#I put needles through my earlobes 3 times | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovemesomesurveys · 2 years

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Do you use the Oxford Comma? I see a lot of debates on this. Yes I do.

Do you enjoy baking? if so, what's the last thing you made? I sometimes get in the mood during the holidays. The last thing I baked was sugar cookies last Christmas with my brother. How much are gas prices in your part of the world? I’m not exactly sure, but I know it’s expensive. What are your favorite activities when the weather warms up? The only summery, outdoorsy thing I like to do is go to the beach. How many objects around you are purple? Just part of my phone case.

Do you enjoy gardening? No. Do you have any stories about bad weather you've experienced? Been caught out in the middle of rain storms a few times. Are you a playlist making type of person or do you just shuffle all of your songs? I used to be a playlist person, but now I’ll just hit shuffle. I like the variety.

What are your favorite type of rocks? igneous, sedimentary, metamorphic? I don’t have a favorite. Let's say you would make great money doing so.. would you ever be a beekeeper? Nooo. Do you have any concerts you're planning on attending? No, unfortunately. There’s been a few recently I wish I could have gone to. It’s been over a decade since my last concert, I miss it. Would reading minds really be a good super power? or just stressful? Just stressful for sure. March 8th is International Women's day! Who are some inspiring women in your life? My mom. Do you think corn belongs in a stir fry or should it be left out? I’ve never had stir fry and I don’t even really know what goes in it. If you had to choose only 1 thing to eat for 1 month.. what would it be? I don’t know, but ugh, I miss food. D: Do you enjoy amusement park rides or are you more into the food like me? With the exception of Disneyland (I love the rides and food), it’s the food for me. When was the last time you went on a nice, relaxing walk? Uhhh. Have you ever had to crawl through your windows because you locked yourself outside? No. Are you a country music fan? I like some. Do you have the cilantro 'tastes like soap' gene? or do you enjoy it? I loveee cilantro. Also, I didn't know people couldn't but, can you smell ants? What scent do they put off to you? i’ve heard that before. No, I don’t think so but I’ve also never attempted to. I’m not going to go get near one to find out either. Do you enjoy Iced coffees and lattes? What is your typical coffee order? I do, but hot coffee is the best. I typically get a white chocolate mocha or a caramel macchiato. If given opportunity, would you record a song? What artist would you collab with? No, I can’t sing. Do you believe in an afterlife? Yes. Do you think there is 1 true God and the others are fake or what are your thoughts on religion altogether? I believe in one God.

Have you ever had any unusual pets? Would you ever want one? No. How often do you consume pizza? What is your go-to pizza place and order? I’d say like 2-3 times a month. I like this local place. That sounds so good... Do you remember the feather in hair trend? Did you like that or ever partake in it? I didn’t wear any. Do you think Daylight Savings Time should be a thing? I don’t really care. Have you ever watched Dragon Tales? What was your most watched show as a child? I’ve seen some of it before cause my bro and cousins watched it when they were kids. I was a Barney, Arthur, Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, WB and Fox Kids 90s kid. If you had to get a tattoo of lyrics or a quote, what would it be? I’ve wanted ‘free bird’ for several years. Do you have any tattoos or piercings? I wish I did but, needles😬 No tattoos, and just my earlobes for piercings. If you're interested in astrology.. what are your big 3? (sun, moon, rising) -- What do you consider to be red flags in a person? not just personality wise. think about professions, maybe what they drive.. etc.. How they interact with others, body language, questionable interests, their profession, possibly. What is a simple thing you cannot do? Like, I can't whistle for example. I can’t either. What do you think of leaving Christmas trees up year round and decorating them for different holidays? I’d do it. I’ve left my mini tree up in my room before for like 2 years, ha, I could have at least swapped out the decor for the holidays. Do you like carpet or do you think it should be a thing of the past? I much prefer tile and hardwood. Are seasonal allergies bothering you as well or are you a truly blessed human with no allergies? I suffer from ‘em, too. What is the scent of the last candle you lit? I don’t light candles. Would you rather give up bread or cheese for the rest of your life? Don’t be cruel. Another question that got me thinking.. are there more doors or wheels in the world? Uh. Are there any bands or artists you think get too much hate? Nickelback for example. Why did it become a thing to hate on them? I still like their music. Free groceries for one year or free gas for one year? Which would you choose? Groceries. What is your favorite body of water? ocean, lakes, ponds.. etc. Ocean. final question.. How are you doing? feel free to rant and let it all out. life is crazy. I’m tired, in pain, uncomfortable, frustrated, hungry, depressed...

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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lilxberry · 3 years

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I Watched You Die} 4 - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

Someone from Natashas’ past makes the most of unsuspected arrivals and begins to cause issues, not only for her, just everyone they come into contact with. HYDRA uses them as a simple puppet and Natasha believes that maybe, just maybe, she could get them back to her in the way she remembers.

Warnings: Mentions of previous violent actions. Mentions of broken limps and dislocations. Mentions of injury. Mentions of blood. Stitches and needles. Language. Just a smidge of filth *wink wonk*. A spec of fluff. (I think that’s about it but don’t quote me on that lmao)

Words: 4,036

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (female reader) (super soldier reader) (HYDRA reader)

< Chapter 3 Chapter 5 >

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As the ringing neared its end, she made a quick grab for her phone, pressing the answer button and breathing deeply before bringing the smartphone up next to her ear and speaking in an unwavering, determined tone.

“Hello.” Natasha was met with a pregnant silence before a voice, an extremely familiar voice, gave her a reply, one she couldn’t help but sharply inhale at.

“Hello, Natalia.”

_______________

“Hello Natalia,” you whispered into her ear as you snuck up behind her during her private training within the large ballet studio-esque room where a wall of mirrors stood tall.

Natalia quickly spun on her heel, taking a firm hold of your wrist but before she could try to restrain you further, your faster than hers reflexes and grasped a hold her wrist and spun her once more, bringing her back flush against your chest. You hastily wrapped one arm around her waist and the other across her chest, hand firmly holding her right breast.

She sharply inhales yet puts up no further fight against you, simply resting her hands upon your arm, heavily breathing, and basking in your touch. A sheen of sweat coats her supple skin from her intense solo training. “Hello Y/N.”

“And what are you doing here all alone, my little fox?” you rasped into her ear as your hand that had a hold of her waist slowly slithered down here front, inching closer and closer to her heated sex.

Natalia couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through her or that she hadn’t been highly aroused but being in a place where someone could so openly enter was playing on her mind. Her hands shot down to grip on to the hand that was advancing to her dripping slick core, stopping any further movements. “We can’t, someone will walk in. You don’t want to be punished, do you?”

“А! Вижу, твой английский становится лучше. Молодец, лисёнок. Soon you’ll be able to speak each and every language and fool every target we’re set.” You nipped at her earlobe, smirking as she shivers against you at the action. “And do not worry about silly little intrusions, I have made sure that we won’t be interrupted for quite some time.” You gave her right tit an assertive squeeze and soon, her resolved began to crumble. You could feel her knees weaken ever so slightly and she slowly transformed to putty, right in your hands. (Ah! I see your English is getting good. Well done, little fox.)

“How can you be so certain?” she inquired, her voice a whispy breath.

You chuckled as your lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, hot breath hitting her skin causing goosebumps to appear over her flesh and for her fine hairs along her arms and at the back of her neck to stand. “I have my ways. Now, trust me, Natalia. It is long overdue that I finally touch you like a woman should be touched.”

You had waited patiently for Natalia to finally become 18 years of age, dying to feel her supple, sweet, soft skin in a more brazen way, a way that’s led by sexual desire and undeniable, unquenched lust. To finally explore her in every meaning of the word. Finally, the opportunity had reared itself to you and you cannot deny yourself the pleasure of doing so.

She sighed, no longer resisting, wanting this just as badly as yourself. She loosened her hands around your arm, and you took that as an opening to snake your hand past the waistband of her skin-tight bottoms and into her soaked underwear where you began to toy with her clit and tease her tight entrance.

_______________

“Hello, Natalia.”

“What the fuck do you want? Huh? Why come back into my life after being gone for so many years?” Natasha seethed through gritted teeth but the deep chuckle on the other end of the line told her that she would not be getting any answers right now.

“Why are you being so rude, little fox? You’ve hurt my feelings.” She repressed the urge to simply press ‘end call’ at that moment. You clearly wanted something, so she decided to play it smart. “I must say though Natalia, your English is very good. Even got the little American accent down.”

“I suggest you tell me what you want within the next 5 fucking seconds or this conversation is over.” Natasha was in no mood to play games, even if all you ever appeared as was playful, not entirely in the way others would consider fun, either.

“Now, now, baby. That is one of those silly клички для those Americans love so much, yes?” you rambled off. “Anyways, we have gotten off track. Come meet me, alone. I may even give you those answers you so desperate seek out.” Your tone was affirmative and unwavering, but certainly not seeming as demanding in most cases. (Pet names.)

Of course, you knew she would come, no matter how much you truly pressed or what demands you had said were required, she would come to you. Hell, she knew it too.

After a long pause, Natasha obviously running every scenario possible through her head, every reason why she should or shouldn’t, even if it was inevitable that she goes to you, you spoke once more, finally breaking the silence.

“Tomorrow. 7pm. I will text you the address, маленький лисенок.” With that, a click was heard, and the line went dead. (Little fox.)

Natasha pulled her phone away from her ear at snails’ pace and looked at the black screen, releasing a breath she hadn’t quite realised he was holding in, waiting for her phone to light up with your meeting spot. She knew it was probably not so wise to do as you say, to go alone but she can’t seem to force herself away from the situation. Maybe she could tell somebody where she went, who she was meeting and why she decided to go in the first place.

But that wouldn’t be incredibly wise of her either.

The screen she held within her hand illuminated a small portion of her room along with her beautiful features, casting a soft, light blue glow on to her. With much reluctance, she unlocked her phone and clicked on the message application. There it was, a simple address to an old apartment building within New York held within a text from a withheld number.

She had resigned to finally give up with trying to convince herself that she shouldn’t go, that she shouldn’t meet up with you and began to prepare to turn in. Brushing her hair through, detangling the fiery red strands to an unknotted state, she had debated how she should spend the few hours leading up to when she would inevitably see you again. She was lost within her thoughts for a moment until she finally came to a conclusion.

Natasha would pay a visit to the hospital. She needed answers and if she weren’t going to get them from you, she would find other means of finding some.

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“Чертов S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you grumbled as you entered the small, dark apartment that HYDRA had acquired for you, hand pressing down on one of the many wounds you had gained during your escape from that damned compound, oozing with warm, deep crimson. It wouldn’t entirely surprise you if you had left a trail of droplets on the hallway floors and on each step on every flight, the old, ugly patterned lino flooring gaining just one more stain. (Fucking S.H.I.E.L.D.)

Kicking the door shut from behind with your boot clad foot, you shuffled and limped your way towards the bathroom. Pulling a cord that dangled from the ceiling, the flickering, yellow fluorescent light lit up the room about as much as 3 candles would.

You swung the doors of the mirrored cabinet above the sink open, uncaring if the thing broke, before collecting tweezers, a needle, nylon sutures and a fuck ton of cotton balls, bandages, and sterile gauze pads. Turning on your heel, everything being held against your torso by your arm, you stumble your way back towards the kitchen where a small, round dining table sat with four near beyond repair chairs.

Dumping each and every item on to the surface of the table, you made one last effort to move, scouring the cabinets until you came across a large, 3 quarters empty bottle of vodka and a container of oxycodone. Once happy with the results of your search, you finally made your way to sit down in one of the chairs that surrounded the table.

Grunting, you peel off your clothing until you were left in your woollen knitted socks, feminine boxers, and tight sports bra, both matching in dark colour schemes. Once all your clothing was clothing was removed, you could easily assess the damage that had been dealt to your tone, well built body. Three bullet wounds within your torso, no exit wounds in sight. Multiple grazing from when they had just missed their mark, ranging from the left side of your stomach to your right thigh and upper right arm.

Any bruising and small scrapes certainly didn’t concern you, but you would clean them up for good measure anyhow. Bringing all of the supplies needed closer to you so they would be easier accessed, you began your medical self-care.

Firstly, you had unscrewed the cap off of both the vodka and highly addictive pain medication, tipping the orange pill bottle over your cupped, calloused hand, allowing for 5 or maybe 6 of the oxycodone pills to land in your palm and throwing them into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Taking a swig from the bottle of vodka which you held at by the neck, you swallowed the pills, even whilst knowing that you would gain little relief from the pain.

Another swig of vodka and you were set to begin. You doused the needle, tweezers, and a few cotton buds in the liquid peroxide, cleaning your equipment before you. The cotton buds were used to clean each wound beforehand, right before digging into flesh and muscle to pull out what remained of the three bullets that were scattered across your upper body, discarding the remnants atop the table haphazardly.

Once all three bullets had been extracted from within you, you thread the nylon suture through the needle and begin your patchwork, grunting occasionally as the needle pierced your skin to tug the meaty flesh back together and close the openings.

Finally, you had gotten around to bandaging yourself up with the gauze pads and medical wraps, tightly winding it around your body and effectively covering your D.I.Y. stitches. After that, it was a quick and easy job of cleaning up the bullet grazing’s, leaving you finished and ready to complete your task.

With a grunt, you raised to your feet and slowly made your way towards the bedroom, a pathetic double bed placed in the middle of the room that looked like it could break at any moment. Reaching the corner of the room closest to the small window, you lower yourself on to your knee and pull back the corner of the bland carpet, moving two floorboards to reveal a black box, hefty in weight.

Pulling it out to rest beside the pulled back carpet, you open it up to find what you needed next to carry out HYDRA’s mission. A metallic black 9mm Full Glock, a single extra clip that’s fully loaded, a burner cell phone, a small post-it note with a number, and a small, thin case that contains within it a crucial piece of equipment.

Collecting the burner phone and the post-it note, you settle to sit beside the box, back supported by the disgusting yellow painted wall, one leg stretched out before you as the other is bent at the knee, arm resting atop of it as you unfold the piece of paper and scan your eyes across the scrawled numbers individually.

With a steady hand, you type the number you hold within your hand and bring it up towards your ear. You listen to it ring and ring, trying to connect your call, waiting for them to answer. With bated breath, the ringing tone ends, and her voice sounds through the speaker into your ear. The voice with the American accent she had unintentionally adopted.

You allow a long pause to build anticipation, it all being just a fun, silly little game to yourself, before finally breaking the silence by addressing the person on the other end of the line.

“Hello, Natalia.”

_______________

The silence was never-ending as she allowed the thoughts to swirl around in her head, she knew her that much. As the stillness of the call stretched out, you look back towards the box, inside at the case. You reach in, pulling it out and slowly rotating it in your grasp. It was a hard, leather casing, much like an expensive glasses case, only slightly lengthier.

You pop open the top of the case, peering at what was securely held inside, your eyes running over the object. Running your pointer and middle finger delicately over the object, you continue to gaze at it as you end the silence that you had both succumbed to.

“Tomorrow. 7pm. I will text you the address, маленький лисенок.” With that, you pull the phone away from your ear and allow your thumb to end the call. (Little fox.)

You knew you had to send her the address of the miserable apartment you were current sat in, but you appeared unresponsive to the world surrounding you. Your eyes never left the case and the object that laid there, almost as if in a trance. You had stayed as such for many minutes until you tore your eyes way and looked towards the phone.

With fast movements of your thumb, your message was typed out, clear as rain, ready to be sent. You cast one more glance towards the case before pressing send and throwing the phone back inside the box, ready to go beneath the floorboards once more, hidden away from others.

Placing the case to your side, you scuffle along the floor and close the box back up before lowering it back to its previous position, replacing the two floorboards over it and rolling the carpet back out into the corner.

Reaching behind you, you bring the case toward you and gaze down at it. You had purposefully left it out rather than hide it away along with the other items as it would finally be put to use, all when Natalia arrives the following day.

You bring it closer to your face, getting one last closer inspection before slowly lowering the top of the case, closing it up and protecting it from any possible damage. It would be no use if it were broken.

Just before the case fully closed, you caught the glint of the needle prick, the swirl of the near transparent tranquiliser liquid, and the small etching of HYDRA’s logo on the body of the syringe.

_______________

The doors slid open, and she instantly caught a strong waft of sterilised equipment and what’s best described as the stench of death. The bright light felt harmful to the human eye. That combined with the lack of sleep due to tossing and turning, Natasha felt ever so slightly nauseous.

Earlier that day, Natasha had entrusted Clint with minimal information of her whereabouts of the day. She had told him that she would be out and that they should not expect her to be back until at least the following day. Just in case.

She had instructed him to simply say that she had gone out to the others and that she’ll be back be the following morning at latest. She gave him no location and information on who she would be meeting that day, although, it felt as if he had already known. Natasha also told Clint that they were not to contact her unless it’s an emergency. And if she doesn’t return that day at all, she can finally pass on what she had told him in confidence to the others.

Of course, the archer said nothing, but a simple quirk of his eyebrow told her everything he felt about the situation, even if he doesn’t entirely know what the situation is exactly.

Walking over towards the main receptionists’ desk, she observed her surroundings, such as the few vending machines lined up against the wall, one that has a piece of paper clearly stating it was out of order. The few rows of waiting seats looked relatively disgusting only due to their age. Natasha knew they cleaned regularly but some stains along with the test of time can’t be wiped away with disinfectant cleaning spray and a rag.

Reaching the desk, she stood before it, waiting for the receptionist to look upwards and notice that someone was stood before them. When 10 seconds of nothing but silence passed by, Natasha cleared her throat to gain the attention of the receptionist. Natasha could almost hear them roll their eyes before looking up and facing her.

“Yes?” she asked in a monotone voice, clearly bored yet agitated from being bothered.

“I’m here to see Lewis O’Connor. Can you tell me what room he’s in?”

The receptionist huffed as she turned her gaze towards the computer, staring at the screen as her fingers danced along the keyboard, typing away, the clack of the keys the only sound between the two. After a passing moment of silence, she looked up at Natasha over her reading glasses and clicked her tongue. “He’s on the third-floor, ward 6, room 43.”

“Thank you,” Natasha gave a curt nod before swivelling her body to the left and towards the elevator, her own eyes rolling as her back faced the receptionist.

She glided across the floor, suddenly stopping right in front of the elevator. Pressing the call button, she only merely waited roughly 7 seconds for the elevator to reach her and slide its doors open. Stepping inside, she faced the console of buttons built into the wall, quickly finding the third-floor button, and pressing it, informing it which floor was her destination.

The ride up felt longer than what she was now used to, the elevators at the compound, and those that they used to frequently within the tower, being much faster than standard, public use elevators. Natasha felt the hum of the mechanical contraption beneath her feet before jerking to a stop once finally reaching the third floor.

The doors slid open once more, allowing her to step out into the hustle and bustle of doctors, nurses, and surgeons. Patients, family, and friends. Looking towards the directory board, she quickly found which way would take her towards ward 6 and set off, swerving out of the way of oncoming human traffic.

Arriving at ward 6’s double door entry, she pushes it open with ease and passes through the threshold. Already she could see rooms lined with beds, patients laying in them. God knows what they’re actually being treated for, though she couldn’t care less at that moment, in just a few hours, she would be seeing you and she needed to be as prepared as she possibly could be.

Passing room after room, the numbers slowly climb. ‘39, 40, 41, 42–’ “Room 43,” she mumbles to herself. She rolls her shoulders, poising herself for what lies beyond that door.

Composing herself, she rapped her knuckles against the wood three times before slowly creaking the door open and sliding into the room. There, she sees the agent who you had so dirtily tricked and manipulated, who you damaged and hurt in the process.

Lewis looked up towards the new person within the room, his eyes widening at the sight of his superior. Well, ex-superior, thought she didn’t know that. “Miss Romanoff, wha-what are you doing here?” he stuttered out.

Natasha sent him a kind, warming smile in the hopes of calming his nerves and to bring him some comfort after experiencing such a traumatic thing merely 24 hours earlier. “Hello agent O’Connor. Call me Natasha,” she sweetly greeted back. Looking at him now, she can see how the agent had been easily manipulated and fooled into a false sense of security and safety. He looked extremely young and fresh faced, probably around 22, maybe 23, years old.

“Got it, Miss Romanoff.” His eyes widened. “I-I mean N-Natasha.”

She chuckled lightly as she stepped further into the room, allowing the door to slowly swing close, the soft click resounding in the room. “May I?” she asked as she nodded her head towards the chair places beside his bed. He quickly nodded and shifted in his position of sitting up on the bed.

Natasha sat down beside Lewis, whose lower body was covered in the off-white sheets. “How are you feeling, kid? What did the docs say the damage was?”

She saw the young man tense, choosing to stay silent, to wait patiently for his to speak in his own time. O’Connor audibly gulped before choosing to lower his head, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Bruising around my face from where I hit the glass. She broke my arm, pushed up right against the elbow. She caused it to break in 5 different places just from that.” He chuckled sadly, shaking his head ever so slightly. “She also dislocated my shoulder from its joint when damn grabbed me and pulled me against the glass.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, kid-“

“DON’T CALL ME KID! DON’T CALL ME THAT! STOP CALLING ME THAT!” He lashed out, raising his voice and staring directly at her with a wild look in his eye, making her jump and her heart race. “She called me that, kid, and look what she did.” His voice breaking told her that he was upset by the whole ordeal more than most would believe. He was a scared kid.

“Of course. I’m sorry, Lewis. I didn’t think.” She bowed her head slightly, both desperately trying to gain control over their breathing. She cleared her throat before opening her mouth once more. “When did the doctors clear you to work again?”

His face dropped, in slight shock that she doesn’t know. “They- uh, they fired me. Said it was my fault she got out. Said that they can’t afford agents who make mistakes.”

Natasha shook her head and sighed. “If they fired every agent who’d made a mistake, S.H.I.E.L.D. would practically be non-existent.” Lewis snorted at her comment, making her lips twitch into a smile. “Why did you want to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to make a difference in some way, be helpful, be good. I got recruited but clearly that was a mistake.”

Natasha shook her head once more. “It clearly wasn’t,” she started. “If you’d like, I could try to convince them to take you back. I would even personally train you. And if you feel like being a field agent isn’t working out for you, we could always find a new position for you.”

“You’d really do that for me?” he whispered.

She nodded her head and Lewis’ eyes lit up as a small smile worked its way on to his face. “Thank you, Miss Romanoff.” She quirked her eyebrow playfully at him, making him realise his slip up and chuckle. “I mean Natasha.”

They shared a laugh, Lewis already becoming a soft spot for Natasha, whether it was because he was a kind, funny kid or that he had been subjected to someone she used to care for deeply, she wasn’t sure.

Now, she felt uncertain, possibly even nervous about her next collection of questions she was about to thrust upon him. But she knew she had to. It was vital at this stage. Sighing deeply, she schooled her expression, now her features held nothing but seriousness.

“I hate to do this, I really don’t want to ask you more questions about it so soon but, what can you tell me about what you know on Y/N?”

_______________

OOP-

Man, I feel like my writing has gone down a bit recently and I’m so sorry for that

But anyways, I GOT PART 4 OUT PEEPS

If you haven’t read the previous parts, go through the links below the warnings and such or you can easily navigate your way through my masterlists

Also, my little random OC made another appearance, good for him

I was going to post this earlier but I was exhausted and the heat had been killing me honestly so, I’m sorry for technically making you guys wait longer lmao

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

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Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual

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‘I Watched You Die’ taglist:

@diaryoflife @username23345 @drpepperobsessed @fayhar @d14n4ol @srtamercurio @gabbygabbie @lostandsearching @afuckingshituniverse @thea13sworld @nelouath8 @navs-bhat @pistachiomilk3 @peggycarter-steverogers @b-5by5 @trikruismybitch

(If an @ is in bold, it will show who I couldn’t tag at the time)

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tarithenurse · 3 years

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To the point - 3

Pairing: au!Satoru Gojō x fem!reader Content: All the smut. Add a pinch of dom/sub, a drizzle of bondage, sweeten with pain, let it simmer for a moment. No proofing. A/N: Third and final chapter...and longer than expected.

3. Point taken

I should not have done that. Walking towards your last appointment, you’re not worrying about the floofy, pastel coloured dress you’re wearing (although it’s not your usual go-to style) but what’s underneath it. No one can see it: hidden beneath the almost knee-long, flowy skirt and the silken panties hides the result of a great deal of work that you never had expected to get done. I should. Not. Have done that. But you can’t undo it.

Face glowing hot, you try to ignore the reflection in the glass door as you enter the tattoo parlour. There’s no one around at the front. No sign of other customers in any of the two small rooms...at least it doesn’t seem so judging by the lack of sounds.

“Mind locking and turning the sign?” Gojō’s voice calls from behind the curtain at the left cubicle.

A muted, little croak is the only answer you can offer aside from doing as asked. Get yourself together! The mirrored motion of straightening up, pushing the shoulders back, catches your eye once more. Not bad, if you do say so yourself. Almost...innocent looking. That, of course, would be a lie and knowing that emboldens you enough to keep your head high as you pass the curtain.

“Well, hell-ooo,” Gojō purrs at the sight, eyes travelling over your form appreciatively.

It should have been you saying something to showcase the amazement you feel: everywhere are candles and flowers, in a corner is a beautifully painted box (closed and absolutely curiosity inducing), and music is flowing from Satoru’s docked phone.

He can see enough without the electric lights on? That’s when it hits you that he isn’t wearing the usual sunglasses. Perhaps he’s sensitive to the light. Why’ve I never asked?

“Hop up, princess.”

Technically, he partially lifts you up, large hands wrapping around your waist only to slide down slowly along your thighs before guiding your legs apart and into place. His fingers are hot against your flesh, as he rests your left leg in the cradle. Crystalline gaze tracking the shift of the skirt as it falls towards your hip, baring the work in progress.

“Perhaps -” he pecks a kiss to the inside of your knee -”we should take some precautions this time?”

There’s barely enough air in your lungs to answer. “Such as?”

Gojō grins wickedly. “Getting rid of these.” He curls the fingertips up under the dress, hooking onto the edge of the panties. “Would be a shame to ruin them.”

And then you remember and you catch his hands in yours. “I...I...don’t know if...ermm...”

“So shy, princess. Well...I guess it’s only fair that you aren’t the only one on display.”

And true to his words, he pulls off the t-shirt to grant you with a delicious view – there really is no better word to describe the lithe, muscular build. He isn’t bulky, but each muscle is clearly defined and makes your imagination’s creativity pale. You’re too distracted to notice where he drops the shirt. But you do see his hands go for the button and fly of his jeans and your pussy does respond to the view as he reveals himself fully for the first time, confirming the suspicion from the night you danced with him.

“Better, sweetie?” He saunters back between your legs, each movement enthralling and full of confidence.

Nothing stops you, as you sit up to reach out. Fingertips softly trace the lines of his body and turning him around. There’s a fairly big tattoo on his back and it takes a moment before your can extricate your focus from the individual strokes (symbols) of the pattern to see that the whole makes out wings that move with his shoulders and shoulder blades. It could have been tacky. It is ethereal.

“Like what you see?” He flexes cheekily, a goofy grin banishing the rest of the awkwardness you had accumulated over the last days.

“Oh yes.”

A large hands splays over your pussy, thumb rubbing your inner thigh and sending sparks to your abdomen, your chest. Then it’s gone, and the next touch is that of the needles jabbing into your skin.

Sweet pain mingles with fiery caresses as Gojō carries your through for an hour or more on the verge of ecstasy without once passing the silken barrier and by the time he takes a break to focus completely on you, you’re a whimpering mess, begging for more.

There’s no reason to oppose him as Satoru lifts the dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie (which, for once, matches).

“Sweet princess,” he croons against your belly, hands scooting under you to grope your ass, “you want more?”

“Y-yes yees...”

Your own hands are clamped on to the edge of the seat, hips automatically tilting towards him until he pulls away. Through a haze, you see him go and open the box, pulling out something small enough that he can hide it in his hand. Wait...two somethings.

“Can you be a good girl for me?” Of course you can, you will be anything for him. “Put this into your sweet cunt.”

He hands you one of the things: a silicone bullet, smooth and slightly warmed from his touch. There’s no hesitation as you slip your hands beneath the panties, gathering the slick on the toy. It’s not what you had expected, not quite what you need, but it makes you moan to push it past your entrance and feel it almost plop into place. It’s not on purpose when your fingers linger to stroke your folds.

A strong hand clamps around your wrist. “Did I tell you to play with yourself?”

“No-o,” you gasp.

Brilliant eyes have grown icy. “Then why did you?”

“I just...I need m- I need you please.”

He can’t hide the shrewd smile completely. “Only if you’re a good girl. Are you gonna be good from now on?”

“Yesyesyes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you.”

Returning your hand to the edge of the seat, he leans in over you, hips pushing against your inner thighs and his cock twitching against your pussy. Gojō’s chest is hard and warm against yours. His lips soft along your jaw.

“Good,” he whispers, “otherwise I’d have to tie you u-” interrupted by an involuntary roll of your hips, his eyes search your features before he continues, “...oh. I see. Are you sure?”

If I’m not allowed to touch and he doesn’t do it? You nod, but it’s probably a new roll of your hips that convinces him to find two leather straps in the box, one for each wrist. He’s gentle as he ties you to the seat, whispering sweet promises and explaining how to navigate this new territory safely. When done, Gojō kisses you agonizingly slow and deep and your brain can’t help but imagine how it would feel if he was using his tongue like that but on your pussy instead. Tense and hot, clenching around nothing...and he smiles as he retracts because he knows and his cock is damp from having pressed against your soaked panties.

“Mmm, perfect,” the words are mumbled against your cleavage and then repeated as he kisses his way down your body in a straight line.

Almost. Almost there. But of course he skips where you need him the most and you have to bite back a whine as he sets to work on the artwork again.

Kisses. Fingers massaging and rubbing. Soft bites. Each sends new jolts through your body, keeping you close to the edge with no risk of toppling over. Want more. As if on cue, a rumble rocks through your cunt, making it clench around the toy you had forgotten all about in your frustration. Maybe it’s a gasp (it could be a moan) and Satoru understands the sentiment perfectly and lets the vibrations continue as your breathing speeds up and you teeter on the verge of the first orgasm -

“Noooo...”

Everything has stopped and Gojō watches your body regain its balance instead of succumbing to pleasure. The bastard had turned off the bullet and no matter how hard your pussy squeezes around the thing, it’s not enough. Straining against the leather of the cuffs, you try to reach down. Your fingers know the motions. Your clit is throbbing. Inner walls weeping. And Satoru looks at you with hooded eyed while running a hand lazily along his length.

...

The base colours are filled in and the millions of jabs with the needles has caused your thigh to ache wonderfully. It’s not enough to distract you from the much deeper burning in your core: a desperation, a longing so profound that words such as grace or dignity have lost their meaning completely. Tears are filling your eyes and dripping down your cheeks as you babble. Begging. Pleading. Sobbing for Gojō to take pity on the wreck of a girl strapped down before him.

“I love the way you sound, princess,” he mumbles against your hip, “adore the way you stutter through my name.” Adept fingers have left the most sensible parts of your body momentarily to wrap up the tattoo. “You’ve been such a good girl.”

It’s impossible to fit together a string of words. Your brain has been reduced to mush and you’re trembling with need as his lean body presses against your flesh, his raging boner pushing at the soaked fabric of your panties. And he purrs, damn it, the man enjoys the sensation of the vibration he’s subjecting you too as they travel outwards.

“Pl-ple-ease!”

“Yeah? No more playing?” Somehow, the blue of his eyes manages to pierce through the haze of tears.

You’re not entirely sure when he frees you wrists. And the surprised growl as he finally pulls your panties off could just as easily have come from miles away. Two licks is all the aching folds are granted before he maps a path up your body, marking each detour with kisses and bites that makes you whimper at the delicious sting. There’s almost no power left in you to sit up like he wants you to...but somehow you manage for long enough to wrap your arms around him so he can unfasten your bra.

“It’s okay, darling,” he nibbles at your earlobe, guiding you onto your back once more, “hang on a bit longer, mm?”

“M-mm,” you nod, happy for the reprieve as the bullet stops.

Next second, the calm is disturbed as Gojō pulls out the toy slowly, leaving you more hollow than ever. A slobbery sound piques your curiosity, fighting against the reduced vision until you see him lick every trace of you off the silicone.

“I can never get enough of your taste,” he groans, winking at you. “

“You...how do...”

No, words are too difficult. It’s not as you really need them anyways, your brain tries to remind you before losing all sense of reality except the one fact that you’re finally feeling a cock head slipping up and down between your folds. Not just any cock, of course.

“Yeah...plea-OH!”

Shock waves of hot pleasure courses through every cell in your body at the sensation of Gojō bottoming out. Without warning, your body is wrecked, taken apart and put together in a heartbeat that lasts forever as your insides spasm and the only thing you can scream in your ecstasy is his name. And he doesn’t even move, just waits for you to come down and catch your breath.

“Hmmm, we need more space, princess.” His voice is strained.

Somehow, the man manages to lift you, still impaled by his erection, and carry you through a backdoor and up to the next floor – to be fair, you’re not thinking too much about it because all you can do is hold on as each step he takes sends aftershocks through your core.

You are aware of the soft feel of a mattress against your knees, realizing that he’s laid down in bed with you straddling him. Please, yes. It’s impossible to say where it comes from – probably the desperate craving that hasn’t been satisfied enough – but new energy tugs at your limbs until your sitting upright and your hips begin to roll. Every time he says your name, you reward him by pulling nearly all the way off and then sinking back down.

“Why’d I wait so long?” Satoru groans, his fingers digging into your ass. “Feel so...amazing.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me be good to you?”

Gojō seems to be the one struggling for words now as he thrusts up into you with each roll, trying to speed up despite your effort to keep it slow. It’s not long before he lifts you up and down by the waist, praising the bounce of your breasts and asking you to play with them. Of course you comply.

“Fuck!” He pulls you off, scrambling to get behind you and pushing you forward on knees and elbows. “Ready, babe?”

“Gimme, please.”

You're aching for him inside, a deep longing for the balancing act between the pain and satisfaction he can grant you. Breath reduced to superficial whimpers. Hands clenching the sheets. All the anticipation building up to the point that you're shaking as you feel him align himself. Deep...hard, the inner voice keens.

It's neither. Frustratingly slow, Satoru fills you again, underlining the discovery of the bumps and quivers against his length with wonderfully delicious moans.

"Wanted to do this at the club," he growls strained, "slide into heaven. Feel your tight cunt around me as we danced." Finally bottoming out, Gojō's hips stutter and his fingers hold tight enough to bruise your hips in his efforts to still you both. "Fuck, princess! You're so damn perfect, I wouldn't have been able to hold back."

"You wouldn't have had to," you whine, core fluttering at his words.

Slowly, he begins to thrust into you and for a moment the only sounds are from two sets of panting breaths and an obscene squelching. One hand trails up your side only to return via the spine, nails scoring to set your nerves ablaze.

"I think it was worth it," he purrs, "this view? Beautiful. And no loud music to cover your sounds." As if to prove the point, he rams in deep to make you cry out again and again.

You're right at the verge, the dizzying precipice begging for that last stroke to push you over the edge and fly on the updrafts – and the second before it happens, Gojō's strong arms pull you up flush against his chest and he growls into your ear to scream his name. The change of angle, the command, or maybe the feeling his teeth digging into your earlobe as he pulls you down hard on his cock has you cumming with him.

Rather than an explosion or waves, the bliss concentrates heavy and hot and spreads its blinding rays outwards until there is nothing but deeply saturated satisfaction.

You come to you senses sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped tight around you for support for both. Satoru's chest is heaving against your back, but he's still capable of peppering your skin with kisses.

"I know we got work to do still on your thigh but..." his tongue catches your earlobe, making you hum with delight, "be mine, princess?"

It takes a second before you can talk. "Is there any doubt that I am already?"

"Nope...but I like the way you presented your heart to me," you hear him smile.

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quickspinner · 4 years

Text

Puppy Love

I didn’t actually spend much time editing this one because I barely squeezed my sprints in, but I’m pretty happy with it for what it is! And what it is, is pure domestic fluff, featuring the return of Bach the deaf dog from my very first sprint fic, Puppy Eyes.

Written for the LBSC sprint fic challenge. If you’d like to join in follow @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers for more information!

Challenge rules:

Pick a prompt and write for that prompt in up to three 15 minute sprints. No writing outside the sprints until you have completed all three! After the 3 sprints are complete, you have 24 hours to edit (which can include some new writing to smooth transitions, etc). After those 24 hours, post what you’ve got! More information on the challenge here!

Prompt:

“Stop being cute, I’m annoyed at you for making me work.”

Marinette glared at the clear blue eyes that blinked innocently at her. “Stop being cute, I’m mad at you for making me work.”

Bach tilted his head slightly, but made no other reaction.

“I guess the one nice thing about having a deaf dog,” Marinette sighed, “is that I don’t have to feel guilty for complaining, because you can’t tell.” She tossed another empty bag of stuffing over her little couch to join the rest behind it, where Bach wouldn’t get tangled up in the trash. She’d get Luka to retrieve the empty bags later. Then she looked back to the fleece in her hands, picked up the needle, and began stitching the last opening closed with the same careful stitches she would have used if she were working on a couture dress and not a dog bed.

She paused, and then sighed, and then reached a hand out to rub between Bach’s ears. His eyes went all squinty and his tongue lolled out as his tail wagged and he did a little full-body wiggle without actually breaking his sit. “Good manners,” Marinette smiled, though she knew Bach couldn’t hear the compliment either. It had been some work, training him not to jump on her while she worked. They’d had one or two close calls with scissors and needles and other sharp things, and he couldn’t hear her shrieking, “No, Bach, sharp! Sharp!” Fortunately, they’d managed to teach him some manners before he got big enough to make injury unavoidable.

Marinette bit down on her smile as Bach shuffled closer, technically not breaking the rules, as his behind never left the floor, but soon his chest was pressed against her legs and his head was resting on her knee.

“Oh, not the chin,” Marinette whined, carefully placing the last few stitches. “You know I can’t resist the chin.” She tied off her thread, cut it, and carefully set needle and scissors both out of the way. “Okay, okay,” she grumbled, bundling the large, poofy bed off to the side on the couch so she could bend over and press her lips to the top of Bach’s head, ruffling his ears with both hands. Bach began to wiggle all over, tail wagging wildly, and pant, pressing harder into her now that she was giving him attention.

“You’re so spoiled!” Marinette scolded him in a high-pitched voice. “Yes you are! Spoiled spoiled spoiled! I spent all this time making this for you and we both know you’re just going to lay on the floor, aren’t you? You big goof! You’re going to be glad you have this nice comfy bed when it gets cold outside and that floor is freezing!”

She pulled back as Bach began to get a little overenthusiastic, making his funny little vocalizations and starting to make little hops to lick at her face. “Ew,” Marinette groaned, but she was laughing. Still, she pushed him away, made sure she had his attention, and signed for him to sit. He did, but Marinette could have sworn he was pouting about it. “Good boy,” she said and signed, and then scratched his ears. His eyes followed her as she picked up the bed, fluffed it out, and then laid it on the floor. “All right, let’s give it a try.” Marinette said and signed, “Come,” and Bach nearly lunged to her, dancing all over his new bed until Marinette gave him the sign for “down.” He laid down, looking up at her expectantly, paying no attention to his extremely comfy new bed, color-coordinated to match the studio.

Marinette couldn’t help smiling. “Well, at least you fit in it. For now. You better not get much bigger, furball.”

“You could have just bought him one, you know.”

Marinette looked up at the familiar, warm voice, to see Luka leaning on the doorframe and smirking at her.

“I could not,” she muttered. “And you know it. Besides, I couldn’t have found anything to match the room half as well.”

Luka chucked, and reached over the flick the lights off and on. Bach looked around, spotted his daddy, and flew from Marinette’s arms with an exuberant, if slightly odd-sounding, woof. He stopped himself just before he jumped up, but sat at Luka’s feet instead as he had at Marinette’s, his whole body once again wiggling. “Good boy,” Luka said and signed, and got down on his knees to take his turn ruffling Bach’s ears as Bach licked his face enthusiastically. “Ew,” Luka grunted, keeping his lips closed as he tried to turn his face away. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“How was work?” Marinette asked, pointlessly smoothing out the newly-finished dog bed.

“Work was work,” Luka sighed, with a little shrug. “It was okay. Nothing monumentally stupid today.” He grinned. “The only diva in the studio was me, for once.”

“Ooh, that sounds like a story.” Marinette lifted her eyebrows, and Luka winked at her.

Bach, deciding Luka had been sufficiently greeted, bounced between Luka and Marinette. They both laughed at the wiggly white furball, who despite being rather large for the room, managed to avoid knocking over anything important.

“Well, wife,” Luka began, and Marinette still felt a little frisson of pleasure at the title, “what do you say we take this goober for a walk? Looks like he could stand to burn off the energy, and I could definitely stand to stretch my legs after spending all day in the studio.”

“Sounds good to me, husband,” Marinette giggled back, feeling a bit of satisfaction at Luka’s grin when she said it. “But go change before you say anything to him about it.”

“Right,” Luka got up, and wiped a sleeve across his face with a slight grimace. “I’ll change and wash my face and then we can go.”

Marinette nodded, and tried not to be too put out when Bach pranced out of the room after Luka, shoving his head under Luka’s hand shamelessly and nearly knocking Luka into the hallway wall.

Half an hour later they were strolling along, Marinette’s arm linked through Luka’s, and Bach’s leash in his other hand, while the big white dog zigzagged down the sidewalk, sniffing everything in reach.

“I think maybe we better make a stop at the park,” Luka chuckled, watching him. “He’s pretty fired up.”

“I didn’t take him out as much today as I should have,” Marinette admitted. “I had so much to do. I really only took short breaks to work on his bed for a few minutes here and there when I couldn’t take it.”

“He’ll be fine after a few laps around the park,” Luka reassured her, squeezing her arm against his body lightly. “Some days are just like that. We knew it would be a challenge when he got bigger.”

“We did,” Marinette agreed, pressing closer to Luka, so that he slipped his arm free of hers and put it around her waist instead. “But you just couldn’t resist.”

“Neither could you,” Luka grinned. “It’s not so bad, though? Even if it was kind of...spontaneous.”

“Stupid?” Marinette said wryly. “Impulsive? Completely impractical?”

“Unexpected,” Luka countered. “Even though it wasn’t the plan. It still worked out, didn’t it?” He looked down at her, and Marinette had to take a moment before she could look up and smile at him.

“It really did,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “I should know by now that some plans just aren’t meant to be.”

Luka leaned down and kissed her—quickly, because Bach hadn’t noticed their stop and jerked them forward again.

Luka chuckled as they started walking again. “What’s life without an unexpected turn or two?”

Marinette snorted. “I certainly wouldn’t know, thanks to you.”

“It’s not all my fault,” Luka reminded her, letting go of her long enough to tweak one of her earlobes. “You came with your share of surprises yourself, you know.”

“You love it.” Marinette elbowed him.

“I love you,” he replied easily, settling his arm around her shoulders. “That’s more than enough to make up for the extra helping of chaos.”

“I thought a streak of chaos was a requirement for becoming a Couffaine.”

“It kind of is,” Luka laughed, thinking of his unconventional family. “But it didn’t have to be that wide.” He grinned at her. “Overachiever, as always.”

Marinette sniffed, putting her nose in the air. “I hate to do things halfway.”

“Oh, I do know that,” Luka drawled, giving her a sidelong wink. “A little bit of planning, a little bit of chaos, and more enthusiasm than this little body ought to be able to hold.” He squeezed her shoulders. “That’s my wife.”

Marinette tried to hold back the ear-splitting grin that wanted to break out, the one that was too large for her face and showed too many teeth, but she couldn’t do it. She leaned into Luka and pressed her face into his shoulder, trusting his arm to guide her.

#quickspins #lbsc sprint fic challenge #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #promptfic #ml #quicksprints #bach the deaf dog

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joelmillerthirstqz · 4 years

Note

You asked for more prompts so here I am! 49 - Chair Sex. Joel + any female. They try chair sex once, then find other types of chairs and go wild. There's a list of chairs wiki, pick whatever ones sound most fun/kink. In case Joel being ridden gets old (ha!) feel free to mix in other creative positions. Or add in a new kink with each chair! 2 or 3 different chairs is plenty or do more if you want. I'll leave chair/kink combos up to you unless you want me to pick.

ilu buddy, if you have preferences, hmu!

That said, I did write a chapter that isn’t really super bound to plot for Like Real People Do where Molly is just trying to integrate their record collection and ties Joel to a chair to get him to stop pawing at her for two seconds. Because I love that you prompted me, here it is! Not posting on AO3 until it threads into their story chronologically.

---

“Joel,” Molly mumbles, pulling the record from its sheath to confirm its in the correct place and nodding before adding it to the shelf.

Joel followed her down to the floor after she’d shooed him up onto the couch for unsettling her piles. Molly had undertaken the delicate work of integrating their pilfered record collections (50, his; 49, hers; 5, a mutual pile broken in the attempt to bring them home from the music shop outside of town) when the rain made clear they wouldn’t be going anywhere for the day. Her objection to his proximity came at his tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, a reliable precursor to him becoming more distracting.

“Joel,” Molly protests as his knees cage her hips from behind, mouth dropping to her bare shoulder, index finger tugging a knitted cardigan off of it.

“Do we know different alphabets?” he criticizes, pointing to the next record she’s picked up. His mouth slips to her clavicle, hand snaking around her middle.

“Joel!” Molly turns, eyes flashing. Joel shifts to sit on his heels, raising his hands in surrender.

Molly bites her bottom lip and considers him, rising smoothly and moving to the door to retrieve the rope hanging there. She returns with a kitchen chair loudly dragged behind her, wooden feet scraping the floor.

“You can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself, so you’re going to be good while I finish it,” Molly gestures to the chair. Joel looks up with raised eyebrows and smug interest, shrugging and complying with a tilt of challenge to the set of his jaw. Molly hisses into Joel’s ear, doing her best to secure his arms behind the kitchen chair from above him, even as he tries to nip at her neck when it comes near enough. He holds his arms in position for her to bind them, though, so she cinches the rope tight and hovers close to his face.

“Unnecessary, you were doin’ just fine,” Joel’s close enough to breathe against her mouth for her to hear him.

“I am on ‘C’, Joel,” Molly protests, flopping with her back against the couch to sort her crate among the piles of Joel’s records awaiting their new companions on the floor.

Joel’s leg starts to shake immediately, his eyes restlessly calculating. His hands can’t help but clench to test her knot-tying, broad knuckles making the fabric rasp as he moves.

Molly’s eyes shoot up to watch him between two records she’s comparing to one another, narrowing at the sound.

He tries to look innocent for half a second before letting his legs fall open. Molly flicks a glance to his capable thighs, annoyed that he’s realized what makes her miss a beat.

She moves a complete pile to the bookcase, gently setting a bookend to hold them while she finishes the rest of the shelf. Pausing to shrug her sweater off, she doesn’t look up when she hears the chair creak with impatience.

“How about, if I’m good until ‘M’ I can come help again?” Joel proposes.

Molly looks at him over the top of a record once she’s seated again.

“You’ve been terrible from ‘A’ to—” she glances down, “‘H’,” Molly says, fixing him with a haughty, pitying look. “Rough track record.”

“I’d show you my hands if you hadn’t tied ‘em,” he complains.

Molly smiles and resumes her task, stacking records one at a time after careful verification of the sleeves’ contents.

Joel’s leg starts to bounce once again, impatience not disguising the way his eyes rake over her.

Joel spots the cover of the next record.

“That counts as an ‘M’,” he supplies.

“And we had no such deal, Joel Miller,” Molly says without looking up at him, the tap of another record hitting a stack resounding.

“Molly—” Joel sounds strained, quiet.

Molly looks up at him critically. She rises silently and unbuttons her jeans, sliding them down and off. Her shirt follows, and she settles back against the couch in her underwear, largely ignoring him. Rising to put everything up to ‘R’ on the shelf, she takes her time watching him crane towards her in profile.

Settling primly onto the couch and selecting the next of their dwindling disparate stack, she looks up at him from under her lashes.

Joel watches her singularly, nostrils flaring as his jaw tenses.

Molly flips up two records as if to ask him to opine on their order, smirking and setting one aside when his eyes don’t leave hers. Stepping over him without sitting down, she scrapes his chin with blunt nails, Joel going easily to her touch, trying to get close enough to her abdomen to catch her off-guard.

She finishes stepping over him to cross the room for the record player, Joel lurching forwards to try to catch her off balance as she goes. He takes in the slope of her back and long legs and thinks his mouth may actually water, agonizingly hard as she carefully sets the needle.

Later, Joel would swear he’d recognized what she’d put on, but all the drifting sound does is intensify her form returning to him.

Joel bites at her, barely out of range as she settles back over his lap, closer to his knees than his hips. Molly tilts her forehead close to his, looking at him before brushing her lips against his.

Smiling down at him, flicking his top shirt button open, Molly slips the first knuckle of her finger into his mouth, fascinated by how pretty it is below his beard, inflected with scars from busted lips over the years.

Joel bites her index finger and there’s a sharp crack as he twists out of the rope holding him.

“Fuck!” She protests, Joel tugging her against his lap forcefully, tongue in her mouth without prelude (though she’s prepared to accept).

He rises with one of her thighs in each of his hands, adrenalin narrowly tempered by remembering to turn his palm up to catch her head as he pins her under him on the floor.

Molly’s more smile than surprise, biting her tongue when he tears her underwear, other hand getting through his belt, button, and zipper in a second, maybe two.

Joel penetrates her quickly, which would have been a stupider idea if she’d liked watching him puzzle his way through being out of control less.

She grunts as he frames her face with his hands, heedless of trapping her hair under his hands.

“Not—done—” Molly manages to complain, flailing a wrist towards the records, one of Joel’s hands pressing directly down onto her thigh, spreading her open beneath him.

“Yeah? Got too close,” he stumbles, focused on finding the right angle to take her apart.

Molly bites his earlobe when she has the chance, nails leaving neat punctures on his shoulders in her wake. Joel snaps his hips in kind, shrugging at the pinprick sensation.

He collects her wrists in each of his hands, spinning her to her stomach and entering her again, rough enough for her to sigh with the impact. Joel slows for a scarce moment before she shoves her hips back against him, earning a swift reply. Her shoulders ache wrenched behind her, but she melts with his teeth grazing her jaw, shallow thrusts angled where she needs.

“I should come and leave you right here for that,” Joel murmurs against her ear, lost in how they move together, a stuttering but coordinated rhythm building sweat on both of them.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t,” Molly breathes, catching his free wrist and moving his hand to her core. She bites his lower lip harder than she needs to while he takes up stroking her clit like he’d known the pattern his whole life. Her whole life.

Joel releases her hands to capture her jaw in his palm, kissing her seriously, past the bounds of necessary with his cock hilted into her.

Molly’s eyebrows draw together and she whimpers, twitching around him without reservation. Joel smiles against her mouth and presses his tongue deeper when she smacks him softly, riding her orgasm through.

He spans his hand between her shoulder blades, snapping his hips with commanding calm, firm and rapid. Molly basks in the deep resonance of his thrusts, scrabbling at the carpet as he stretches her from a new angle.

Molly grins as her suspicions are confirmed and he comes far sooner than usual, clearly spurred by light denial. Joel makes this tame, consumed noise that has her reaching back for him, needing him closer even as he falls to his elbows over her, gasping. When his breath changes, Molly wriggles onto her back, tugging him close and admiring the way their hearts meet below rapidly expanding ribcages.

“You’re helping me with the rest,” Molly whispers into his hair.

“Mhm,” Joel acknowledges, stroking her sides.

#tlou fic #asks #molly x joel #the last of us #the last of us 2 #the last of us ii #joel miller #joel #tlou ii #tlou 2 #joelsbeard

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unexpectedyarns · 4 years

Text

The day I had

I kept a fire burning in the wood stove in the porch kitchen, all night. This morning our feels-like temp outside was 26F. It wasn’t warm in the porch kitchen, but it was warmER than outside. Chalk it up to a win.

Went to work at noon. Wolf stopped by on his way home from driving all night. Instead of going home, he did the grocery shopping.

We got approved today for the townhouse in Knoxville!! We paid the key deposit and can move in on the 27th. The rent will be $25 extra every month per pet. The dog we’ve had for 8 years. The cats which I’m allergic to... we like, and they’re cute, but an extra $50 a month plus antihistamines seems a little pricey to keep them.

Lynn came up for a tattoo, the border around her Star card on her thigh. She got delayed coming through Chattanooga so we got started a little late.

I had to interrupt her tattoo for an earlobe(s) piercing on a 16yog. I did one lobe (and let me tell you, I’m very quick), and the girl goes, “I think I feel faint.” Her mom goes, oh yeah she has “xyz medical condition” and she does this every time she has a needle stick. She faints. OMG I COULD HAVE USED THAT BIT OF INFORMATION KAREN. So a 3-minute piercing job turned into 15 minutes of nursing someone back from the precipice of death, and the girl decided not to get the 2nd lobe done today.

Back to tattooing Lynn. My 5PM appointment showed up at 4:30. The 6PM piercing they double-booked (I mean I can take time out from the tattoo for 3-5 minutes of piercing, right?) showed up at 5. I finished Lynn’s tattoo.

Did 2 forward-helix piercings without a hitch, and couldn’t get the balls screwed on. I tried. She tried. I tried. She tried. 20 minutes later, I got the balls put on.

I got started on the 5PM tattoo at 7:42. We close at 8. He wants it on his thigh. Did you bring shorts? He says no. So I go get him a privacy sheet and spend over 2 hours tattooing skulls on a guy in his underpants.

I finished up at 10 PM, tired and stove up from hunching over clients for 7 hours, and hungry because the last thing I had to eat was some hot wings at noon

I love my job.

Anyone want a couple cute, spayed female cats?

#cats to rehome #tattooing #moving #my day #my life

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your-high-lady · 5 years

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Summary: This story is about Feyre. She has a couple of small dreams she wants to achieve but turns out it isn’t as easy as she imagined it would. Trust me, the story is better than the summary. Modern AU. Feysand.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17

Disclaimer: All credits go to Sarah J Mass

Chapter 18: He's back

December 2019

More months passed as Rhys and I did better than ever. Everyone knew we were together and I loved that. Just that day we'd been talking about moving in together. I couldn't think of anything more thrilling than that. Rhys had started opening up to me lately, though he never told me exactly what had caused him to become so closed off, so guarded. I never pushed. It had taken so much from me to tell him about Tamlin.

Tamlin. I had managed to get him out my head. Until this month. Every other day, I'd imagine him around a corner or in a crowd, but when I looked back, he was gone. I felt like I was being followed, watched at, but when I glanced around, no one was there. It was making me paranoid. Frightened. Each time, I told myself I was just picturing him. He couldn't possibly be here, in California. He was in Auckland, far away from me. But then why did I keep seeing him?

Kicking the thoughts out of my head, I didn't let any of that come between Rhys and I. The only thing I could do was be with him and make sure he knew I was always there for him. That he could come to me whenever he wanted and talk to me about anything.

—

We were at the movies that day. It was late, around 8 or 9 in the evening. The nights were colder now and it got dark quickly. I had three layers on underneath my thick coat. Just as we reached the doors of the cinema, he said, "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Meet you outside." His hand slipped out of mine as he walked back towards the bathroom and I smiled at his back before heading out of the building. Outside the only sources of light were the bright street lamps and the full moon. A sharp breeze was blowing. I could feel it on my face like pins and needles and my nose was going numb. It was tolerable for the first couple minutes, but then I started breathing into my hands and putting them against my cheeks in an attempt to warm them up. Then I heard someone call my name from behind me.

My mind went blank at the voice.

Memories went through my head. Kisses, hugs, smiles, dates. Everything and more.

His name echoed in my head, with words like 'run' and 'danger' also running through my head. It would sort of look like this if the words were physical.

Tamlin danger run run run not safe Tamlin danger run danger not safe not safe not safe run run Tamlin Tamlin Tamlin.

I watched as the words skimmed from left to right, over and over. I knew I was in danger; I knew Tamlin could hurt me any second, that I wasn't safe. But I just couldn't run, no matter how much I wished too. My limbs were frozen, unwilling to move. "Hello, Feyre." He said, smiling wickedly and coming to stand in front of me.

I shivered, not from the cold, and squeezed out the words, "Hello, Tamlin."

"How are you?" He asked as if we were still friends, as if I hadn't left him because he'd let me get raped. But those words brought me out of my trance. I was able to move all of sudden because I was angry. I was angry at him for putting me through all that heartbreak, angry at myself for freezing, angry at the law that hadn't thought it necessary to put this man behind bars. But no more. I refused to be weak, unable to fight for myself. And so before he could realise what was happening, I kneed him in his groin. "Fuming, you fucking asshole!" I said as he fell to his knees, groaning. I kicked him in the stomach, causing him to go farther down. And then I just kept going and going and going. I vented out everything, and it. Felt. Glorious. "I'm angry about what you did to me. I'm pissed!" I said as I kept kicking him here, punching there. "I'm angry at myself for letting you put me in that position. Do you know what he did to me? He fucking raped me. Do you what that is? Sex. He forced it on me. And you let it happen. You fucking let it happen, and I will never ever forgive you for that. I will not let you put me through something like that ever again. I will not be weak again. You'll never have me." I said laughing, half with hysterics and half with adrenaline, and finally stopped my assault on the son of a bitch. I had started attracting an audience, but I just shot them all of them a wide smile, probably looking like a crazy woman who needed a trip to the mental asylum. I didn't care. Tamlin was at my feet. I hadn't let him scare me and I was proud of myself for that.

It was then that I noticed Rhys, walking towards me. He stopped dead about five metres away from me, but he wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was staring at Tamlin who was groaning in pain, blood dripping from various parts of his face where I had punched him many times. Looking back at Rhys, I noticed how pale his face had gone. I'd never seen his face so immobile. It worried me. I kicked Tamlin again, making sure he wasn't getting up anytime soon and walked over to him. Bringing my hand up to his cheek, I said, "Rhys?" His eyes stayed glazed for several seconds, before he finally blinked a couple of times, and brought his eyes to look into mine. I swallowed, once again struck by just how beautiful his violet and silver-flecked eyes were, despite the tears brimming in them. Drops of tears started falling from his eyes and I moved to wipe them away with my thumb. He swallowed, and it looked as if he had to put in a lot of effort to force the words out, but he finally did it. "Tamlin killed them. My family." His shoulders shook with tears and then he was full out sobbing. He fell to his knees and I went with him. I didn't pressurise him into telling me anything else. I knew he would when he was ready. So I did what I could. For several minutes we sat there on the pavement, my arms wrapped around Rhys, rubbing up and down his back, as he cried. He'd held himself so strong and so closed off from the rest of the world, and now it was coming all out. I was so damn curious to know exactly what Tamlin had done, and I knew whatever he'd done was bad, really bad, but I held my tongue. And then several more seconds later, I watched as his sobs finally subsided and he reached into a pocket to get his phone out, and I listened to his side of the conversation. "Hello? Officer Wu? It's Rhys…Yes, it's Tamlin. He's sort lying unconscious in front of us…Um, my girlfriend beat him up?… We're in Palo Alto, at the cinemas… Yes, that one…okay, thank you." He hung up, turning to me. "The police is coming. I'll tell you the rest later." His eyes still had a haunted look but they were definitely more aware now. I nodded giving him a close-lipped smile, and we settled in, waiting for the police to arrive. They arrived in less than ten minutes and soon we were watching as the officers handcuffed a near unconscious Tamlin and lugged him into the car. An Asian officer—I'm assuming the Officer Wu Rhys had been on the phone with—came to talk to us. I gave him a summary of what had happened, which in turn caused him to warn me against assaulting people for no reason, but thankfully he let me off with just that and a knowing glance at Rhys. Soon after that, the police were off, taking Tamlin with them.

We both let out a huff of breath in relief once the car was out of sight before turning back to walk towards our car. Rhys was silent the whole drive back home, but finally, just as I put my hand on the handle to open the car door, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into a kiss. It was frantic and rushed and passionate. He pulled me over the console and I settled in, straddling his hips. His mouth moved down to lick my jaw, to nibble on my earlobe, to suck on my throat. His hand slipped underneath my shirt, and he moved his arm to wrap around my back, pulling me even closer. We were both panting, not wanting to let the other go, but eventually, we broke apart with a gasp and tried to get our breath back. He leaned his forehead against mine and we breathed in each other's scents. We were finally breathing normally when he spoke. "I'm sorry, Feyre." I immediately opened my mouth to object, shaking my head, but he stopped me with a thumb to my lips. "No. I need to apologise. I'm sorry for what he did back there. He must've seen me hanging out with you, and was trying to get back at me by hurting you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I stared at him in astonishment, confused by his words.

"What do you mean, get back at you through me? He knows me from high school."

"What! What are you talking about?" He jerked back, looking straight into my eyes.

"I mean that he was in my high school. He was the person…my boyfriend." He stared at me, his face showing only shock. And slowly, I watched as that shock turned into anger. He started cursing loudly at Tamlin's name, and I told him to stop but he wouldn't listen, so I kissed him. That shut him up. "And why would Tamlin want to get back at you? What happened between you two?" I reminded him of my original question. I heard his breath catch, and he looked down. Lifting his chin with my finger, I saw his eyes had started watering again. Blinking the tears away, he said in low voice, his head going back down, "I guess I have to tell you now." It sounded as if he were talking to himself. He sighed and looked up at me. "Come on, let's go inside. I'll tell you there." As we walked up to the front door, I shyly asked him, "Would you stay tonight?" He smiled at me, though the corners of his eyes didn't lift, before nodding. I smiled widely, happy that he was staying despite everything that had happened tonight, and gave him a peck on the cheek, before hurrying up to the door and unlocking it. Mor, I knew, was already sleeping in her bedroom, so we were careful to stay quiet. "Why don't we get ready for bed first, and then I tell you how I know Tamlin the Tool?" He said and I smiled at the nickname before nodding.

Fifteen minutes later, I found myself lying in Rhys's muscled arms, my cheek on his warm chest. He was wearing a plain, worn-out t-shirt and sweatpants, which he had left here the last time he was over. His hand was hooked around my back, and I felt it as he took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever was to come. Placing my hand over his heart, I could feel it racing. I moved to kiss his neck, wanting to calm him. I settled down again and I knew he was smiling as he kissed my hair, taking in my scent. And then he told me.

"It happened in the winter break, a couple of years ago. There were three of us. Tamlin, Amarantha and—what's wrong?" He said lifting my chin, a small frown on his face. I'd jerked at the name 'Amarantha'.

"Amarantha was one of my teacher's names. Amarantha Smith." I told him, my voice sounding strangely dead. He pressed his lips together in disdain, nostrils flaring. "Let me guess. Red hair, black eyes, slutty nature?" I nodded. "Guess they stuck together." He said, shaking his head in disgust. I sighed, realising Tamlin and Miss Smith had been together the whole time. It just made so much sense. Rhys carried on after a few seconds of silence. "Anyways. Amarantha was my girlfriend." My nose scrunched up involuntarily. Rhys noticed. "Hey, it wasn't my fault. I was stupid and young. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I thought I loved her. And maybe I did at that point, but obviously, she didn't. All she cared about was the money." That last part was to himself, his voice shaking with anger. He shook his head. "You'll see what I mean, later on in the story." He sighed. "Tamlin was her "brother" and my best friend. Or at least, that's what they led me to believe. And I did. We did everything together, us three." He paused, obviously regretting the time he had spent with the two. "I'd known them for about two years, before that night. They were staying over at my house, nothing new. They'd stayed over plenty of times, and of course, not once at theirs. When I questioned them about it they shut me up with their lies and excuses. Their father was a drunk addict, the house was under renovation, no food. All lies. And I, of course, believed them." I could hear the anger rising in his voice.

I said, "Hey, it wasn't your fault. You didn't know. And they must've been great at lying. It's what they do. They lie and lie and lie, but that doesn't mean it's your fault that you didn't realise. None of this is your fault, you hear me?" He stared at me, and then just carried on, clearly not agreeing with any of what I'd just said. I huffed, frowning, but let him continue. "I'm not gonna stretch it out. Tamlin was sleeping next door and Amarantha beside me. A gunshot woke me up, followed by a scream. I run out of my bedroom, barely processing Amarantha's absence. And then there she was. Amarantha, wearing her silk, purple nightgown," Tears poured down his face but his voice remained steady. "A gun held high in her hand pointed straight at my loving mother. I watched as she fell right down in the threshold of her bedroom with a thud." He was silent for a few seconds, sniffling and gulping as he tried to stop the tears from escaping. "The bitch must've panicked or something because when she saw me and it was clear that she'd shot my mother right in front of my eyes, making me a witness, she shot me too." His hands lifted his shirt and I looked down to find a round scar. The bullet wound. I looked back up as he pulled his shirt back down. "I collapsed from the pain, and soon I was out of it from blood loss. The next time I opened my eyes, I found myself in a hospital. It was two days after that night. Officer Wu, one of the many who were a part of the investigation that happened afterwards, told me what had happened. Tamlin and Amarantha were criminals with long records. He had raped my sister and killed her afterwards, while Amarantha stole all of Mum's jewellery and the money we had saved up from the safe. A neighbour had called the police at the sound of the gunshots but by the time the police got there, both of them were gone. My mum and sister who had meant everything to me were dead and I was following closely behind. But they found me in time. Got me to the hospital. And no matter how hard the police tried, they couldn't find Tamlin and Amarantha. It was like they had disappeared off the face of Earth." He paused, swallowing hard. "Until now."

"My father was often away for his job and when he came home to find his wife and only daughter dead… He died soon after. From grief, I suppose. Mum and he had always been crazy in love and he had been sick for some time at that point, anyways. It only took a month and then he was gone too, leaving me completely alone." He paused again, swallowing as he got his emotions in check. "That winter break, I stayed in that wretched house, just staring at the tv or the stain of blood in my sister's bedroom or the spot where my mother had fallen. I only left the house once in about three weeks to get some groceries. I talked to no one. I isolated myself from the world." He paused. "A week before I was supposed to start college, I heard a knock on the door. I ignored it at first, but when they didn't go away, I opened it. It was Mor. I hadn't seen her in months and then all of sudden there she was, in front of me, hugging me. She brought me out my isolation a little but still, I didn't talk to anyone at college. Mor was still in high school. She wasn't there with me to force me to socialise. Halfway through the year, Cassian came up to me. We became the type of friends who always fought. And then Azriel came. He was constantly alone in college, and one day Cassian and I decided to talk to him. After that, we just clicked. I started thinking them of as brothers, as…family. I was scared though. I had already lost one family. I didn't want to lose another. I talked to Mor about it. She had already met them by then and helped me get rid of the fear. And then Amren came into the picture—she and Mor were friends from high school and before long, we were the Inner Circle, as we like to call ourselves. I had a family again." He looked down at me, tears brimming in his eyes. "I had a family." He repeated, his voice cracking. I just wrapped my arms his neck and kissed him.

I said, "You have a family, and they love you very much. Don't be scared. They love you. They won't ever leave. I swear on my life. They will never ever leave you." I kissed him again, slightly longer this time. Things were getting heated, but then suddenly he pulled away, a nervous look in his eyes. "Feyre, you know how I said the Inner Circle are my family, right?" I nodded, confused. "Well, since you and I love each other, you're a part of that family. You know that, don't you?" I looked at him for a few seconds before nodding, a light smile on my face. He smiled back at me and kissed me, flipping me onto my back.

Deepening the kiss, I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer to me. His hand on my hip, he groaned, bringing his lips to my neck, my ears, temples. He kissed every part of my face, and I groaned in desperation. I could feel every pore on my face burning as his lips passed over my face. And then he moved on and the fire was replaced with ice-cold air. I needed to feel him, to touch him. I wanted him. My hand drifted underneath his shirt and he groaned, pulling back far enough that I could easily pull the t-shirt of him. Now naked in front of me, I could see his chest rising and falling in great big gasps. Slowly I brought a hand to touch his chest, breathing deeply. He was pure muscle, hard and rippled. I felt one of Rhys's hands squeeze my hips and looked back at him. "I want to see you," He said softly, hesitantly. I nodded. My hands went to the rim of my shirt and he stopped me, getting there first. As he slowly pulled my shirt off me, he whispered in my ear, "I want to be the one to do it. Let me do this, for you, for myself. Let me—" His voice cracked—"let me touch you."

I cupped his cheek and met his gaze. "I love you, Rhys. I will for as long as I live. I want this. I want you." A ravenous hunger had started building in his eyes and I watched as my words set him on fire. He kissed me on the lips, softly whispering, "I love you too, Feyre." And then he unleashed the beast in himself.

We were a tangle of limbs, kisses, groans, moans and sweet, whispered nothings as I marked him down his back, his arms, as he devoured me.

Moaning, our clothes came completely off and he, with heart-breaking gentleness sheathed himself inside me. Once I was accustomed to him, he thrusted with that same gentleness and I came trembling and sobbing as we kissed. He kept moving and I screamed his name, as I came once more, his roar of pleasure mixing with mine.

—

We fell asleep in each others arm, my head nestled in his arm, his other arm wrapped around my waist. I could feel his hot breath on my ear and his soft snoring. I woke in the middle of the night, overheating from his warmth and gently unwrapped his arm from around me. Once I'd found a comfortable spot again, I let myself look at Rhys's resting face. Not a single wrinkle or blemish marked his face. He was mine and I was his. Looking at him in that moment, I knew where ever he was—that would be my home.

AN: Hello. My story's come to an end, did you know? It's the end and I find it so surreal to think of how far Feyre has come since the beginning of her story. I hope her actions in my story have motivated you to keep going, to never stop no matter how hard things can get sometimes. I've always had high expectations from myself and they more often than not take a huge toll on me mentally and physically. But still, I keep going. Because if I don't, there's no point in living. That's the way I think, at least. You may have different views but I think anyone and everyone could use a little push in their life. I hope my story was that little push for you. I hope Feyre motivated you to keep going because to keep going means you'll eventually find that little or big thing you started your journey for and the happiness I'm sure you'll feel at the end...that happiness is worth all the trials and turmoils life will throw at you. It's worth it. Trust me, I know. You just have to keep going to find it.

Also, I do have a little more planned. It's really sweet and I would tell you what it is, but I want to keep it a surprise. It's not necessary to read the rest of the chapters but I think you'll want to if you've already stuck with me so far. I'll upload them all on the same day, as soon as I've edited them. Thank you so much for reading until the end. I appreciate it and you more than you could ever imagine.

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unpretty · 5 years

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if you don mind my asking how does one get their ears stretched? does it hurt? can you do it before or after having your ears pierced or does that like affect it in any way?

it doesn’t hurt if you do it right

here’s what i know as someone who is not a professional/piercer but did stretch her ears and had it turn out okay:

if you know you want to stretch your ears you can get them pierced at 8g with a needle and then start stretching bigger after they’ve healed. some people get dermal punches but those aren’t designed for lobes and will absolutely destroy you with scar tissue. scalpelling is supposed to be better but... it’s still not as good as just getting pierced with a needle and stretching after. stretching looks better and is easier to recover from if you want to downsize (to a certain point, once they get big enough they can only get closed up surgically)

if you got gunpierced (rip) see a piercer first to make sure the holes aren’t all cattywompus before you go making them any bigger because stretching can make any problems with the angle or symmetry worse

they make tapers to stretch your ear all in one go, and i used them at smaller sizes:

(don’t. wear these. they are not for leaving in. they’re for using to get a bigger plug in your ear. right after stretching your ear needs to heal and you can’t have a big fucking thing hanging out of it just waiting to get whacked and fuck up your ear)

stretching basically just entails taking a hot shower to soften up, oiling the hell out of your ear/taper/bigger plug, and then slowly sliding the taper through before pushing it out with the new plug. it might get sore but if it hurts you should stop and try again later. once you’ve stretched you should treat it like a new piercing until it heals up. make sure your new plugs are stainless steel or some other body safe metal. don’t wear cheapo acrylics. you need something that won’t absorb any... grossness.

once i got to bigger sizes i switched to using ptfe tape. basically just take a plug at your existing size, cover it in jojoba oil, wrap a layer of ptfe tape over it, stick it in your ear, repeat the next day. eventually there’s enough tape wrapped around the thing that it’s as big as the next size up so you can put the new plugs in. you can actually use this in conjunction with tapers, which i sometimes did.

i’ve always seen it recommended to wait a minimum of two months between stretches to make sure it’s healed but i usually waited 3-4 because i was deeply paranoid about catassing my ears

(if you stretch too fast your ears will tear and heal weird and every time you take your jewelry out your earlobe will swell up and look like a cat’s asshole and it’s gross) (lots of people assume that stretched ears just look nasty without jewelry in but no, you probably just saw someone who did something stupid like jammed chopsticks in their piercing)

#original #i once saw someone who had stretched to a massive size #but clearly did it way too goddamn fast #so when they took their plugs out #it looked like they just had fronds hanging off their ears #scalloped ribbon looped off their ears #it was some traumatic shit #Anonymous

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blondecarfucker · 5 years

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Bed of Roses (Chapter 16)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: So we're closer to the end! I can't believe there's only five more chapters to go. But yeah, this chapter was nice - I'm not gonna say it's a happy chapter, but it's happier than the last few ones lol. It's a chapter that has a bit more of me in it - but it's still a Reader fic, so don't worry lol. Please tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages!

Words: 2800ish

ACT 3 - DAWN

"It's the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out"

Chapter 16

1977, New York

The bench under your bum made you uncomfortable, but you were still too lazy to care - you always left the beach like this.

You were on the long, one hour way back to your loft in Greene Street, SoHo, through the good old F train, every inch of the train filled with graffiti. But you could still smell the salt in the air coming from the New York Aquarium Station - the best station to access the Coney Island sidewalk and beach.

There was better, cleaner beaches in the Hamptons, but they were full of annoyingly rich people that think they're better than the rest. Also, Coney Island held a special place in your heart - when you were a kid, your grandma would take you there, so you could enjoy the sun and the not-so-safe attractions, and your parents would always freak out when they found out that you took the unsafe subway through the unsafe neighbourhood of Brooklyn to get to a dirty beach.

But it was always fun. The sun would almost certainly burn your shoulders, and you could never wear any jewelry, but the feeling of being involved by the sea, floating in the water, holding your breath, after spending a couple hours on carousels and wooden roller coasters, would always make it worth it - your grandma always taught you to be brave, that things could be scary at first, but usually worked out. "If it doesn't make you happier, it makes you wiser", she'd tell you, and you'd nod, the taste of cheap ice cream on your mouth, the sun warming up your skin.

It was your grandma who figured out that something was wrong with you and made you seek help.

She came by to visit as soon as you called her, right after getting home from Cleopatra's Needle and breaking up with Roger. She came to your parent's apartment, complaining about the traffic - she lived in Paramus, New Jersey, now. She moved there in 1973, saying that it was ludicrous she couldn't grow old with a nice garden on the back of her house, just because Manhattan didn't have houses with gardens anymore.

Now, once you came back from London, in 1975, she looked at you and immediately knew something was wrong. "Sweetpea, what's wrong?" she asked, a frown on her face as she got closer to you.

You were lying on the couch in your pajamas, trying to see if you could find a Doctor Who re-run - probably not a good idea, all things considered, but you didn't just miss Roger, now that he's away. You missed England, you missed their accents, you missed the way you felt when you first got there. "What, grandma?", you asked, and she got you to get up, putting her hand against your forehead.

"You're different", she said, and you shrugged, "Yeah, I'm older", and she laughed. "So am I, Sweetpea. And it hasn't been so long since I last saw you - last year, right? You came here with your hairy boyfriend", she said, and you tensed up, which didn't go unnoticed. "Oh. I see. Something happened between the two of you, right?" she asked, and you nodded.

"That's it. You look sadder. You didn't look like that before. But… Maybe that's not it. No, I don't think that's it at all", she said, and you looked at her, confused. "No, Grandma. That's what happened. I'm sad - I had to breakup with Roger, my boyf - ex-boyfriend", you interrupted yourself, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Roger, my ex-boyfriend, so I could get back here", you said, a cold pain spreading through your chest as the impact of these words hit you.

"But that's just a symptom. There's something else wrong there, Sweetpea. Something deeper within", she said, pointing to your heart. "And that's what made you sad, what made you break up with that boy. I liked him, you know. He made you happy - I could see it. You were always brave, and that always made me proud. But with him, you were happy - when you came into the room with him by your side, everything got brighter. Your love was like the sun", she said, fixing a painting on the wall, not noticing how your eyes were tearing up.

"That's how I last saw you. Brave and happy", she looked at the painting, satisfied with it now that it was not crooked anymore, and turned to you. "Now you're neither. What happened, Sweetpea?", and you choked up. "I don't know", you whispered, and she hugged you as you started to cry - she smelled like plums and apples, the things she grew on her garden in Paramus.

You couldn't stop thinking about the last time she saw you - it was in 1974, and the boys came to America, specifically to New York for a few dates, and you had to come with them - they wanted you to do so. Also, you were dating Roger for two years, and it was time for him to meet your parents.

You came from a small gig in Boston, Roger holding your hand the entire plane ride to New York - he was nervous. You were travelling right after their show, an extra night before the rest of the boys, so you could take Roger to have dinner with your parents.

None of you knew your parents actually organized a dinner party, and invited part of your family - your uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. Your uncle opened the door to your apartments, surprising both you and Roger. "Hm, hey, uncle Marcus. Where are my parents?", you asked, and you felt Roger's grip on your hand tighten as he noticed there would be many more family members for him to meet.

As you walked inside, you whispered to Roger "Relax, Rog", and he started looking more confident - but you could still feel his tight grip on your hand. He was still nervous.

But everything worked out just fine, actually. Your parents didn't really approve his looks - Roger was wearing a suit that he bought in Japan, with colorful birds and trees in silk shining against the dining room lights - but your cousins loved it. They loved him, actually, since they knew exactly who he was.

He got more comfortable as dinner went by, joking with your family, and you carefully changed topics once you realized one of your parents was about to ask a question about delicate stuff - money, marriage, kids.

You two always thought about marriage and kids as something distant - you felt too young, too irresponsible to take care of a child. So you took your birth control pills religiously, and everything worked out fine - the promise of children and marriage always there, in the distant future.

After the dinner party, Roger followed you to your room - you'd be spending the night there, since the band's hotel was booked for the next day.

"Well, this is an interesting look into a younger Y/N", Roger said, going through your bookshelf. "Frankenstein, Romeo and Juliet, Don Quixote, that's all pretty smart… 1984, I remember you talked about this book before our first kiss...", he said, and kneeled down, where your bookshelf was messier. "What's this? Flash Gordon?" he asks, picking up one of the comic books and going through it, and you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?", you said, getting the comics out of his hands. "I used to think Flash was hot. And Dale was pretty cool, too", you said, and he laughed, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

"It's fine by me", he said, and looked out of your window. "It's just funny for me to imagine you, a teenager, sitting by your window in this preppy, quite soulless neighbourhood, reading Flash Gordon and thinking of a way out", he said, and you laughed.

"Hey, I didn't only do that. I also had sleepovers with girls I never spoke to since we graduated from high school, and went on a bunch of dates with guys I didn't really like", you answered, and it was his turn to laugh.

"Hm, doesn't seem like a very satisfying life to me", he whispered, moving his lips to your neck, and you nodded lightly. "Did you ever bring them here? To your room?", he asked, and you laughed. "No, my parents would die. They were quite liberal, but not like that. When I went on a date as a teenager, I had to go to their place later if I wanted some action, you know", you answered, and he started to move his kisses to your jaw. You knew what he was about to suggest.

"I know, Y/N... So, I'm just wondering, am I the first guy your parents are allowing inside your room?", he said, his breath on your jaw giving you goosebumps. "Yeah", you answered, and he kissed under your earlobe. "The first guy to sleep on your bed?", he asked, and you said "Yes".

"How are your parents allowing this, miss Y/L/N? Such a nice girl from such a nice family, locked inside her room with a british drummer", he said, his voice low and husky, moving you closer to your bed. But you wanted to take it slow - it was a special event, indeed.

"Not that I'm trying to break your roleplay, Roger, but we literally share a flat. It would be silly for them to get the guest bedroom ready for you", you said, and he scoffed, breaking away from your neck and looking at you.

"Yeah, but it would be hotter", he said, going back to kissing your jaw. "Imagine how hot it would be if I had to wait until your parents slept so I could leave the guest bedroom", he said, getting you to sit on the bed, "And then I would've to walk, very carefully, through the hallway, trying not to wake them up", he continued, laying you down on your back and moving on top of you, then going back to kissing your neck and cleavage as he completed, "Just to open your bedroom door and find you touching yourself, moaning my name".

"That would be pretty hot", you agreed. "Maybe I should get them to move you to the guest room", you shrugged, teasing him, and he stopped kissing your cleavage just to look at you and say "Don't you dare", before kissing your lips.

That night was a bad memory to have running over your head again and again as you laid on your bed every night to go to sleep, alone, a year later, after breaking up with Roger, in 1975.

Your grandma convinced you to seek help, and you tried everything: therapy - your parents looking at you weirdly because getting a therapist was still associated with severe mental illness, meditation, mediums, aromatherapy.

You didn't knew exactly what worked, but a year after you arrived, now in 1976, you were already in your new SoHo flat, having moved out of the Upper East Side, the neighbourhood you - and Roger - knew that didn't really have much to do with you, even though it was closer to the Met, where the work was interesting - and where you barely ever saw Will, uncomfortable looks exchanged between the two of you every time you had to see each other.

It was a cold winter day in December 1976 when you got up, your loft nicely illuminated, spacious, the soft light from the snowy day making everything seem more magical. The building was quiet, your artistic neighbours still asleep this early in the morning, and you made yourself some tea - with milk - and opened the window so you could sit on the emergency exit.

The street was also quiet, the only sound being a muffled free jazz, that was probably being played live in a grand piano inside one of the many lofts on Greene Street. It was then, the cold wind making your skin burn under the layers of sweaters, the tea getting rapidly cold, the jazz caressing your ears, when you realized you were not sad anymore.

You didn't feel that weight on your chest now, when you breathed in, filling your lungs with fresh, cold air, and you didn't feel like you had no control over your life. You were present, in the moment, and you felt happy. Happy with your life. Happy with yourself.

And you enjoyed this feeling, without thinking much, for as long as you stayed outside on the emergency exit; until you finished the tea, until the jazz player stopped, wherever he or she was.

Once you got inside, thinking about preparing a nice, warm bath, you walked by the phone, and you wanted to call Roger.

You wanted to call him many times before, but you were always desperate, regretting breaking up with him, or sad, just trying to know how he's doing, how the boys are doing.

But now, you didn't feel anything negative make you want to call him - you just wanted to let him know that you're happy again.

But that doesn't seem like a good enough reason to call him in the middle of the day for him - he probably wasn't even up yet.

So you went inside the bathtub and just felt grateful for meeting him, for having the opportunity to have him in your life. Now, it was peaceful.

Now, back at the F train to your house from Coney Island in 1977, you're taken out of your thoughts when you see a blonde head pass in front of you, but you don't feel nervous anymore - you knew it wasn't Roger.

You always thought you saw him, especially in 1975, your first year back in New York - always nervous, always imagining that he was just trying to see you, to talk to you, maybe to try to take you back to England with him.

You saw him everywhere, in those first weeks, still in your parents apartment, thinking he might be on you M86 bus to work, or maybe in this fancy cocktail party you attended.

But one time, in 1976, you could swear you saw him on the stairs at the Met as you bought a hot dog from the stands in front of the museum - the guy's hair was shorter and bleached, just like you saw in the pictures of Roger that appeared on magazines, and he looked confused. But you didn't really investigate it, though - it was probably just another guy, maybe even inspiring his own look in Roger's.

Your train reached your station and you finally got back to Greene Street, walking slowly to your building, taking in the view of your street. Now that you're far from Queen, you can see their importance, their impact on the world.

You watched as songs you saw get written and sung and produced right in front of you became huge hits - Deacy's song to Veronica reached #1 on the american charts. A song you saw get recorded in a weekend visiting your boyfriend as he worked - that's how you saw it.

You bought their new album in the end of last year, 1976, A Day at the Races. You loved it - it was probably your favourite, and you didn't knew if it was because their music was getting better or if it was because this was their first album you could enjoy as a fan, not being involved in how it was made. You liked to watch their TV specials and interviews, feeling grateful that you ever got to be around them, even though life - and your own, unconscious choices, you now realized - took you away from them. From Roger.

You loved You Take My Breath Away and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, but Drowse truly held a special spot in your heart - maybe you only loved it so much because it was Roger's, and it sounded like talking to him about his childhood, something you've done many times before, but maybe you didn't love it just because you were biased by your story with Roger. The song sounded more american, and it even made you feel like you felt when you listened to Fleetwood Mac. You smiled at that thought.

Once you got home, you picked your mail and started going through it.

You weren't really paying attention to it - you were thinking about the Fleetwood Mac show you would attend next week for the Rumours tour, in the Madison Square Garden, when a heavier letter caught your eye.

The paper was soft, creamy beige, and sealed with wax. And then you read what was written over the envelope.

It was a letter sent by the Curator of Palaeolithic and Mesolithic collections from The British Museum.

---

Chapter 17

Masterlist

Taglist:

@taylorroger-s @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @its-nessi @anamcg317 @frenchieswiftie @queen-danielle-dani-dan @minihemo @shutup-sorry @theyrealllegends @killerqueenisthebest @ashagracelove @hardy-s @fuckinghurricanesoul @secretsweetscollectionblog @mrswinterhater @11mb0 @tamtam-go92 @derptatosaur @brianandthemays @phantom-fangirl-stuff @the-hysterical-queen @rogerofmylife @notevenlxvely @discodeakyy @x1975sos

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 39

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 6. Go to previous. Go to next. Through the needle’s eye and right onto the hook.

____________________

As they took a steady clip Northbound on Route 3, the trees to either side of them shifted from predominantly pine to a mixture of rusty oak and maple. Very few vehicles scattered the street, allowing for a smooth, steady speed. ‘Choly smiled to himself at the thought of his Pip-Boy’s radio; at first, the signal was spotty at best, but he refined it to pull in a brassy, energetic instrumental broadcast. Once he got it steady, Angel seemed to sway along the lanes to the tune, and he nearly stopped worrying.

“Really, this is quite nice, isn’t it, Angel? The weather’s brisk, but the sun’s out. I’ve missed trips like this with you. I know it used to be by bus, but the wind feels therapeutic in a way. Just the two of us.”

“The scenery in the Commonwealth these days isn’t all bad.”

But he couldn’t wholly get his mind off their destination. He couldn’t even begin to speculate what to anticipate. After two centuries left to run without maintenance, there was no telling if the base’s robotics and defenses would even operate correctly, if even run at all. He didn’t like the odds that the Rust Devils had already taken the base and now occupied it. The whole trip to Lowell would be for nothing, if he couldn’t get on base, and they might as well double back to Billerica and take Bogey home to Sanctuary Hills right then.

They zipped under an overpass, and ‘Choly prayed they’d be able to speed right over the I-495 cloverleaf without having to take any of the access roads. Relief washed over him, that he didn’t have to deal with the Lowell Connector. The interstate signs had all either fallen or faded beyond legibility. He checked his map on his Pip-Boy, and looked back at the miles of crumbling asphalt still ahead of them. They’d just passed Route 129: just over halfway there from the golf course. He nodded thoughtfully, and slacked a bit in his scrutiny of the thoroughfare for a ways.

“Shall we take the Chelmsford South exit, or press on to the Chelmsford-Lowell intersection?”

“Taking I-495 would nearly triple our travel distance. We might have to, but let’s try sticking to Route 3 for now.”

“Noted.”

Ignoring the off ramp, they crossed over the 3-495 interchange. The well-rehearsed, unmarked exit for Chelmsford Road came up, and at a distance they could tell that the Route 3 overpass ahead had been extensively blockaded. Angel need not mention its concern as they got off the highway, as they both readily noted the high wood and steel wall which barricaded the Northeast half of the intersection. Several people stood watch atop the Red Rocket on the Southeast corner, and began to fire on the two of them as they slowed just enough to take the left turn under Route 3. ‘Choly looked back and his stomach lurched. Three bipedal robots sped toward them.

“All arms and legs in!” Angel yelled.

They barreled beneath the overpass, under which the raiders had constructed barricades and corrugated metal shanties. They didn’t slow enough to do more than draw fire. One of the mishmash robots slammed into the wall of one of the dwellings with a loud crash, only to keep running nearly unhindered. It wasn’t until ‘Choly looked back a second time to attempt aiming at their pursuants, that he recognized the very unmistakably human skulls mounted as face plates on these things. He fired at them, but his hands shook too badly, and he clutched tighter to Angel rather than try again.

“You can’t go any faster, can you!” ‘Choly pleaded.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Sir!”

Angel fired all three lasers at once at one of the robots, and it crumpled in a half-molten mess. The other two closed in on them.

The nearly humanoid proportions of the things, combined with the skull plates... These things had been Assaultrons. One of them steadied a limb toward them, for it to erupt flames. ‘Choly screamed when he could feel the heat nearly reach him. He looked behind him only long enough to confirm he wasn’t on fire, and resumed doing his best not to hyperventilate. Angel continued firing, but the remaining once-Assaultrons managed to dodge its aim. The other once-Assaultron fired with its ocular laser and connected with one of Angel’s ocular lenses.

They got about five hundred feet down the street before veering off it in favor of the bald expanse of field, and they followed the high barbwire hurricane fence at full speed. In no time, they approached the guard house at the front of the Deenwood Compound. Though unoccupied, the biometric scanner still swept over ‘Choly and Angel, and the boom barrier permitted them through. They looked back to find the two robots that had chased them had doubled back to return to their base.

‘Choly hoped that meant Deenwood wasn’t under Rust Devil occupation.

“Are you all right, Mister Carey?”

“I’ll be better once we’re inside...”

They slowed a bit, but remained vigilant, as they came up to the second checkpoint. To either side of the inner fence stood a pair of high turret towers. ‘Choly saw a Mister Gutsy coming to them. He holstered his pistol and dismounted with his cane in hand.

“This is a secure government facility!” the Gutsy announced in a strident scorn. “State your identity and intent, or we WILL fire on you!”

“Captain-- Captain Alan Carey.” ‘Choly gulped for air and did his best to stand up straight and salute the Gutsy. “Deenwood Pharm Corps. This is Angel, issued to me by the DIA.” Angel, too, stated its designation, which came in a string of numbers ‘Choly had never memorized in the first place.

The army green Handy eyed the two of them in silence for entirely too long.

“Intent!”

“I, ah! Yes. I was-- Reporting to active duty.”

“You are two hundred years LATE, Captain Carey. And not even close to wearing regulation uniform. Not to mention what you’ve allowed become of your Mister Handy compatriot.” The gate’s magnetic mechanisms deployed with a low hum, and the boom barriers lifted as before. ‘Choly sighed and re-mounted Angel, and the Gutsy led them inside the vast concrete facility proper. “Forgive my gruffness, Captain. It’s wonderful to have you back. General Francis will be elated to speak with you.”

“General--” ‘Choly’s face couldn’t help but screw up as they entered the Robotics wing. “General Francis?” He hadn’t expected nuclear survivors, and for Captain Francis to have lived long enough to start a line of descendants to inherit the base just about beat any unlikelihood he could have imagined possible.

Still, he’d been on premises a good fifteen minutes by that point, and within base walls five of it--and he hadn’t seen a single living thing, person or otherwise. A mixture of Mister Gutsies, Eyebots, and Protectrons moved about in his peripheral fringes, but none of them engaged the three of them as the Gutsy led the way. Maybe this General Francis was her Handy... or a Sentry she’d programmed... or...

They arrived at the Control Room of the Robotics wing, where a uniformed ghoul worked on a powered-down Eyebot on a workbench. The Gutsy approached.

“Captain Carey has arrived, ma’am. I’ve brought him to you for debriefing.”

Her half-shaven blonde head picked up to glare at ‘Choly as he dismounted again. He glared back, in shock. Keloid scars wired all over her body, and almost none of her nose or earlobes remained. Her voice was viscous and rasping, but still rang with command.

“Thank you, Green Seven. You may return to your normal duties.”

“Yes, ma’am!” It exited, leaving the three of them alone.

The two continued to stare at one another for some time before ‘Choly slowly walked up to her. He stuttered out broken, stupid laughter and collapsed to hugging her tight. He couldn’t help the tears when she hugged him back. After a solid minute, she shoved him back to get a good look at him up close.

“Forgive the exclamation, but how the FUCK are you standing here in front of me, Carey?”

“I could ask you the same question, General.” He removed his glasses and gave her a tired smile, and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.

“Is that... a Vault Suit? Fuck.” She began to circle him. “What in God’s name happened to your Handy?”

“I happened to it. Repairs and upgrades were necessary to make the trip up from Concord. Is... is it all right for me to sit, ma’am?” She waved at the workbench stool, and he thanked her. He didn’t want to have to talk about Vault 111, but a brief explanation seemed like the only option. “It’s a Vault Suit, yes. They built a vault near where I moved after Anchorage. I’m the only one that survived what the vault did to its residents. Cryogenics. I think the equipment started failing after two hundred years, and the system tried to wake everyone up... but it was... just me--”

She leaned on the workbench beside him with a knowing frown.

“My heart goes out to you, having to live through that. I’ve heard some terrible things about the different experiments Vault-Tec ran on its residents. You don’t have to tell me anything further.”

“Thank you for not pressing me for details, ma’am. It’s only been a few months. It hasn’t been easy to adjust to... everything, honestly.”

“...What are you doing here?” She half-expected him to reciprocate her curiosity, but appreciated that he hadn’t.

“I had a feeling there was something unresolved here. Like there was a project we were supposed to start, except the bombs happened first.” He sniffed and put his glasses back on, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe anyone survived...”

Francis squinted at him, and leaned nearer.

“Forgive me for asking, but I’m worried. The cane, and... you were riding your Handy on the way in.”

“The circumstances that have made it possible for me to stand before you alive today also damaged me severely. Angel’s operating not just as my Handy, but as my wheelchair, ma’am.”

“--Oh, cut the appellations,” she dismissed, blowing the stress of the conversation away like smoke. “You’re acting like you’ve never met me before.”

“Sorry. Barring Angel, you’re the... second familiar face I’ve found since I woke up? I honestly was starting to get used to the idea that I outlived everyone.”

She softened.

“...I can relate to that. I was the only Pharm Corps staff on base to survive the radiation. The base was designed to withstand a nuclear blast. But we’re close enough to where the bomb hit New Hampshire that it might as well have been a direct hit. The base itself was unscathed, but the residential block got hammered. I... I don’t know if you’d call being ghoulified surviving.” She snorted a wheeze through her open nasal cavity and gave him a shit-eating grin. “Repairing that Eyebot can wait. You still lush as ever? ‘Cause damn if I couldn’t use a drink about now.”

He checked the time on his Pip-Boy, and mirrored her grin.

“Supposing it’s nine forty-seven somewhere.”

Go to Next »»»

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #sole survivor #rust devils #chelmsford #lowell #mister handy #melancholy #olivia francis #the anatomy of melancholy #we're heeeeeere

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mearcstapa-archive · 6 years

Text

so i kind of wanted to dump a bunch of stuff about my piercings down for my own reference or for anyone who’s looking into getting anything similar to mine. feel free to shoot me any questions if you’re curious! just remember i’m only speaking from my own experience

more under cut

Standard Earlobe Piercings - c. 2013???

I honestly don’t remember much about these because it’s been five years. I got them done for my birthday and made EVERY POSSIBLE MISTAKE I COULD HAVE. Do not do what I did.

1) I went to Claire’s and had them done with a piercing gun.

2) I did not clean them properly.

3) I picked a small metal stud to save on money, which got stuck inside my left earlobe after the back got pushed on too tight. I actually had to go to the ER and get my ear cut open to remove the jewelry because it got infected so bad. To this day, only my right ear is pierced. I made so many stupid mistakes with my ears-- THANKFULLY I learned.

Actually getting it done: I don’t remember much, but I do remember dizzily stumbling around the mall. Embarrassing.

I tried to stretch my ears later, too, but I didn’t go through with it. My ear is currently at a comfortable 16g with a 10mm horseshoe in it (mostly out of laziness)

Septum Piercing - December 27th, 2016

Getting it done: I initially drove halfway across the state to my mom’s favourite piercer, only to be turned down because their insurance wouldn’t take me (my mom and I don’t have matching last names and I was under 18). So the next day, because my mom is friends with him, he drove down to my house at like 10pm and pierced my nose while I was sitting on the kitchen table.

Pain-wise, I barely felt the needle go through. I’d had a friend say that it was very painful, so I think this one really varies by the skill of your piercer and just the anatomy of your nose. However, the drop in adrenaline was a kick in the metaphorical balls. I got really dizzy and nearly fainted afterward, so the piercer made me drink a cold coke (NOT diet) and I was pretty okay afterward.

Talking will tug on it a bit and it’ll be sore for a while. Sometimes you might catch it on your shirt when you’re changing and you’ll want to die. Right now I wear a 16g 12mm horseshoe or clicker ring, but I have a lot of different jewelry for my nose.

Labret Piercing - December 23rd, 2017

Getting it done: I had the same piercer who did my septum come by my house again. I probably should have rescheduled, because I just felt awful the day I had it done. I had a migraine and I was nauseous.

This one hurt. A lot. It’s over fast, but I would definitely suggest you get your nose pierced or something before you go for a lip piercing. It was sort of strange though, because I could feel the needle rested on my teeth while he put the jewelry in. Fun. Now, I don’t know how much of this was the pain, or the migraine, but once he’d put the stud in, I ran to the sink and threw up. It was very gross, but once I was done, I felt incredible. Still wouldn’t recommend getting a piercing when you’re sick though.

I could talk right after getting it done but I sounded kinda funny, since my lip swelled up a bit. Eating is an adventure, though-- I had to relearn how to do it to keep the back of the starter jewelry from catching on my teeth. However, once it healed up enough, I changed to a shorter stud and used bioplast instead of metal and it’s much more comfortable. I also used Tom’s mouthwash to keep it clean inside my mouth.

I tried wearings rings in it, and I couldn’t wear anything smaller than 12mm. I thought it was really uncomfortable and dried out my lips, so I couldn’t wear it for more than a few days. I think the discomfort shouldn’t be as much of a problem once it’s older.

Currently I’m wearing a 16g bioplast stud with a black opal front. Unfortunately I don’t know off the top of my head what length it is, but it’s significantly shorter than the starter jewelry. Also, while putting jewelry in my septum came really intuitively for me, this one takes a bit more practice.

Nostril Piercing - March 17th, 2018

This one is a week old today! It’s still pretty fresh and kind of sore.

I went to a different piercer for this one, and it was a very different experience. This one took no time at all, and it was a walk in the park compared to my other piercings. Again, I had a friend who said that her nose piercings hurt a lot, so I think this one varies a bit person to person. I didn’t get dizzy or nauseous at all, and I had even brought a coke just in case I did lmao. The stinging afterward is worse than the piercing itself, but it’s definitely tolerable.

Don’t take a nap right afterward, because you will wake up super groggy and think there’s a tickle in your nose and shove your finger up it without realising how bad of an idea this is first. Don’t do it.

This one seems to seep blood more than my other ones did, as I had to clean out dried blood out from under it for the first few days. (I’m wearing a flat disk-- to get underneath it when it’s still too sore to move, fold up a piece of toilet paper or paper towel into a triangle, dampen it with saline solution, and use the corner of it as a fine point)

I had no problem going out and doing stuff after this, although occasionally my nose would throb on the side that I got pierced which felt funny.

Future piercing plans:

Left nostril

Industrial (?)

Tongue (?)

Nipples (after top surgery)

Belly button (??)

#piercings #piercing diary #mortimer.txt #needles tw #long post

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kayminkoh · 4 years

Text

[Book Review] The Institute

by Stephan King Personal rating 8/10

Personal Note

The author leaves the reader with a sensitive choice of morality, whether the purpose of the institute is rightful or wrongful. Whether a small sacrifice should be made for the chance of a greater good or if unjust actions are rendered wrongful no matter the bigger picture. The author takes effort to get the reader at personal levels with each main character. The author makes the pain of the characters real and personal to the reader. The author creates a thrilling story that takes the reader into the character's perspective, making it feel like a 3D perspective view movie. I felt the bottom of the fence raking against my legs and I felt blood dripping from a place of my body where my earlobe should have been, I saw the donut crumbs on the train that the freight manager left behind and felt hunger.

Strengths

Flawless balance between descriptive and narrative text to let the imagination and story progress fluently.

Longest book i’ve read in my life. 561 pages with relatively lots of words in one page.

Weaknesses

The book seemed unnecessarily slow at the start especially with narration around a sub character. When the sub-character is reintegrated into the story at the end, I could barely remember his character. Considering the two months it took me to read this book (my mind was on other things and other books), I took 59 days reading 30% of the book and once the action started it took me the next 24 hours to finish the remaining 70%.

Plot Summary

*Spoiler Alert. Anyone who intends to read the book already should not go any further.

Characters

Main Character: Luke Ellis (super smart kid)

Main character Friends: Kalisha (Luke's first friend in first half), Avery(Super strong TP), Tim(Local friendly cop),

Institution members: Julia(in charge), Stackhouse(2IC), Maureen(caretaker)

Story (Short reminder version)

Thousands of kids are reported missing every year. Out of those reported missing some Kids ranging from 10 to 14 are kidnapped (and their family often murdered in the process) and taken to a secret institution hidden away surrounded by forests somewhere in Maine. These kids are not taken at random, they are subjects of particular interest that are being monitored by a secret organization. Nobody knows that these few children are actually incubated by their paternal figures until they are ripe of age. How they were discovered and how the institution knew? All babies are given a test at birth called BDNF(Brain-derived neurotrophic factor) and in rare cases, babies with exceptionally high BDNF levels experience supernatural events. Hearing voices or experiencing objects move as if, in the presence of a ghost. Eventually we find out that they possess some form of either telekinesis or telepathy.

Luke wakes up one morning and finds himself in his own room. Everything is normal.. but strangely, the window is not where it is supposed to be. Overnight he has become a victim of one of these kidnappings and lost his parents in the process. He is now part of ‘The Institute’. The place seemed like a school for kids, there are caretakers, a cafeteria, a playground with a trampoline…. Just not doctors that randomly call upon kids to put needles in them and forcefully make them focus their eyes at hypnotizing videos until they pass out. This particular hypnotizing video consisted of swirling colorful dots that made some throw up, pass out or die. Despite the agony of being a test subject, the security makes sure the kids are in line and go through the procedure without resistance. The staff would electrocute young kids with zap sticks if any slight disobedience is apparent. Security cameras are everywhere, kids can't go home. They have no home if anything.

While the kids are stripped of their freedom, the internet, their rights and safety, the institute is relentless and emotionless. I assume the institution calls it motivation when the head manager Julia appears and says that the kids are serving a valuable purpose for the country and the world. At first, you would think the institute was a place of research, where they are trying to contain telekinesis and telepathy powers to create a psychic army to dominate the world, but gladly, the author provides a better story than that.

Fresh kids arrive at the institute in relatively constant frequencies and new arrivals naturally become acquainted with one another and get along. What also was constant was the rate at which kids were removed from this new home. The Kids find out they are in a sector of the institute called ‘front half’ and although not said aloud very much, becomes familiar with the word ‘back half’. Not one of the guests knows exactly what the back half is but there is a bad feeling that one gets from rumors and listening to the staff’s thoughts through telepathy. What became obvious was that when the testing was done on an individual and you have been sitting comfortably for a couple or few days, one knows. The men in red are coming for you to remove you from the front half, and take you to the back half one is never to be seen again.

The youngest of the institute Avery, age 8, comes in not long after Luke’s arrival. Avery was unusually young to be taken by his parents but one could see why he was here already. He could read minds like listening with his ears and send thoughts like speaking. The strongest telepathic the institution found in a few decades. He cries and wets his pants but luckily finds himself around some compatible people to make his substitute mommy or daddy figures. Avery has trouble sleeping at night and finds himself seeking his parent buddies to sleep together with. At night he would come find Kalisha, a TP girl of color who was the longest staying resident in the front half and inevitably, when she was taken away to the back half, Avery looked to Luke.

One day there was a heavy storm and consequentially, not so long after, a small trench was discovered under the playground fence. The security didn’t know yet and for the first time in a long while, Luke thought of hope; A way to escape this hell of an institute. With the aid of a special caretaker called Maureen who Luke had helped out with her personal issues, Luke escaped during the night. He had 3 things Maureen had secretly provided for the mission. 1, a knife to dig and to take care of something on Luke. 2, a USB. 3, some information on directions. During the night Luke went out and made the trench deeper and got through, and when the time came to remove the tracking tag on his earlobe, the young brave boy did it. Like a Saw movie, he cut a large portion of his earlobe off, threw it over the fence and dashed for it. Following the instructions he got, Luke landed himself on a train. Where was he going, what was his plan, was he going to make it?

Meanwhile back at the institute in the morning, a Janitor finds Julia saying it's urgent. Julia followed to see what he had found, imagining a clogged toilet. To everyone’s surprise…. It wasn’t the earlobe… yet... but, Maureen was found dead. Suicide by hanging in the toilet of an empty dorm. Her tongue poking out and a small message on the mirror that started turning the mentality of the institute on its head, ‘hell is coming’. The institute didn't know exactly what, but they were scared, Julia not knowing what exactly is happening did start to doubt the security systems and security measures that have been gradually weathering over time. She knew how dusty the cameras were and how laid back everyone had become with familiarity of the work. This realization was good for the institute but for the matter at hand, She was one day too late.

Avery was trying to cover up the trench Luke left behind. He was caught by the now highly alert security and was tortured, the poor tiny boy. Avery eventually leaked some information about the escape and panic made its way to the privately operated institution. The information that Avery provided was a good start for the institute, however, the help was not sufficient to avoid further punishment. Avery was dunked multiple times into a water tank, till he fainted, and was brought back to reality, and was dunked again, and repeated…. As the final punishment Avery was thrown into the Back half.

The runaway situation was a chess game. A game the smart boy Luke was best at. Luke would repeatedly mention having at least 3 moves, each with three moves the opposition can take and be ready for the right reaction. The institute had spies all over the region so they had a good home land advantage on locating Luke. First of all, they thought Luke was going to go as far away as he possibly can. And they were right. From looking at train schedules and their dedicated locations the institute was able to get a good idea as to where Luke was going. The game was just starting when Luke was caught in the freight of mattresses and lawn mowers. Thankfully not by one of the institute spies who called themselves the uncle of a lost boy, but by a friendly freight manager who may or may not have believed Luke's story, but was convinced from the blood soaked clothes and desperate conversation with Luke that he had to leave the kid alone in the train instead of taking him to local authorities to report a lost kid.

There were uncles at every stop, so Luke couldn’t simply get off when the train was parked. When Luke got off the train he tried to get off early to avoid any attention but he ran into a signpost and knocked himself out. The people at the train station all saw Luke and helped him get to a safe place. Between the local folks there was one that was a spy for the institute and called the institute right away. The institute departed with Julia leading as soon as the report came in but luckily, Luke had about 8 hours before they arrived at the station. Luke had 8 hours to convince the locals what he had seen and where he was the last few months.

It seemed 8 hours was enough, especially with the USB Maureen prepared. The USB contained footage revealing the back half and also the A ward which was revealed to be the next place kids were transferred to after being in the back half.

Meanwhile, when Avery landed himself in the Back half he learnt what the purpose of the institution was and also realized there was a ward A where one was taken to and never to be seen again. The purpose of the institution was to make globally threatening targets kill themself by means of long distance telepathy that was achievable only when the kids in back half all focused at once and with an additional boost they called the ‘hum’ that was coming from the kids in ward A. There was something strange about the kids who stayed longer in the back half, they were slowly losing their strengths and minds. At meal time, the fresh back half members would eat but the veteran back half members would drool and not eat at all, as if their mind has been brainwashed, or perhaps didn't have a brain to wash at all.

Back at the station where the townsfolk were watching the USB footage, Maureen concludes what the A ward was, it was the children at the institute who had given up their minds to the psychic power; they had gone over the mental wall and could not return to their bodies. What was left of them was their bodies, and the pure power they possessed that let out a ‘hum’. They ran around like lunatics, had no clothes on, banged their heads rhythmically or repeated saying the same phrases infinitely. They were broken. And when their bodies did not eat, they eventually died, and were taken to a special furnace for cremation. A death known to no one. Probably a better place to be than be consumed by power and not able to return to one's body.

When the Locals all agreed something had to be done, Julia and the kidnapping murderers had arrived and a massacre broke loose. Both locals and the institute took fatalities but Luke and the friendly police officer, Tim, survived and were able to out smart and capture the overly unstable, emotional and desperate Julia. When Stackhouse, who was second in charge after Julia was at the institution, received the call he had feared but somewhat expected. A deal was made with Luke to have Julia back and the secrecy protected in exchange for the kids in the institution.

When Luke, Tim and Julia arrived at the institution, Stackhouse was outside with both his hands in front as instructed by Luke. When the car was close enough, Stackhouse suddenly put one hand up and the hiding crew open-fired at the car. There would be no trouble if Tim and Luke were dead and if that meant Julia had to die as well, it was judged to be ‘worth it’. But being the smart boy Luke was, Luke and Tim were in the back seat against the floor while Julia was forced to drive the car seating at the front taking all the bullets thrown by her own team. Luke and Tim survived. But the game was not won yet.

It turned out, there was no need to win anything by force from Luke and Tim’s side. There was an explosion and an unbelievable event that distracted everyone there. You see, Avery being the most powerful TP, figured out how the ward A kids used their powers and realized that they respond to a strong TP Force. The Ward A kids attached themselves to any familiar power and enhanced it. The kids in back half, the ones still with their minds intact put their hands together and made their way out. They made the staff kill each other, and electrocute themselves to death, slap one self till they were out etc. When they came to a dead end due to security lock down that Stackhouse had previously ordered. Avery, felt power coming from the kids of ward A but also felt power coming from far far away. As if there were institutions all around the world. While in his time at the dead end, he fell asleep and dreamt of answering a series of phones that hung up after saying ‘can you hear me?’ the phones got bigger and bigger as he answered each one and when he woke up. One of the mindless Ward A kids had written on the wall, ‘ Answer the BIG phone’. Knowing that he might be consumed by the power when the big phone was picked up, he said his goodbyes to his friends and answered the phone. He said ‘i can hear you’ and a rumble started along with powers that were never witnessed before. The building’s security did not matter anymore because the whole building started vibrating and elevating. When the broken building lost its integrity the other kids escaped to the playground, and looked at what was happening. The whole building was levitating above and was moving toward the adjacent administration building. When the buildings were vertically aligned the levitating building fell and demolished both structures killing any who remained in them. The institution was done for. At Least this branch was.

During this event Stackhouse and his crew had forgotten about who they shot at, why that shot at them and were in shock. Luke and Tim captured this opportunity to reverse the tide and took control of the situation. The institution members were tied up and the surviving kids were reunited. The surviving kids all stayed with Tim for a while and were let go one by one, Tim let one child go at a time to where their family or closest family was. Telling them not to say anything about anything, and they don't remember or just don't know. It was judged that it was for the world’s best interest that no such institute existed.

Before Luke was to be introduced back into the real world. A person in a suit visited Tim and Luke. He said that they have caused a big mistake and now the world is on a death timer. The man was the boss of all the institutions. Mentioned a power that Luke had only guessed existed and that was future predictors. The man's job, the institution's purpose was to remove global destruction scale threats before anyone realized it would threaten life on Earth. Whether it may be the development of gas that could take out a whole race, a leader who would release multiple nukes upon the world, Hitler, who shot himself… (The institutes doing?). However, Luke was not persuaded because there was always a chance that the future could change, the many variables that could lead to an alternative path. Luke had done his research on suspicion and the conclusive factor was that the further away an event was the more subject to variations and change it could have been, and this man in the suit was talking about 10~15 years ahead. Luke and the Suited man both knew that the most accurate future readings were made 10 minutes, or just before the event. While the man’s approach to this was ‘why take a risk’ Lukes approach was why sacrifice children for a chance of a risk that might not happen anyway. This makes one think. Because of the frustration of interfacing a kid and how this kid was stabbing at all the right things the suited man had no intention of mentioning first, he casually took out a smoke. He was not allowed to smoke as weird powers prevented the cigarette from coming in reach... ‘Why smoke if you know how you will end up?”... Speechless, the man in the suit got back to his car and left.

#bookreview #stephanking #theinstitute #shortversion #reminderversion #spoilers

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nomorepiercingguns · 7 years

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Gun piercings are a terrible idea

Hi Guys.

I recently found this blog and think its a wonderful idea as everyone these days does turn to the internet when looking this kind of thing up. I wanted to share my story of gun piercings. I'll admit that not everyone's gun piercing goes wrong but there are enough horror stories floating around that should deter people. I'm from England and when I was a kid everyone I knew went to Claire's to get their ears pierced between reception and year 6. The fact that not a week went by without some girl in our school having red and weepy ears and the gossip flying around that ,for example, Sian has got her ears pierced recently and they are now infected. The experience of getting your ears pierced at the beginning of a school holiday or having to stick plasters over them in PE; and then subsequently getting an infection and leaking gunk everywhere was some sort of weird pre-teen right of passage. But I still really wanted them. When I was 8 in the summer holiday between year 4 and 5 I finally wore down my Dad and with the help of an excellent school report was off one Sunday into town, while my Dad was playing cricket, to Claire's, and finally awesome earrings. Mum said it would hurt and she was right. I clutched the offered Claire's bear as I sat in the chair at the front of the shop shaking with nerves and various people I knew watching me; two teenage girls who were probably younger than I am now, held the guns up to my ears. As they fired I flinched; the holes are definitely not even in placement and they pierced through at a weird angle. However lots of tears and a glass of water later, off I bounced away with new holes in my ears.

A few months later, while brushing my hair getting ready for school I noticed I had a lump behind my ear. It was about as big as my earlobe, maybe a tiny bit bigger, and when I looked in the mirror it was plum purple. I yelled down to my Mum who took one look at the lump, rung my school and marched me off to the Doctors. I had a form of blood poisoning from the ear piercing due to the trauma of the gun and possibly bacteria transfer and was on antibiotics for 6 weeks because of it. Luckily my doctor knew not to take out the earrings and leave the infection trapped in my body. I'm pretty sure she had said she had seen this kind of thing before as the Claire's in the local town had a wealth of horror stories associated with it. I had 3 more Doctors appointments and it took a year and half for the lump to disappear but I still have a faint raised bump where it was and it's been 12 years.

You'd think after that incident I would have learnt my lesson, but no. When I was 17 I decided that I wanted a second set of holes and since my first set had healed so brilliantly (ha ha ha) I would check out the local piercing shop. My Mum didn't like it because it was cramped (as its a converted old building probably a house) and we hadn't yet made the connection between the gun piercing trauma and the blood poisoning thing even though the doctor had said it. My Dad claimed it was because I didn't clean them properly even though I did what they told me to and I know that solution stuff they sell is completely useless. The lady at Claire's did the first hole ok but as she did the second the noise of the gun made me flinch and the stud ripped more than usual on the way through. And afterwards it really ached and burned and my ears felt crushed for the rest of the day and this nasty feeling carried on for a week. The right ear was ok and the holes are decently spaced whereas the left ear, the studs are a bit too close together and it took about double the time to heal properly. My body heals really quickly and my right ear took about 6 weeks to heal but my left ear took 12 weeks.

When I was 19 and I knew better I got a helix piercing on my left ear at a piercing studio with a needle. Although it ached for a while it healed beautifully, no scarring, no bumps, no problems and it's fully healed now and perfect. I also got my left nostril pierced a few months later with a needle and the same thing happened, pain and swelling but ultimately healed without a hitch. Now 21, recently got my tragus and my daith pierced on my right ear and a second helix piercing on my left. They are sore and my daith piercing is irritated (guess its a lot of cartilage to go through) but overall considering I have three healing at the same time it's all going great.

Guns may seem cheaper and quicker and easier. But if you go to a professional piercer they know where nerves and blood vessels are, they have had a lot of training and finally guns, even the disposal ones they use at Claire's, are not sterilised even if they come pre-packaged. Instruments can't be properly sterilised unless they are put through an autoclave and the piercing guns have plastic on them which would melt so cannot be put through the autoclave as that heats up the instrument to kill the bacteria. Needles at a piercing studio either come pre packaged and sterile or they are autoclaved on site (or both). The jewellery is also autoclaved which kills all the bacteria present. The piercer wears gloves at all times and the whole area of the shop is completely sterile and cleaned after use. If people are worried about piercing with a needle not being as quick, professional body piercing take 1 second to pierce and they are far more accurate than a gun.

If I knew what I do now when I was 8 or even 17 I wouldn't have crooked piercings that hurt a lot more overall due to all the problems I had, than all my cartilage piercings put together.

I am going to see my piercer tomorrow because of my irritated daith. I am a little bit worried about it as I forgot I had it and kept wearing earbuds so if it is infected its my own fault. You can't go back to places like Claire's and get good advice and after care from professionals who know what they are doing, if you are worried about a piercing being infected or irritated. I messaged them on Facebook and within an hour and half they had replied with their advice and suggested I pop in and see them, and don't touch it unnecessarily, take ibuprofen and do sea salt soaks. This is a good piercing experience I feel. I have taken their advice and even now the ibuprofen has worn of its less painful and red.

The morale of my story and many others like me? Don't risk it, piercing with guns because of a needle phobia or because its cheaper whatever the reason is not worth it. Not worth the consequences if it goes wrong. Thank you for reading.

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usayimsuchacliche-blog · 7 years

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Stick ‘N Poke

Arabella

"I shouldn't be the one to do this, look at my hands. They're shaking!" He says this as he presses the ink dipped needle to my wrist. I grab his sallow cheek with my palm and force him to look at me.

"I trust you, you idiot" I say, my voice firm, sincere. His brown, nearly black eyes study my face before looking back at my wrist. My pulse throbs and the lighting makes it so the purple blue of my veins can be distinguished.

"I'm drawing a dick yeah?"

"A huge one. Throbbing veins and such" I tease and he laughs his cute, nervous chuckle.

"But really, what'll you have?" I lock eyes with him again and admire the rosy blush that tints the pale apples of his cheeks.

"Matty" I say dreamily and he blinks.

"Yes?" I laugh, head tilted back and all.

"No! I'll have it say Matty" he blinks again and glances from my wrist to my face then back again.

"Matty" he repeats in awe and I nod, all smiles.

"How about just an ' M'?" I frown.

"You don't like it?" He looks down at the leather of his shoes.

"I love it. I do. I love you as well" I tilt his chin up with a long, painted finger.

" The problem then?" He sighs.

" It means your mine" he states simply, the side of his lip curling. Mine does the same.

" Does it?" He stretches up to capture my lips in a bruising kiss.

" it does. And I'm not totally sure how lax you are with the idea" silly boy I think to myself whilst tugging on his earlobe. I've always belonged to you I want to say, but there was no reason to boost his ego.

"Just poke me already" I say with exasperation and he dips the needle in more ink.

"I poked you quite well this morning I believe" he murmurs, settling the needle to my wrist breaking the skin.

"You're so gross Matthew" I scold through clenched teeth and he laughs, pressing harder. Drops of blood mixed with ink fall down my arm and he wipes the away hurriedly with a napkin.

" No going back after I pen the ' A' love" he'd finished the ' M' rather quickly. He was a stick and poke pro it seemed.

"Well don't keep a girl waiting" I taunt and he's quick to etch the remainder of his name in thin cursive. Matty dips a cloth in the mixture of vodka and water he'd sworn by and I wince when the sting of the concoction touches my red, ink smudged skin.

"It's hideous," he comments. Holding my wrist under the desk lamp as if lighting would improve it. I gaze at it. My skin had raised and reacted to each stick of the needle and now the name 'Matty' blared in angry irritated flesh.

"It's perfect" I whisper softly and his mouth offers a smirk.

"Like it’s namesake" he states cockily and I shove him away, his bare chest cool against my palms.

"My turn?" I bite my lip and scan the pale skin before me. He's littered in tattoos. Gorgeous ones, bright and detailed, small and large. I think back to the chicken scratch that I call my handwriting and flashback to the deformed stick figures I'd been drawing since elementary school. Pass.

"Don't you have enough?" His eyes widen and he lifts his arms, examining the scrawny things with deep intent.

"What are you looking for?" He looks up from his searchings, rolling up the black denim of his jeans to reveal two knobby ankles.

"A fuck to give ya," he says idly and I roll my eyes, stalking towards him, knocking over the vodka water solution in the process.

"Oi!" He scolds and I ignore him settling myself comfortably on his lap.

"Who do you think'll clean that up? Not me I guarantee " he insists and I pucker out my bottoms lip, tracing the planes of his face with a quivering finger. My wrist was finally starting to feel the affects of the tattoo. He grabs my hand and places it first to his cheek then to his dry lips.

"I'm sure George will clean it up." I say and his eyes squint.

"It's like you don't know him at all. He'll have my fuckin' head if he comes back to the flat being dirty" I settle closer to him listening to the rapid ticks of his heart.

"Blame me then," Matty rests his chin atop my head.

"I plan to" he says evenly. I don't sense a hint of a lie.

"You'd really throw me to that wolf?" I feel him shrug.

"Better you than me." He says with a long stroke to my back. I reach up my uninjured arm to settle at the nape of his neck. My long nails are immediately caught up in the tendrils of his inky black hair.

"What time is it?" I ask lightly. We had both been avoiding the concept of time, pretending that we were stuck in the same moment forever. What was to come next was almost too melodramatic, even for the emo king himself.

"It's a quarter past 3"

"you even find a way to make the time sound pretentious" he shrugs, cradling me closer. His body swaying on the fuzzy rug we were currently marooned on.

"Won't your folks notice your little dabbling in the arts?" He's referring to my wrist and It's my time to shrug.

"They haven't seemed to notice that I'm out of the country" he makes an agreeable sound in the back of his throat.

"I'm sure they're lovely people Arabella, but they are simply daft" Matty wasn't wrong. In fact 'daft' was too nice of a word to describe my parents.

"I'm still shocked that they think I've stayed at Miranda's house this long. She gets annoying after three hours"

"George didn't seem to think so" he says cheekily and I attempt to harm him with a jab to the ribs, but he holds me in a way that makes it impossible.

"This was nice," I whisper into the dimly lit room and he lets put a defeated sigh before gazing down at me. his brown, black eyes troubled as per usual. Brewing and darkening with pent up emotion that I would most likely hear later via voicemail.

"You can't be what I need you're only seventeen" he stresses, reiterating a line from the band's song ' Girls'. I smile, biting my lip and inviting him in for a kiss. He grips at my ass as the kiss deepens. Our tongues exploring the cavities of the other's mouth. I probably taste like the Virginia slim I'd smoked earlier and he tasted like cheap red wine and rolling paper.

"What if you keep me here?" I ask breathlessly. It was a suggestion neither of us had ever made during our rendezvous.

"Isn't that kidnapping?" He teases lightly licking the plum colored lipstick that had stained his lips from mine from his mouth.

"Isn't this statutory rape?" I ask and he cringes.

"Age of consent is sixteen" I roll my eyes.

"In the UK it is. I'm American genius" he rolls his eyes in an overdramatic fashion before rolling so that both of us land on the soft mattress that sat in the middle off the room.

" My little American" he whispers before attacking my neck with a parade of kisses and tiny suckles. He had said the same line when we first met, the first time we fucked, then a second time when we made love.

"Takes me back to that horrible day that I met you" I say with a tiny chuckle, my body arching against his. My legs winding around his waist as his breathing intensified.

"Was it really so bad?" h nearly whines and I let out a breath against his ear.

"I've had better first impressions."

The Horrible Day

"I'm going to die when they preform Medicine. You're in my will though don't worry." Miranda rambles as we make our way through LA traffic. Our Uber drove like a maniac and I found myself clawing at the leather of his backseat.

"If you leave that stupid ass cat to me I'll bring you back from the dead just to kill you again" I say through clenched teeth and she rolls her eyes.

"He loves you. You're his favorite"

"Impossible. The thing has Stockholm Syndrome or something." I sip on the large drink I'd gotten from In N Out and Miranda continues her fantasy spiel for tonight's show. Miranda had been gifted two tickets to see The 1975 for her seventeenth birthday and I had been her first ( and only) choice. No one else in our immediate friend group was into them.

"You are here" our Uber says in a thick accent and I smile giddily. All to ready to get out of the vehicle.

"Fuck we're early. Think we'll get to see Matty?" I look at the venue where a gaggle of girls line the entrance, eager to be granted passage.

"Nah, not until show time I reckon" The ticket bouncers started to let us in two hours before showtime to give people like Miranda a chance to buy overpriced concert merchandise. I on the other hand took the opportunity to use the bathroom. The lemonade had acted as a severe diuretic. I spot the ladies room and push the door open with my sleeve. Once inside I locked eyes with a fluorescent light illuminated Matty Healy. His pants around his ankles and a blonde girl's lips wrapped around his cock.

"M-" my mouth goes dry and I can't see to form coherent words let alone a scream or sentence.

"Fuck" he hisses, eyes still l locked with mine as she went to town. I admired her vigor and dedication. The linoleum of the bathroom floor was disgusting and I wasn't sure if it was the scene or the bathroom making me nauseous. I back away slowly. Attempting to leave, but instead becoming A bit entranced when her hands start trailing up the bare skin of his stomach and chest. I watch as his stomach tightens and then bolt into an open stall when he grips her hair and shuts his eyes. I stand in the stall for a few moments trying to collect myself, and the blood rushing in my ears is so loud that I can't hear their conversation. A bang on my stall door startles me and I croak out an unconvincing, 'occupado'.

I hear a chuckle. A whimsical one. A male one. Matty's

"Come out love, she's left" whatever urge I had to pee was gone. I crack open the door and poke my head out slowly. His pants are up, his shirt still wide open and his hair artfully wild.

"Matty" he says brightly hand outstretched and ready for me to shake.

"Matty" I repeat, dumbfounded. His eyes widen and his hand retracts.

"You're Matty too? Small world eh?" He jokes, and I crack a stupid smile.

"Arabella"

"Ah, more fitting. Lovely really" he nods bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets and teeth chewing on his inner cheek.

"thanks" I manage and he offers me a warm smile. One that soothes the redness in my cheeks.

"I've got a bit of a show to do, but I want to see you backstage Arabella. Cool?" He digs in his pocket and reveals a backstage pass. I don't move to take it so he loops it around my neck, pulling my hair up so it doesn't tangle.

"Lotus" he inhales before letting my hair fall and leaving the bathroom. I walk to cracked mirror and examine my face.

"Shit," I whisper.

"Shit," my reflection echoes as if she too can't believe that I had just met Matty Healy in the dingy bathroom of a concert venue whilst he was getting off.

"Shit."

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youngtalefire-blog · 7 years

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Helix Diary: Week 1

Day 1: I got my helix pierced! I had it done professionally with a needle and a 16g 5/16 in barbell. It was internally threaded, and I had the front ball swapped out for a 2 mm fake diamond stud. The actual piercing wasn’t as bad as I expected--if my earlobes were a 2/10, then helix was maybe a 3/10. It felt like a sharp pinch, and then my ear felt very warm. Putting the jewelry in hurt more than the actual piercing, but it didn’t take long. It didn’t bleed at all, but my ear was red for a little bit. After the jewelry was secured, it didn’t hurt anymore. My long hair added a weight that felt weird and uncomfortable around the piercing, and though it didn’t hurt, I kept it tied back the rest of the day. I was super careful and only bumped it once, but that hurt. Cleaning it that night hurt almost as bad as the initial piercing (so still not that bad). It was an interesting mix between a sharp pain and a dull ache, but it hurt. While it was wet, I tried to push the jewelry forward a tiny bit so that it wasn’t flush against my ear. I didn’t like how it looked flat against my ear, and I wanted to give it a little room on both sides for swelling. This was barely doable, as it was extremely painful (wayyy more than the initial piercing) and didn’t really move easily. Only pushing the piercing directly through the hole hurts; touching or accidentally bumping it side to side doesn’t hurt. There was hardly any swelling, redness, aching, bleeding, or crusting. I took ibuprofen throughout the day to avoid pain and swelling. I cleaned it with saline and antibacterial soap that night.

From here on out, I cleaned it 3 times a day with saline solution and once a day with antibacterial soap in the shower at night.

Day 2: The first full day! It still doesn’t ache or hurt if it’s left alone. It isn’t itching yet. It hurts to bump, but already less than yesterday. I still haven’t gotten my hair tangled up in it yet and I had no discomfort in leaving my hair down. There is miniscule swelling and redness. I took ibuprofen to help with both. No blood, pus, or crusting. Cleaning still hurts, but not quite as bad as yesterday.

Day 3: Overall, my ear still really doesn’t hurt unless provoked. Occasionally, it will ache for a second or two, but the pain is so faint and fleeting that I question whether it is real or phantom. It did began to itch as the day ended, though, and I’m not looking forward to more itchiness. My upper ear is still a little swollen, but it isn’t red unless I’m handling and cleaning it. I took ibuprofen to help pain and swelling. There still hasn’t been any blood, pus, or crusting. Cleaning hurts, but still less. It only hurts when the bar gets pushed through. Touching and cleaning around the sides or around the base doesn’t hurt.

Day 4: It gets less painful with every day, although the itching is starting up. Bumping my ear doesn’t always hurt it now, and if it does hurt, it isn’t bad. I’ve been doing really well about not bumping it, so the biggest hazard has been other people. It hasn’t ached at all today, and any itchiness only lasted for a few seconds at a time. I’m definitely not ready to lie on that ear yet, but I now feel comfortable enough with the piercing to maybe try sleeping with my head on a travel neck pillow. Most of the swelling is gone. I took smaller doses of ibuprofen today. It still hasn’t produced any blood or pus yet, though there was a tiny bit of crusting when I went to clean it. After today, I won’t mention blood or pus unless they actually occur.

Day 5: My ear hurt slightly more today, since I only took 1 ibuprofen. It also itched more throughout the day. I missed my afternoon cleaning today, and I suspect that caused it to itch more, since the itchiness went away when I cleaned it tonight. My whole ear itched periodically except around the piercing itself. Bumping the wrong spot will hurt a little bit, but it is already much better than it was in the beginning and some spots aren’t sensitive. Cleaning still hurts, but in a different way. Pushing the bar through the hole doesn’t hurt, but bumping it along the side or cleaning around the hole hurts now. There was a tiny bit of crusting when I cleaned it.

Day 6: No ibuprofen today! It meant my ear ached a little bit more, but it was still so minor that I didn’t notice it too much. Bumping it also hurts a little more. I’m to the point now where I bump it “pretty good” on average about once a day, but other people (especially the bf) are bad about bumping it. There was still some itching, but it was manageable. Towards the end of the night I put some hydrocortisone on my earlobe, in my conch area, and behind my ear (all well clear of the piercing site!) and that helped the itching tremendously. There was still the same tiny bit of crusting before cleaning.

Day 7: ROLLER COASTERS!!! We went to an amusement park today, which was super fun. I took an ibuprofen before we left just in case it got jostled and started aching. Luckily, I didn’t bump my ear and it didn’t hurt at all. I also put on some hydrocortisone before we left, and that kept any itching at bay. Bumping still hurts it, but it isn’t bad. It’s just a dull ache when it gets bumped and usually only lasts for a couple of seconds. As usual, there was a tiny bit of crusting before cleaning.

For everyone who may fuss at me about riding roller coasters with an uncovered new piercing: I know these rides. I’ve been going to this park since I was a baby, and I know how to ride these coasters so that I don’t bump my ears. I had no trouble in keeping my ear safe and clean.

#helixpiercing #healingpiercing #helixdiary

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