not nearly as cold as last week

Transference (M) – Chapter 07

cr. [X] 

Summary: You and Hoseok struggle separately to process what has transpired between you.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 7,733

Warning: Tantric!Hoseok, therapist/client relationship, mentions of alcohol, profanity.

A/N:  This chapter contains both the Reader and Hoseok’s POV and will be labeled whenever it switches. It’s a sad one, but necessary for the rest of the series. Hope you enjoy!

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07

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Cave In

@taylor-tut thanks for the idea

———————

“Thanks anyway Pidge, see you guys soon”

Keith sighed as he pulled off his helmet and threw it to the ground in frustration.

Him and Lance had been sent to investigate a cave network while the others were busy with castle repairs.

Everything was fine until a sudden earth quake triggered a cave in trapping the two in a caver barely bigger then a closet.

“N-no luck?” Lance shivered looking up from where he was slouched against the wall.

They had been trapped for nearly three hours now and in that time the ‘little’ cold Lance had been suffering in silence with for the last week turned into uncontrollable shivering, bone rattling coughing and a fever so high that the cavern felt like a sauna.

Keith sighed “the scanners are still down, it could take hours for them to find us.”

Lance nodded weakly.

He looked terrible, his skin washed out covered in sweat with breathing too shallow.

Keith would of been fine with waiting if it were just him, but Lance needed medical attention, fever reducers and water at the very least.

But the cavern barely had oxygen.

“How you feeling?” Keith asked kneeling down next to him as he placed a hand on his forehead frowning.

“M’good…”

“Your fevers gone up again…”

“Cold.” Lance mumbled as he leaned into Keith’s chest.

Keith bit his lip, this was bad… like really bad.

Lance thought it was cold while Keith was stripped down to his under shirt and boxers and still sweating his ass off.

“I know buddy.” He sighed as Lance cuddled up to him.

Keith sat down and pulled the younger boy onto his lap running his fingers soothingly through Lance’s sweaty hair.

Keith tried not to panic when lance went limp in his arms, telling himself he was merely asleep.

Still his breathing was so uneven and laboured that he just couldn’t relax until the others dug them out nearly six hours later.

The two of them were placed in pods.

Keith because he was severely dehydrated, and Lance because that ‘little’ cold was pneumonia and his fever was 106 by time they got him back to the castle.

Soon as Keith fell out of his pod he stayed sitting in front of Lance’s until he stumbled out almost a week later.

“Lance!” Keith yelled as he pulled Lance into a hug.

He laughed groggily “man miss me much?”

“I was worried” Keith mumbled burying his face in Lance’s chest crying.

Lance wrapped his arms around him. “Well don’t I’m fine, all thanks to you… and our bonding moment.”

Keith chuckled looking up at him “you better not forget this one.”

Things Nobody Taught Me About Binding With A Big Chest

•The underchest sweat is as obvious as it is ruthless. Spraying anti-perspirant sometimes works to reduce it but it gave me an itchy rash so I do not recommend anything beyond grinning and bearing it. You are gonna probably sweat through. Be prepared for that.

•Sweating a lot in general is something you’re gonna experience.

•Get used to overheating and sweat patches. Your armpits and under your chest/where your chest ends are going to be nightmares.

•I personally have to bind straight down because any other way either makes my binder into a glorified bra or hurts like a bitch. This makes your chest kinda curve and doesn’t look that great if your binder is loose/you only wear one thin layer. I’m sorry but huge chests have to go somewhere.

•You may only be able to wear tank-top style binders (as in Underworks 997 or nothing). GC2b is supposedly the more comfortable brand but I personally can’t wear them. If you live outside the USA brand experimentation is gonna be expensive so try the 997 before anything else.

•Your chest is going to sag and get less perky. It probably wasn’t perky in the first place tbh BUT you’ll be surprised how unperky it gets. The body parts in question may also look slightly uneven as time goes on.

•Generally taking a few break days to wear a bra or hang free is good for you.

•I know it doesn’t look good but if you’re just in your house try not to bind as much as possible. I know it’s upsetting but trust me.

•Try not to bind as much as possible. My back and lung capacity are wrecked because I used to walk to work  (about half a mile up two hills, plus a train ride, twice a week) in my binder and I wore it while doing nothing at home. Don’t do this. Don’t.

•Take your binder off immediately if you start to feel faint or short of breath for any reason.

•Bind as little as possible in hot environments. My dumb ass has nearly fainted a couple times and got heatstroke last summer. Recommendation: Don’t.

•Under no circumstances should you wear your binder while suffering from anything that affects your sinuses/chest/breathing/spine. Colds, the flu, and bronchitis are classic examples.

•You may not be able to handle binding for the same maximum time as people with an average chest. The limit I was taught was 8 hours, but I stick to 5-6.

•Your back is going to hurt. The small of my back and around my shoulder blades are where I get the most discomfort.

•Don’t bind if it hurts your chest.

•Don’t run, jog or exercise in your binder for any length of time oh my god it hurts and you will knacker your lung capacity.

•Speaking of lung capacity, that will probably decrease.

•You are going to go through binders at a faster rate than average. I go through one every 6-8 months. Be prepared for the cost of this.

•Thick shirts and baggy jackets are your lifeline. I have a thick cotton thermal shirt that hides the line where my chest ends and a fisherman style jacket that hides my chest even when I’m not binding. Black shirts and overshirts are your friends.

•Experiment with clothes. Find styles that suit you and your interests while also hiding your chest. They exist. You just gotta find them. My sense of style actually got a lot better after I started my transition bc I was free to express myself as a man as well as find clothing that reinforced that.

•Remember that binding is a temporary measure. Someday you’ll be rid of the bastard that is your chest - you’ll want the best result possible when that happens. So bind safely. And if you’re tempted not to, remember: someday you’ll never have to bind again. Someday that literal and metaphorical weight will lift from you. Just keep yourself healthy until that time comes. Please.

This is for everyone who’s down with the fuckin’ plague and depression right now.  I hope you all feel better soon <3

*

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It’s only six in the morning, but Lance has been awake for the better part of the last three hours, listening to the rain hitting the roof and windows.  

He squeezes his eyes shut, lets out a groan, and buries himself further into the blankets.  

Lance had gotten caught in the rain last night, which normally wouldn’t have been a big deal.  Except, he had been feeling a cold coming on for nearly a week now, and the rain had just kickstarted it.  

He would get out of bed, but it’s so cold, and his bed is so warm, and he feels like hell.

He sniffles, nuzzling his face into the pillow. He muffles a coughing fit into it and then shivers and pulls the blankets over his head (which is throbbing in time with the rain drops).

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. He feels his bed dip and there’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.  

“Nnnngh,” Lance groans, rolling on his stomach and hiding his head under the pillow.  

“Come on, Lance.”

“Go away, Keith,” he croaks, voice muffled by the pillow.

“The storm is going to hit tonight, and you promised us you’d come help me stock up.”

Lance groans.  The weather is calling for the biggest storm of the year, which is dumb, because why are they getting a storm in the fall?

“Just go without me, I’m tired.”

“We’re in college, we’re all tired.  Come on, classes are cancelled today, you can sleep when we get back.”

“I’m tired,” Lance gripes, gripping his blankets tighter.  

Keith sighs in frustration and gets off his bed.

Lance grins sleepily into the pillow, but then, “Shiro, he’s being a stubborn ass.”

“What?” Shiro asks.

Lance. He won’t get up.”

“Why are you getting so mad?” Lance asks, struggling into a sitting position, “and why are you telling on me? What, are you five?”

Keith’s head whips around to look at Lance.  “Because you always do this.  You promise to do something, and then you flake.  Shiro has to go to work, I can’t get everything by myself.  Get up.”

Lance groans and flops back down. There’s no way he’s winning this. “Can you just give me ten minutes?”

“Yes.  Now hurry up.”

Forty minutes later, Lance is trudging behind Keith as they walk up and down the aisles at the store.  He just wants to go back to bed, because walking is becoming more and more of an effort.

“Lance, come on,” Keith groans.

“I’m…heh…s-sorry...eh-heh…hitsch! *snff* I’m just tired.  I want to go back to bed.”

“You can after we get everything,” Keith says, tone clipped.

It’s a long process - Keith is about to murder Lance, because if he hears ‘I’m tired’ one more time, he’s going to throttle him. Finally though, they’re done, and Keith is driving them back to campus.

Lance sniffles again, which triggers a spluttering coughing fit.  He quickly buries his face in his scarf, and lets out a low groan of discomfort.  Keith grimaces when he hears Lance’s cough, and he glances over at him, concern gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

“Are-are you, um, okay?” Keith frowns.

Lance sniffles again and shrugs, slumping against the window.  

*

Lance is bundled up on the couch, wearing a sweatshirt that’s four sizes too big. The hood is flopped over his eyes and the thickest blanket they own draped over his shoulders. He’s gripping a hot cup of tea in his trembling hands - they’re shaking so badly that he doesn’t even bother trying to drink it, because he knows he’ll just spill it all over himself. He wishes he was able to drink it though, because his throat is killing him, and hot tea seems like the only thing that will help.  

Keith is pacing the living room, one hand is behind his head, gripping his hair as he waits for Shiro to pick up.

“Keith?”

“Lance is sick. What do I do?”

“Is he okay?”

“I just said he’s sick,” Keith bites.

“Relax,” Shiro chuckles, “what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, the fucking plague or something.”

“It’s not the plague,” Lance croaks, “it’s just a cold, I’m fine.”

“You almost passed out,” Keith bristles, pulling the phone away from his face to glare at his sick friend, “you’re not fine.”

Lance grimaces - the minute they had walked through the door, black spots clouded his vision, and he had to grip the doorframe and sink to the floor to avoid passing out.  If he didn’t feel so terrible, he would have laughed at how panicked Keith looked.

Keith turns his attention back to his phone conversation, “I don’t know what to do, when will you be home?”

“They just sent us home, the storm is starting to pick up. I’ll be home in fifteen.”

Lance sniffles, blinking heavily as his vision swims.

“Keith…could you…u-um take the tea…needa lie down,” Lance mutters, shaking his head. Keith takes it from him, and Lance grips the blanket tighter around him as he shivers and drops down onto his side.

Hhh…hih’nngxcht! *snff*”

Lance curls into himself, eyelids drooping.

“Hey, are you alright?” Keith asks.

“Jus’don’t feel good.”

“Why didn’t you just say you were sick this morning?” Keith demands.

“You were right…I do flake.”

“Being sick isn’t flaking, you moron.”

Lance shrugs.  Once the world stops moving, he pushes himself into a sitting position.

“M’going to bed.”

Keith nods, watching as Lance trudges into his room.

As soon as Shiro walks through the door, Keith sighs in relief.

“Thank God.”

“How’s Lance?” He asks, depositing his jacket, umbrella and laptop bag on the floor.

“I don’t know. He sounds like hell, though.”

Lance is lying in bed, half asleep when there’s a knock on his door.

“Hey, Lance?”

Lance sniffles, rolling on his side, “yeah, come in.”

“Hey, man,” Shiro says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hhh…hey…hh-h-huh…*snff* Hih-ihtsch! Ngsh! *Snff* Nnnngh.” Lance groans, pain exploding in his sinuses and temples.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not great…kinda lightheaded *snff* I’m freezing.”

“Have you had any medicine?”

“Nhhh…hh-hih-hih…heh-eh…*snff* hh’ihtsch! Ngsh! Ehtsch! *snff* ndo.” He croaked, congestion seeping into his voice. He chokes on a coughing fit, and Shiro is at his side and pulling him into a sitting position in an instant. At the end of the fit, Lance sags back into the pillow, and Shiro has a hand on his forehead.

He purses his lips, “I’ll be right back.”

*

Lance wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering miserably. He wants to stay in bed, but ice is in his bones, and if he stays in bed, he’s positive he will freeze. He manages to get up, but he’s trembling so badly his teeth start chattering.

Why is it so cold?

“Sh-shiro? K-keith?” He rasps, staggering out of his room. Shiro and Keith are standing in front of the fireplace, both of them are bundled up in jackets and scarves, and they turn to look at him when they hear him emerge.

“Shit, are you alright?” Shiro asks, crossing his arms as he shivers. “I was just about to come check on you.”

“C-c-cold,” Lance says weakly, stumbling to the couch.  He drops down face-first, and groans through a coughing fit that makes his chest burn and throat ache.

He feels blankets being dropped over him, but they don’t seem to work. He’s still trembling.

“The power went out, we have no heat, I’m sorry.” Keith sighs. As soon as they get the fireplace on, Keith slips under the blankets, and Lance immediately cuddles up to him. He’s desperate for warmth, and Keith feels like a space heater right now.

“Here,” Shiro says, dropping a pile of clothes next to Lance. “Put these on, stay warm. I’m going to make you some tea.”

“I’mb tired,” Lance croaks.

“Clothes on, then sleep.”

Lance sniffles, coughing into the blankets.

“Come on,” Keith says, poking Lance.

After much poking, prodding and convincing, Lance is wearing two sweatshirts, a scarf, beanie and gloves, and he’s curled up underneath the pile of blankets.

Shiro walks back over to him a few minutes later, places the cup of tea on the coffee table and then disappears into his room.

He appears a minute later, carrying his laptop.

“I vote we watch a movie.”

“I second that,” Lance croaks, voice muffled by the blankets.  

Shiro sets up Netflix and then gets underneath the blankets on the other side of Lance.

Lance sighs in relief at the increase of body heat. Gradually, the shivering decreases, and then, he’s asleep.

It’s almost time!! Season 5 is nearly upon us, so let’s tide ourselves over the final hurdle, the last week, by celebrating some of everyone’s favourite moments from the past 4 seasons!

Between 20th – 26th Sept, join in by counting down each day with a different theme however you want to - whether it be gifs, edits, photos, drawings, writing or anything at all you feel like doing, please join in!

20th Sept // Day 1 – favourite season

21st Sept // Day 2 – favourite cold open

22nd Sept // Day 3 – favourite episode

23rd Sept // Day 4 – favourite Peraltiago moment

24th Sept // Day 5 – favourite location

25th Sept // Day 6 – funniest moment(s)/quote(s)

26th Sept // Day 7 – free day!

And finally… ‘Brooklyn Nine Nine Season Five Countdown Week’ is the like the least catchy thing ever (sorry guys, my bad), so let’s use the tag #b99week to share your posts with everyone else participating! Tagged posts will be reblogged onto this blog as well!

Hopefully people will see this and participate, but most importantly - have fun guys! There’s not long left now!

anonymous asked:

I need a long soft fic of boys in love pls write it your writing is gorgeous (I'mjokingifyoudontwanttodothatitisfineandyouresuperbusyijustthinkyouregreat)

u ask and i deliver. here’s a kinda rough thing i wrote when i was procrastinating last week but wasn’t sure i wanted to post. it is not long but it is pretty soft and sappy (also you are v nice) 

london - 07.15.17

Keep reading

Queen Trashmouth / Henry Bowers x Reader / Chapter Two

(A/N: hope you guys enjoy!! Let me know if you like it / want more ❤️ next chap will be smuttier 😈)

———–

Only one week had passed since the standoff. You barely saw Henry around the school, but when you did, you made sure to head in the other direction.

You walked Richie home from school every day, now - at least every day that he wasn’t hanging out with all his friends. Eddie Kaspbrak, local hypochondriac, happily informed you of the latest gossip as you walked him and Richie down to the Kaspbrak house.

“It’s all around the school, ‘Stacie Tozier tried to fight Bowers on campus’, ‘Stacie Tozier expected to go missing’, ‘Henry Bowers was chewed out by a girl’. It’s hilarious. You’re a folk hero, now, basically.” Eddie chattered.

You let out a nervous sigh. “I hope he just forgets about me. All I want is for him to leave Richie alone.”

“Crazy dudes like that hold grudges, Stace. You’re fucked.” Richie affirmed with an uncertain smile.

You enjoyed how Richie and his friends would occasionally shorten your name in conversation, but you never called your brother “Rich”, and it was impossible to come away unscathed after calling Eddie “Eds”. You rolled your eyes.

“Hey, thanks. If I’m fucked, what does that make you?” You sarcastically inquired. Richie shrugged in response, and that seemed to be the end of it.

The three of you arrived at the house, and you stopped in the front lawn, putting your hands in your pockets.

“You’re gonna be fine walking home, right?” You asked. The two boys turned around, and Richie opened his mouth to respond when Eddie interrupted.

“I don’t think you should be worrying about Richie, Stace. I heard that Bowers has been stalking you for the past week.”

Eyebrows raised, you cleared your throat and leaned forward. Richie turned and looked at his friend equally as confused as you felt.

“I-I’m sorry, what was that?” You calmly asked. Eddie’s eyes darted between you and Richie, looking suddenly nervous.

“Well, Bill said that Tim Johnson said that Josh Pierson overheard Bowers bragging about how he’s been following you all week and you haven’t noticed.”

Richie stared at Eddie, mouth hanging open. “And you didn’t fucking say anything?”

He turned to you, eyes wide and appearing even wider due to his glasses.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ die. Stay here with us. Eddie, this is your fault anyway.” Without waiting for Eddie’s response, Richie went to open the front door. You stepped forward.

“Hey, no, it’s fine. If he’s planning on fucking me up, then I don’t want you to be there for it. I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

Richie had never looked at you so serious before. “Stacie, now isn’t the time to be a fucking martyr. If what Eddie heard about is true, Bowers is waiting for you to be all alone so he can strike. Haven’t you seen all the missing kid posters around town? Haven’t you wondered who’s doing that?”

You had noticed them. Every week a new poster would go up, a new name, a new face, each one burned into your memory. So many of the kids were even younger than Richie was, disappearing without a trace. No one knew why.

“You don’t really think that he’s behind all of them… if any of them, do you?” You weakly asked, wearing the ghost of a smile.

Richie stared at you sadly. You both knew you weren’t about to come in and hang out with his kid friend and Mrs. K - but there was a real chance that Henry was waiting just for a moment like this.

With your eyes, you did your best to say it; ‘Don’t worry about me, home is right through town and I’ll be there before you know it’, and you were thankful when you saw him look down and tighten his lips in defeat.

“I’ll see you at home, Stacie. Just… watch your back.” Richie finally answered.

You put a hand up to bid goodbye.

“See you soon.” You replied.

You had a feeling that Richie was right, that you shouldn’t be walking alone, even toward home in the daylight, but all you could think about as you left Eddie’s house was how Henry could’ve really been stalking you all week without having a clue. It was terrifying - you liked to think that you were always aware of your surroundings, and despite wanting to disregard his threats, you really did try to watch your back that week. Apparently, you didn’t do it well enough.

You passed the movie theatre, scanning all around you as you walked, probably looking suspicious as hell to anyone who wasn’t aware of the worries now clouding your judgement.

While mulling over the possibility of dying that evening, you looked over your shoulder one last time to see Henry Bowers walking right behind you.

You were about to let out a terrible cry of surprise when the boy shoved you hard into the adjacent alley, causing you to fall hands first onto the pavement below. Despite the searing pain of your now-bleeding palms, you scrambled to your feet and found yourself immediately thrown like a rag doll against the wall, hitting your head on the brick behind you.

Henry held you up so forcefully, you couldn’t move. Within the same moment of realizing an attempt to run was likely futile anyways, you heard it.

Shink! Went his switchblade, right at the base of your throat.

You opened your eyes to look at your attacker, and Henry’s expression was one of complete satisfaction.
“You ready, princess?” He teased.

The blade was pressed so hard to your neck, you could feel your pulse underneath it. He chuckled haughtily to himself.

It was clear to see that Richie was right, and you’d kick yourself about it if you weren’t absolutely terrified.

“Thought you said you’d be ready. You were pretty fuckin’ cocky last week.” He spoke in an excited, low tone. You could feel a sharp, cold sensation as the switchblade began to ever-so-lightly cut into your neck from the pressure.

You were nearly paralyzed in fear, but you couldn’t let him win. There was only one thing you could think of doing.

“I wish you could see the fucking look on your-”

You interrupted him with a quick shot of projectile spit, and it seemed to do the trick. Instantly he recoiled, stumbling backward with his hands to his face, the knife falling to the ground with a clatter. It was the moment of truth; whether or not you would fight, or take flight.

It was in Tozier blood to stand your ground, no matter the circumstances involved. The fact Henry Bowers thought he could slit your throat and leave you for dead next to the movie theater, paired with the fact he proved your little brother right about something, was all it took to choose fighting an opponent far stronger and more prepared than you.

“Boy, you’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.” He hissed, wiping his eyes. You raised your arms up on either side, egging him on, a fury born within you. Energy rushed through your arms and legs, ready to fucking die in an alley as long as it meant kicking his ass first.

You shouted at him, reveling in the moment. “Oh, come at me, you dumb motherfucker-”

And he did exactly that, but you couldn’t have predicted exactly how.

In a flash Henry rushed you, and while anticipating an impact to the face, it was not his fist that hit you.

Your mouths crashed against each other so violently you immediately split your bottom lip against your teeth, the pain as shocking as the event unraveling before you. In an instant, his arms snaked firmly around your waist, his body pressed hard against yours, and the metallic warmth of blood gushed onto your tongue as he kissed you ravenously.

You almost exploded with anger. One minute you’re preparing to die at knifepoint, the next you’re being kissed by the knife wielder. What the fuck was happening?

With a loud muffled moan of objection, you pressed your hands against his upper arms and pushed off desperately, lips still locked. As you struggled, he held you closer, arms winding tighter about you, his tongue flowing over the wound on your lip, begging for access.

You didn’t know what it was. You thought you hated him. Anyone who tried to hurt Richie would no doubt be deemed as an eternal enemy; yet somehow you could feel that same attraction he must’ve acted on merely seconds before. Henry touched you roughly, but you felt an unexpected softness there, a desperation that paralleled your desires exactly.

There was a spark that ignited upon meeting last week, and now the flames had begun to engulf you both. You decided to let it burn.

Slowly your muscles relaxed, and your mouth began to move against his, gently, softly. It felt like heaven.

It seemed like he read your mind, as the moment you decided to participate, Henry hastily picked up your legs and slung them around his waist, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for support. With a rough grind of his hips against yours, you gasped, and his tongue pushed its way into your open mouth.

You worried he’d say something, make you instantly regret kissing him back, but he seemed unbelievably eager to get as close to you as possible, to keep his lips against yours. The energy was electric, and it moved through each touch, breaths shallow and hot. You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

Henry’s hands ebbed and flowed, wandering all over your body until they found what they were looking for. They made their way up your skirt, over the underwear, and with his left hand, he began to pull them down, fingers rubbing tenderly over your crotch. It was the shock that brought you back to your senses.

Either you summoned the strength you hadn’t possessed before to move him, or the mere act of touching you so intimately had completely disoriented him - whatever the case, you pushed him back hard, and the two of you finally separated.

Henry stumbled back almost drunkenly, hitting the opposing brick wall, staring at you with a slightly ajar, crimson stained mouth. Your blood was on his lips.

You laughed a bitter melody.

“What are you, a fucking comedian? You really think I’m gonna fuck you, of all people, in a fucking alley?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed in question, wearing a small sarcastic smile. As he stared, you noticed the feeling of physical ecstasy fade, and your palms, neck, and bottom lip began to sting horribly.

Henry looked confident. “I know when a slut wants to get fucked. You were wet for me.” He affirmed in a slightly raspy voice, almost in an accusatory manner, and you felt heat blossom on your cheeks.

“You still are.” He added, taking slow steps towards you.

You walked backwards down the alley, putting a hand to your neck where he’d cut. Blood stained your fingers there, and looking down, you noticed the small trail of blood that ended in a large blotch on your shirt collar.

“How do you know I didn’t piss my pants in fear? Y’know, when you put a knife to my fucking neck?” You sarcastically questioned him, an edge of anger in your voice.

Henry seemed to not hear, still walking in your direction. You swallowed hard.

“Were you really stalking me all week?” You quietly asked, standing before him.

Henry simply smirked at you, eyes scanning over your body before holding your gaze.

“I’m not finished with you, Tozier.”

His cocky smile was contagious. You bit your lip and slowly turned around, walking away and beginning your journey home.

Without looking back, you replied with one word you couldn’t believe was coming out of your mouth, mentally slapping yourself as it was uttered.

“Good.”
———–

Part One

The Effect of Emotional Abuse on Each Type: INTP

SUBMITTED by hannah-elizabeth-j

I’ve seen a few posts/requests on here about the effects of emotional abuse and the affect that it has on each Myers Briggs type so, as someone who works with a lot of domestic abuse victims I thought that I’d give my two cents worth. I wanted them to be quite detailed to give people a fair amount of information so this will be the general format; a general description of what it will look like, how this differs from similar types (ie. the ENFJ compared to the INFJ and ESFJ) and a character in fiction who acts similar to this (may not be for the same reason and I might not get one for each type but I’ll try).

INTP

There will be some variation depending on when the abuse took place in their life but there are some things that will remain the same.

Okay so, INTP’s lead with Ti. This means that during the abuse an INTP will often detach themselves from the situation and by doing so allow themselves to get through it. Unlike the Te doms however, they do not compartmentalize, in that they will not get through a day of school or work only to fall apart at times when they are alone. Instead they will learn to detach themselves at all times meaning that when they are in the situation they will often not truly ‘feel’ it. This can also manifest itself in excessive alcohol or drug use as this does technically distance someone from the reality of their home life, but it is far less common in INTP’s than ISTP’s.

This means that during the time of the abuse they will be even more introverted and removed from reality than a healthy INTP would be. They will remove themselves in any way they can, excessive reading, watching TV or playing video games is common, anything that means they can for want of a better phrase ‘enter another world.’ To others they will often come across as cold or anti-social as they are placing so much emphasis on not feeling what is happening. This will lead to an underdeveloped Fe and if the abuse goes on for a long time this will lead to a resentment of Fe not only in themselves but in other people. They tend to go into a judgmental mode when others seem to be leading with Fe or at least those who hold ethics over what is logically consistency.

The thing about this however is that it can easily create a negative cycle. What an abusive person wants is to cut you off from other people and by the INTP behaving in this way it becomes hard for them to form strong or deep relationships with other people anyway. They become closed off, spend more time with the abuser and therefore get even more closed off.

So, in short, the main way that abuse will affect an INTP will be that they cling onto their Ti with everything they have; their other functions are of course utilized but they are underdeveloped and extremely limited.

Once they are out of the abusive situation they tend to go into a shock mode, meaning they do everything they used to do into day-to-day life and keep to their usual routine (Si) but they tend to do so with a blank mind. Next comes the Fe, often a grip. This will take a few weeks/months to get to but when it hits, it hits hard. They’ve got however many months or years of actually connecting to the lower function on a serious level as well as dealing with what happened to them.

While this does happen for most Ti doms within the first few months, some don’t accept this. They stay in the over powered Ti state, the issue with this is that (particularly if the abuser was in their life for years) the only way to truly get better from anything is to fall apart first so you can put yourself  back together, something that can be a bit challenging  for Ti doms to get themselves to do. 

INTP vs. ISTP

  • When going through the abuse, the INTP will appear to be more closed off, because Ne as a function is less focused on engaging with the external environment than Se so even though the types will often feel the same amount of detachment, the ISTP will appear to others to be more grounded
  • If either type tries to please the abuser (which most people of every type do in some way) they tend to do it in different ways, the ISTP will often make themselves look perfect (more so if it is a partner, not a parent) they will stay in good shape, look presentable and beautiful etc. an INTP will tend to focus more on making themselves seem what they define as ‘interesting’ or ‘deep’ (this is their interpretations of it, however, this is not to say that they will end up being this way, in fact, they rarely are as  they are not in a stable state to truly be this way)
  • Issues such as eating disorders and problems of over indulging the senses are more common and last longer in the ISTP than the INTP

INTP vs. ENTP

  • The ENTP will simple not seem nearly as removed from people as the INTP when the abuse is happening, they are not necessarily using their Fe functionally, but others tend to see them as far less cold and removed
  • The ENTP won’t experience a Fe grip
  • When going through the abuse the INTP will stay reserved, the ENTP will tend to go from one extreme to the other. They will go out for days even weeks on end, stay in crowds, go to parties and then spend the next few days somewhere they can be alone, phone off, not speaking.

I have honestly really really struggled and failed to think of a fictional character that applies in this situation but I couldn’t think of one. If anyone can think of one please mention it.

This for the other types will be coming soon. If there are any further questions I’d be happy to answer (send them to me not this blog).

Implementations- A Sirius Black Imagine (Part 2 of Alone Together)

A/N: Sorry for this getting up so late! I didn’t realize that I had some online college homework to do and it took longer than planned. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this next installment of Alone Together. I think it is a pretty cute idea, with what I have planned. Enjoy, my loves! 

Previous Installments: Alone Together (part 1).

Originally posted by carpelunam

The morning after you and Sirius had made your deal, things seemed to go back to normal. It wasn’t a strange notion, seeing that nothing was all that different anyways. The day brought back normalcy and a lack of loneliness for the both of you. You both were fine. Everything was okay in the daylight.

Keep reading

The Healing Corner

Anon: Could I request some Keith where he’s stuffy and miserable Hunk and Lance (team mom’s) are just bombarding him with home remedies, and he’s just like guy’s it just a cold chill. (bonus if he’s secretly enjoying being fussed over.)

A/N: I strayed a bit from the home remedies, but I think you’ll like the alternative. There’s some Klance if you squint. Also, I’d like to cash in that bonus, please. Can I cash it in for more annoyed Keith getting a piggy-back ride? The world needs more of those.


“I’m not sick.”

“I call bullshit.”

Keep reading

Uptown Girl, Sequel: Epilogue, Part One.

                                                    Summary:

years after your life in the heart of new york, you find yourself immersed in the culture of Paris, France. With your life behind you, the stage and lights - the voice you once had were now stripped away. With little to no hope of truly starting your new beginning, one surprise in the midst of a winter masquerade leads to something unexpected. 

Your past.

notes: angst. just pure angst. slow burn people. 

if this gets to 300, I’ll continue. :) let me know what you think please! it’s so appreciated, I promise you.

word count: 2,421

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Sacrifice

Originally posted by themagicthatsme

Pairing: Kirk x reader

Warnings: angst, a little bit of language (at this point you should expect a some)

Words: 1489

A/N: Let me start with sorry, then end with you’re welcome. This is a bit of a rewrite of the end of Into Darkness with a little fluff at the end for you <3 As always, comments are appreciated!


When Spock orders you to abandon ship, you roll your eyes. “Not likely.” You state, jumping out of your seat. “But I will find Jim and Scotty and help fix this.” Your eyes flash and you run out of the bridge as fast as possible. Things and people are flying around as the artificial gravity fails, and your face bloodies as a piece of equipment bashes your cheek, slicing the skin open. Grunting, you continue onward, finally catching up with your boyfriend and the head engineer as they dangle over the railings in the engineering section of the ship. You and Chekov help them up, and in the moment, you can tell Kirk’s face is unsure whether he is relieved to see you’re still alive, or upset to see that you won’t evacuate.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jim, so let’s get this ship back online.” You tell him, and you race with him to the warp core. You watch as Jim unlocks the door, and you set your mind to it. While he punches out Scotty and races back to buckle him in, you bolt through the door and seal it from the inside.

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Cold Sheets In Spring

She wakes to the sun coming in through her blinds. It’s nearly spring. The birds sing.

Her mattress sits on her floor covered in floral sheets. Tea cups and books decorate the hard wood.

Her leather journal is sprawled open at the foot of the bed.
She fell asleep writing again.

Plants she forgets to water are in each corner, one on the table next to her is still all the way green.
He gifted this one to her last week.

She hasn’t opened her eyes yet. She listens to the song of a new season and strokes her dark curls away from her face.

She feels around the bed, still expecting him to be there, her eyes open suddenly when she remembers she’s alone. Reality.
No wonder the sheets felt so cold.

Thedas Cuisine Project: Dalish Smoked Gavulan

Gavulan is the Dalish word for trout. Trout is a main-staple fish for many Dalish clans, as it is a fish found in both fresh and salt water, and is therefore one of the most plentiful types of fish in Thedas.

Given that the Dalish are nomadic, the vast majority of their food staples are either preserved, of quickly made from whatever ingredients they can scrounge from their current campsite. 

While most Dalish clans will utilize this recipe with some form of trout, you can also use this recipe for salmon (shetelan in Elvhen), and really any other kinds of fish that you wish.

INGREDIENTS

  • 1 whole fish, gutted and cleaned.
  • Enough wood for a long, slow burning fire to last 3 to 4 days (or a smoker if you’re doing this in modern times)
  • 2 bay leaves
  • Handful of salt (about 1/3 to ½ cup)
  • Handful of sugar or honey (about 1/3 to ½ cup)
  • Handful of borage, parsley, or other similar green herb native to the area (which herb you use will have an effect on the final flavor of the fish)
  • 1 air-tight leather pouch (Or a zip lock bag if you live in the modern world)

NOTES

In this recipe, the fish is brined before smoking. This does two things: First, it increases the preservation time of the final product. Secondly, it adds flavor, and also helps to form a skin on the outside of the fish that the flavor of the smoke will adhere to, thus resulting in the most flavor for the time invested. Without brining, this fish will last about 2 or 3 weeks, provided it’s stored correctly (such as wrapped and stored in the fridge or another similarly cold and dry place). With brining, this fish will last nearly 4 to 6 weeks (thus essentially doubling the preservation time). The reason for this, is that by brining the fish, you are eliminating bacteria and creating a very hostile environment for bacteria to dwell, thus vastly decreasing the risk that the fish will develop any bacteria further down the line. With smoking, you are removing oxygen and moisture, thus vastly decreasing the chance of any nasties like botulism. By doing both methods, you are essentially creating double protection. 

A note for modern uses: This recipe was used in medieval times for preservation, but does not meet the FDA standards for modern preservation. If you wish to actually use this to preserve fish, and not just get a tasty smoked fish, then please use this wet brine recipe instead of the dry brine:

2 quarts water
½ c salt
¼ c sugar
½ tsp pink curing salt #1 (sodium nitrite)

METHOD

  1. Mix the salt, sugar, bay leaves and green herbs together. If you are using honey, make sure to form a completely uniform paste. This will work best if you slightly heat the honey first, thus making it more liquid and pliable.
  2. Spread the dry brine over the fish, making sure to completely cover both sides of the fish.
  3. Place the fish in an air-tight bag, or container, and leave in a cold, dry place for 12 to 24 hours.
  4. After 12 to 24, remove the fish from the container, and discard any liquid that has been pulled out of it. Gently rinse the fish off, making sure to rinse off most of the salt.
  5. Next, lay the fish on top of a rack next to a slowly burning fire, making sure that the rack is above the smoke, but not above the open flame (otherwise you will roast the fish, not smoke it). Gently smoke the fish for 3 to 4 days, making sure to turn the fish regularly, adding enough wood to the fire to keep it burning just enough to produce enough smoke to envelope the fish.
  6. If you are using a modern smoker, simply place the fish in the middle rack of your smoker. Cold smoke the fish for 2 to 3 hours, making sure that the temperature of your smoke does not exceed 100 degrees Fahrenheit (37 C). Then hot smoke the fish until the internal temperature reaches 180 degrees. 
  7. Once the fish has reached 180 degrees, allow the fish to smoke for an additional 30 minutes, and then remove from the smoker. Allow the fish to cool in a cold dry place (such as your fridge, or politely ask your Keeper to use an ice spell).

It is very important that you hot smoke the fish, because unless you have a smoker specifically designed for cold smoking, you will not be able to smoke at a temperature low enough to ward off bacterial growth. The reason that you would cold smoke the fish first, is so that you can get a nice full-bodied smoke flavor without overcooking the fish. If you do not wish to cold smoke the fish, or you simply don’t have the means, then you can simply just hot smoke the fish from the get-go until you reach an internal temperature of 180 degrees. You will simply not achieve as much of a smokey flavor as you would by cold smoking it first.

Lastly, while it is possible to cold smoke the fish entirely, without using hot smoke, please do not attempt this unless you have the assistance of a professional (or you are a professional). Cold smoking entirely can be very dangerous when done improperly. 

Properly smoked, your Dalish style smoked Gavulan will keep for about 3 weeks in a cold dry place, and for about 3 months in the freezer. For a traditional, but delicious meal, enjoy your smoked gavulan on a piece of dried flat bread, which has been spread generously with a thin smear of spiced halla cheese (or spiced goat cheese, if you aren’t blessed with access to halla). And of course, always remember to thank Andruil for helping you catch that fish in the first place.

Words ( Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Could you possibly write Oneshot where Draco protects a mute  reader from bullies of some sort? Keep up the great work  - mate-DaAnimeLyfe

Warnings- Bullying etc

(Authors Note- I had no idea how to write this and I tried to write it so the reader speaks again but it made me want to puke from cheesiness so I rewrote it before I published it. Sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted.)

It’s a Slytherin again, towering over me in the corridor with a sneer. My books are strewn across cold floor on which I find my self crumpled over, clutching my shoulder that had been smacked against the wall when I was pushed.

I look up at the offender to find it’s Pansy again.

“What is it? Mute,” She hisses and I cringe back but only find myself backed against the wall.

I look around me to try and find anyone who would help, not that I can cry out.

No one seems willing to interfere, I don’t blame them, sometimes it’s better just to ignore unpleasantness.

Pansy bends down slightly, her dark hair falls from her shoulder and I can see just how greasy it is.

“Cat got your tongue?” She snickered and I don’t feel it happening until my hand hits her face with a loud snap.

My eyes widen as realisation hits me and I begin to frantically shake my head as an apology.

“Sorry,” I sign but its clear Pansy does not care for my sign language and I begin to brace myself for what comes next.

However nothing happens and so slowly I allow myself to open my eyes and see, stood next to me, is Draco Malfoy, hand locked on Pansy’s wrist.

“Draco?"Pansy marvels at the boy who had saved me.

"Just go away Pansy,  leave her alone,"He begins.

Pansy brings her hand down to her side and looks up at the platinum haired boy in bewilderment.

"Why do you care, Draco?"She questions, I too look up expectantly as the boy just sighs .

"You deserved the slap, you were rude and intentionally picked on someone who was vulnerable because you want to take attention off yourself."He concludes.

With one swift movement he bends down and offers me his hand which I take with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as he pulls me to my feet.

I nod as a sort of thanks and he smiles.

"Your welcome,” The words are genuine and don’t come as a sarcastic remark on my lack of actual words.

His expression changes and he turns his attention back to Pansy who is guiltily looking at her feet.

“Apologize.” He demands and Pansy shuffles awkwardly before she looks up and meets my eyes with sour expression.

“Sorry,” She mumbles reluctantly and without saying as much as goodbye, she scuttles round the corner.

“Thank you so much,” I sign and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I can’t understand sign,"He says guiltily.

I nod but pull a small note book from the pocket of my robes and using a never-ending ink quill that I’d acquired from the Weasely twins, I scribble out a quick note of thanks.

Thank you

"Oh, no problem,"He smiles again and I can feel a warm sensation in my cheeks at the sight. "Plus she needed the slap. Oh nice one by the way,”

I blush again and smile shyly while writing another note,

I didn’t mean it but right now it feels amazing to have done it

“I bet it does,” He snorts which creates a bubbly feeling in my throat that can almost be mistaken as a choking sound but Draco is unfazed by my laugh, however it leaves me embarrassed.

I look away, my face going red before remembering about my books that had been scattered across the floor during the quarrel.

I begin to pick them up.

“Oh let me help,” Draco offers bending down and picking up my books with me.

Once all my books have been collected he takes half the pile for me.

You don’t need to do that.

I write, leaning on my books as a temporary desk but he ignores it and begins walking to the lunch hall with my books in hand.

When we reach the hall he he hands back my books.

“Do you maybe want to meet later, the astronomy tower?” He asks and I ponder it for a second before nodding.

He grins,

“I’ll see you at six then?”

I nod again and his grin grows wider yet again and he waves before rushing to the Slytherin table. I also take my seat with Hermione and Ginny.

“What was that about?” Ginny asks

“He came to the rescue when Pansy was acting up again,” I sign and Ginny nods, Hermione had taught her sign after we became friend.

“Really?” Hermione queries and I nod.

“We are meeting at the astronomy tower later,” I sign again

“Wow, what does he want?” Ginny asks and I shrug.

“He just asked,” I sign

“Well, be careful, (Y/N),” Hermione sighs.

“I will,”

When I climb the steps up the tower I can feel the cold air from above tunneling down towards me, it wakes me up a little.

When I reach the top I notice Draco straight away from his blond hair.

“Hi,” He smiles

I wave.

“Sorry it’s so cold,” He says nervously and I shake my head with a smile on my face, assuring him that it’s no problem.

I bring out my note pad again and write a note.

You can’t control the climate so you are forgiven

He chuckles at this.

“Thank you,” He grins before making his way to the bench that sits against the tower’s wall.

I take a seat next to him and sit my note pad on my lap.

“I’m sorry about Pansy today, I’d like to be able to say that she was acting out of character but that would be a huge lie,” He says and I shake my head.

It’s fine, you saved me

“I just did what was right,”

Well thank you, I wish I could tell you that but the circumstances seem to be against me.

“How did you lose your voice anyway? If you don’t mind me asking  I mean” He stammers

It’s fine. I was hit by a hex when I was two , during a deatheater attack, it can’t be cured so I’ve always had the suspicion that it was a curse.

I scribble the explanation and Draco looks at me with a sympathetic stare.

Ugh, don’t look at me like that. I hate that look of pity.

“Sorry,” He sighs “It’s just, I can’t help but feel like my family is involved since they are ex-deatheaters,” He says cautiously, hiding something.

I doubt your family were involved. It happened after You-Know-Who fled and the deatheaters who were responsible where killed there and then.

Draco seems to relax a little.

“Oh well, that’s good then,”

Yeah I guess, can we stop talking about it though?

“Oh yeah sorry, so how was your lessons today,” He starts, changing the subject swiftly.

Oh my god, Snape is a nightmare!

He laughs and I smile back at him.

We talk for hours and hours until we finally sneak back into the castle, smiles plastered to our faces when we make plans for the next day.


The next couple of months are the same and Draco and I have become great friends. However, my feelings for Draco keep growing and I’m starting to worry I’ll lose his friendship if he finds out.

I can’t get the thought out of my head as I walk to the astronomy tower again. I can’t imagine losing Draco, not after all this.

The corridors are empty, no pupils are rushing to class or talking with there friends. Everyone is at the Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw quidditch match.

Then suddenly I’m hurtling to the ground, the impact of my shoulder and the rough stone floor creates a loud thud. I lean up to see not just Pansy, but two other girls, Millicent and Daphne, Pansy’s “friends”.

“Long time no see, mute,” Pansy spits and the two other girls laugh.

“I see you’ve made friends with Draco,” Daphne says with a sneer.

“I don’t think so, Daphne,” Pansy says to the other girl.

“You’re right Pansy, Draco couldn’t possibly be friends with a mute,”  Daphne agrees as I’m looking for a way out the situation.

I don’t notice that Pansy has my notebook until she gasps in surprise.

“What is this!?” She shrieks, flicking through the pages with a evil smirk

Then the sound of torn paper fills the corridors and slowly the shredded remains of the words I’d written for Draco float down and land on the ground, like all meaning has disappeared.

I shove my self off the ground quickly but I am only pushed down again by Pansy who sneers.

“You’re just his charity case, he doesn’t care about you at all!"She hisses and I can feel tears stinging my eyes.

"You’re wrong, Pansy,”

The familiar voice comes from behind me and I turn around sharply to see Draco again.

“Get away from her now!”

The three girls scatter away from me quickly.

“I suggest you leave before I tell Snape about this,” He demands and the girls exchange a few glances before running off.

Draco comes towards as quickly as the girls ran off and pulls me to my feet.

“You know that’s not true right? I do care about you,” He assures, stepping closer again and placing a hand on my cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

I feel my cheeks burning but I don’t step back.

“I really love you,” He admits and my eyes widen.

Unable to write anything I resort to signing.

“Really?”I sign and he nods.

“Wait when did you learn sign?”

“Oh, um, I’ve been getting lessons from Granger for a while now but it’s a bit rusty and I didn’t want to tell you until I was certain I could do it…” He rambles. I then lift my hand to his chin and pulls his head up to look at me then I stand back a bit.

“ I love you,” I sign and his eyes widen, I sigh, thankful that he understood me.

I sling my arms around his neck and lean up , pressing my lips to his and he puts his hands on my waist, his lips move softly with mine and everything goes silent.

No words in the world  can describe how much I love this boy.

(Author’s Note: Oh My God I hate this so much, it’s so bad that I almost gave up writing it. The idea is amazing but holy crap I cant write it! Also I am so sorry that I’ve not updated, I had exams last week and now I have a cold. Anyway, excuse this piece of crap that I have produced) ( P.S- I nearly put this up without editing because I really didn’t want to read it)

Foolin’

Pairing: Dean x reader

Genre: ANGST  

A/N: This is for Bev’s ( @chaos-and-the-calm67 ) Milestone Challenge, which I am so glad I saw pop up on my dash! I hope you really like! And ‘Foolin’ by Def Leppard is one of my favorite songs ever! 

Word Count: 1,704

Warnings: lonely!dean, language, ANGST,  and a dash of intense making out, slight subtextish and mention. Dean being a a-s-s 

Tagging:  @sis-tafics @mysteriouslyme81 @winchesters-favorite-girl@daughters-and-winsisters @spnsisimagines @winchester-writes @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @sincerelysaraahh @ilostmyshoe-79@abaddonwithyall@winchesterwhisper @waywardsons-imagines@winchester-writes@winchesterfics @winchesterenthusiast@winchester-clique @soaringeag1e@spnfeelstrain @msimpala67@ivvitm1109 @mkay-chan@the-mrs-deanwinchester  @one-shots-supernatural@mysupernaturalfics@supernatural-jackles@bringmesomepie56@youwerelikeadream@mysteriouslyme81@zombi3gyrl07@beatlesobsessionlove @wanderer-08@madelineannmolder@feelmyroarrrr@girl-next-door-writes @oh-goodness-loki @chantillilace@mysupernaturalfics @castiels-sweet-little-grace@supernotnaturalcas@atc74 @mommaton@ilostmyshoe-79 @my–heroine@curliesallovertheplace@blacktithe7@pureawesomeness001 @little-red-83@deansbaekaz2y5@ellen-reincarnated1967 @chaos-and-the-calm67@tardis-full-of-fallen-angels@therewillbeblood @meeshw777


He closed the door shut and leaned back against it as if it wouldn’t stay shut without the weight of his body. He felt like he had half the world chasing after him. An exaggeration, yes, but when you started adding up people like…

You, at one time. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Anything featuring a darker/kickass Caroline and an in awe Klaus. I need to cleanse my brain of mommy Caroline

Edit: JFC, I don’t know that the hell happened here. Stupid posting from my phone and eating text. Apologies for those who say the original two sentences and the wonky lack of paragraphs!

This didn’t go as dark as I’d hoped, but I hope you like it anyway, anon!


“Well now, aren’t you a surprise?”

Caroline looked up at the amused, British drawl. The fall sunshine was still warm, and she was taking advantage of her Fall Break to do some SAT studying. The warm afternoon was utterly still, and so she’d spread her study material along her back porch. She tensed as she took in Klaus, bare toes pressing against her calves.

She hadn’t seen him in person, but she little doubt of who he was. Elena had described him to her while sobbing after they’d found her alive, and Stefan had offered the occasional clipped detail. Blue eyes, pretty dimples, angelic curls bright in the sunshine, and lips that promised sin. But no one had told her he was handsome, and his looks hit her low in her belly.

He smiled, as if he knew it.

“Why?”

An arched brow, hands slipping into the pockets of his dark jeans as he moved up the steps of her pour her to lean against a beam. “Why?”

Mouth dry, but unwilling to cower, she twisted her pen and met his gaze. “What could possibly be surprising about me?”

A hint of teeth as he studied her. “I hear you killed Damon.”

Keep reading

Long Time Coming

Warnings: Language. Negan. I don’t know what else (there is more I think) 

Request: Can you do a negan and reader where he’s having a really bad day & his actual wife (from before the apocalypse) hears him throwing things around in their bedroom so she decides to enter & she find him on the verge of tears cuz he heard his men talking disgusting thing about you & it really get to him so much to that killing them wasnt enough so he explains it to her then gets frustrested & just breaks down & she just cradles him till she hears soft snores. Please and thank you ❤❤ - anon

A/N: I really hope you enjoy anon!! Also, I hope this is up to your standards and it is what you requested. Thank you for sending in! Please let me know what you think!!

(gif creds to original owner/creator)

Originally posted by negandarylsatisfaction


You were walking down the hallway to your room when the sudden sound of breaking glass echoed down the hallway. A look of confusion graced your face as you continued walking. The only room on this hall was the one that housed you and Negan. 

Negan was your husband long before the apocalypse. He was the most loving man that you’d met in your life. He always made sure you had everything you ever wanted or needed. That was before the apocalypse. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I'm super sick and was wondering if you could write some cute jackcrutchie with Crutchie being sick and Jack taking care of him??

Ah, man. That sucks. I would offer you chicken noodle soup, but am too poor to pay the shipping prices. So, I’ll offer some jackcrutchie fluff instead.


Jack jerked awake to the sound of someone across the room retching up their dinner. “Oh, gross…” a newsie muttered. “It’s all over the floor, now.” 

With a sigh, Jack pulled himself out of bed, leaving his warm blankets behind with one final mournful glance. Depending on how sick the newsboy was, Jack didn’t expect to be getting any more sleep that night. “Who threw up?” he whispered, ignoring the chill wood flooring that made him wish all the more to be curled back up under the covers.

Buttons had pinched his nose, so his voice was nasally as he answered, “Crutchie did.”

Jack felt his stomach tighten and he briefly wondered if he would vomit, as well. Crutchie shouldn’t be sick. He couldn’t be sick. The last time Crutchie got sick– Jack noticed Crutchie was slumped against the wall in the Lodging House, vomit splattered on the floor beside him. As he approached, Crutchie managed a weak smile. “Hey, Jack. Sorry. Tried ta make it to the bathroom, but…” he trailed off, rubbing at his nose. “Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Jack reassured the younger boy. “Do you think you need to throw up again?”

“Nah, it’s already all out,” Crutchie joked. He laughed a little, but the sound was hoarse and probably hurt Crutchie’s throat.

“Okay, good. Well, not good, I guess, but that means you can go back to bed.” Jack helped Crutchie to his feet, leading him carefully back to his bottom bunk. “Lay down and don’t move for nothing,” Jack commanded, his hands gently pressing Crutchie’s shoulders down onto the mattress.

Crutchie protested, “But, I gotta clean up my–”

“No, I’ll handle it. You just lay there, okay?” Jack waited a beat for Crutchie to nod, before helping tuck Crutchie’s blankets around his shivering form. “Just stay there. I’ll be back in a second.”

Jack turned back to the vomit, staring at it for a moment and trying to figure out the quickest way to clean it up and rid the room of the rancid smell that was already starting to become overwhelming. He grabbed a couple wet towels from the bathroom and mopped up the mess, fighting his gag reflex the entire time. Once the vomit had been cleaned up, Jack rinsed out the towels, before tossing them in the pile of laundry that they would need to do on Saturday. If it started smelling real bad, Jack would have to just do laundry earlier, but he had more pressing concerns on hand.

Returning into the main bedroom, Jack didn’t hesitate before making his way to Crutchie’s bed. He briefly noted that most of the newsboys had gone back to sleep, soft snores filling the room once more. Jack paid them no more attention as he focused back on Crutchie. He carefully placed the back of his hand against Crutchie’s sweaty forehead. “You gotta fever,” he told the younger boy.

Crutchie squirmed away from Jack’s hand. “You’re hand s’cold,” Crutchie slurred.

“How long have you been feeling sick?” Jack asked. The last time that Crutchie had gotten sick, he had ended up getting pneumonia. The kid had nearly died and had been bedridden for three weeks. Jack had never been more terrified in his life. If this were pneumonia… But, no, it couldn’t be. It was just October. It wasn’t truly cold yet. Could Crutchie have already gotten pneumonia again?

“Jus’ ‘bout a day ‘r three,” Crutchie answered. 

“Crutchie, if you’re feeling sick, you need to tell me.”

“Mm,” Crutchie murmured, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

Jack sighed. The kid would be fine; he’d have to be. Nothing else was acceptable. He carefully laid down next to Crutchie, slinging an arm over the younger boy’s form. Crutchie unconsciously curled closer to Jack’s body warmth. Jack wouldn’t leave the kid until he was back to normal.


Crutchie awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. He was blinded, momentarily, as he blinked rapidly to allow his eyes to adjust. He stared out the window, quietly observing the bright blue sky. It was strange, but he couldn’t quite place what was wrong. When it connected, Crutchie tried to leap out of bed, only to groan as his head spun painfully. The sudden movement left Crutchie breathless, and he sunk back into his pillow.

The groan must’ve woken Jack, because he turned tiredly to his side, glancing at Crutchie. “You up, Crutch?”

“Yeah,” Crutchie muttered, pressing a hand to his head. “M’head hurts.”

“Do you want some water? I don’t think you should be eating any food yet. Maybe later this afternoon.”

Crutchie ignored Jack. “Why’re you still here? The bell must’ve rung hours ago.”

“Yeah, and you slept straight through it.” Jack smiled. “I wasn’t gonna leave you all alone when you’re sick.”

“But, Jack, that’s a whole day’s pay you’re missing. I woulda been fine.”

“I’m sure you woulda been, but I wanted to make sure,” Jack reassured. He glanced around the room, confirming that they were alone, before kissing Crutchie’s jaw. “Besides, this gives me a great excuse to spend the entire day with you.”

Crutchie smiled shyly. “Aw, Jack, but I’m sick. You really shouldn’t be kissin’ me or nothing. You’ll get sick, too, and then you’ll miss even more days of work.”

“I’ll risk it,” Jack whispered, pulling Crutchie closer and kissing him again. 

archiveofourown.org
Words That Water Flowers - Chapter 10 - DecemberCamie - Hunter X Hunter [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Title: Words That Water Flowers

Total word count: 22415 -> Chapter 10 word count: 2743

Chapter 10 summary:

Iktsuarpok (Inuit)- the anticipation you feel when you’re waiting for someone to come over to your house

This chapter gave me some trouble, honestly. But I’m happy with how it turned out in the end! 

There won’t be a chapter next week, unfortunately :( I’m home for spring break so I don’t have time to write. Also, just so you guys know, the final two chapters are linked meaning chapter 12 picks up directly where chapter 11 ends. And then we’re done!

Thank you all for your support and love for this story, I can’t tell you how much it means to me <3 I’ll see you all again the weekend of 4/22!


“- it’s just dumb, y’know?” Killua’s annoyed huff made static crackle out of the speaker on Gon’s cell phone. “I don’t get it. Why would you even bother trying to leave Zevil Island? I mean, he knows he needs six points to pass onto the next phase of the Exam.”

Gon hummed thoughtfully, watching golden sunbeams filter through the stained-glass window above the kitchen sink. The refined sunlight hit the granite counter in swirling shades of emerald green and sapphire blue.

“Maybe he’s looking for shortcuts?” he suggested.

“Ha, probably. I don’t think Milluki’s ever finished a game without finding some crazy trick to cheat his way through to the end. What a lazy bastard, huh? Can’t even win fairly at the one thing he’s actually good at.”

Gon’s lips tugged upwards into a crooked grin. It didn’t matter that Killua couldn’t see it- Killua always made him smile. It was a reflexive action, like breathing.

Switching the phone to his opposite hand, Gon said, “Not everyone is as good with video games as you are, Killua.” He carefully gripped the glass cup in his hand as he lifted it out of the dishwasher and placed it on the proper shelf. He had promised to finish his chores before Aunt Mito got back from shopping, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t talk to Killua at the same time.

“That is not my problem. Milluki’s the one who- SHIT!”

Gon’s stomach lurched. “What?! Killua, are you okay?!”

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