to mellow him out. He owed you one for this. 

There were a few more minutes of silence. The water was actively breaking down the tension in his muscles, the scent of cinnamon vanilla soap was actually quite nice, and he had you on display and all to himself. This wasn’t something he could ever complain about. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head, his hands trailing up and down your thighs just under the surface of the tub. His fingertips were light as they trailed over the skin of your legs, following them up until the pads of his fingers made it to your sensitive spot.

“I knew that wouldn’t take long.” You grumbled, shifting again but for a different reason.

“You can’t blame me, pup. How often do I get to have you completely to myself?” He whined.

Sirius did have a point. All three of the boys had a shared complaint about not being able to spend enough one-on-one time with you. Sure, you and Sirius had Potions together while the other two were off in their own classes, but it wasn’t the same. As much as they valued time with all of you together, there was something special about having just you to themselves for a while. 

Sirius’ middle and ring finger began to move in slow, gentle circles. Not enough to get you anywhere, but just enough to make you squirm in an antsy way.

“Yeah, I know,” You nodded. “I feel like you’re not enjoying this.”

“Actually…it’s quite nice. Cinnamon vanilla isn’t so bad after all, Sirius admitted. “Do you do this often?”

“Take a bath?” You asked, your hips involuntarily rolling forward as a sign for him to speed up. 

Sirius hummed an affirmative answer as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, his rhythm remaining painfully slow.

“Not really. Only if I find the time,” You answered. “James does too sometimes.”

Sirius’ fingers stopped and his head snatched up with an open jaw. That was something he found hard to believe and/or imagine. 

“He does?” Sirius gawked.

“Yeah, but I think it’s more for Quidditch purposes. It’s good for the muscles.” 

Sirius made a definite mental note of that. He could use that to his advantage if the opportunity ever arose. 

“I never would’ve taken James to be a bath man.” Sirius remarked, his fingers resuming their pattern, causing you to jump.

“I don’t…I don’t think it’s like this,” You struggled to get the words out as he sped up. “More of a cold soak than anything.”

“Mm. No cinnamon vanilla soap?” Sirius grinned, knowing he already had you falling apart.

“Not likely, no.” 

Sirius used his free hand to grab your chin, suds and streams of water slipping down the length of his forearm as he turned your face to look at him. 

“He’s missing out then.” 

He kissed you without waiting for a response, and what was left of the week’s tribulations disappeared immediately. Nothing could make him feel better quite like you could. You were more than enough. His kiss grew deeper and needier as the time passed. Sex in the bathtub was a new one. 

Sirius knew the rules. This was breaking one of the major ones. But Sirius believed that every rule was meant to be broken, and if Remus or James had the guts to claim that they wouldn’t break it themselves, then Sirius was prepared to call their bluff. Here you were: soaking wet, turned on, and glistening with beauty as always. Sirius would be disappointed if they didn’t take that opportunity.

But history repeated itself, and it turned out that having you all to himself was too good to be true.

The serenity of the room was abruptly interrupted when the door to the washroom flung open, hitting the adjacent wall with a crash. A harsh stream of light ruined the ambiance of the candle-lit room, a tall shadow accompanying it. Sirius knew immediately who it was, and he let out an aggravated sigh. There was only one person that he knew that never knocked before entering.

“I knew it!” James exclaimed, standing tall in the open doorway. “I knew something weird was going on in here!”

“What does that even mean, Prongs? How long have you been here?” Sirius hissed.

“Like half an hour! I came in and thought it was weird that neither of you were here. And then the door was closed and I thought I heard talking,” He shrilled. “Since when are you a bath man?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and you kept your laughter to yourself.

“Since now. Get out.” Sirius’ arm snaked around your waist as if you were going to get up and leave.

“No way. I’m interested now,” He walked into the washroom fully, taking a seat on the opposite side of the tub, balancing and stretching his legs out along the side. “How’d you get him in here, bunny?”

“I asked him.” You answered, and James’ face expressed the most shit eating grin.

“You really are all heart, Padfoot.” James laughed.

Sirius was ready with a loaded reply, but the fourth member of the group made his appearance. 

“Who are you talking to?” Remus appeared, referring to James who was seemingly talking to no one from his previous angle. When he saw you and Sirius in the tub, realization was written all over him. “Ohh. Looks like I’m late to the party.”

“You’re not invited. Neither was he.” Sirius growled.

The insult rolled right off of Remus and James. If anything, it only egged them on. 

“Someone’s pissy. I’d be in the best mood ever if I were you,” James replied, and he caught a quick glimpse of your naked frame. “How come Sirius gets a private bath and we don’t, bunny?”

“Well…Siri had a bad week and he seemed like he needed something to cheer him up.” You answered shyly, a quick fear that James was upset that you didn’t ask him instead.

“Aw, see? She’s taking care of you, and you’re acting like a prick about it.” Remus chimed, leaning against the sink that was in the middle of the room against the left wall.

“I was actually enjoying myself until you showed up.” Sirius argued.

James spotted the various soap bottles on the floor next to the tub, which he wasted no time taking into his hands. He looked over the labels, and Sirius knew he was done for.

“Let me guess. Cinnamon vanilla?” James chuckled. “I’m probably more of a lemon lavender guy myself.”

“Since when do you take baths?” Remus asked James, who didn’t seemed bothered at all to admit to it.

“Since always? It helps a lot after Quidditch,” James explained, twisting the lid off of the cinnamon vanilla to take a sniff. “Ooh. Good choice, Pads.”

It seemed that Sirius’ only leverage and means of defense was useless now. Sirius’ cheeks burned red. This was an unforeseen outcome. He couldn’t help but be a little embarrassed. 

“Shut up.” Sirius huffed, sinking further down.

“Come on, Pads. Lighten up,” Remus said. “You act like neither of us would jump at the chance if she had asked us.” 

Remus was right after all. Sirius had done the same thing they would’ve. If there was any way to look at it, it was Sirius doing something sweet for you. 

“Do you want to join? There’s honestly room for two more.” You offered, referring to the oversized tub they were in.

“Wait what?” Sirius squeaked.

“Say less!” James leapt to his feet, whisking out of his clothes in seconds. 

Before Sirius could even protest, James made a light splash and settled in the tub on the opposite side with a satisfied groan. Sirius leaned his head back against his end of the tub. At this point, all he could do was let it happen. 

“Moony?” James called, scooping up a collection of bubbles to show him. 

“If I’m being honest, I don’t fancy being naked in a tub with you, James. ” He crossed his arms, but he was amused as he was entertaining the thought. 

“If I have to take shit from you and tolerate him, then you have to.” Sirius barked, and Remus couldn’t help but snort out a laugh.

Remus supposed it was the least he could do. It’d make for a good memory if nothing else. 

Remus wasn’t as enthusiastic as he removed his own clothes at a slower pace. Sirius felt you shudder when Remus’ back was revealed (James was too busy playing with the suds to notice). Remus’ back and shoulders had always been a soft spot for you. You added validity to the “chicks dig scars” mantra, and it was just generally a turn on for you. 

Sirius couldn’t even be mad, because all three of them had different things that clicked something for you. Remus was much more careful when entering, and he managed not to send any water catapulting over the side (unlike James, who had a mess to clean up when this was over). 

It turned out that you were right. There was just enough room for all four of you in that tub. You didn’t move from your position with Sirius, which made his stomach flutter in the best way. His hands were resting on either one of your thighs, his thumbs dragging back and forth lazily as his discreet show of affection. The two of you were quiet, snickering to yourselves as you watched James and Remus begin to argue.

“You have so much room, move over! Why are you — Hey! Watch where your hands are going!” Remus nearly jumped through the ceiling when James hand accidentally got a little too close. 

“I’m literally on my si — get your LEG off of me!” James whined, and the two of them snowballed into a bicker fest.

Sirius’ laugh vibrated in your ear, his head shaking in amusement. Sirius had to admit that this was a little bit fun. 

Was it unconventional? Yes.

A little bit weird. Absolutely.

But you were enjoying yourself, and Sirius would’ve been a fool not to notice that this was bringing you undeniable joy. Sirius kissed your head once more, James and Remus oblivious due to their fighting. There was a reason that this relationship worked so well. It was a very specific dynamic that worked in the best of ways. Sure, the alone time was nice and it was refreshing — but there was an energy that came with the four of you being together that was perfectly intoxicating. 

Maybe sharing wasn’t so bad after all.

[wandoffire]

Ways to use Essential Oils:

Sleep -> a few drops of lavender on a tissue to help you relax and fall asleep

Perfume -> dilute with a carrier oil (coconut, caster) and place on skin

Headaches -> peppermint oil is known to ease headaches

Clothing -> add a few drops to laundry for slightly scented clothing

Hair -> rosemary oil shown to improve dandruff and promote hair growth

Nausea -> the scent of lemon / orange oil is known to help with stomach upset

Reducing anxiety -> lavender, jasmine, basil, chamomile, rose (carry scented item or dilute onto skin)

Colds -> eucalyptus oil for congestion

Air freshener -> mix with water in a spray bottle (lavender, eucalyptus, lemongrass all work well)

* look for 100% on the bottle so you know it’s not mixed with harmful chemicals.

* always dilute when placing on skin, should not be ingested without knowledge and caution, and can occasionally cause negative affects in some people.

[antikate]

Blankets (the truth is out there)

I used to sleep under old woollen army blankets in the winter. I don’t know where they came from, but they’d appear sometime after Easter, brown with a grey stripe, and so damn heavy; heavy as lead, heavy as grave-dirt. Despite their weight, one of these blankets wasn’t quite warm enough, nor was two even, and when it was very cold my mother would pile up three or four of them until I could barely move my childish limbs beneath the weight. I liked the way they pressed me down into my old mattress, except for my feet. The arches ached, sometimes, from the pressure of the pile of woollen army blankets.

Sometimes I stuck my feet out over the side of the bed, but then I was afraid something — probably an alien — would grab my feet, so I suffered through the discomfort of the weight on my feet as best I could. Sore feet beat being abducted by grey-faced, black-eyed aliens.

I was very afraid of aliens, after accidentally watching a tv show about abductees.

I spent hours in the mirror checking my skin for signs that I’d been abducted and experimented on. Strange birthmarks, new injuries, odd lumps.

I never found anything beyond a few moles and mundane scars. I never lost time, although now there’s whole stretches of those years I barely recall at all. Not because they were bad, exactly, just that childhood goes like that. It slips away.

I was so scared of being abducted by aliens. But I also always wanted it to happen.

(If I was abducted by aliens, maybe it would explain what was wrong with me.)

The texture of the woolllen army blankets was unbearable—more like sandpaper than a blanket should be. Like sleeping under a sheep lost in the bush for a few years, all burr-snarled and fly-blown. That was what love was like in my family. The intent was there, but it was too heavy and not heavy enough. Rough, but you had to be grateful for what you got. Some people had no blankets at all.

I folded the sheet down over the top-most woollen blanket to keep it from touching any part of my skin. But touching was inevitable, and always distressing.

The worst thing about the blankets, though, was the smell of moth-balls.

The smell was awful, chemical and pungent. Like my Nan’s closet. Like the op-shop. And it heralded the coming of asthma season, when I caught every cold and flu going around, when my lungs collapsed and constricted, and every inhale I made sounded like a rusty old gate swinging in a feeble wind.

(When I was sick, my father would get out a green Tupperware bowl and fill it with boiling water and eucalyptus oil, and force me to hold my head over the steam while I cried, because I hated the smell and it never made me feel better.

Once, I threw up in the bowl. I don’t think he made me do it again.)

As an adult I learned that moth balls were made from naphthalene, and naphthalene is known to trigger asthma, among other health issues. They’re probably carcinogenic. By then the old woollen army blankets had become a feast for carpet moths anyway, more hole than wool by the end. And we don’t use much wool any more — everything is made of plastic now, and the moths starve.

I am trying to explain to you now that I feel like this.

I feel threadbare and abrasive, that I carry with me the smell of mothballs, that I’m too thin but too heavy. I feel like an old woollen army blanket, I think, as I stuff the washing machine with goose-down duvets I spent too much money on. They’re so light they barely feel like you’re sleeping under anything at all.

I feel like I’m more hole than wool, some days.

(And I’m still half scared and half hopeful that I’m going to be abducted by aliens. Maybe then I’ll know what’s wrong with me.)

[call-me-little-sunshine84]

Sick Day

Steven Grant x female reader

Characters: Steven Grant x female reader

Rating: mature

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Steven takes care of you when you're sick and you want to repay his kindness 😏

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, a lot of him calling reader 'love', that's about it

A/N: I have never written for the moon boys before. I don't mention the alters in this, I wanted this one to just be about Steven because he deserves so much love. It's fluff with some smut (probably a little self-indulgent); hopefully I did him justice.

Comments and reblogs welcome!

It started halfway through your shift at the office, that feeling that you were coming down with something. Head congested, sinus pressure, body aches, it hit you all at once. By the time you made it back home to the apartment you shared with Steven, you were barely staying upright. Apparently, you must have looked as badly as you felt, because as soon as he came out of his office to greet you, concern flashed across his face. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, moving to embrace you. Backing up, you said “please stay away, I don’t want to get you sick too. I think it’s just a cold or something. Too much time in the rain, or maybe too much public transportation.” Grimacing, you threw your purse on the table by the door. “Let me take care of you tonight, darling,” he said, and even though you felt like garbage, it still warmed your heart.

He proceeded to run you a bath, even adding eucalyptus oil to soothe your congestion. He helped you remove your clothes, and you sank gratefully into the hot water, letting it seep into your aching muscles. He stayed with you, keeping you company and helping you bathe. He ran the washcloth gently over your body, and you sank into his touch. When he was done, you dried off while he grabbed your robe from the back of the door. “You go get comfortable in bed, and I’ll bring you some soup,” he offered. You accepted gratefully, throwing on your softest pajamas and turning the tv to a mindless reality show. He returned before long, holding a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and some crackers. He even brought a bottle of cold medicine. Your heart swelled. He had to be the most thoughtful, caring man you had ever met. 

You ate quickly, like you were starving. After drinking the awful tasting medicine, you could barely hold your eyes open. He came back in to get your bowl and gave you a tender kiss on the forehead. “Get some rest, love,” he whispered, turning off the light as he exited the room. 

When you finally woke up the next day, you almost had a panic attack when you looked at the clock and saw it was 2:30, and judging by the sunlight streaming through the window, it was afternoon, not morning. You jumped out of bed, almost tripping in the tangle of twisted sheets. Running to the kitchen, you searched for your phone to call your boss. “Hello darling, how are you feeling?” Steven asked when he saw you. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I’ve missed almost an entire day of work!” you said, anxiety taking over. “Love, it’s Saturday. You don’t work today,” he reminded you. Relief coursed through you. Of course. Once you calmed down, you realized you actually did feel a lot better. Then you remembered the previous night. 

“You're right, I’m sorry. Thank you so much for everything you did for me yesterday. I feel much better now. Maybe it was just a 24-hour thing,” you told him, and his cheeks turned an adorable shade of red from your praise. “Nonsense, it was nothing. I’m glad you’re well,” he replied. You moved over to him, hugging him tightly. “I am so grateful for you, Steven,” you told him, placing a feather soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” you said, heading for the bathroom. Using your best smelling soap - and actually being able to smell it - finished lifting your mood. You decided you wanted to do something to show Steven just how much you appreciated him, and there was one surefire way to accomplish that. 

Wrapping yourself in a towel, you exited the bathroom. He was in his office, nose buried in a book. He looked up when he realized you were in the doorway. Walking over to him, you slowly unwrapped the towel from around you, dropping it on the floor. He visibly shivered looking at you, desire vibrating off every inch of him, and you could feel the excitement pooling between your legs. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, looking deep into your eyes for confirmation. “Yes baby, I’m sure.”

Closing the distance between you, you straddled him in his chair, kissing him deeply. Tongues tangling, he ran his hands over your body, roaming over you like he had never touched you before. You moaned into his mouth, feeling his erection through his pants. You ground down onto him, searching for contact. Running your hands through his chocolate curls, you gasped as he touched your breasts, tracing small circles with his fingertips, hardening your nipples. Then he took first one, then the other into his warm mouth, sucking softly, the sensation pulling sounds from you that you didn’t know were possible. “Come with me,” you said breathlessly, dragging him from the chair and toward your bedroom. 

All of your plans went out the window once you reached the bed. He quickly removed his clothes, pushing you onto the mattress and crawling on top of you. One look in his wide lust-blown eyes and you knew you were done for. “Steven…,” you whined as he positioned himself between your thighs and slid inside you. This was unusual, the lack of foreplay, sex without preamble. “Sorry, love, need you now, couldn’t wait,” he grunted as his thrusts became steady, pushing deeper each time. 

Relishing the feeling of being full of him, you wanted to give him anything he wanted, give him the world if that’s what he asked for. The look of utter concentration on his gorgeous face as he worked so hard to please you made you even wetter. “That’s it baby, you feel so good fucking me like that,” you told him, and the praise from you seemed to break loose something in him. He grasped your hips, pulling your center as tightly against him as he could. Sweat dripped down his chest and you reached out to lick it off. He trembled at the feeling of your tongue on his skin, and you bit gently at his nipples, pulling groans from him that you wished you could record for later. Clenching down on his dick, desperately seeking release, you hissed as he placed a thumb on your swollen clit. Swirling gently, applying just the right amount of pressure, he worked your body until pulses of white-hot lightning shot through you over and over. Yelling his name repeatedly, an orgasmic love song, Steven also reached his climax, shooting his warm seed into you and he collapsed on the bed beside you, wrung out. 

Rolling over next to him, you placed your head on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat slowing as you drew random patterns on his torso with your fingernails. You looked up at him adoringly. “Thank you, Steven,” you said sincerely. “What on earth for, love?” he asked, genuinely puzzled, running a hand through his curls. “For being you. For always taking care of me and just for...well, everything. I love you,” you replied, hoping he fully understood just how much he meant to you. Holding him tightly, you knew right beside him was the only place you ever wanted to be. 

[booksbeansandcandles]

With cold and flu season fast approaching, I want to post herbal recipes I am finding. These are not mine, and not medical advice!!!

Plant Origins of Thieves Oil

Clove: clove buds originate from the evergreen tree Syzygium aromaticum or Eugenia caryophyllata. These flower buds contain up to 20 percent essential oil, and are incredibly pungent, thanks to the major active chemical component called eugenol.

Rosemary: rosemary is a popular herb that comes from a small evergreen plant that belong to the mint family. It is native to the Mediterranean region, and possesses strong anti-inflammatory properties .

Eucalyptus: eucalyptus trees are native to Australia, Tasmania, and nearby islands. They’re the popular plant exclusively enjoyed by koala bears, and come in many different species. The oil is derived from the leaf of the eucalyptus tree, and is commonly used in cold remedies.

Cinnamon: cinnamon oil and the dried spice cinnamon both come from the bark of the true cinnamon tree (Cinnamomum zeylanicum). Essential oils that come from the leaf, bark and root of the cinnamon tree are much different, but the most common used version in Thieves oil is the cinnamon leaf. The active component in cinnamon bark essential oil is cinnamaldehyde.

Lemon: lemons come from a small tree in the Rutacea family. Lemon essential oil is derived by cold-pressing the peel of the lemon fruit, which is rich in different phytonutrients and beneficial compounds.

Thieves Oil Recipe

As long as you have all of the necessary essential oils on hand, you can easily make your own version of Thieves oil at home.

Ingredients: Master Blend

80 drops of clove essential oil

70 drops of lemon essential oil

40 drops of cinnamon essential oil

30 drops of eucalyptus essential oil

20 drops of rosemary essential oil

Method:

Combine all of the above essential oils in a dark amber coloured 15 milliliter (0.5 fluid ounce) glass bottle. Make sure you store it a cool, dry place, away from heat and light.

Benefits and Uses of Thieves Oil

This thieves oil recipe can be used to address certain health ailments, check out the benefits and uses below! Not medical advice

1. Relief from Aches and Pains

This Thieves oil recipe is loaded with plenty of anti-inflammatories to ease muscular and joint aches and pains. Rosemary and eucalyptus oil have actually been found to relieve rheumatoid arthritis, as well as muscle and joint aches and pains. You can dilute Thieves oil in a carrier oil (like jojoba oil, almond oil or grapeseed oil) to be used topically on the ache or pain. Typically the ratio is 1 drop essential oil to 4 drops carrier oil.

2. Immune System Support

Thieves oil was used to protect the “thieves” from the Black Plague, so you can be rest-assured that this oil provides some hefty immune support. Clove and rosemary essential oils are powerful antibacterials and anti-fungals. They’ve both been shown to have significant anti-microbial effects against dangerous bacteria like Staphylococcus epidermidis, Escherichia coli, and Candida albicans.

Massage the blend on your feet, lower back, neck and behind your ears for daily immune support. You can also diffuse Thieves oil to allow the essential oil molecules to enter your blood stream after they’ve entered your lungs! To get Thieves oil into your lungs is to diffuse the oil in a diffuser. Diffuse 15-20 drops of Thieves oil for 15 minutes, 3-4 times a day.

By live life fruit.

[chestcongestion]

Given your recent (awesome) art, I think it's only fitting to wonder about your snzcanons for Ma/mmon? (I'm sure someone's asked already but hey I'll still try)

~ Effy

Ye s sss, YESSSS, I get to go feral about my big fat sexy spider capitalist- wha, who said that?

Doesn't cover because he thinks it's not worth the effort

Sneezes in spaced out doubles. One, followed by a brief pause and a sharp inhale, and then the other.

Sneezes are far more 'mouth' for him than they are sinuses, they're very toothy, lots of consonants.

"I-ihh'PtSsheww!....(gasp)- IH'PKsShhew!!" and so on. His allergy sneezes are far tighter, where every sneeze after the first one come on so quickly that they don't even properly start, "I-ih...Ih'PptSshHEW! 'Shhew! 'Tsshiew! 'Xxhhtiew! 'Shhew! 'Sshhiew!-"

Allergic to brass, pyrite, moissanite, cheap perfumes and colognes, and dogs.

Buys higher quality fragrances for anyone he had regular business meetings with because if he got a whiff of their cheap ass Bloodbath and Body Horror spray, he would be sneezing for hours.

Photic motherfucker, thankful that he doesn't have pupils so he can look away from the flash/lights whenever a news outlet takes a photo of him, it's ALSO why he used to wear sunglasses to his shows so he didn't lose his train of thought after sneezing.

Has a bit of a sinus problem, almost constantly wakes up with a stuffy nose, to the point where upon waking up- even if he isn't in his own bed- he reflexively grasps around to his left to pluck a handful of tissues out of the box on his nightstand.

Wipes his nose with the heel of his palm if he doesn't have any tissues, has sometimes used his gloves as a makeshift hanky if he can't find anything else.

His face wrinkles adorably when he sniffles, almost like a cat's face where you see the ridges right at the center where his nose would be.

Immune system is decent, it's average. Ma/mm finds himself getting one or two colds every year. However, he's a bit more prone to secondary infections: Lingering coughs turn into bronchitis, residual stuffiness becomes a sinus infection, etc.

Can always tell when he's getting sick and it makes him incredibly cranky, the second he swallows and feels the sting of a sore throat, he begins trying to ignore it to see if it'll go away on its own- it never does.

Tries to push through when he's sick but crashes and burns pretty hard- which is why he gets so many secondary infections, his body takes a fuckload of damage before he recovers.

His assistant Amex (they have a name now adfsdfg) is probably one of the only people who can convince or force him to rest, even if it's accompanied by a lot of loud arguing and complaining.

Isn't a very big fan of cold medicine, and prefers using warm mist humidifiers and hot towels rubbed with eucalyptus oil for his congestion. It makes him feel more comfortable, and anytime someone has had to come to his estate in Gr/eed for a meeting when he's under the weather, they can tell because the halls smell like a public bathhouse with eucalyptus growing up the walls.

Always gets a bit sniffly after being out in the rain/ going for a dip in Gr/eed's disgusting trash lake when it's chilly out, but it goes away if he takes a hot bath to warm up.

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 20 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader-oc]

summary: no more running. no more cages.

words: 10.7 k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for S&V John Walker (it's a warning), SA, death, violence, gore

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. Spicy smutty situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. Drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't know these TWs by now, then don't go here.

Back to Part 19.

Note: your comments and notes keep me alive, but please be careful to use section breaks and spoiler tags!

Part 20

Once when she was a little girl, she cut her baby sister’s nails. She had to. It was something that their mother would have done—should have done—but she hadn’t been home in several days. Her older sister had the most experience, but she was stuck working a double shift. Rebecca had been sick with a cold for days, and Selena was just a toddler. 

After all, it was her job to look after her younger siblings.

So that left Honey in charge. 

Poor Gabriella. The infant couldn’t stop scratching her face. Red lines marked up her round cheeks like tiger stripes. Honey knew if any of the children had too many marks, people would start to notice. Then something bad would happen, her mother assured her. People would come and take Gabriella away.

She tried everything to prevent the baby from digging her tiny claws into her own skin. She tried rolled socks as makeshift mittens. She tried using a bath towel as a swaddle, but that turned out to be an awful idea once the infant realized she was stuck and didn’t like being restrained. 

By contrast, being tied up wasn’t something that ever bothered Honey.

The obvious solution was to trim her nails. She had to. It had to be done. They didn’t own a pair of nail clippers, Honey knew that. But it was on her to fix things. She was in charge. So she took a pair of kitchen scissors and tried her best. 

After that, she was never okay with the sight of blood.

It used to bother her tremendously. She’d become agitated for a few days out of every month. Her other sisters would joke about it. ‘She must be on her period.’ They were right. 

As a teenager, the smallest knick from shaving her legs in the shower would send her into a dizzy spiral. Over time, it got better. John changed that.

Mrs. Walker became an expert at cleaning up blood. She learned to ignore the smell or at least put a dab of Vicks beneath her nose to block the stench. 

The only helpful thing she learned in high school chemistry was how blood cells expanded when coming in contact with warm water. Thus, her teacher told her, cold water was best for removing blood stains. 

“You know. In case you ever have to hide a dead body.” 

It was a joke. Until it wasn’t.

John changed that.

She sat on the tiled floor of her bathroom, shoulders slumped and expression blank. Now, it was impossible to get rid of the blood on her hands. She could strip off her clothes and burn them, but she felt it on her skin. She could shove an entire eucalyptus tree up her nose, but the scent would linger.

She was stained in rust colors, starkly contrasting the pristine ivory of her bathroom. Silently, she gazed at how the blood crusted on her skin, following the ridges of her pores like brush strokes in oil paint. The cotton hoodie and joggers she’d been wearing were soaked through. There had been so much carnage and death she didn’t even know whose blood she was wearing.

Helen’s. Johnny’s. Her own, probably. Blood from ‘that’ guy, whose scalp was torn off.

Eddie’s blood.

All that was left of his life stained her skin. She should be nauseous by now. She should be at least a little woozy. But, instead, the thought of just washing him away made her want to die inside. 

She would wear it, then. Needed to wear it—she had to. On her arms and face. On her neck. On her chest, like a scarlet letter. Irreversably stained.

Is this what it means to be desensitized to gore? 

Indeed, she felt nothing at all.

What happened, happened. The Bunker was in shambles. It would take months to repair. Would have if Peter hadn’t instructed them to burn everything left.

Every piece of incriminating evidence, every tool at their disposal, and every chapter of their history was on fire underground. Nothing would be left, no matter when the fire department showed up. Johnny had re-routed the gas lines years ago. With the flip of a switch, everything would go up in flames. Nothing could be salvaged. It would be an empty cave filled with useless, charred artifacts from an irrelevant time.

On second thought—she considered—that’s what she felt.

It was as good of a description as any.

After that morning’s attack, she was dropped off at the Penthouse. Peter would follow soon after, they told her. She shouldn’t wait up.

She had limped into her bathroom to clean off the remnants of the massacre. There she remained, for over an hour. Couldn’t get up off the floor. Couldn’t force herself to get in the shower.

At this rate, she may never be clean again.

Her eyes wandered to the smartphone beside her, tucked near her thigh. 

John’s phone.

This was the weapon that killed Eddie Brock. 

The second she had entered her room, she pulled the cursed object out from the box spring. She wanted to hand it over quickly so that Peni could analyze it. Could... study it, or whatever it is that tech nerds do. Honey would do anything to fix things.

But nobody cared about the phone. It was as good as a gun without bullets. A time bomb, two seconds too late. It was of no consequence.

She picked up the smartphone, glaring down at it with contempt. Sticky red fingerprints covered the cracked screen. Her blood. Their blood.

Eventually, she came to a stand. Then, bitterly, she dropped the phone into the toilet bowl, submerging it in water. 

Peter was finally home. But it didn’t feel like home.

His home was on fire, riddled with bullet holes. Just like the home he grew up in.

He stood before the full-length mirror in his wardrobe and wiped the blood stains away with a damp, pink-tinged towel. His flesh was now rubbed raw. The cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against his tender skin.

The obvious solution was to take a proper shower. But he didn’t have time. He only needed to get enough blood off to pass in broad daylight without someone calling the cops if they saw him. He wouldn’t get very far if he looked like an ax murderer.

With all the rage he held inside, an ax was unnecessary. Overkill. And yet, not enough ‘kill.’

He had redressed in clean clothes, wearing a pair of midnight-navy trousers with creased edges that were sharp enough to cut. He paused midway through buttoning a crisp, white dress shirt, momentarily taking in the gruesome sight of himself. 

His torso was a canvas splashed with deep purples and reds, stretched over a frame of broken ribs and pinched nerves. His eyes rested on the delicate box chain around his neck, which held two gold wedding bands near his heart.

Ben and May’s wedding rings. Tarnished. Stained with blood.

He quickly reached for the towel.

Minutes later, he carefully shrugged on a matching double-breasted blazer, wincing as he pulled it over his shoulders. Every part of him felt broken, in every possible way. But physical pain hadn’t stopped him yet, not when something more important was driving him.

He regarded his reflection with tight lips. He didn’t wear this jacket too often. It was a tuxedo cut and hung looser than he was accustomed to, making his frame appear boxy. A little too retro, maybe. 

Perfect for concealing weapons. After all, he was dressing for a funeral. 

His skin prickled. He was familiar with the sensation. He recognized it instantly, like an earthy scent before a rain shower. Honey’s reflection came into view as she approached the doorway behind him.

The sight of her covered in blood made his stomach clench. He reminded himself that it wasn’t all her blood, and only then did the tension in his chest release. But not entirely.

“Thought you were getting some sleep.” Peter’s tone was flat. His eyes flicked back to his reflection as he tugged on the lapels of his blazer. 

He didn’t say it as a question; rather, he stated it as an expectation.

She stared back, unfazed, wearing a stone expression. “What are you going to do?” 

Similarly, it wasn’t a question. More like a demand.

He briefly glanced at her before returning to the mirror. His jaw set firmly. “You don’t wanna know.”

She marched into the room. “You’re going after John. I want to help.”

“Help me?” he repeated with a scoff. “I don’t think so.”

Her forehead creased, offended. “Look, I can help—”

“Just what do you think is about to happen right now?” he snapped. He squinted his eyes, turning on his heel to face her. “Ya think we’re just gonna pull up on ‘em and that’s it? Ya think he’s just sittin’ around at home watching TV?”

“No,” she said. Her tone was unwaveringly resolved. “I think he’s expecting you to come after him.” 

“No shit,” Peter sighed with frustration. “I’m expecting to be expected.” He fixed a stern gaze on her, tension pulling at his vocal cords. “Only difference is I don’t care if he knows I’m comin’, or how many cops are in my way. There’s only one way this ends, and it ends bloody. And you don’t want any part of it.”

He brushed past her and stomped towards his bureau. Her eyes followed each movement, crackling with lightning bolts. “Fuck you, telling me what I want!” she hissed. “This is my mess, too!”

He pivoted toward her. “And what, ya think killing him is gonna fix it?” His face went grim, sorrow etched into his features. Remorse welled in the bottom of his eyes. “Think it gets easier after that? Ya think it’ll make you somehow feel better—?”

“I don’t care about feeling better!” she barked back. He neatly flinched at the sharpness of her tone. Fury bubbled beneath her skin. “The only thing I care about is that he suffers.”

Peter contemplated her for a quiet moment. “Well,” he said, voice soft. His melancholy briefly overshadowed his rage. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

He didn’t meet her eye. Instead, he studied the grain of the wood beneath his feet, letting his shoulders deflate. He looked beyond tired, deep lines creasing his features and flecks of gray in his beard. Yet, when he lifted his chin, his eyes were resolute. He arched his path to avoid her.

Unsatisfied, she trailed him with fire in her eyes. “How will you know where to find him?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Who’s going with you?”

“Stop asking questions, Honey.”

She grasped him by the shoulder and yanked him around to face her. “Jesus Christ! The phone is gone, you unbelievable asshole! Do you really think I’d tell anyone—?”

“You’re not getting involved,” he stated firmly.

“Not involved? Are you fucking serious?!”

“Too many people have already gotten hurt.”

“Holy shit,” she blanched, freezing in place. Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re not telling the others, are you?”

He paused, for eons, she thought. Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but it was useless under her scrutiny. His eyes were ablaze with stubborn resolve, lips in a line. He turned his back and continued down the staircase.

Blinking rapidly, she watched him walk away. She felt dizzy, but not from weakness. Instead, rage pulsed through her veins, each blood cell embedded with fear. She rushed after him, hot on his heels. 

“You’re going in alone?” she growled, her nose crinkled. “That’s your fucking genius plan? Go in, guns blazing, and hope you don’t get yourself killed?!”

“I have no intention of getting killed,” Peter said. “Not unless I’m taking him with me.”

His reaction enraged her further as they approached the base of the stairs. “Who does that work out for, huh?” she spat. 

Ignoring her, he marched on. Peter spotted one of the guards standing watch outside his office door. “Rollins!” he ordered, voice booming. “Bring the car ‘round.”

“Yes, sir—”

“Rollins, don’t you dare bring the car around!” she commanded, blocking Peter’s path and skewering him with a defiant glare. It was as if she dared him to move her. His dark eyes flashed angrily as he clenched his jaw. He looked as if he was considering it.

Rollins stared at the two of them, back and forth. Frozen with indecision. 

Enraged by his sudden hesitancy, Peter’s nostrils flared. He shot a dangerous glare at the guard before glancing down at the young woman with ire. 

He lifted his gaze back to his man, narrowing his eyes. “Rollins...” Through gritted teeth, his guard’s name sounded more like a declaration of war. 

Rollins sprang into action. “On it, sir.”

As his guard disappeared, she kept her feet rooted to the floor like a mythical beast guarding a castle. She breathed flames from her mouth and conjured curses and plagues with her gaze.

“You asshole—you’re in such a hurry to kill yourself!” she said viciously. “Who for, huh?! You think this is about the others? For Miles? You’re not doing this for us, Peter! And you’re not doing it for Eddie, either!”

“You’re damn right, I’m not!” he snapped indignantly, jabbing his finger into his bruised sternum. “I’m not doing this for anybody but myself!” 

Heat radiated from him in waves, like steam from a hot spring. He bent his neck, leering over her. Volume dropped low, his voice thickened into a threatening rumble. “If I were doing this for Eddie,” he said, “I’d make ‘em watch me kill everything he ever loved, ya feel me? ‘Course, I highly doubt you were ever on that list, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “So this is, what, payback? Your stupid, dick-measuring way of defending my honor?”

“This isn’t about you, Honey,” he said, dark as night. He leaned down until his lips were inches from her forehead, eyes as cold and sharp as a jagged iceberg. “If it was—knowing what I know now,” he added breathily, “I promise you—it wouldn’t be anything like this.”

A misleading smirk formed on his lips, betraying the brutality staining his thoughts. She felt the heat of his rage in each whispered word. 

“No,” he said, deathly grave. “For what he did to you—I would keep him alive for as long as I possibly could.”

The unabashed, murderous smile on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Her discomfort didn’t faze him this time. He didn’t care how scared she was of him. If anything, the more afraid she was, the better.

“He’s a disease,” Peter ranted, directing his frustration back towards himself, “that I’ve allowed to spread. He’s a threat to everything I give a damn about! And I will not let him hurt somebody else I lo—”

Blinking, he cut the sentence short, just millimeters from a leap he wasn’t willing to take. She stared intently up at him, unaware that she was holding her breath.

He pursed his lips, eyes heavy with regret. He looked away, avoiding her gaze while he composed himself. Finally, he took in a slow, tense breath. “I need to do this, Honey,” he whispered ruefully. He had calmed slightly, swallowing back his rage. 

The only thing left behind was a tiny, heartbroken remark. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.” The corners of his mouth turned down sharply. 

She didn’t hesitate. “Even if that were true, you don’t need to do it alone.”

He shook his head in frustration. “Why are you so desperate to know what it’s like to kill somebody?”

A vicious yell burst out of her mouth. “I already have killed somebody!” she shouted, as if it were obvious. Her voice echoed off the walls while anguish pooled in her eyes. “It’s my fault Eddie is dead! I know it is—”

He shook his head again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine—”

“Of course, it’s your fault!” she roared. “It’s both of our faults!” 

The comment stunned him, only slightly less than the bitterness of her tone. He snapped his mouth closed, taken aback. 

Despair twisted her face, and anger lit up her eyes. “Don’t you get it?” She was green with sickness, spitting out words like they were poison. “This is what he does! He turns people against each other!” 

Peter stayed quiet as he observed her intensity. Her feet were rooted while her whole body raged, “He turns you against yourself! He twists you up until you can’t even trust your own instincts! Until you hate yourself enough to feel like you had it coming!”

A dam had broken, and a river of acid spilled through her lips. Resentment from years of abuse writhed in her chest like a tsunami, threatening to flood every street in New York. Her fingers itched to wrap around the collective necks of the city and drown it in her devastation.

She pointed at Peter, eyes flashing furiously. “You’re willing to get yourself killed because you feel responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened!” She jabbed her thumb back at herself. “I’m willing to suffer in silence because I feel responsible for every bad thing that’s happened!”

“Meanwhile,” she added, with a livid hiss, “John Mother Fucking Walker—who is actually responsible for all of this—feels Nothing. At. All!  Because he is a fucking psychopath!” 

Peter blinked, contemplating her in silence. Her firm eyes narrowed on him. “That’s how he beats us, Peter!” she exclaimed. “Fear! Guilt! That’s how he wins!”

The frustration in her voice reverberated off of the walls, sending a tremor that penetrated the bedrock. Peter observed her, stoic save for the sorrow in his gaze. 

Her chest heaved as unshed tears dampened her lashes. Exhausted, she sighed heavily. “I am tired of letting him win,” she said in exasperation. She was more composed but no less grave. “And if you think you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do—which is go after him alone—then that’s exactly what will happen.”

Peter’s eyes glistened, red-rimmed and raw. His silence stretched on forever until she was nearly inclined to  choke him for a response. Eventually, he simply bowed his head, casting his eyes down.

“What if fear and guilt are the only things I have left?” It was a meek, feeble reply from someone so powerful. She blinked up at him, watching as he chewed on his lower lip. “Wish it wasn’t that way. I wish I had—” 

He stopped, leaving the thought unfinished.

“Doesn’t matter what I wish, does it?” he said. “Doesn’t matter what coulda been.”

A crease formed between her brows. Her face softened. “Peter—”

“Just let me say this, please,” he blurted out with urgency as if the words would claw their way from his chest. “I need to.” She regarded his desperate gaze, and eventually, she bobbed her head gently.

He gazed down at her. His lower lip twitched for a moment. “I had my suspicions about your past,” Peter explained mournfully. “Knew something bad happened, but... bad shit happens to everyone, though. First, I thought it was your mother. Then after Pym, I... I figured it was some old boyfriend, some jerk who treated you like trash.” 

Her face flushed red. When she looked back at him, his glazed eyes were fixed on her. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. With shards of glass on his tongue, he murmured, “I-I didn’t know... wh-what he—”

“I don’t blame you, Peter, if that’s what you think—”

“I didn’t wanna know,” he firmly replied, silencing her. Guilt weighed down his features. “Didn’t wanna ask, if I’m bein’ honest.” He gulped, nearly choking on his words like a razor blade stuck in his throat. “I was afraid of what I would do if I knew the truth.” 

She felt warmth sting her eyes, tears budding at the corner of her lids. 

“I thought, I guess—” Peter’s voice tremored before he pressed on. “I-I thought I could save you. From what, I didn’t even know. Maybe that was my mistake all along.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, eyes heavy with shame. “I was so stupid. I’m the one that let him in. I let this act—this dance between us—I let it go on.” He sniffed with a bleary gaze. “He played me against me,” he declared with finality. “My fear. My doubt, self-hatred—whatever you wanna call it. Whatever voice in my head that tells me... th-that you... You could never love somebody like me.”

She flinched at that. Her resolve to remain stoic buckled under her feet.

His eyes dropped to his feet. “I told myself this was just business, and that if the Feds could use you, so could I.” Vulnerability poured from his eyes as they met hers. “I pretended it didn’t kill me every time you looked me in the face and lied.” 

Despite his apology, her stomach twisted with shame. 

“And each time it happened,” he explained, “I couldn’t figure out what they had on you. Something awful, I figured. Something that scared the shit out of you.”

Peter looked at her somberly, lower lip wobbling and eyes dark with regret. “I thought it was me.” 

Her face crumpled at his admission, grief seizing her at last. She bit down on her lip to keep a sob from escaping. 

“It’s like he already won,” he said, with a broken soul. “I thought I was the one he wanted.” He sniffed, peeking down at her through wet lashes. Deep, raw heartache thickened his voice. “Turns out, it was you all along. And I led him straight to you.” 

Her vision flooded with tears at his admission. It sounded like a confession from a dying man. After a few gut-wrenching moments, Peter lifted his chin and met her eyes, resolved. “That’s why I’m doing this without you, Honey. This is my mistake to fix.”

Overwhelmed with grief, she stared up at him in a daze. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently shook her head to protest. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. It sounded like a eulogy.

His eyes glistened as he nodded, love and loss in their depths. “Me too.” 

He gazed at her, the coffee color of his irises shining bittersweet. She stared up at him in adoration and agony. She debated whether she should wrap her arms around him and cry or kiss him dizzy. 

He paused, letting his eyes linger, then turned away and trodded down the hall. “I’m gonna fix this, Honey,” he said. “I promise. You’re free.”

Perplexed, she darted after him. “Wh-what—?”

“No more running, no more cages,” he resolutely replied. She followed closely as he approached the oak doors to his office. “Won’t hafta be afraid of anyone comin’ after you. Not Fisk. Not me. And not some asshole ex. ‘Cos win or lose...I’m ending this. Tonight.”

She fluttered her lashes with concern, following him blindly into the room. 

“Why wait?”

Honey stopped short in her tracks like her feet had been fused to the floor. Peter froze. Swayed dizzily. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck didn’t just prickle, as they had been since the beginning of their conversation. It inverted, the sensation feeling like his skin had peeled off and been turned inside out.

John Walker coolly watched them come to a sudden stop. He lounged back casually in the executive desk chair with a devil-may-care expression and his leather oxfords up on the tabletop. Stunned, they stared at the lithe man with growing alarm. The icy blue of his eyes twinkled with delight at their fear, fixing them with a Cheshire smile. 

“Why don’t we do this right now?” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Each bruised muscle in Peter’s body went rigid. In a matter of moments, he was hit with a surge of emotion that he barely managed to contain beneath his skin. Pupils dilated, fingers shaking, heart pounding—fury washed over him, and all Walker had to do was smile. 

Over the sound of blood rushing, Peter registered the fluttering palpation of her heart.

His Heart. 

His Honey.

She was terrified. 

It reminded him of the moment she walked in on the meeting between him and “Steve,” only this time it was worse. 

An arctic chill surrounded her from the ice running through her veins. She paused mid-breath, rendered motionless, eyes wide with horror. For a moment Peter worried if she would ever start breathing again.

His palms began to tingle. He kept his attention straight ahead, while he fought between the urge to comfort her and the visceral need to tear John’s face from his skull. 

Before he could do either, another warning sensation—sharp and jagged, like his name being carved into a chalkboard with a steak knife—sliced through his brain.

After having been suppressed, ignored, and nearly incapacitated by the Symbiote, his senses were in overdrive. Every cell in his body alerted him to impending danger, which came in the form of footsteps.

He turned quickly, dragging Honey behind his back, as he laid eyes on the new threat. Three of his guards, Malick, Ward, and Rollins—fucking Rollins—stepped into the room. Ward and Malick were vigilant with their weapons drawn, but Rollins sauntered at a leisurely pace. He glanced over at his boss, unworried, and a malicious grin widened his lips. 

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he realized that their bullets were meant for him. He frowned sourly, betrayed. “Jack,” Peter coldly muttered, hiding his disappointment beneath the threat in his tone. “Wha’cha up to?”

Rollins simply shrugged. “Sorry, Boss,” he smirked. “‘S’just business.” 

Peter’s eyes darkened as he observed Gideon Malick aim his pistol at Honey, while Grant Ward slammed the office door closed, locking them in. With Rollins drawing his sidearm, three guns were now trained on him and the shaking woman behind him. 

Peter couldn’t see her face but didn’t need to. He could feel her fear radiating through his fingertips. Her body became both lighter and heavier as if her bones had turned to water. He sensed her increasing dissociation, barely tethered to the Earth and dangling at the end of his reach. Only terror cemented her feet in place. She was sluggish as he pushed her closer into his back as if he could somehow hide her there.

“I have to say, Pete,” John called to him matter-of-factly. Peter split his attention between his backstabbing guards and the monster seated behind his desk. “At first, I was impressed with your organization. But it seems like you have a few serious issues with staff retention to sort out.” John spoke with a self-satisfied smirk, kicking his feet off of the desk and coming to a relaxed stance. “You should think about setting up a meeting with H.R.”

“Believe me,” Peter glowered at John, briefly glancing at Rollins with clenched teeth. “It’s a priority.”

John took an unrushed stroll to the front of the desk before leaning back on the corner’s edge. He moved through the office as if it was his home. It was unnerving for Peter to consider how many times he might have been there without his knowledge, with his treacherous guards granting him access to anything he wanted.

“‘Course, I always thought you shoulda gone into human trafficking,” John said, with a mockingly sincere tone. A crease split Peter’s brow, his face twisting with revulsion. “You would’ve made a very lucrative pimp.” 

Peter glared at him, disgusted, as he chuckled softly at his own joke. The laugh faded, as did the humor in John’s ice-blue eyes. They narrowed with contempt, looking beyond Peter to the trembling girl behind him. 

“Lord knows you got the world’s biggest whore right behind you,” he sneered maliciously. “With a mouth like hers, you’ll get anything you want. If you throw in an extra five-thousand dollars, of course.”

Peter felt her bristle at the jab, and he reached back further to steady her. 

“Don’t look at her,” he ordered coldly, never breaking eye contact. “You don’t get to look at her. Ever.”

The blonde snickered, licking his lips scandalously. “Oh, I’ve done a whole lot more than just look.” 

Peter’s jaw tensed at that. 

John’s humorless gaze turned into a cold glare. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he added vindictively, “but that’s my wife you have behind you.”

Despite his own outrage, Peter kept a straight face. He listened intently, studying how Walker’s nostrils flared and how his pulse sped up at the sight of the couple embracing. 

Good, he thought. He needed every second of time he could get. 

Peter took a step backward with her, slowly approaching the wall. 

His eyes lightened, and a callous smirk formed on his lips. “You mean that’s ‘your wife’ I’ve had beneath me,” Peter sneered lewdly. 

The remark splintered beneath John’s skin. Peter watched with satisfaction at how the blonde’s brow twitched. He could smell the agitation leaking out through his pores. 

“Yeeaah,” Peter chuckled mockingly, fueling John’s anger. “She told me all about you. Short story. If ya catch my drift.”

Peter took another step backward, bumping her along, teeth flashing with amusement. “In fact,” he parried, matching John’s sardonic tone, “maybe you should talk to a doctor about your little problem. You know, instead of torturing women.” 

John glowered with his lower lip curled. “Well. Since we’re sharing.” He tilted his head with a predatory grin, while his eyes shot daggers at them. “I wouldn’t trust everything she says. The girl’s a freak. She tell ya about all of her filthy rape fantasies, too?”

Her breath hitched. A tiny shiver racked through her body. It was barely noticeable to the other men, but to Peter, it felt like a tectonic movement. He could hear the way her stomach shifted, her nausea roaring in like a rising tide. 

“She likes it rough,” John snarked. “It’s practically the only thing that gets her off. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” Inwardly, Peter seethed, resentment darkening his gaze.

“‘Course not. Why take my word for it?” John laughed, having momentarily taken the upper hand. He glanced around at the other traitors mirthlessly before turning back to Peter. “Why don’t we just find out for ourselves?”

Peter’s anger spiked at the insinuation, rage stuttering his heartbeat. He watched as John glanced at Rollins and the other men with a menacing grin. Cruel laughter trickled from the traitors that made his blood boil further.

He took a measured breath. “I know you boys don’t know me that well,” Peter remarked calmly. “But lemme be very clear.” He slid his eyes over and leveled a threatening glare at the men behind Rollins. “Anyone touches her, and I’ll send ya back home to your families in garbage bags.” 

Peter’s men dropped their smiles suddenly. He heard a stutter in the heartbeats coming from that direction as they attempted to suppress their reaction. “Don’t take my word for it,” he said directly to Rollins with a murderous gaze. “You know what I’m capable of, Jackie.”

“Is that what you did to Gwen?”

Peter’s anger spread through him like epinephrine as John carelessly spat out his deceased wife’s name. His shoulders tensed, and the cords in his neck pulled tautly. 

“You send her back to her daddy in a body bag?” John snickered. “Sure—Call me a shitty husband. But at least my wife never took a swan dive off of the Brooklyn Bridge.” 

The fresh swell of rage in Peter’s belly twisted him into knots. A gentle press from a tiny palm on the middle of his back was the only thing that anchored him. 

“Oof. Hit a nerve, did I?” John grinned with satisfaction at how the color drained from Peter’s eyes and complexion. “What else did you two lovebirds talk about?” he said. “She tell ya about our little talks late at night?” He grinned salaciously. “Lotsa juicy stuff.”

Peter swallowed hard, unflinching. 

“She told me everything,” Walker continued. “Her plan to seduce you. To pretend she cared about you. How much she despised you.” John tilted his head, musing. “How’d you put it, Peach? You could ‘never love a monster like him’?” 

He heard a soft gasp from behind him. As strong as their resolve was, the remark punctured its armor. Honey clenched the fabric of his jacket, her touch pleading for forgiveness. Steadfast, Peter took another careful step backward, keeping her close.

“‘Course, that’s no big surprise,” John continued ruthlessly. He could see through Peter’s indifference, knowing each word cut into him like a jigsaw. “‘Everyone that ever loved you is dead.’ Ain’t that right?”

Honey gripped Peter’s shoulder tighter, a swell of nausea creeping up her esophagus. Her vocal cords were paralyzed, with nothing but a whimper escaping her lips. “No...” she muttered breathlessly, stunned and enraged by the twisting of her words.

“Poor, pitiful Peter Parker,” John said in a sing-song voice. “Sad, psychotic little orphan boy. No mommy. No daddy. His aunt and uncle both turned into swiss cheese.” He punctuated each word with viciousness, spitting them out like curdled milk. “Clinging desperately onto the memory of his dead whore.”

Nostrils flaring, Peter glowered at John, dipping his chin. Another step backward nearly had the woman behind him up against the wall, backing her carefully up to a marble-top bar. “Gloat all you want, asshole,” Peter mumbled with disdain. “She still dumped you.”

John’s eyes flashed red with a serpentine hiss sliding off his forked tongue. “And yet, I’m the one that finger-fucked your girl while you were on your little date! Greedy slut was wetter than a swamp when I touched her—”

“Liar!” she screamed, voice cracking like shattered glass. 

She lunged forward but Peter blocked her. He practically shoved her back, her spine hitting the edge of the bar. A chorus of chuckles erupted, with Rollins, Ward, and Malick joining in on John’s amusement. She stumbled backward, using her hands to steady herself until she came in contact with a metal object on the bar top.

A camera.

Peter’s old camera. On top of the box disguised as a book.

Both items were out of place. 

Presented out in the open, where they shouldn’t have been.

Honey’s eyes darted back up to the front. 

“S’okay, Honey,” Peter muttered, his glare still trained on Walker. He held his arms behind his back as if to hide her from view. It formed a ‘cage,’ concealing her movements as she stealthily shifted the camera, keeping her eyes forward. “The longer this clown talks, the more desperate he sounds.” 

John’s eyes flashed with malice. “Oh, you wanna hear what desperate sounds like? How ‘bout I push your little bitch off the roof, huh? Have your men make you watch me turn another woman you love into Humpty Dumpty. She’ll be runny eggs on the sidewalk in a matter of seconds—”

“Why are you all still smiling?” Peter sharply cut him off. He shifted his glare from John to his snickering accomplices. “Is it ‘cos you're scared? Or are ya just that stupid?” The laughing ceased immediately as Peter fixed John with a cold gaze. “Either way, you’re about to be a dead man.”

With her hands behind her back, she blindly fumbled to lift the lid of the box. Her fingers scavenged across the bottom, expecting to find a weapon of some kind, or a knife, or perhaps even—

“Lookin’ for this?” John said. The bang of a gunshot deafened her. 

A splatter of wet, hot liquid covered her cheek and she flinched at the sound of an agonized cry. She screamed. At the gunshot. At the blood. And at the sight of Peter dropping forward to his knees in excruciating pain. 

“No! No! No!” 

She could hear her own shrieking in the distance as she grasped at him. Groaning, he writhed in agony. His hand, once again bloody, clutched a bullet hole piercing his upper right shoulder. She threw her already-stained palms over his, adding his blood to the fresco decorating her flesh.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Lip wobbling, she glanced up with wide eyes as John pointed Peter’s pistol at them menacingly. 

“Did ya really think I wasn’t gonna search this place for weapons?” he scoffed in offense, glaring at them through slitted eyes.

Nostrils flaring and teeth clenched tight, Peter breathed through the pain. He scowled up at John feeling like a flaming sword had severed his arm at the shoulder. His heart hammered as he watched John raise the pistol again, this time aiming between his brows. 

“Please, don’t!” Honey sobbed. “John, please! I’m begging you!” She wrapped her arms around Peter as if she could shield him. 

The smile faded from John’s lips. Contempt radiated from his blue eyes, turning them into blackened sapphires. “C’mon, Peach. We both know you can beg better than that.”

Peter shoved her away from him, jumping to his feet. He charged and knocked John’s aim off target. Another shot rang out and pierced the wall next to her. 

Shrieking, she dropped to the floor and cowered down. 

With one bloody hand on John’s wrist, Peter smashed him in the abs with his injured arm. He put his back muscles into the punch, snarling as the bruised flesh burned like his body was on fire.

His rage partially numbed the pain as Peter advanced forward. He shoved John back into the desk. The injuries made each move sluggish, but Peter managed to land another hit, this time to John’s face. With his other hand clenching the gun, he slammed it into the tabletop, loosening John’s grip. With another vicious whack, the weapon fell from his hand and clattered out of reach. 

Amped with adrenaline, Peter reared his uninjured arm back. Balling his fist into a cannonball, he drove it down hard enough to break through concrete. 

Right into John’s palm.

He blinked, stunned. Looked up at John. His face twisted with confusion, as the supposedly weaker man grinned smugly up at Peter. 

“Oh, yeah,” John smiled with red teeth, slowly crushing Peter’s hand like an empty aluminum can. “And then there’s that.”

With a flick of John’s wrist, he inverted Peter’s arm and tossed his body like a garbage bag. Peter collided with the wall and toppled to the ground, sending plaster and drywall raining down. 

John straightened up, taking labored breaths as he adjusted his light blue collar, now dotted with tiny spots of crimson. He fixed Peter with a wry smile. “I know about your little science experiments, too,” he smirked. “Your buddy Eddie stole the outdated model. Say ‘hello’ to Anti-Venom.”

John rolled his shoulders, tipping his head to crack his neck. As his joints popped, he rolled his eyes back into his skull—literally. Honey gaped with horror as she watched her ex-husband grin at them with a demonic stare, pure white engulfing his eyeballs. The milky, opaque clouds in his eyes seemed to part in the middle, like a crocodile opening an inner set of eyelids, revealing the dilated pupils of his sadistic stare.

Peter struggled to get on his hands and knees as John stalked towards him, feet heavy with malice. Honey screamed with almost no breath, “Peter, look out—”

In a flash, John was on him, jabbing his elbow into his back. Peter gasped at the stab to his spine, feeling another rib snap. The force slammed him chest-first back to the floor. With dazed eyes, he glanced blearily at the secret box, now tossed to the ground a few feet away. Photos of May and Ben were scattered about, among the shards of broken glass, chunks of wood, and twisted metal.

Weakened from the fall, the gunfight, and now the beating, Peter strained to reach for the box but was stopped short. Walker’s steel fingers clamped on his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. He jabbed a boulder-like fist into Peter’s sternum, violently ejecting the air from his lungs. 

Honey sprang to her feet, grabbing a chunk of wood and charging toward them. Rollins and Ward were there instantly, scooping her up and restraining her. 

She writhed desperately, screeching as they twisted her arms back. The sound of her attack vexed Peter, as he straightened his back, landing an upward thrust of his fist into John’s chin. 

“Get off of her!” he hissed at Rollins and Ward, but John intercepted him. 

Like thrashing wild animals, they pummeled each other until sweat and blood coated the floor. Yet, with every hit, John seemed unfazed. Whatever was running through his body was just as formidable as the Symbiote that had once possessed Peter. Both men tossed each other about, but Peter was at a disadvantage.

“Stop!” Honey cried out painfully in a shrill voice, which wrenched Peter’s heart. “John, don’t do this! Stop it!” 

Peter swayed with cloudy eyes as he felt John hook his fist into his jaw. It felt like being hit in the face with a brick. Right after, John landed another jab with the opposite hand. And then a third. And a fourth.

“No, John! Please stop! Just stop! Please!”

His vision blurring, Peter jabbed left, only to have his wrist caught in John’s grip. With a twirl, John wrenched Peter’s arm out of its socket. He doubled over and howled in agony, his dislocated arm hanging limply at his side.

“John, stop it, stop it, please, stop!” 

“When I’m done with you,” John whispered in Peter’s ear, “Fisk will have to scoop up what’s left of you with a shovel.”

Fighting to stay conscious, Peter met the man’s vindictive glare. John’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his. “Yeah. Wilson Fisk. I said his name. Wilson. Fisk. Meanwhile, you’re running around, afraid to say it like he’s Bloody Fucking Mary.”  

Peter was on the floor again, launched into a glass console table. Unable to break his fall, the glass and metal crunched under the momentum of his body, shattering in all directions. He rolled, coughing up blood, his face covered in bruises and cuts. His vision swam, gaze darting across the room until he spotted the secret box. 

With one arm limp, he dragged himself forward with the shoulder that had been shot, inching closer to the overturned box. He flicked the container away, his eyes landing on a delicate watch-like device. He reached for it.

John’s foot came down hard, stomping on his web shooter and crushing it beneath his foot. Peter choked back a frustrated scream, having another weapon fall short of his grasp.

“John, please! I’ll do anything you want! Just please don’t do this!”

John lifted his foot and slowly brought the sole down onto Peter’s wrist. He cried out, grimacing at the crushing pressure of the grown man standing on his forearm. 

“You know what else I call ‘em?” John said, ogling Peter as if to gloat. It was a victorious stance. He was like a giant about to crush an insect. A bloody half-smile hung on his chiseled face as he waited for Peter to make eye contact. When he finally did, John provided an answer. 

“Sir.” 

A crease formed between Peter’s brows as he gazed up at John, panting with shallow breaths. His face paled with realization.

“Yeah,” the blonde crooned with an evil smile. “That’s right.” A horrifying picture emerged from Walker’s self-satisfied expression. "Arrogant little prick. Did you think that you could beat the Kingpin?”

John crouched down low, leering over Peter like a vulture about to peck on its prey while it was still living. 

“Did you think changing your name and hiding underground would stop him from wiping you off the face of the Earth if he really wanted to?” Walker sneered in disgust. “You’re only still alive because he allows it!”

Honey sobbed with tears streaming down her face as John revealed his hand to them. Beside her, Rollins chuckled darkly, relishing in his boss’ despair. 

“You have the audacity to run your mouth all over town,” John hissed, pouring putrid waste into Peter’s ear, “like you’re gonna walk him right up to the Pearly Gates! Like you’re judge, jury, and executioner! The monster at the end of his book!”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, rage boiling beneath his battered flesh. John reached down, gripping him by his thick tuft of hair and wrenching it back. The action forced Peter to gaze up at him; his neck bent backward and vulnerable. The way Walker glared at him, he half-expected the man to grow fangs and bury them in his throat.

“Well, I got news for ya, Peter Parker,” John spat out each word mockingly as he narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Fisk doesn’t give a shit what you call yourself.” He fixed Peter with a beaming grin made up of pure, sadistic evil. “He doesn’t even know who you are.” 

He let the words hang in the air as if they were going to carve themselves into Peter’s headstone. For his part, despite his physical agony, Peter held himself steady. Kept his eyes fixed on John’s. Kept his jaw set firm. Anger pooled beneath his chest, cleansing him as it spread through his body.

“Guess you’ll have to explain it to ‘em next time you see ‘em,” Peter muttered, his lip curled into a snarl. “Might be curious to know who it was that killed him.”

The smile dropped from John’s eyes as a fresh wave of fury overtook him. He glared down at Peter, who fixed him with an insolent smirk. 

“And for the record,” the beaten man glowered in defiance, his gaze glittering with spite, “I’m not walkin’ him to the Pearly Gates—I’m takin’ him straight to hell. So you be sure to save him a seat... you pathetic... wife-beating sack of shit!”

John growled and pulled his arm back. Drawing on the power of the entity inside him, he envisioned putting his fist through Peter’s skull and not stopping until he hit the concrete beneath their feet.

“I won’t fight you.” 

The men froze at the tiny whimper, the voice carrying it shattered and frail. 

John glanced over to see his ex-wife hanging limply in the hold of the two guards. Her eyes were empty, her face colorless and ashen. The woman swayed like a bedsheet in the wind.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” she spoke meekly, her spirit detached from her body. “I won’t fight back. I won’t run away.”

Hopelessness marked her features as nausea threatened to choke her. She wished that it would. Drowning in her own bile was a better fate than witnessing the grin form on John’s face.

“Please,” she mewled desperately, eyes red and glossy. “You’ve already won. He doesn’t matter anymore. Let Fisk finish him off.” Her voice trembled, quivering in her throat. “You can have me. However you want me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. John leered, foaming at the corners of his mouth. Lecherous eyes appraised her from head to toe. His chest heaved with short pants, like a rabid animal in heat. 

“Atta girl,” he murmured with satisfaction before tossing Peter aside like a rag doll. 

Peter coughed raggedly, choking on his red-tinged saliva, and rolled to one side. Gripping his wrist and using his foot for leverage, he wrenched his shoulder back in place with a sickening pop. An agonized whimper squeaked out, despite his best efforts. 

John crossed the room in a few strides and gripped the woman by the throat. “No,” Peter gasped through bloody lips, exhausted and breathless from fear. “No...nono...please—”

“Where the fuck are you goin’, Boss?” Malick barked as Peter struggled to stand. The guard stalked forward, gun trained on him. 

Ward joined him, grabbing Peter by his wounded shoulder and kicking his shin out from under him. Their boss was on his knees again, held steady at gunpoint, with Ward pushing the barrel of his weapon into Peter’s temple.

When Peter looked up, John was dragging Honey by the back of her neck, scruffed at the nape like an animal. She stumbled as he forced her behind Peter’s desk, kicking the chair away. He shoved her forward. The veneer stung her cheek when she collided with it, and she let out a whimper.

“Let her go!” Peter writhed desperately. Ward whacked him over the back of the head, driving him forward. He put his foot on Peter’s spine while Malick twisted his wounded arm behind his back. With his chin scraping the floor, he peered up through the fringe of his lashes. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her! You hear me?”

“Get ‘em up,” John ordered coldly. “He’s gonna wanna see this.”

With a hand on his hair and his arms locked in place, Peter’s men yanked him to his feet. He pulled himself forward, only to have Ward dig his fingers into the bullet hole, tearing at his flesh. They pulled him back down on his knees, driving a foot into his calf. Helplessly, Peter writhed, thrashing against their hold a few mere yards away from the terrified girl. 

John sauntered up behind Honey, a smug grin plastered on his face. The woman lay motionless like a possum, bent over the edge of the desk. She stared at the mess of objects on Peter’s desk, shards of the battle. They shifted in and out of focus as her glossy eyes welled with tears. She let her mind take flight, drifting off to a cabin in the mountains. 

“No!” Peter felt his voice crack and a scream lodge in his throat. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Walker! Ya, hear me? Look at me, you sonuvabitch! I’ll rip ya apart, sweartogod—” 

John glanced at Rollins who kept careful watch over his boss. “If he makes a move, put a bullet in his back. That way he can still watch me snap her neck like a toothpick.”

Panic surged through Peter at the order, his amber eyes bright with terror. “I’m the one you want, yeah?” he pleaded, chest heaving. “Fight me like a man, you fuckin’ coward!”

John ignored him. He pressed his hips up against the seat of Honey’s joggers. He gripped the collar of her zip-up hoodie, tearing it down her shoulders.

She was elsewhere. Watching Peter’s fingers dance across the ivory keys of a piano. She liked being wherever she was. It was always easier for her to go there. Always easier for her to run away.

John ran his greedy hands down her spine and back up again beneath the filthy camisole she wore. His touch felt like a centipede crawling across her skin. A shudder racked through her as vomit climbed up her throat.

“Somebody’s excited,” John chuckled sadistically. 

She breathed out a silent sob. She climbed the limbs of the maple tree in her backyard. Picturing the home she would make there one day.

John leaned down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Just like old times. Ain't that right, Peach?”

It was like being shocked by electricity. Letting her fingertips brush against the metal of a wall plug while still in the outlet. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes darkened. Pupils blown wide.

“I don’t like that.”

John paused as his hands reached the waistband of her sweats. He glanced up at her, still amused, eyeing the back of her head. “What’d you say?”

She blinked. Her vision sharpened. “That’s not my name.”

His brow furrowed, his agitation spiking. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

“I said ‘that’s not my name.’” Her volume grew louder, every syllable coming out sharper and more jagged. Her teeth ground together as she fixed her gaze forward, focusing on the grain of the wood. 

“My name isn’t Peach,” she hissed. Molten-hot fury filled her while her tone hardened like rapidly cooling lava. “I’m not your Peach. I’m not your Kitten.” 

Each word punctuated with a twitch in her eye and a tremor in her voice. 

“I’m not your Doll Face. Or your Whore. Or your Pawn.” 

Acid rolled off her tongue as she trembled with anger. Her rage was so thick she nearly choked on it, barely able to form words. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the desk, her spine turning to steel even as he towered over her.

“And I’m not your fucking wife,” she gritted her teeth, eyes black with hatred. “Not anymore.” 

She turned her head to glance back at John, leveling him with a vengeful look. 

“My name is Maricella Jimenez,” she hissed, sounding out each syllable carefully. “And you will remember it.” 

The hand positioned on the desk sprang forward at his face so fast that John could barely see it. His head whipped back and all he could register was white-hot, piercing pain shooting through his skull. 

John roared, reaching up with one hand to cover his face while the other hand dragged her off the desk to the ground. The guards jumped with shock, mouths agape, trying to discern what just occurred.

“Aggghhh!” John cried out with an agonized scream. Enraged, he clawed at his face, growling like a mildly-wounded grizzly bear. His thirst for blood compounded.

“Fucking bitch!” he roared, the creature inside of him twisting his vocal cords. When he straightened, half his face was covered in blood. His fingers shook as he struggled to see the damage she had done. 

His men gazed at him with dumbfounded stares. Which he could only half see. 

With a four-inch shard of broken glass from the console table lodged in his left eye socket, he’d never see anything out of that eye again. 

“You fucking bitch!” he sneered, practically drooling with outrage. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you fuckin’ bitch!” 

The sight of John’s face was nausea-inducing. Not only had the glass pierced his eye, but it sliced clean through, with half of his eyeball dangling from the nerve ending on his cheek. 

“Holy shit!” Ward gasped at the ghastly sight.

Rollins hissed at other men, their jaws still gaping wide. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, goddamnit!”

“You screwed up now, you slut!” John raged with ragged breath. “You know what you did? You assaulted a Federal Agent!” He wheeled around to spot her cowering on the floor behind the desk. He stomped toward her, murder in each footfall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea who I am???”

John grabbed her by the forearm, wrenching her up. She faced him with fire in her eyes. In her free hand, her finger curled around the trigger of Peter’s gun.

“Who gives a fuck?” she sneered.

Looking John in the eyes, she pulled the trigger, watching as his forehead imploded. The bullet ripped through his brain, tearing it apart and exploding out the back of his skull. From there, his brain matter splattered like a microwaved tomato, spraying across the room.

“Oh shit!” The guards cried out in horror, swallowing back sickness as fragments of John’s skull rained down on them.

Rollins lunged forward, his weapon still drawn. He took three steps to the edge of the desk. 

“No!” Peter howled.

Another shot rang out. Honey held the gun firmly in her grip, shooting at the first human form that approached her. Rollins grunted, eyes wide with panic, as the bullet tore through his throat. He clutched his neck as hot liquid spilled out of his severed carotid artery. His look of agony was only matched by his look of astonishment.

Peter knocked Ward’s gun away from his temple, grabbing his wrist and directing the barrel at Malick. With Ward still clutching the gun, Peter pulled the trigger and shot Malick in the side. 

Malick doubled over, releasing his hold on Peter’s wounded shoulder. Ward strained to regain control of his weapon. They struggled briefly before Peter reached behind Ward’s suit jacket and yanked a combat knife out of its sheath. He buried the blade into Ward’s ribs, before ripping it out and plunging it in again and again. With a few quick jabs, the traitor’s torso was carved up into wet spaghetti.

Malick stumbled, struggling to recover from the bullet wound. Peter’s brain buzzed as Malick attempted to shoot him. He pivoted out of the way, using Ward’s body to block the shot. 

Honey fired the gun in her hand again, the bullet hitting the ceiling, but it was enough to distract Malick away from his target.

In a few blinks, Peter was on his feet and gripping Malick by the arm. Before the treacherous guard could fire his weapon, Peter skewered him with the hunting knife, driving it into the soft flesh behind the man’s chin.

Malick’s eyes went wide as the blade impaled his mouth, piercing his tongue. Peter snatched the back of the man’s head with a steel grip, even as his hands trembled with rage. He glared into Gideon’s eyes with bloodlust, pushing the knife up further—slowly—watching Malick squirm until the blade was buried to the hilt.

The man went limp in his hold. Once Peter watched the light fade from his eyes, he released him, finally sated. 

The sirens in his head quit blaring as soon as the threat was eliminated. The intense pressure dissipated as if a boulder had been lifted off Peter’s skull. 

He let out a long, ragged breath, his body broken and yet still pulsating with adrenaline. His eyes darted to the desk. He spotted the traumatized woman that held his heart standing behind it. His face softened. Took a step towards her.

She pivoted, still clutching the gun. Aimed it at him.

Peter went still. Fawn-hued eyes went wide. He glanced down the barrel, then back up at her.

She was astral. Her soul was only tethered to her body by a thin wire. She was a kite, tossed about the atmosphere, observing the scene outside the plane of time. 

She stared at him. Barely able to breathe. Her hand shook from the weight of the gun. 

“Whoa...” he whispered, his voice soft. He lifted his hands outward in a placating gesture. 

Her eyes were glazed over. Staring right through him.

He watched, heart pounding, as she turned her gaze downwards to the river of blood that leaked from Rollins’ corpse. Heart going cold, all that was left of his life leaked out of him like a broken faucet. No more damaging than a spilled glass of wine.

Lips sealed tight, her eyes darted over to the body closest to her.

John’s body.

Her monster lay slain at her feet. His jaw hung open in a disturbing grimace, a permanent final expression. The top of his head was now a concave shell. The image of him imprinted on her, burrowing in her memories.

She had never seen so much blood in her life. It was everywhere. Beneath her fingernails. In the tiny valleys of her skin. Dripping from her hair. It stained everything.

“Honey...” She looked only vaguely aware of Peter as he cooed gently at her, growing more apprehensive the longer her silence stretched on. “...Honey...?” he repeated slowly, his tongue going dry. 

This time, she brought her attention back to the front, her eyes finally finding his. Peter looked sick with worry, terrified of the irony that this was the exact same position they were in less than 48 hours before. 

Honey held her arm outstretched, fingers tremoring around the handle of the pistol, as she fixed Peter with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart thumping up into his throat. His growing alarm threatened to strangle him. 

Her legs were rigid even as she trembled like a tightrope walker stranded between skyscrapers. She gazed at him with a look of dread, shock seizing her body.

Peter mumbled her name desperately, chanting it like a prayer. “Honey, Honey, Honey, look at me. Look at me. Okay? Look—”

He took a step forward and she responded with a step backward, positioning him at the end of the barrel. He blinked, going still once again. His eyes misted over as he gazed at her with empathy.

“S’okay,” he softly said, closer to a plea. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe—”

“Stop telling me that.” She was firm, her eyes cold. 

Peter felt silent, eyes darting back and forth between her and the gun. Her breaths were short, nostrils flaring. His shoulders curved into a slump. Carefully, he lowered his hands. “I meant what I said before,” he delicately replied. “No more cages.” Her eyebrows furrowed sharply. “I made you a promise. You’re free.”

She blinked wide eyes, motionless in every other way. Warily, he glanced down at the gun. “You don’t hafta do anything—”

“Shut up!” she hissed, voice shaking. He shut his mouth immediately. Her gaze wandered, her mind spiraling out of control. She flicked her sights on the four corpses stretched out around them. Her tongue tasted like metal. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears.

“Get on your knees,” she commanded. Unlike the last time she said it, there was no sense of control in her tone. No sense of pleasure to be gained. Instead, she sounded desperate. 

Peter closed his eyes, heart sinking in his chest. “Okay.” Reluctantly, he slowly sank down until both knees were on the ground.

Her eyes flashed wildly as she glared, holding the pistol tighter in her hand. 

“S’okay,” Peter whispered out a lament. “S’okay, Honey. You’re gonna be okay.” With every repeated phrase, he relinquished more of his hope. Her eyes may have been unreadable, but her position was not. 

They were on opposite sides of the room. A continent apart. He was exiled to the unfortunate end of the barrel, along with the other men who used her as a means to an end. This was where he belonged.

A lump formed in his throat as he gazed up at her with wet eyes. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he said with a bittersweet curve of his mouth. “You have all the power, remember? Always did.” His eyes landed on the gun, then back up to hers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

He watched as a tear rolled down her cheek. Fear weighed heavily on her, dragging her down into its depth. Her eyes shined like glass. The glisten in his gaze was a mirror reflection of her sorrow and regret.

“Whatever you gotta do,” Peter assured her. But it was more than reassurance. It was a gentle promise made to a frightened girl that the monsters were all gone now. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

He hesitated to speak the true meaning of his implication. Instead, his eyes shined brightly on her like rays of moonlight, as if he could illuminate her path through the dark. A sincere apology sparkled at the bottom of their bourbon glow, but also, he offered forgiveness. He fixed her with a look of compassion before closing his eyes. 

He let go.

Let go of his rage. Of his vendetta. Of his grief. Of his fantasies.

He let go of the idea of Honey.

From the depths of his bitter heart, he gave her his unconditional love.

“What I want...” 

He stirred at the closeness of her voice, his eyes snapping open to find her standing inches over him. The gun rested at her side until she let it fall from her grasp. She stared into his eyes, her tears cresting over the ridges of her heart-aching smile.

She surged forward in the blink of an eye, crashing her lips into his. Her arms crossed behind his shoulders as she collapsed into his embrace. Her tongue breached his mouth, and with it, he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. She breathed him in, relishing in the taste of his devotion, responding to it with love letters written on her lips. It was like her whole body was on fire, and only he could control the flame.

His hands wrapped around her lower back as he worshiped each twist of her tongue. Her kiss was better than morphine, numbing his body and heart to every injury he’d ever suffered.

Only when they were both dizzy and out of breath did she break the kiss. She gazed down at him with eyes that could scorch. 

“What I want... is for you to touch me.”

Continue to Part 21

[back to masterlist]

A/N: I want to say thank you for the incredible support you all have shown me in this last break. Part 21 is already finished and will be released this week. Real compassion exists even on the internet and I just can't even deal...

Part 23 will be the end.

[esoteric-chaos]

What are Infused Oils?

What are they?

Infused oils are herbal components or spices placed in a jar of carrier oil like Olive Oil, Grapeseed Oil, Avacado Oil, Jojoba Oil, Coconut Oil, etc. Can be used in cooking, herbal ailments and skincare.

Are they essential oils?

No. Short answer, no. Long answer? I'll give you an explanation. Essential oils are distilled using Steam Distillation, Solvent Extraction, CO2 Extraction, Maceration, Enfleurage, Cold Press Extraction, and or Water Distillation. Lotta words huh? It takes a lot of work to make essential oils. Unfortunately, it also takes quite a bit of that plant to make even those tiny 10ml bottles you purchase. Of course, each plant varies. However, it still can lead to a larger environmental impact.

For instance, one pound of essential oil can be extracted from approximately 250 pounds of rosemary leaves, or from 150 pounds of lavender buds, or say 50 pounds of eucalyptus leaves. This is why you see some as more expensive than others. Unfortunately, you can see where the problem lies in plants that are more threatened or endangered. If you must use essential oils, source responsibly (and not from a Pyramid scheme but I'm not opening that can of worms)

Can I use infused oils in my practice?

Yes! Absolutely! All these oil recipes you see for spell oils are exactly that. You can even use the elemental correspondences of the carrier oils you use for spell oils. As an example Olive Oil is traditionally known for the fire element and Coconut Oil is water. The possibilities for your personal correspondence are endless!

Now I'll stop rambling. Here are a few methods I learned to infuse oils in my courses and through self-herbalist study.

Method One:

The Folk Method - The most common

Directions

Place DRIED herbs in a clean, dry jar. Leave at least 1 to 3 inches of open space above your herbs to cover with oil.

Fill the remaining space in the jar with the oil of your choice, making sure to cover herbs by at least 1 inch or more. If the herbs emerge above the surface of the oil at any point while infusing, pour more oil on top to ensure the herbs remain covered.

Cap the jar tightly and shake well.

Place the jar in a sunny, warm windowsill and shake once or more per day.

After 2 to 3 weeks, strain the herbs out of the oil using cheesecloth or a mesh strainer. Or you can leave it in but straining is recommended if you are using dropper bottles as it clogs the caps.

Pour into clean glass bottles.

Remember to label your jars with the date, type of oil, and herbs used! You WILL forget! Trust me.

Store in a cool, dark place. The oil may keep for up to a year.

Method Two:

The Heat Infused Method - Quick Infusion

Directions

Place herbs in the crock pot or double boiler. Cover with extra virgin olive oil (or other carrier oil of choice), leaving at least an inch or two of oil above the herbs. 

Gently heat the herbs over very low heat (preferably between 100° and 140° F for 1 to 5 hours, until the oil takes on the colour and scent of the herb. Some recommend heating the oil for 48 to 72 hours at a controlled temperature of 100° F. Turn off the heat and allow it to cool. I personally prefer letting it sit in a crock pot for 72 hours as I feel like I get all of the benefits out of the herb.

Once oil is cooled, strain using cheesecloth.

Bottle in dry, sterilized glass bottles. LABEL your bottles with the date and contents before storing them.

Store in a cool, dark, dry place for up to six months.

Best herbs to infuse in oil

There are a countless number of herbs, spices and resins that can be infused into the oil. Please make sure these herbs are free from pesticides and chemicals (not found on the roadside). Dried herbs work best as you don't want your mixture spoiling sooner. Here are some great examples of herbs to use.

Pine needles

Calendula flowers

Chamomile flowers

Lavender

Lemon balm

Peppermint leaf

Rosemary leaf

Thyme leaf

There you have it! Now have fun and source responsibility.

Happy witching!

Want to read more?

On sustainability and impact:

Links:

Dangers of essential oils and pets:

Link:

Want to check out my other post? Look at my Masterpost

[stardust-swan]

What Is It Like in a *Posh* Moroccan Hammam? 🫧

When I say "posh," I mean upmarket hammams in a wealthy residential areas, not hammams in hotels. This post is about authentic hammams used by wealthy Moroccans, not ones aimed at tourists.

Decor

One of the first things you'll notice in upmarket hammams is that the decor is far more elaborate than in basic hammams. Decor will of course vary from place to place, but to use the example of the hammam next to my great-aunt's place in Casablanca I always make sure to go to:

The walls in both the main washroom and the sauna room are made out of blue and white marble in a traditional zellige pattern. There are also ornate sinks jutting out of the walls also of blue and white marble, whereas in basic hammams there will just be faucets. The sauna has long benches made of marble across the length of each side of the room, and the massage tables are slabs of heated light grey marble.

Regardless of the individual decor choices of each hammam, each building will always be spacious, with high ceilings and curved arches.

Ambience

Upmarket hammams feel luxurious, but understated, focusing on relaxation and subtle elegance rather than opulence and "wowing" people.

The lighting will normally be natural, but if artificial lighting is used it will be subtle and non-intrusive. Whereas in basic hammams it will be bright and practical, and in tourist hammams it will be dim with lighting coming from lanterns and candles (ambient, but not practical for visibility).

Although some may have private areas, authentic hammams in wealthy areas will generally follow the tradition of communal bathing.

As they are located in residential areas rather than tourist hotspots, and as they are a lot larger than basic hammams, they don't feel overcrowded and the experience is more intimate.

Services Offered

Upmarket hammams offer more services than basic hammams, but unlike tourist hammams, all the services are based in authentic Moroccan traditions, whereas in hotels the hammams offer a blend of the basic Moroccan services (sauna, sabon beldi, etc) and services similar to what you'd find in Western spas.

Authentic services you will find in upmarket Moroccan hammams include:

The usual sauna, cleansing with sabon beldi, deep exfoliation and ghassoul clay masks you'll find in every hammam in the country

Massages with argan oil, ghassoul clay, jasmine oil, amber oil, olive oil, honey, or herbal compresses

Herbal steam baths with tabrima, eucalyptus, lavender or mint

Rosewater and orange blossom water rinses

Henna treatments (it's not just used for temporary tattoos but has benefits for the skin and hair)

Facials with products like argan oil, sweet almond oil, honey, and saffron

Foot baths with herbs, oils, and/or milk

(Services will depend on each individual hammam)

The treatments are all high quality by staff who really work for their money. The attendants will scrub off absolutely every bit of dead skin on your body, and I have honestly never been as thoroughly massaged as I have been in these hammams.

Relaxation Lounge

In basic hammams, you just put your clothes on and leave after adjusting to room temperature, but in upmarket ones, you relax in the hammam after towelling off.

After you're dressed, the staff will lead you to another room. To use the hammam local to my great aunt as an example again, the relaxation lounge in this one:

Is full of white chaise longues, one facing another so that you can chat with your companion. They each have a low table in between them, on which a staff member will put down a silver tray, which will have a lit candle which will also have ghassoul clay integrated into it. There will also be glycerin preserved rose petals scattered on the tray, and of course refreshments - a bottle of cold water (much needed after all the heat and steam) and refreshing peppermint tea in a floral cup and matching saucer.

In other upmarket hammams they might have leather couches or armchairs instead of chaise loungues, regular candles without the clay, and Moroccan mint tea instead of peppermint herbal tea, but they'll all follow the same format.

Would I Recommend Trying One of These Hammams?

If you want a luxurious but 100% authentic hammam experience, absolutely! Although hotel hammams are surely fun with their swimming pools, etc, if you want to really experience true Moroccan culture and feel classy while you do it, I'd recommend finding one in a middle or upper class residential area.

They're also inexpensive if you're on Western wages - the one I described in the post is €4 for entry and €15 for a massage, and pretty much all similar hammams will be in that general wheelhouse. Whereas I have no doubt that the ones in hotels are way more expensive - the tourist price vs the local price.

Tips For Going to Authentic Hammams

Whereas in hotels the staff will speak multiple languages, in ones the locals use usually they'll know just Darija and French, maybe basic English but there's no guarantee. If you know French it will be fine, but if not get a Moroccan friend to accompany you.

Shave before going. The attendants will only exfoliate you if your skin is hairless, as the kessa glove can more effectively remove dead skin and impurities without hair in the way, and with smooth skin there's no chance of the rough gloves tugging on your hair and causing your skin to become irritated. The subsequent skincare products applied to your body will also be easier to apply evenly and will be better absorbed. If you haven't shaved beforehand they'll just give you a razor.

You can buy toiletries like soaps and towels, but it's also acceptable to bring your own.

Don't be afraid to get naked. Moroccan women strip down to their panties. Nobody will look at you, everyone is concentrating on bathing (wearing your bra or swimsuit is honestly more likely to bring attention to you than going topless as that's how people will know you're a tourist). You'll see many different body types and all ages in the hammam, so don't worry about being judged if you have stretch marks, extra weight, etc

Men and women bathe in separate areas or buildings, so don't worry about the opposite sex seeing you. You might occasionally see a mother taking her young son with her (as in, toddler age), but never older boys and men.

You can talk and laugh, but don't shout or giggle loudly or anything. It's meant to be a relaxing experience for everyone, and as the rooms are so spacious, loud noises will carry across them.

The massages are really thorough, so be prepared. I've been massaged everywhere from the insides of my ears to my privates in these hammams. If you have anywhere you'd rather they don't touch, communicate it with the massage therapist before getting your massage done, as the norm is to massage literally everywhere.

[ourolite2]

ᨳິ petites idées!　　sfw & suggestive black chongyun.　reader gender unspecified, slight physical teasing. also, bahamian slang was used which i hope was applied properly bcs i am not bahamian LMAO. please do correct any with accuracy if i'm wrong! ༄

•　 chongyun is from the CARIBBEAN. he is BAHAMIAN. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! therefore i'm certain he knows variations of creole spoken in the bahamas, such as bahamian creole and haitian creole. however, his accent and his usage of the language grow in prominence when he code switches specifically. otherwise, his accent is subtle and only heightens when excited or uses an expression. nigga stepped back in surprise and went "mudda sick!"

•　 side note, chongyun also prefers oils like peppermint and eucalyptus because of their heat-defying properties. get too close and you’ll have a breath of fresh air from anywhere above his neck with the slightest whiff. i’d argue that this adds onto his natural scent and repels demonic energy from him, making his duties as an exorcist nothing but effortless.

•　 this is not only my theory but neso’s as well, that high temperatures of weather provoke unbridled frustration, while a high degree in spice provokes his code switch into a more slang-embedded and chatty persona, regardless of the emotion with this linguistic swap. high temperatures in the aspect of becoming overly flustered or anxious would result in stereotypical lightskin ass behavior. symptoms include smooth and failed rizz, leaning against a nearby wall, nodding upward in a 'sup' motion with a sweet smile, and other laughter-bellyache inducing antics.

•　 under the same subject, arousal can also cause certain emotions since.. other parts would become more heated than anticipated. this does not result in smooth behavior, but rather improper use of slang and a few mumbles of "goddamn" or "gyat" to himself. he is not smooth, he's adorable! uh-- well... unless it's hot outside while such occurs. then he'd come off more embarrassed with an attitude due to his ineptness to hold eye contact, in addition to how much he's stuttering and fidgeting in your presence. hm... this is still pretty cute tho, isn't it?

•　 y'know, there's so much black cuisine beyond soul food, but to start off with such chongyun's favorite sides would be potato salad, banana pudding, and deviled eggs because they're delectably served cold of course. as for other types of black cuisine, specifically bahamian or just caribbean, he likes conch salad, johnny cake with some vanilla icecream, crab rice served at room temperature, and despite his sensitivity to heat, chongyun can certainly exalt freshly made plantain fufu with various kinds of soups. also, if his environment is colder his emotions are less chirpy, allowing him to prefer being more composed and chill (pun intended), therefore warmer foods become considerably more tolerable for his yang energy to handle.

•　 you uh.. you guys know how he has those calming herbs in his popsicles for his yang energy? well.... what if he smoked those herbs to calm down? y'know how he doesn't come off aggressively and he's a chill sweetie? well.. imagine he's miffed and just reaches for one of his joints...

•　 okay, okay. let me close off by saying i looooove the pretty blue theme for chongyun's character, especially in his natural features, meaning his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. his clothes matching is just a perfect plus. he'd have three strand twists done in his hair as his day-to-day style as well as his favorite style. the contrast of light blue to his gingerbread cheeks and tawny forehead is so eye-catching, radiating soft, approachable energy. assuming xinqiu is also black here, he definitely re-twists chongyun's hair for him sometimes; this is because doing it himself can make chongyun too hot, since wash days are a workout and a half. he'll have to constantly take a popsicle break til' he runs himself dry. if not xinqiu, however, y/n can lend a comb and a few hours, right?

꒰꒰　　Fifteen minutes after washing and conditioning the lapis exorcist's head of hair, Y/n was confined to numbing their body by sitting in the same position as they moisturized his detangled spirals and corkscrew curls from the ends up. T'was doubtless that the young man was unfazed and emotionally pacified by the massage of cold-pressed cream and peppermint oil to his scalp and ends. Chongyun sighed in delight behind closed, mocha lips, ever appreciative to have someone so amply amiable to assist him with this monthly test of his sanity. "Dunno how I'd do this without you, Y/n. I admire your skill and precision, ‘cause Lapis knows I physically can't fuc-.. can't function..."

Y/n peered from behind him with a velvet grin, taking pride in being so adored for their charitableness. Even so, they were rather rushed and absentminded in their pursuit to deliver succor before Chongyun blew a fuse on his own, so they had no medicinal popsicles on hand to subdue his yang energy's lingering emotional outburst.

Thus, Y/n hummed patiently in response to his subtle agitation layered in clouds of gratitude. "Hmm? No, no, your skill and precision out-rival mine in many things, baby blue. You're an exceptional exorcist for one, aren't you?"

Y/n's words were warmhearted enough, in fact, to cause a drought upon any venom brooding beneath his furrowed expression. Continuing massaging his scalp with the eucalyptus now coating their fingertips earned them another exhale of relief from the miffed munchkin. Alas, this relief was faulty and short-lived, unlike the addictively euphonious voice beginning to toy with his muddled mind.

Y/n leaned further down so that their chest was pressed to the back of Chongyun's head, followed by tilting his head back enough to face them. They endowed a silken kiss to his now ever-more baked forehead, leaving one hand to caress the front of his neck and the other to hold onto his lower cheek and chin. With how his eyes could only widen in a failed quip, his plump lips parting and spreading into a naturally flustered smile, you'd think he must feel heavenly against Y/n's spread thighs. However, the opposite was evident, as his body's temperature began to rise and only increased with Y/n's giggles in response to his adorable reaction.

'Poor cute little thing.' Y/n mused, with their widened lips stuck in that gorgeous upturned setting. Their hand placement was all the more amusing (to them at least) as Chongyun breathed out an incoherent 'damn' under their touch, denying himself any further vulgarities as they continued kneading their fingers onto him and trailing their nails across his sensitive skin, goosebumps present and halfway-completed hair neglected.

"Don't start with your failed, flirty antics on me either, baby blue.. Just enjoy me like this, I'll fix your head momentarily."　　꒱꒱

⑅ leman productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.

[adrowningmansballad]

report card

Do you have a heart? Can you feel it beat in your chest? Does it feel ooey, gooey and warm like the early rays of December's summer sun, peeking through your glazed windows when you wake? Like when a shy little girl or boy sneaks glances at their crush in a coming of age film with bated breath while walking to school, concealed by the shadows of wilted wallflowers. Does it flutter like cabbage butterflies that dance around your head as you walk down the cracked paved footpath? Tranquility breaks as you trip pitifully, the crumbling of concrete matches your confidence and crimsoning of cheeks. But you'll have more to be embarrassed about soon, don't you worry. Can you feel it pound as you're rushed by an influx of bodies, washing over you? As you enter school, moving from each class, slowly sinking on that anxious breeze that trails through the tall towering trees. Carrying that distinct scent of eucalyptus leaves that tumbles you dry. It follows you all the way to the end of the day, where you start to feel less alive. Can you feel your blood run cold when you realize what day it is today? When you're handed your progress report, and read the freshly printed Letraset flowing down the page. A column that pummels you into the earth- "A- for Math, A for Science, A for Music, A for Humanities, A for Physical Education...B for English". It's not much, but it's enough. It's enough to justify what will happen next. Does your heart thump hard enough to begin pushing it's way out of your chest? With each step home, do you feel yourself falling over? You might hope you trip again and break your arm. Or crack your skull. Or just bleed. Any reason to distract from what's in your hand. And when you finally get home, do you accept your fate and place the death sentence onto the dining table? If so, you should probably go hide. Wait in your bedroom, with only the melody of your heart sitting in the void with you. Does it drum the same beat of the bedroom door slamming open? Scuff marks signing "please kick here" from the day before. And the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that. There's nowhere to hide and you know that. All you can do is hold your breath. But we both know your heart won't steady. Do you sense the wall shake? The way they vibrate as he comes through the door. The windows rattle, no longer glittering with that warmth you felt when you opened your eyes. Are you starting to feel that sense of doom, as the static that descends like a burning vignette threatens to end you. You're unsure if your heart will burst from the pressure swelling in your chest, but your ears most definitely will; "You almost got an A" "You've really slacked off this time" "Maybe you've spent too much time with your friends" "You did so much better last term". It sounds nice enough now, but your continuing existence pours oil onto the fire; "You're a waste of space, you know that?" "A waste of time even" "How can you be such an idiot?" "That's all you are, and all you ever will be" "How could you be so sly and manipulative, making us think you could actually do something well for once" "Don't give me that look, or I'll give you something to really cry about" "Maybe grounding isn't enough, I ought to-". No matter how hard you try, this is how it ends; No happy love story in sight. It was never there to begin with. The end credits thanks you for your achievements that led us here. Do you have a heart? I have one. But I think it broke a long time ago.