- Tightly roll your clothes when you pack them instead of a standard fold. This is what I always refer to as “military packing”, because it’s how my dad learned to pack in the army. It allows you to fit more in your bags.
- Do not forget toiletries, those who have periods make sure you grab your products as well, you do not know how long you’ll be gone or if you’ll have the availability to get more. Unscrew the lids to things like shampoo or anything that might leak and place plastic wrap over the opening (ziplock bags work as well), then screw the lid back on, this will prevent any leaking.
- Grab all prescription medication and EPI Pens, it is also a good idea to pack any NASIDs (ibuprofen and other anti-inflamatory mediciation),and allergy medication like claratin, zyrtec, or benadryl. Grab any emergency medical kits in your house and make sure they have bandages, gauze, sanitizing wipes, and neosporin. If your box is big enough, pack a small sewing kit, a lighter, a ball of steel wool, a 9 volt battery, a swiss army knife, and small food bars like protein bars or granola bars.
- Grab all personal documents, IDs, passports, SS cards, birth certificates, insurance cards, including car insurance, legal documents including marriage licences and tax papers. If available place these in large ziplock bags to keep them safe from getting wet or dirty.
- Grab all family heirlooms, photographs, gold and other valuable jewelry, diplomas, and other irreplaceable items.
- Pack power banks and charging cords
- Most shelters only allow service animals, please find lodging for your pets, make sure collars and name tags are secured and that you’ve entered your information on their chips, pack food for your animals as well. DO NOT ABANDON YOUR ANIMALS
- Withdraw cash from your bank, grab check books, take your wallets and purses and make sure your cards are in them.
- It is getting colder. Pack hats, gloves, scarves, water proof coats, lots of socks and underwear, water resistant boots.
- Pack plenty of water, non perishable and ready to eat foods, manual can opener. Also bring flashlights
- if you have infant children pack baby formula, even if you normally breast feed
Remember to stay safe, do not panic. Do not drive recklessly, many people are trying to find a safe place, bad driving will only cause accidents which will slow down evacuation routes more. Stay safe friends.
It surprises me that we haven’t talked about the most obvious thing: humans imagine things. Humans outright make shit up. (Like these posts?) Human stories often aren’t retellings of things that actually happened. Art often isn’t a depiction of true events. Humans - for want of a better word - humans sublimate. They transform their experiences into outlandish non-reality for each others’ amusement.
It takes forever for first contact to start because the aliens planning it keep getting confused by first radio, then television. Some of these depictions can’t be possible - but which ones? The first time War of the Worlds reaches the Kuiper belt, someone panics and has to double check that a more aggressive group hasn’t actually invaded.
After humans are finally integrated into galactic culture, some issues crop up.
“Did you clean the waste facility?” the Janitorial Supervisor asks.
“Well, I would have,” the human starts, then proceeds to tell an outrageous story about a cleaning bot with a knife strapped to its back which has the entire crew searching the ship for hours. The entire crew except for the humans.
The Captain finds the humans “searching” the self-poisoning cabinet in one of the crew quarters.
“Oh my god,” the First Officer says, on seeing the Captain’s dust-speckled upper ears. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you really fell for that. Stabby is a cryptid, Harold!”
The Captain’s name is not Harold, but that is another, even longer story.
The Captain exhales. “What is a cryptid?”
The assistant medical officer sits up straighter, his drink sloshing dangerously. The Captain has learned what “a gleam in his eye” means and how to detect it. They sit, resigned. There’s no escaping now.
An hour later, the Captain explains the concept of cryptids in considerably less detail to the embarrassed and confused Supervisor. Along with the concept of lying.
“But how do you know the difference?” the Supervisor asks, wringing their tentacles in mixed embarrassment and worry.
“Find another human,” the Captain advises. “Check for signs of mirth.”
This turns out to be prescient, because on their next planetary stop, two of the human field officers come running back into the base camp, out of breath and without the rest of their scouting team.
“Nasty buggers with teeth!” one gasps. Though the other officers appear skeptical, the Captain glances at the First Officer, who is already setting down her meal and grabbing her favorite flamethrower. The assistant medical officer yanks his kit straps over his shoulders, face grim.
“Arm yourselves,” the Captain tells the rest.
It takes about four hours, but they get everyone back more or less intact. The humans change the sign in the rec room on the ship to read: “Us: 6, Them: 0″. There is a ritual raising of liquor-filled glasses, even by the injured who are forbidden self-poisoning. The Captain begins temporary hibernation very relieved that humans are so willing to count other species as “us”.
When they ask the First Officer about it two cycles later, the First Officer looks confused, then knowing.
“My great grandmother remembers when you first showed up. They picked your people for first contact for a reason, didn’t they?”
“We look the most like you.”
“Yeah, well, that was a bad call. Gran says humans debated for months whether or not you were just other humans with good prosthetic makeup.”
The Captain blinks at this. “Most peoples are shocked and upset to learn the rest of the sentient universe does not share their appearance. Wait.” They pause. “Is that why we had so many applicants for the Janitorial position?”
The First Officer ignores that, as she usually does when the Captain doesn’t really want to know the answer.
“Do you know why cryptids exist? Why horror and violence and monsters exist in our stories?” she asks instead.
The Captain twitches both sets of ears ‘no’. “It seems unnecessary to frighten yourselves over things that don’t exist.”
“But nasty buggers with teeth do exist, even if we haven’t met them yet,” she says grimly. “And we were ready, weren’t we?”
It’s true. The humans on board have been terrifyingly adaptable, even in their violence.
The Captain feels their way carefully. “You think about things that don’t exist… sometimes even things that distress and terrify you… so that you can be ready when you face real things that distress and terrify you?”
“See, this is why you’re the Captain, Harold.” The First Officer slaps their shoulder hump cheerfully, careful to avoid the spines. “And better yet, we share the things we imagine with each other. It’s like a mental vaccine.”
“And it works?”
“Eh, sometimes. It’s not perfect. Sometimes we don’t mark our vaccines properly, or don’t realize we’re adding things we didn’t mean to. Some of them have a bad effect on some people, for various reasons. But we joined the galactic community in less than a generation. Has any other species ever done that?”
It was a stupid way to get injured; acting like Deku and
forgetting to blast the villain into a Jackson Pollock before going in for his
Bakugou sat facing Aizawa as the teacher bandaged him. Bakugou
could have borne the injuries if Aizawa had not needed to rescue him and the
other students. It was stupid, it was weak, and it was painful.
His face twisted partway between a scowl and a sob and
Bakugou told himself his eyes were watering because of the antiseptic being
applied to his cuts.
He wasn’t crying.
A weight settled on Bakugou’s head suddenly, and he furiously
blinked to clear his eyes. An emergency blanket, the type that could be found
in a medical kit, was draped over his head. As he focused on the edges, they
were pulled forward far enough to hide his face.
When Bakugou looked up, Aizawa glanced down at him. There
was no pity. But there was understanding.
So Bakugou let his teacher hide his tears for him.
The punkest thing you can do? Actually fucking do something!
That is me, front and center, November 10th, 2016. This will always be my favorite picture of me. It was my first protest and I never felt so damn proud of myself and everyone around me. I marched for miles. You can see the straps of my backpack, which had water and medical supplies for whoever needed it. My face is partially hidden, but I still stood out.
Let me tell you. If you’ve never done this, you’re gonna be scared, and you’re gonna be tired. Even if you’ve done this before, the world has only gotten scarier. Stick together. They can’t take all of you down.
There are protests in my town soon that I can’t go to, because I just can’t take the risk with my surgeries. If you can’t go for whatever reason, you can still support the people out there. Gather snacks, water, medical kits, make posters, offer people rides, message your friends to make sure they are safe, do anything! You are part of history.
Your words of encouragement are great. Wanna prove you mean what you say? Act.
Look out for each other. Read advice from people that have done this before. Stay safe.
(Photo is of me, but not mine. It was pulled from one of the many news sites that reported on the protests last year. My face has already been on multiple news sites, otherwise I wouldn’t be putting it here.)
Thought; spontaneously dragging Steve of Bucky into random makeout sessions throughout the day and then just leaving him out of breath as you continue in with your business” And a very pleasant thought it is.
Warning: Language, making out, and utter ridiculousness
A/N: I had more free time than I anticipated, so you’re getting this early. You have the snow storm to thank for this nonsense.
Summary: A nurse survives a the sinking of one of the destroyers and is picked up by the crew of the Moonstone. Collins x reader.
A/N: It’s quite intense in places so if you're looking for pure fluff you better keep scrolling! George also features quite heavily in this fic, just to warn y’all.
“I think they’re dead Dad.” The voice seemed to drift
towards you as if it were borne on the wind. You were aware of a soothing
rocking motion, someone speaking and little else.
“Here, give me tha’ rope.” Another person, Scottish by their
accent, spoke. You didn’t really care, you were so dazed.
There was a bump and a shake as wood struck wood and you
finally opened your eyes. There was endless blue above you crowned by a golden
sun, it was beautiful. Your vision was bleary so you couldn’t make out much
else, but there was a dark green blob next to you and a much larger white and
brown one on your other side.
“The lass is awake.” The Scot called. It slowly dawned on
you that you were the lass he spoke of. “Here, be careful. Take my hand.” He continued
more quietly. You looked in the direction of the voice, it had come from a
blond man in blue who was leaning over a railing on the small white boat.
You sat up, becoming suddenly, uncomfortably aware that you
were on the sea, floating on the top of a chunk of wooden table, and you were
not alone. The green blob was, or rather had been, a man, a soldier, a boy. His
lips were blue, his face pale and lifeless. One hand went to your mouth to
stifle a cry and the other you used to push yourself up. This was a bad move.
The wood beneath you shifted and instantly you were falling. The water was cold
but you barely noticed: memories were flooding back, of the ship, the
explosion, the screams of men into the blackness of night. Sights like that
would take the fight out of even the bravest, and this had only been your first
deployment. Would it be so bad to let go and sink down to the watery depths of
the channel like all those others?
Choice was removed from you as a hand wrapped round your
wrist and pulled you up. Your head broke through the water and you gasped for
“Come on.” The warm voice came again, and you did, clawing
your way up the ladder on the side of the little vessel. It was hard work, your
muscles were achy and tired and you were weighed down with a nurse’s uniform of
a blouse, heavy wool skirt and a cotton apron.
You pulled yourself onto the deck of the boat, still
breathing heavily and lay there.
“Is there any use getting the man?” The first voice asked.
The other sighed in response.
“Hypothermia got him, Peter.” A third voice joined the
conversation, he sounded Cornish or thereabouts, and something told you he was
older than the other two.
“Best leave ‘im there lad.” said the Scottish man, he was
the closest to you, and it was him who helped, or rather pulled you to your
“Son, get her a blanket.” The older man from the cabin
“Let me take that.” The Scot said, taking the lapels of the
soldier’s jacket you only now remembered you were wearing. It was sodden and
salt-stained but it still felt wrong to remove it. You shook your head and wrapped
it tighter around you.
You began to shake then, your body rocking with a wave of
sobs as hot, angry tears filled your eyes.
“He’s dead. He’s dead. He shouldn’t,” you involuntarily inhaled,
“he-he shouldn’t be dead.” You squeezed out between sobs. A blanket was placed
on your shoulders and the blond man in front of you pulled it closer about you.
“It’s my fault.” You wailed.
“Shhh, now.” The man in blue replied as his arms surrounded
you, pulling you into his chest. You let him hold you but continued:
“The-the man, he g-gave me his jacket.” You spluttered. “If
he’d kept it he’d be alive.”
“Don’ think like tha’. You can’t possibly know what might
have happened.” he was speaking softly and gently rubbing circles on your back.
“I should have stayed in England. I should have stayed at
home.” a fresh wave of tears fell from your eyes at the thought of the home you
“You’ll be home soon,” the Scot cooed “You’ll be home soon.”
That made you feel a bit better. “When you get home, what’s the first thing
you’ll do?” It was obvious what he was doing, he was trying to distract you
from the terrible situation you were in, and it worked. You sniffled but were
able to speak with surprising normalcy.
“I’ll go to back to my father’s bakery, Y/L/N and Sons in St
Albans. I’ll bake the cakes like I always used to, with the radio on loud, up
to my elbows in flour.” a small smile threatened to break out across your face
at the thought of that.
There was silence for some time, punctuated with the
occasional call of a seagull or bluster of wind. All the while the man held
you; and it was only when your breaths had slowed to normal, that he pulled
away to hold you at arm’s length to survey your face. You returned the favour
and took in a pointed nose, a friendly smile and intense blue eyes that, under
different circumstances, would have left you weak at the knees.
“I’m Jack, Jack Collins.” He said, softly.
“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” The two of you shook hands. “Would
you like some tea?”
Hands wrapped around a steaming cup of Earl Grey and safely
cloistered in the cabin below deck, you felt a great deal better. You were
still damp and every so often you would hiccup but for the most part you were
yourself again and were back to asking questions:
“So where’s your plane?” you asked, from behind a curtain of
steam rising from your tea. Your companion chuckled lightly.
“In the drink, I’m afraid.” Jack answered. “So, where’s your
surgery?” the pilot countered, his eyes darting to your apron, where the red
cross that singled you out as a nurse was printed. No doubt he had intended it
to be light hearted, but you were not quite ready to think about last night.
You took a sip of tea and braced yourself.
“HMS Wakeful was torpedoed off the coast of Dunkirk.”
you deadpanned with glazed eyes. Jack appeared apologetic, and you forgave him
instantly, but you couldn’t help but tear up slightly.
“Excuse me, Miss.” Came a voice at the door, it was a boy,
with neat blond hair and high cheekbones.
“Yes, um, Peter is it?” You replied. The boy nodded.
“My friend George, he-” a flash of anger passed over his
face. “He fell down the stairs and hit his head, could you have a look
at him, please?”
“Give ‘er a minute for christ’s sake!” Jack interjected,
with a surprising amount of concern in his tone.
“No, Mr Collins, it’s quite alright.” You gathered yourself
and followed Peter to where the patient had been placed.
You knelt by the dark haired boy and inspected him.
“Can you hear me, George?” You asked, marking the blood on
the makeshift pillow beneath his head.
There was a second of silence then “Yes.” he answered.
“Can you see me?”
“No…No.” Worry crept into his voice. You took one of the
boy’s hands in yours and gave a gentle squeeze. You bent your head close to
that of the boy’s and peered into his left eye, then took a measure of his
heart rate with a finger pressed on the inside of his wrist.
“You’ll be alright, George. I’m a nurse, I know what I’m
doing.” you stood, took off the blanket and the dead boy’s jacket, and tied up
your still damp hair.
“George, I need to get you to a bed, can you walk do you
think?” You asked, motioning for Jack to help him up. The pilot had been
looking at you but quickly bent to his task.
The boy was badly injured. He clearly had a terrible
concussion which had triggered his brain to swell, it was pressing up on the
inside of his skull, preventing proper function of his ocular nerve. His brain
would only continue to increase in size unless something could be done. He
needed to be put on a ventilator and be dehydrated if he was to survive, but
you were at sea. How could he be put on a ventilator if you were miles from a
hospital? And even a fully stocked medical kit was unlikely to hold a strong
enough diuretic to help him, so what could be done?
“Peter,” you took the young man’s arm and led him out of
earshot of the dark haired boy. “Your friend has a concussion, a bad one. His
brain is swelling. I can’t lie to you, he is in a bad way, but there is still
hope. I need you to find a diuretic.” The poor boy looked absolutely terrified
and clearly had no idea where a diuretic would be found. “Caffeine pills
perhaps?” You prompted.
“I’ll ask my Dad.” He nodded, turned and dashed up the
Following George and Jack to the cabin, where the boy was
lying, you explained: “I need you to induce hyperventilation, it’s a big word,
I know.” you tried to inject some levity to the situation, you heard Collins
utter a quiet “ha”, but paid no mind to it. “You have to breathe quickly and
shallowly, George.” The blind boy nodded and sucked in a breath.
“Aye, like tha’, George.” Collins encouraged, his gaze fixed
Your next task was to pile blankets on top of the patient,
with the hope of causing him to sweat. Collins helped you find as many as
possible and when you were done, only George’s head protruded from a heap of
Tired, you sank to the floor and crossed your legs beneath
you. You glanced up at Jack then and were surprised to find him already looking
back at you.
“What are you looking at?” you questioned, your eyebrows
knitted together in confusion.
“Just you.” your lips parted and your eyes widened. The
pilot was smirking down at you.
“Miss Y/L/N.” you jumped and your head spun so fast you
cricked your neck.
“Um, yes Peter?” you asked while rubbing your neck. You
heard Collin’s chuckle and rolled your eyes.
“Here: caffeine pills.” the young man explained, holding out
a battered pack of tablets. You rose, took the pills and went to George’s
“George, you’re going to have to take these dry, we can’t
give you any water.”
“I-I don’t think I can.”
“I know,” you studied the boy’s face, noting the lines of
stress in his forehead. “But you have to try.”
The packet said the maximum dose was two tablets; you
disregarded this, popping out three and placing them in George’s hand one at a
time. It was clearly not easy for the lad, but after many attempts and a few
fits of coughing he got the first pill down, then the second, then the third.
“Well done George. I’ll be back in half an hour with two
more.” You were worried about the boy, but impressed, he’d remained calm
throughout a very stressful series of events; but, you remembered, his treatment
was far from over.
You did as you had said, administering the remaining
caffeine tablets, whilst trying not to blush whenever you caught sight of the
blond pilot. His strong Scottish accent and dimpled boyish grin certainly
didn’t help in this regard.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze, you were
exhausted, but kept to your task of looking after George. Later there was the
small matter of a Heinkel bomber and leaking oil from a sinking ship, but you
knew that it was not your place to be scared anymore, god knows, you’d come
back from the brink once today already. You stayed with George whilst Peter and
Jack pulled petrol-covered men from the water. It was just as the first of the
rescued men were thumping down the stairs that George spoke up after a long period
“Y/N, I think-I think I can see something.” he breathed.
“What can you see?” you asked hurriedly.
“Just light.” you held your hand above his open eyes,
displaying two fingers. “Wait, I think there’s something there…Is it a hand?”
you let out an unashamed whoop of joy and rushed from the cabin, through the
press of sodden soldiers.
“Hey! Jack, Peter, Mr Dawson!” you called from behind a
gaggle of men. Peter was the first to reach you, his eyes wide with worry. He
quickly calmed when he saw your smile.
“What is it?”
“It’s George, he’s started to see again. It’s a really good
sign. The pressure seems to have gone down somewhat, allowing him to see
again.” you rushed. “He’s out of the woods, Peter!” the young man let out a
relieved bark of a laugh, hugged you and dashed down to the cabin.
“So the lad’ll live then?” came Jack’s familiar voice. You
nodded keenly. “He’s alive because of you. You saved him, Y/N.” his voice was
deeper, huskier with seriousness. Your grin faded then, as you looked at the
pilot. Again you nodded, understanding what he was really doing: Jack Collins
was absolving you of the death of the soldier, and it meant so much to you.
Up on deck it was very cold as the west wind was blowing
with great force. The gusts cut through your thin blouse and the apron, making
you shiver. You refused to let the cold affect you and instead pushed your way
to the prow of the little vessel. It had been turned about and now pressed for
“Here.” Jack had followed you over to the railing and was
placing his blue RAF jacket around your shoulders.
“Are you sure?” you asked, though in truth it was just a courtesy,
he knew you were cold and you knew he wanted you protected.
“Aye.” Jack smiled.
It was dark when the boat finally docked. There were
hundreds and hundreds of other little ships all along the quayside and out of
each of them the boys were pouring. After the Moonstone’s cargo of
soldiers had disembarked, you sent Peter to find an ambulance and prepared
George to be moved to a hospital. You did this by writing a quick note of what
had caused his injury, the medication you had given him and the timings of all
of this, then changing over to a fresh bandage for his head. George was
transferred to a stretcher and put in the back of an ambulance, Mr Dawson sent
Peter with him. Jack was with you as you waved goodbye to the pair.
“I suppose it’s goodbye then.” The man said as the vehicle
rounded a corner and the sirens became quieter and quieter.
“Yes, it is.” As much as you wanted to stay, you knew you
had to return to your home base in Portsmouth. You said a short goodbye to Mr
Dawson and followed the floods of men to what you presumed was a train station.
The streets were crowded and you were jostled by the men all
around you, you understood why, they were all desperate to get inside a warm
train, so you didn’t begrudge it, but Jack did. Mr Collins quickly took you by
the arm and used his taller frame to cut through the throng much more
effectively. The third train you walked past had the sign “WEST-Portsmouth,
Dorset” illuminated. You patted him on the shoulder and pointed to the train
you knew you had to get on. Jack stopped and turned to face you.
“I never got round to asking you,” you piped up, “what will
you do now you’re back?”
“Probably go tae the pub, me an’ Farriers always did after a
mission.” you were surprised to note some sadness in his face, he certainly
wasn’t smiling. “It’d be a shame to break the tradition.”
“Yes, yes it would.” you nodded. “What about when the war’s
over, what will you do then?” you asked with a lighter tone.
“Oh,” he smiled sheepishly, “Ah dinnae ken.” (I don’t know.)
The Scottish phrase made you smile; it was close to the English so you understood.
The pair of you lapsed back into a tense silence then, as
you tried not to glance too long at his eyes or worse, his lips.
“Un tuh-r oo ghawnh pawk?” Jack asked, popping the quiet
bubble you’d been trapped in. You could make out that the Gaelic was a question
from the tone but besides that you had no idea. He inched almost imperceptibly
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.” he was looking
intently down at you, lips parted. You noticed his gaze flick down to your
mouth, then back to your eyes. You hadn’t realised just how blue his eyes were
until that moment. Your breath hitched.
“Oh, I think you do.” he whispered, only just audibly, his
face so close you could feel his warm breath on your cheek. You were petrified
and exhilarated all at once. Thoughts flew through your mind faster than a
Spitfire, then you stopped thinking at all.
He was kissing you. You were kissing him. One of his hands
was on the small of your back, you could feel the heat of it seeping into you,
the other rested on one of your cheeks. His lips were very soft you noticed.
There were soldiers all around you, some were laughing, you didn’t care in the
slightest: they weren’t real, only he was.
The kiss stayed simple and gentle. It ended far earlier than
you wanted it to though, but then, you could have quite happily kissed Jack
Collins for eternity.
Jack reached up to slide a lock of hair behind your ear.
“You have very pretty eyes, you know, Y/N.” he intoned.
“Come find me, after the war.” you asked, unable to keep a
pleading tone out of your voice.
“I will.” Jack said. Neither of you knew when the war would
end, nor even if it would, but you could sense that his promise was solemn, so
you allowed yourself to be put on the train. He stayed on the platform and
waved you off, neither of you smiled. Before long the train had gathered speed
and you were flying through the English countryside. You were home.
The war had ended two weeks ago and it seemed as though the
whole world was rejoicing. The sun was casting god rays through the glass
windows of your father’s shop front, the people all but skipped by in the
street and the wireless was belting out Billie Holiday. Everything felt right,
almost everything, that is. You sighed and set back to your work, picking up a
piping bag full of pink icing and going back to work on the cake on the worktop
in front of you.
You hummed along to the song, “I’ll be seeing you”, as you
worked and only looked up when the bell rang, signalling that a customer had
entered the shop.
“Just a moment.” you called, wiping the icing off your hands
with your baker’s apron.
You turned and gasped. It was Jack. The clothes had changed,
now he was dressed in a smart black suit, a well-fitting shirt and a blue tie,
but the smile was the same, dimpled and warm. You dashed over and threw your
arms about him.
“You found me.” you breathed into his chest, finally
Summary: All he wants to do is prove how much he loves you.
Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x reader
Warnings: Language, graphic gif [?] with blood; mentions of blood, self-hate
Word Count: 1511
A/N: This is for @avengersandlovers Sarah’s follower appreciation challenge! Congrats again, lovely :) || This is a reader insert, but reader is an agent under codename ‘Lamia’. Other than that, this is my first Kingsman/Eggsy fic, so hopefully I did them all justice. Let me know what you think! || main masterlist
The Price of Privilege - Part 4 (A Kyungsoo Series)
Genre: Angst / Smut (18+) / Romance / Arranged Marriage / Royalty AU
Characters: Kyungsoo X You
Description: The time has come to marry the man your family has selected to take your hand. As royalty these important matters are arranged for you, but when you meet your soon to be husband, he is nothing like you expected.
It wasn’t the weight of his body over your shoulder, or the warmth from him that rested along your side. It wasn’t the sound of his heavy breathing, or the wince of pain you saw in his pretty profile when he stepped too hard on his right foot that humanize him just a little bit in your mind.
No, the part of this that you felt the agonizing truth in, the part that told you deep down in the pit of your stomach where you kept every deep dark secret that could potentially reach up and suffocate you, the part that told you that you were doomed – completely and utterly doomed–
Warnings: hints of smut at the end, description of Theo’s injury
You found Theo slumped on the kitchen floor, wheezing as he
tried to catch his breath, slowly healing. It wasn’t the first time you’d found
him like that, in fact it wasn’t even the first time that week, sick of your
words falling on deaf ears you stepped over him, fetching a glass of water
before heading back to bed.
Derek Hale was a complicated person. He felt detached from the world for a long time, his wolf was desolate and lonely because he had no pack or family to live his life with. Then he met Scott and his awkward friend Stiles who in turn brought more people into a very unlikely pack. Then his eyes met yours, Liam’s older sister who was studying to be a medical nurse, and his world changed. The wolf perked up and turned its attention to you.