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unforth · 5 months

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I had a day off yesterday.

And I can already practically hear the assumptions that such a statement is prompting the reader to make. Those assumptions are wrong. I don't mean I didn't work. I did, for about 8 hours. That's not at all what I mean.

I mean my wife took the kids out at 9:30, spent the night with her mom, isn't back yet the next morning.

There are things I NEED people on this website to understand about parenting. And I've talked about it before, and I'll talk about it again, because honestly the way that Tumblr as a cohort talks about parents makes me sick. Multiple polls have shown that only about 2% of people on here are parents. We're a huge minority, and we're constantly talked over, ignored, or accused of being bad parents (like, personally, I have had people reply to my comments or come on to my posts and tell me I shouldn't have my kids). In my case, being a parent means I'm almost 41, I'm married to @ramblingandpie, and our children are inching up on being 8 and 6 years old.

My entire day, and therefore my entire life, revolves around them. I'm up most mornings at 5 AM, because that's the earliest they're "allowed" to wake up, and so my brain just defaults to being awake around then - better to wake up before them, at least then I get a few minutes in the morning. Between 5 and 7, I sit with them, do my social media, work on side blogs, study Chinese. Then it's helping them get ready for school, then my wife or I or both get them on the bus, and then I work until the last possible minute, which is either when I need to go pick them up for an after school activity or when I need to go down and meet them off the bus. My afternoons are after school activities, chores such as washing the dishes and cleaning up toys, talking with them, working with them, playing with them. Their bedtime starts at 7:40, and my son gets scared if I leave before he falls asleep so I sit with him until about 8:15. As soon as he's asleep, I go fall on my face, sleep as best I can, then wake up and do it again. Overnight, it's hard to sleep deeply, because about once a week someone will wake up in the middle of the night and need help. That could be as minimal as a hug or as complex as having to completely change the bedding on a bunk bed at 2 AM while also comforting a child who is afraid they'll be in trouble, or afraid they're sick, or afraid of their nightmare, or, or, or. Further, if a child is awake, there is always noise. I usually study Chinese with two or more competing sources of noise. I read the same way. My life is loud, and active, and consists of constant interruptions.

I adore my family, and I love my children, but this is terrible for me.

I do all of this as an neurodivergent introvert. My clinical depression is at least medicated, mostly because post-partum depression after I gave birth the first time nearly drove me to suicidal in under a week (we were expecting this and were prepared, fortunately, getting help was as simple as a phone call). The constant noise and interruptions and forced socialibility are about the worst combination of home-life I could be subjected to. I spend far too many early mornings just breathing deeply and gearing myself up to be subjected to the wall of Loud, Boisterous, Needing-My-Attention that is every minute when anyone else in the house is awake.

So what did my day off look like?

I helped get the kids ready to go and did some morning chores. I'd been up at 4:30 AM so I also had already social media'd and studied. Then, while my wife finished the preparations, I started work, and I worked from about 8 am to about 4 pm, straight. I didn't get hungry so didn't bother stopping for lunch. No one interrupted me, no one asked me to look at anything they'd built, no one broke my concentration, no sounds could be heard except those I'd chosen myself.

I'd been out the day before at a local shopping street and listened closely to the things the kids said they wanted, so at 4 I grabbed a couple orders I needed to ship for work and drove to our local downtown, dropped the orders in a post box, then went back to the shops and did some Christmas shopping in the 45 minutes or so before everything closed. I think I'm basically done with what we'll get them - other bigger things will be left to grand parents - so that's a load off, I literally had a stress dream earlier this week about it being 12/24 and having forgotten to do the shopping and having to go to (oh horrors) the mall on the day before Christmas. (Reminder: I'm a Jewish atheist. It's just virtually impossible not to Holiday in the Culturally Christian Hellscape that is the US. Also, my wife is Christian. So.) Found something cute for my wife, too, even tho I already know the main thing I'm getting her. Then, I realized - one of my favorite restaurants is on that block. So. I went there. I sat by myself at a table, only the indistinct restaurant hubbub around me. I read four or five chapters of my book, and ate a savory crepe, and drank lovely fruit tea, and got a scone to-go that I'll eat for lunch today. It was more than I probably should have spent on myself - about $25, including tip - but fuck it. I only get maybe a handful of days off all year, and I'm allowed to indulge a little.

Then I came home. There were no lights on. There was no noise. I had considered doing some more merch work while watching TV on the actual television (my kids are too young for subtitled shows, so usually if I want to watch My Shows I either have to do it on my computer when they're not around, or put them on and read all the subtitles aloud while trying to keep up and process the actual meaning of what I'm reading). But when I got back, the quiet and dark was so goddamn NICE that instead I curled up on the couch and read more of my book. I did that until bedtime - still about 8:15, because I'm exhausted. Then...I went to bed. And I slept long and deep, knowing that there was no chance I'd be interrupted and woken up, I didn't have to be, even in sleep, alert to every noise and possibility that I'd be needed.

I'm still exhausted and burned out, but even one night to myself felt really, really nice.

Saying "Tumblr does X" as a universal statement is doomed to failure, but generally speaking, the parenting posts I see on Tumblr, the ones with tens or hundreds of thousands of notes, speak what's apparently widely seen as a truism on here: that unless someone wants to spend 24/7 with their kids, to be 100% emotionally available at all times, is always kind and patient and perfect, they are a bad parent, maybe even abusive. I remember when covid started, there were multiple posts actively mocking the "oh god, my kids are now home all the time, how am I supposed to do this?" attitude that a lot of parents posted in despair. WhY dId YoU hAvE kIdS iF yOu DoN't WaNt To SpEnD tImE wItH tHeM?

Look at what my usual day looks like.

Look at what my day off looked like.

Do you really think I don't want to spend time with my kids? Do you really think I don't love my kids?

But I'm not a fucking MACHINE. I'm a PERSON. That's what people on Tumblr seem to forget. PARENTS ARE PEOPLE. The same tumblrinas who post ~uwu be kind to yourself rest if you need to, you should forgive yourself for that mistake you made~ will turn around, with zero sense of irony, and post "you're a bad parent if you ever raise your voice around a child."

Expecting parents to be perfect means expecting parents to be inhuman. It also means that a parent can't be poor (can't spend all your time being the perfect parent if you have to work multiple jobs or weird hours!), can't be introverted (can't be a perfect parent if you're not completely emotional available, god forbid socializing is exhausting for you), can't be on the ADHD or autism spectrum (what do you mean you forgot to get your kid to a doctor's appointment once? what do you mean over-stimulation can make you angry? how dare you get angry at a kid!), can't be depressed (gotta get out of bed every single day, gotta always be upbeat, patient, happy, or else that's Evil), can't be (like my wife) physically disabled (what do you mean your hands hurt too much to hold a child's hand? are you denying them touch?? CRUEL). And when the only answer you can offer to that is, "if you can't be that perfect you shouldn't be a parent," then you're saying people who aren't middle class to wealthy, people who aren't neurotypical, people who aren't physically able, shouldn't have children.

And honestly...what the fuck is your problem?

I'm not perfect. I tell my kids to just leave me alone sometimes. I raise my voice, especially when one of my kids starts punching the other, but also sometimes just cause I'm exhausted and Can't Anymore. I've forgotten an appointment by accident and felt like a total fucking idiot, and I've skipped an after school activity because I just wasn't up for taking them. I've served them more unbalanced, unhealthy meals than I can count. I've made many, many mistakes, but I've also done my best, and I love my kids, and I hope that when they grow up, they'll still love me even as they recognize that I wasn't perfect, just as I've come to accept my own parents' short-comings while still loving them very much. They're people, too, and the older I get, the more I understand where they were coming from.

When I fuck up, I apologize.

When they tell me they're unhappy with something I've done, I apologize, and I try to do better. Sometimes I even succeed.

This shit is hard, yo. And it's getting harder every year.

I'm BEGGING Tumblr: you need to start seeing parents as people. The way y'all talk about parenting on here is toxic, and genuinely harmful, and frankly exhausting. You have no idea what the reality of raising kids is like, and you need to shut the entire fuck up.

I had a day off yesterday.

I might get one more before the end of 2023.

I already can't wait. I am so, so, so tired. sigh

(if you actually read this whole rant and even a single word of it resonated for you, please reblog it. I'm tired of never seeing positive posts about parenting while I see negative ones with a bajillion notes.)

#unforth rambles #parenting #momblr #nothing prompted this #i just think about writing posts like this all the time #because the low-level background buzz of how much tumblr hates parents is a constant stressor tbh #and every once and a while i tip over the line end up Writing the Thing #and so here we are again #god i have so much to do today and instead i procrastinate with this #oops

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mylovelies-docx · 6 months

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Sorry, I Love You - Part 10

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?! I'm finally posting Part 10 after an unplanned/unexpected hiatus?

Yes. I am. Sorry for the long wait!

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Angst, HYDRA experimentation, mentions of death. (Dear sweet Hyunjin in the gif below also a CW for myself and other Stays)

Word Count: 3,075

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7][Part 8][Part 9]

You hear Bucky’s key rattle in the front door and the soft snick as it closes downstairs. You’d arrived at your shared home only minutes ago, but that was plenty of time for you to race upstairs, lock your door, and start bawling into the pillow. You hiccup and choke, suffocating the sounds into the cotton fabric clenched between your teeth.

Why?! Why did Bucky have to go and say that shit? As much as you had hoped and begged the universe for Bucky to say those words to you earlier this year, it responds to your pleas now?! You’ve spent months resigning yourself to having him as a friend only – that’s what he said he wanted!

Why would he change his mind? Is it because he’s had a change of heart? Doubtful. Bucky was very certain in his decision to shut you down and out of his life. So what? Is it because you’re hanging out with Petre? Is he jealous? How? Why?

Bucky’s actions towards you tonight make no sense. Why would he say something that he knew would upset you? And if he didn’t think they’d upset you, what’d he expect? That you’d run and leap into his arms, no more words needed? Why the hell would he think that’s what would happen? He can’t just act like he didn’t completely eviscerate your heart that night in the alley and that morning in the kitchen.

Those days are burned into your memory, not a day goes by that you don’t remember the way your words affected him and his response. He was so betrayed and angry that he lashed out at you for admitting that you wanted more than the no-strings-attached, friends-with-benefits situation that you had.

But now – now! – he wants to say you could be together? Together in what way? As fuck-buddies again? Hell no. There’s no way that you will ever put yourself through that pain and hardship again. Not for him, not for anybody. You want something real.

You’d wanted something real with Bucky, but he’d shot you down as soon as you’d brought it up.

Bucky’s footsteps shuffle from the front door and up the stairs, stopping just outside your door. You hold your breath but continue to flinch as your lungs spasm on unuttered cries.

A soft rap sounds at your door and Bucky murmurs your name softly into the doorjamb. You squeeze your eyes shut and keep your voice as calm and level as possible, but it still cracks when you say his name. “Leave me alone, Bucky.”

“Doll, I –”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You respond vehemently, chucking your wet pillow at the door. It smacks against the wood with a thwump and lands in a sad heap on the floor. It looks just like how you feel. “Just go away.”

You can hear Bucky suck in a shaky breath, but you refuse to picture his watery eyes and quivering lip. He has a right to feel like shit, but you are under no obligation to try and assuage his guilt when he’s the one that caused this whole mess.

His bare feet tread across the hallway and into his bedroom, his bedroom door barely making any sound as he closes it behind him. His shower starts up a few seconds later and stays on for nearly an hour. After that, his bed creaks and there’s not another sound to be heard.

You don’t sleep that night.

***

“I need to leave.”

“What?” Nat hisses through the phone. It may be 4 am here, but the team is having dinner together right now back in New York. Nat’s whispering voice is her attempt at keeping this conversation between the two of you while she walks away from the dining room to talk. You can hear her boot-clad leg thunk, thunk, thunk its way across the hardwood floors as she finds privacy.

“I need to get away from Bucky,” you explain further.

“What did that fucker do this time?” Nat questions menacingly, already gearing up to kick Bucky’s ass with no information.

You heave a sigh and watch your breath fog in the air, the cloud hanging heavy in front of your face before slowly dissipating in the humid, cold air. “He… he said something about us. As in, him and I. Like we could go back to how we were.” You bite your chapped lips and worry the dry pieces of skin with your teeth. “I didn’t handle it very well.”

Nat is silent for a long moment, the other end of the line buzzing over the long distance. Finally, she says, “He said he wanted to be friends with benefits again?”

“Well not exactly,” you hedge. “He got all weird and jealous when I was hanging out with Petre last night like I always do. We got into a fight and he said that it could be us sneaking off together like we used to and I just… I lost it.” You hurriedly wipe an oncoming tear out of your eye, surprised you’re even hydrated enough to produce anything after last night’s sob fest. You suck in a shaky breath and continue. “Nat, I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

“I know, honey,” Nat consoles, her voice soft as she shushes you. “I won’t let you do that to yourself again, either. You know I’m here for you – and so is the rest of the team.” You make a questioning noise at that last part and Nat explains. “Well… the whole team kind of knows why you left.”

“...they do?” You press the palm not holding your phone against your forehead, pushing hard to focus on anything but the embarrassment the situation makes you feel. You chuckle humorlessly and say, “Everybody must think I’m pathetic now.”

“We absolutely do not,” Nat states defensively. “Wanda and I were giving him so much shit after you left and no one knew why – Bucky eventually had to tell everyone after I nearly put him in a coma when he finally found the guts to spar with me.”

You do crack a genuine smile and laugh at that. “You’re telling me Wanda was mean to him?”

“Well, I mean,” Nat laughs as well, “she didn’t put smiley faces on his pancakes when she made everybody breakfast. Trust me when I say everyone noticed her displeasure with him.”

You feel the overwhelming urge to wrap Nat and Wanda up in hugs that are long overdue. The love for your friends overflows from your heart and manifests in your words: “I love you guys so much.” It’s no substitute for the hugs you want to give, but it’s all you can offer at the moment.

“We love you, too,” Nat replies. You’re both quiet for a moment, you soaking in the silence of the frozen outdoors and Nat chewing on the question you can practically hear filling her mouth and pushing against her lips.

You sigh heavily. “Out with it, Nat.”

She sucks in a breath before starting. “You know I’m always on your side…”

“Uh-huh.”

“...but are you sure that’s what Bucky meant?” she finishes.

“Huh?” you question dumbly. “What else could he have meant? He accused me of going off and fucking Petre every time we left a room – TMI, but that’s exactly what Bucky and I used to do. So when Bucky said we could be like that, I don’t see how he could have meant anything else.”

You hear a smack from Nat’s side of the line and a grumbled ‘stupid motherfucker…’ before she composes herself and resumes the conversation. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Not particularly,” you respond. “I’d rather you just come and get me.”

“You know I would in a heartbeat, but this mission took a long time to set up…”

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I wouldn’t actually leave over this, but it’s just nice to know that you’d come and get me if I asked.”

“Always,” she says.

You and Nat chat for a little longer before you end the call, citing your need to head into ‘work’ soon. You hang up, feeling better for having spoken with your best friend.

Your improved mood lets you ponder on what Nat was trying to get at about Bucky’s intentions. Does she know something you don’t? The answer is likely yes, her being who she is and all. But if she has reason to doubt your interpretation of Bucky’s actions last night, don’t you owe it to yourself to find out for sure?

Mind made up, you send a short text to Bucky.

Can we talk?

A few seconds pass as you type out a follow-up message, but you’re interrupted by Bucky’s text.

You’re not here. Where are you?

You smile at the realization that Bucky had to have sprinted to your room, saw your empty bed, and then searched the entire house in record time before sending his text.

Your stomach fills with anticipatory nervousness, but you remind yourself that you’ve already gone through hell without Bucky once, so if there’s something in the way of being in each other’s lives you need to clear it up.

I’m getting an early start at work. I’ll call you during lunch?

Please.

***

The morning rushes by in a blur. Your tasks take you up, down, and around areas of the HYDRA facility you’ve never had access to before. You can’t be seen lingering around any certain area, but you take every opportunity to peek inside rooms and hallways when no one else is around.

There’s one particular hallway that catches your attention – not because there’s any screaming or moaning coming from the cells along the walls, but because there is a steady beep, beep, beeping coming from multiple heart rate monitors.

You’re unable to investigate since a scientist with dark hair stands at one of the open cells at the end of the hall. His clipboard hangs down at his side as his other hand rests on the doorjamb as he watches whatever is happening inside. He’s too far away for you to get a good look at him, but his height and build seem… familiar. You stare for long seconds as he continues to linger, wracking your brain for how you recognize him, but footsteps down your hallway cause the man to startle and scurry away in the opposite direction.

The person who scared the man away rounds the corner towards you. You recognize them as the scientist that had sent you down here in the first place. Quickening your pace, you rush over to them.

“Hello, sir. Here are the materials you requested.”

“Yes, quite,” the man says as he takes the samples from your hands.

He riffles through the sealed bags and paper work, a concentrated look on his face. You stand politely next to him, your hands folded in front of you while you wait for a dismissal.

“Argh!” the scientist exclaims in anger. “That absolute buffoon! She can’t even label correctly.” He looks up and pins you with a cold stare. “You. Go collect the bloodwork – and do it correctly!”

He shoves a piece of paper with the subject’s ID number and location into your chest. You reach up quickly to catch it and bow your head in deference. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

He storms off, stomping his way to presumably berate the poor technician who collected the samples the first time.

You sigh, glancing down at your phone. It’s well-past lunchtime and you need to call Bucky, but this task needs to be completed first. You’ll call Bucky soon and hopefully he’ll apologize and clear everything up. The anxiety from this morning returns and causes your stomach to tighten and a lump to form in your throat.

It’s okay, you tell yourself. He’s been trying to apologize since it happened. If he confesses the reason behind why he got weirdly jealous last night, you will tell him that he has no reason to be – that there hasn’t been anyone for him to be jealous over. Especially not a civilian during an undercover mission.

Would that be too much? Would he think that if you haven’t been with anyone since you left that you’re still hung up on him? Even though you told him you’d never actually loved him (a massive, bald-faced lie), would he still accept your words at face value even when your actions contradict them?

Why did he say all that last night?

If he doesn’t want to have any kind of intimacy with you, why’d he suggest being friends with benefits again? Did he suggest being friends with benefits again? It certainly seemed like that was what he was implying, but Nat’s words from this morning makes you doubt your assumption.

If he wasn’t talking about reverting back to your situationship that you both clearly regretted – for different reasons – then what?

Ugh, you sigh. This is too much. You’ll figure it out when you call him.

You find the medical supply closet and collect the needles, tourniquets, vials, and labels necessary for the samples. Looking down the list, you see that the location is actually the hallway you were interested in earlier. Gathering your supplies onto a cart, you head out.

***

You’ve collected two of the samples when you run into Olaf, the contact you last spoke with when you first arrived. You had just left Subject #268’s room and nearly ran right into the man.

“Oh, hello,” you greet sincerely before registering the wild look in his eyes and his bloodless face. “What’s wrong?”

Olaf shoves you back into the room and looks around frantically. “I need to go,” he states, frightened. “I need to leave and I have to take my family with me.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you murmur, setting your hand on his shoulder. “Deep breaths.” You show him an exaggerated inhale and exhale, staring into his eyes and trying to calm him down. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The breathing exercise does nothing for him. Olaf grabs your hand and squeezes hard. “They know.”

“They know?” you question. “Who knows what?”

“They know that I contacted the Avengers!” He nearly shouts. You shush him with your other hand over his mouth, but he rips it away and continues. “They know I brought you here and that we’re trying to shut this place down.”

“Hold up,” you plead. Your heart races in your chest at the implications. “Why do you say that?”

“I heard them!” he rasps. “I heard them discussing the ‘rats in the organization’ and that they’re finally ready to get rid of them.”

“And you think that’s us? Why?”

“Why else would they mention my name and the Avengers in the same sentence moments later?!” Tears leak down Olaf’s face and his breaths heave in and out of his chest.

“Okay. Okay,” you say, a million thoughts and plans running through your mind. “Get out of here. Go get your family and run – it doesn’t matter if you look suspicious since they’re already aware of the situation.”

Olaf nods his head rapidly and starts to back out of the door and into the hall. “What about you?” he questions weakly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “I’ll wrap things up here. Just go!”

He nods again and turns to run down the hall, but stops dead in his tracks. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling invades you. You step out into the hallway and find…

“Petre?” you whisper.

Petre stands there, with his dark hair and clipboard – he’s the one you saw in this hallway earlier. Your brain short-circuits while trying to put all the information together.

You hear Olar whimper behind you. You turn your head and mutter quickly: “Go.” Olaf bolts down the hallway and out of sight.

You turn back to face Petre, his eyes wide and breathing heavy.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him. “How much did you just hear?”

Petre hesitates for a moment before responding. “Enough.”

“Petre,” your voice is hard. “What are you doing here?”

“They…” his lip quivers. “They have my sister.”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. “They have Sasha? I thought she was just sick?”

“She is,” he says. “They said that they’re the only ones who can cure her, so my parents… we agreed to their treatment plan. But then they started asking for more and more things – things mother and father weren’t comfortable with. But they said we have to comply if we want Sasha to get better – so I came here at their demand.”

You suck in a deep breath. Something about Petre’s broken, dejected demeanor sends a wave of foreboding through you. “Grab Sasha and run, Petre. You know who I am now. I can help you.”

Petre shakes his head sadly. “She’ll die.”

“No. No, Dr. Cho can figure out what’s wrong – she can help Sasha.” But Petre’s head continues to shake.

“They give her something everyday, something that will kill her if she doesn’t receive her next dose at the correct time. I… I’m sorry. I have to protect my sister.”

A tear slips down Petre’s cheek as he begins to back away from you.

“Petre, please,” you beg. “Give me five minutes.”

“I can’t,” he whispers, and takes off.

You curse and start running. The only thing you can do is get to the control room and wreak havoc. You thunder through the hallways of the compound, dodging scientists and slamming and locking the doors that separate different wings from each other.

The lights shut off. A loud, blaring siren rings through the facility and emergency lights flash red. On, off. On, off. Your eyes try to adjust to the darkness, then are assaulted by the light only fractions of a second later – the strobing effect causing the scene to look like stop-motion animation.

You recognize the area you’re in, realizing that the control room is only a few doors away. Shouting and the clambering of combat boots to your left catches your attention. A whole host of agents run towards you, weapons drawn.

You put on a burst of speed, grabbing the control room door jamb and swinging inside. You close the door and drag a desk to barricade it – it won’t hold for long, but it’s better than nothing. You turn to find several men rising from their desks, startled looks on their faces.

Grimacing, you begin the arduous task of taking lives.

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283 @terry2227

Part 11

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #sorry i love you

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meowufff · 6 months

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Okay!

First of all: I am very sorry it took so long to finish this! It had been a lot more data than last time, so I had some trouble to visualize and edit it this time around. I really hope I made it work somehow so enjoy this lil conclusion thingy and feel free to add or mention anything that comes to your mind~

In this survey I have asked a total of 188 people multiple questions surrounding sleep habits, their consume of caffein and its influence on them and got an answer from 104 of these.

So let’s beginning with the average hours per sleep these people had.

Well, as we saw in the last survey I did, most people I have asked didn’t had a good sleep schedule. The average hours that a rottmnt tumblr artist out of 104 get is 6,48 hours per night.

I tried my best to categorize the hours into 1-3; 4-6; 6-7; 7-9; 10+ h/night. The most common one being 4-6 h/night and 7-9 h/night which is a little surprising remembering that only 18% of people of my last survey actually have a “good”-sleep schedule in hindsight that the recommended amount of sleep is 7-9 hours/night.

These numbers could be explained that for a lot of people the amount of hours they sleep depends on factors like if they´re having a stressful time at the moment or how much they did over the day so the numbers itself varied often from 3-8 hours. Of course, no one sleeps the exact amount of hours every single time so the range a lot people mentioned had been partly very big.

Now that we know how many hours most artist sleep per night, we should take a look at how many hours they consider enough to technically get through the day which is 4,94 hours.

Because the answered had been very specific for most parts I decided to categorize them into full 1 till 9+ hours and steps in between as 1-2; 2-3; 3-4; etc. hours, the most common ones being 4 and 5 hours. Which is kind of close to the average amount they get.

So some could take the wild guess that a lot of people are surviving on their minimum hours per night as daily basis.

For my next question I could have been more specific with what I meant. My thought behind that question had been, how many hours are a lot in consideration to a not-so-great sleep schedule. For example, a person who usually gets 5-6 hours of sleep could consider getting 7 or 8 hours as a lot.

Some didn’t answer that part which is understandable as the meaning isn’t that clear. I still got a lot of interesting answers! For example, the average “a lot of hours of sleep” value is 9,59 hours.

Now let’s get to the caffein!

Surprisingly to me, considering the small average hour per night, 53,85% do not consume any caffein over the day and only 39,42% have it included into their daily routine. The small amount of 6,73% of people use it only as last resort.

On the other hand, after reading all the effects caffein has on most of the people I asked I am not as surprised they´re not consuming it regularly.

Talking about the different effects of caffein on people please look at the following two pictures where I tried my best to visualize the different answers as good as possible.

In the first one you can see the descriptions how the people are feeling before consuming any caffein. The bigger the word the more often it had been mentioned.

In the second you will see the way they feel after consuming any kind of caffein.

It is pretty prominent that a majority doesn’t feel any different afterwords which could be an explanation why the amount of people drinking caffein is that “small”. But even if the second biggest word is the usual effect caffein has the one directly after that are words like tired, sluggish, jittery which are most definitely affects no one likes to experience.

A lot of the described feelings could be lined to stuff like ADHD or insomnia or anything else where caffein can show a paradox or even negative effect on someone. I have read that a lot of people still like to consume drinks with caffein in it but not because of the effect but more for the taste.

As someone who needs to drink either very strong coffee or energy to actually feel any effect of the caffein, I found it very interesting to see that people mentioned to enjoy drinking tea as little energy boost.

For me tea, or coke or any other caffeinated soda, has such a little amount of caffein in it that I, for myself, didn’t even had it categorized as something that could be used as little caffein booster.

It hadn’t been a question, but I still noted down the kind of drinks people choose to drink as daily caffein source, which actually shows that coffee is the usual to go drink but again, surprisingly lot told me that they don’t drink tea (or anything else) as daily basis but more randomly whenever they feel like it.

In the end, what can we conclude out of all this messy information?

So, the usual hours you should sleep is put on 7-8 hours per night.

The average hours out of 104 artists in the rottmnt tumblr bubble is 6,48 hours per night with a minimum needed of 4,94 hours to get through the day. The maximum hours got in a night lay by 9,6 hours.

53,85% of these 104 go through their every day without the help of any caffein.

39,42% have caffein included into their daily routine.

6, 73% see caffein only as their last resort and try to avoid consuming any for as long as possible.

Thank you, a lot, for reading so far and thousand thanks to all the people participating in this lil survey again! I had a lot of fun doing this and I hope this little conclusion here is entertaining enough to make it worth having to answer my “few” questions!

If you want to share your own opinion or point out any mistakes I may have made, please feel free to do so~

I wish everyone a happy day and or good night!

If you are interested into my first survey, pls click here :3 Special Thanks to all of the participants!!! @heckitall @triona-tribblescore @butterfilledpockets @crownedcrowrow @pezhead @wraenata @zinovi768 @cokowiii @idiot-mushroom @less-depresso-more-espresso @mightyanxiety @sweeneydino @2aceofspades @mobiitez @onejellyfishplease @titenoute @arrora-art @indieyuugure @tblsomedoodles @theelvishfiddler @tasenwiththerobots @iredoodles @sushixstar @turrondeluxe @signanothername @adorabledrugl0rd @mr-doodles @theastroghost @djpachipikachu @hellishgayliath @frosteaart @godsfaultycreations @koolaidashley @soda-kazoo @tapakah0 @v-albion @sad-leon @angelpuns @sharkfinn @venelona-turtle-den @goatedgreen @graphitehybrid @laseralligator @peach-moths @vangh17a @debb987 @lieutenantbiscute @sunnyyyteaaa @0ransje @manga-toons

#average sleep deprivation survey #Survey #survey about rottmnt tumblr artist #this was lots fun #i love doing these #thx for reading~

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loving08 · 8 months

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I Love You

Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Summary: Y/N has been working in the BAU for a year now, she is satisfied where she is along with her crush on her Boss Aaron Hotchner, but the entry of a new person would broke her or will she be able to be with man she love.

The sound of knocking woke Y/N up from her sleep, rubbing her eyes Y/N got up and goes to open the door, she saw Spencer outside waiting for her with a go bag in his hand. She stepped aside to let him in and asked "Spencer what are you doing here at....uhh...3:20 am in the morning". Spencer puts his go bag on the floor and turned towards her and said "I knew you will not check your phone, we have a case, so get ready we will go together".

Y/N just nodded her head and goes to her room to get changed. Her and Spencer get along very well, working for a year in the BAU and she found herself her best friend, she and Spencer connected instantly, firstly they both were the youngest of the team, Y/N was just 21 and Spencer was 24 and just like Spencer she also has an IQ of 190, so knowledge was common factor that they connected first. she always told Spencer everything even her crush on her boss, he was the only one who knew about her feelings and kept her secret, she knew she can always go to him and he will always be there whenever she needed him.

After getting ready she goes to the living room and grabs her go bag and they both left to go to the jet directly. Upon reaching there they parked the car and go to the jet. Going inside they saw all the team members have already arrived but they both noticed a new person sitting beside Aaron hotchner, the seat that would always be occupied by Y/N was occupied by someone else, it was odd for not only Y/N but everyone else as they have all known that seat has been always occupied by Y/N so they all thought it was a little weird but didn't said anything.

Sensing eyes on himself Hotch looked up from the file and said "ah yes I forgot, this is Agent Beth Archer she is an intern, she will be working with us in this case". Everyone introduced themselves and when it was Y/N turn Beth ignored her. Y/N felt awkward and seat beside Spencer. After everyone gets comfortable Hotch turned on the tap and Garcia face appears on the screen "Hello my lovelies, how you all doing, hope good" said Garcia. Hotch looked at the tap and said "what do we have", "ohh....yeah so 3 teenagers were kidnapped yesterday afternoon in Ohio from a party they were attending. Parents didn't think too much about it since they assumed they were at the other's house spending the night, but called it in when all of their parents did not hear from them after they were dropped off. Missing is Sarah Mitchell age 15, Dantae Pitterson age 16 and Belly Pitterson age 16".

Y/N looked at the picture of the victims on her tap and said "twins I assume?", "yes and no one know where they went after the party was over". Emily tilted her head and said "okay but why are we being called in? I mean its a big deal that the teenagers are missing but maybe the kids just decided to go to somewhere or something".

"That would be a way to think about it, but this a kidnapping because the families have received tape recordings with messages from their kids and were send notes with their bloods saying they'll be returning the kids dead bodies if they didn't give $600,000 dollars to the given account number and that they only have 48 hours to get their children's back" said Garcia. "Do we know the relationship between these kids? friends? Dating? Relatives? classmates?" JJ asked. "friends since childhood, the messages to the Pitterson's are same as Sarah's. They are working on limited time that's why we are being called for this case and the Pitterson's are very high maintenance and a well respected family, Anthony Pitterson is the volleyball coach at the local high school and Mary Pitterson is the President of the Council of Community Scools".

Y/N frowned and said "what bout Sarah's parents?", "umm...she lives with her dad Samual Mitchell, her mom Laila Mitchell died 4 years ago due to a Road accident. The Pittersons and the Mitchells knew each other from high schools and stayed friends" said Gracia. Y/N nodded her head when Morgan asked her "why you wanted to know about the Mitchells?". Y/N looked at Morgan and said "its just....there's barely anything about the Mitchells in the file and its all about the Pitterson. I just hope they realize that Sarah is missing and she is just as important as the other kids even if her father is not a big shot". This mad Morgan cough to cover his laugh but nodded his head agreeing to her statement.

Hotch grabbed his others files and said " we can ask questions when we get there, get some rest, we all be needing it".

After a while later Hotch looked at the team and said " when we reach Ohio I want Rossi and Morgan to go and interview the Pittersons, JJ, Prentiss and Archer will go talk to the kids who attended the party, Reid I want you to look at the notes and the recordings with Garcia again, and Y/N I want you to interview Mr. Mitchell". Everyone Nodded but Beth looked up at Hotch and said "can't I go with you or stay close to you, I'm not that much comfortable with everyone as I am with you so...., please" and gave him a sad look. Everyone can see what she is trying to do, Y/N and Spencer locked eyes with each other and they both shared a look. Hotch looked at Beth and said "Agent Archer I know you are not used to the team yet and because of that I assigned you with my other Agents so that you can know them better, so take this chance to know them". and with that he turned back to his files.

Y/N knows what is going on, Beth also has a crush on Hotch but for the first time she felt like maybe.....maybe he might choose Beth over her and yeah that was not a good feeling.....at all. She shook her head and decided to focus on the case not noticing the way Hotch was looking at her, the soft look that he had only for her.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine

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bloodyjuls-blog · 11 months

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You don't understand

"Hi girls" y/n said as they entered the locker room. "Hi honey" Alexia said, giving her a kiss on the cheek as the other girls looked at Alexia and y/n suspiciously. While changing out of her street clothes into her workout clothes Claudia says "how about some beers at the bar downtown" "for the day off" to which most agree except y/n.

Alexia looks at her funny and asks "why can't you go?" "because I'm meeting my sister I'm going to take care of the kids while she does some extra hours at work" y/n's sister is a doctor at the Vall D'hebron hospital. Alexia nods, not very convinced but she knows about your love for children, especially your nephews, so she doesn't say anything. "Any problem with that my love?" you say. "no none, i miss them".

The training session goes by, more exhausting than the others 'maybe it's because of the sun' you thought. When patri comes in, scoffing, she says "when are you and Alexia going to get married?" "I don't know, when she proposes" you say in a funny way but hoping it will be soon.

Hours later at home with the little ones

"Ruppert don't run down the stairs you might fall" you said to your 5 year old nephew while you were putting 6 month old Augustine to sleep in the living room. "tia y/n/n alexia said to go upstairs to play mario bros" "well kid but you don't have to run, because you fall down there and what do we do eh" you say between angry and joking giving the little one a hug. "Babe, let Ruppert climb up to beat Mario," says Alexia, teasing the boy. You laugh and let him climb up.

For Alexia these moments are worth gold, she visualizes herself married to you, living in a villa in Castelldefel with a couple of kids running around in the yard and you teaching them how to play soccer.

The next day your sister picks up the kids around 11 am. You spend the day cuddling with Alexia at home, watching movies and eating dirty food.

Wednesday came and with it the training. There was Irene with little Mateo around, so I went straight to play with the little one while the girls finished showering. I must admit I'm a little picky because I always have to shower first. While I was playing with Mateo I heard Crnogorcevic says to Alexia "can you imagine when you and y/n have babies running around the house" "you don't know how excited I am about all that, seeing one or two little ones running around the house" "soon we will have another little one to play with mateo eh alexia" you panicked while playing with mateo. How could Alexia take it for granted that you want children if you haven't talked about it. That made you very angry. First of all because even though you like children and you are fond of them, you can't imagine being a mother, even less with your tight schedule and the constant trips you have, secondly, you are afraid of what pregnancy entails and even worse, you are afraid of hospitals. You'll have to talk to her, you thought.

When you get home you decide to talk to her.

"hey ale, I overheard a conversation in the dressing room today and I swear it was unintentional" you said. "Oh yeah, what did you hear?" said Alexia in a relaxed way "you were talking to Ana about kids and stuff, taking for granted that I wanted to be a mother" "Of course I want kids with you y/n, you are so good with the little ones and the only person I see in that future is you" "look Ale, I will be very honest with you, because we have been dating for about 4 years now and I just don't want, it terrifies me, to have kids, a human being under my responsibility. I said it a few years ago and I stand by it, I don't feel like having children with anyone" you said that a little bluntly. "You think after four years together it's time to say you don't want to have children? what's wrong with that? You are very good with it, even your nephews adore you and see you as a second mother" she says hysterically. "I'm sorry Ale, a little late yes, but it is what it is, I don't think I can change my thinking at some point" you said starting to feel weird, like out of place. "you know something y/n, I think I can't spend years of my life wanting something next to a person who can't be more flexible with that, I can't want to marry you when your plans and mine are different. I think it's better to break this thing we have and look forward with no hard feelings or anything" Alexia said sadly. "Why, what do children have to do with what we have created as a couple" "I just see myself with you, without children but with you" you said in tears. "You don't understand, I want to share my achievements with my FAMILY, with my descendants, with my children, so that they can see that their mothers were successful women and that they can follow the path. I don't want to be left with the legacy alone, you understand that, I want after this whole soccer thing is over there is something else to focus on." "You're being a bit selfish Alexia, you can't want children for such invalid reasons" you said crying, watching your life you thought you had figured out go down the drain. "selfish you y/n, you who are not at the same stage as me, you who prefer partying, traveling, alcohol before me as a partner and family" alexia said raising her voice. "You have no idea what you are saying" you said hurt. "y/n get out, get out of my house, I can't believe you threw all the plans we had out the window".

You left the house angry, sad, hurt and you did the best thing you could do, you called the only person who understands why you don't want to have children. The English captain, your best friend Leah Williamson. But since not everything can be so easy, that night while you were driving something happened...

Part 2 ✅

#Alexia putellas gift #fc barcelona femeni #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas one shot #woso fic #fcb femeni #espwnt #lionesses #leah williamson imagine #england lionesses

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callmemaeverick · 1 year

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The Inked Knight - The Spy Next Door Part IV

AN: Woot, Part 4. I swear I am going somehwere with this. This is my favourite one to write, cuz ever since I saw that scene in Casino Royale, I wanted to write it. Anywhoo.. here’s the next installment of our favourite gentleman Spy Next Door. Part I, Part II, Part III

Fights in your area are nothing new.

Living close to an overpass meant that you share an area with a group of homeless people and while most of them were harmless, there were a few that tend to get rowdy.

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Your shift for the day ended by 7 pm and you were grateful for the extra few hours to wind down before you went to sleep. Curled up in your favorite spot on your couch, you were engrossed in your most recent book when you heard the shouting.

There was a group of people gathered at the entrance of the building and from your vantage point, you could make out the figures of some of your elderly neighbors and some strangers you didn’t recognize. You frowned, wondering what Mr. Jameson was doing up so late.

But then, you saw some movements and then came the startled screams. The next thing you knew, Mr. Jameson was on the ground.

You were out the door and down the stairs in an instant and when you got there, people were shouting, grabbing and pulling each other’s collars. It was total chaos and not for the first time, you were certain someone was going to get truly hurt.

So you acted. Without thinking.

“Call 911,” You whispered to Mrs. Rodriguez closest to you and jumped into the commotion. “Hey! Hey-hey-hey,” You exclaimed, putting yourself in between the squabbling group of men. “Whatever’s going on here, I’m pretty sure we can talk it out!”

A man from the gang, stepped forward, his eyes alight but hazy under the streetlight. “Why don’t you mind your own business, bitch?” His voice rang loud over the sizable group that had begun to gather. “This is between me and the old man.” From the looks of him, he was waiting for any chance of an easy fight.

You glanced at Mr Jameson behind you, still glaring daggers at the other man. The old man was none too different.

“Sir, there’s no need to talk to me like that.” You put on your best customer service voice. “Please calm down.”

The man took another step and invaded your personal space. Instantly, you could smell the liquor on his person. His eyes traveled up your body. “And what’re you gonna do if I don’t, Sweetheart?” He asked and behind him, some of his friends snickered.

Chills racked down your spine at the way he was leering and your voice wavered but you held firm. “Sir, please step back.”

The man did not move. Only inching closer.

"Sir, please,"

“She said step back!” Mr Jameson, having found his feet, shoved at the man’s shoulders and that’s when all hell broke loose. Before you knew it, both men grabbed each other once more and you found yourself sandwiched between the two.

You didn’t know how long you were stuck between them, trying to get them to stop. The others around you were grappling too. The loud noices, coupled with the overwhelming sense of being trapped sent warning signals to your claustrophobic brain. Panic seized your body and you gasped for air.

And then, like thunder, a voice boomed over the noise.

“Hey, FBI! Everybody step back!”

Just like that, the bodies parted and you felt Peter’s familiar presence right next to you. You thought he was working that night, but you were infinitely glad you were wrong.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, his voice different than normal. His stance was rigid and his gaze was hard, waiting for answers. He looked between Mr Jameson and the other man, but but not before you caught his eyes scanning you for injuries.

The air was tense as the three men stood off but thankfully, instead of escalating the situation further, the leader of group took one look at your neighbor's 6” figure and the badge on his hip, and decided most likely it was not worth it.

“Nothing, sir.” The man muttered. “Nothing at all.”

And that was it. The cops then arrived a few minutes too late and Peter stayed back to explain everything to them. Thankfully, everyone was let off with a stern warning and went on their separate ways.

The next few minutes were a blur as you hurriedly returned to your apartment, desperate for your safe haven. Curled up against the tiles, with the steady fall of water around you, you let it drown out all sensations.

That was how Peter found you, 10 minutes later, fully clothed and hunched over your knees.

"I can still smell the beer." The drunken man reeked of it.

There was a soft sigh and a rustle of fabric and then, the press of his right arm alongside your ribs. The warmth of his skin, different from the water sent goosebump up your own arms. He had shed his coat, but other than that he was fully clothed as well.

It had became a thing between the two of you, just sitting together in silence, skin touching, just breathing. Living alone in a different city was not always easy and while you would never admit it to anyone, you were starting to feel lonely. But that was before Peter arrived.

He moved, reaching up over his head to the ledge where you stored your soaps and shampoo. "Here," He handed you your body wash.

A flash of black caught your eyes and you stared as you took the bottle from him. You had seen them before, but mostly slivers whenever his sleeve was lifted whenever he moved or stretched. But this was the first time his tattoo was on full display to you.

"What?" Peter asked when he noticed your reaction.

“You uhh-..." Something foreign licked your insides when he moved and you saw the painted muscles of his forearms contract and release. How did you get that close? "I just… didn’t peg you for a sleeve ink kinda guy.”

They were beautiful. A series of geometric triangles running up his arm, giving an illusion of hard scales merging into some intricate design of a flower or a pointed star, blooming from the joint of his elbow.

You were mesmerized.

"I've always wanted them," He told you, turning his arms so you could see more. There were some more wrapping his bicep, still hidden by his shirt sleeves, and you found yourself more than a little curious to see them. "Started doodling in college and got them just before Quantico. Thought they'd look cool."

"They do," You blurted too quickly and blushed when Peter chuckled.

Silence blanketed you for a few beats, the only sound was the water drizzling over you both.

"You did good." Peter told you. "Tonight."

"I froze, Pete. It got intense and I froze. And to think I have years of experience handling people."

"Hey, it's one thing to handle a crisis on the phone. It's another to face it head on." He moved to capture hand. "Trust me. You did good."

You didn't really believe him, but you nodded nonetheless.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here."

You let him pull you up and turn off the shower. You stood quietly as he rummaged your cupboard and pulled out two clean and fluffy towels.

"Would you come back? After?" You asked as you took a towel from him. "I- I don't think I'll be sleeping anytime soon. We could watch a movie or something."

Peter smiled at you. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

TBC Tagging: @strnqer @thefictionalgemini @bcon24 @medievalfangirl @coldheartedmar @iamzuul @iamasimpingh0e

#peter sutherland #peter sutherland x reader #gabriel basso #the night agent #netflix the night agent #the night agent netflix #the spy next door series #mav's posts

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bigratsdeservebigpats · 1 year

Note

Overblot victims (and Malleus) reacting to Yuu patting their heads when they look stressed after the incidents (and for Mal, after Chapter 6 the night Idia and Ortho come over to play games)

MY FIRST ASK OMG THANK YOU RANDOM CITIZEN

Lmao I haven't played part 6 yet I am a disgusting lowly eng player but I can do them getting headpats

Victim #1 - Riddle

He's disgusted at himself and his actions. Who wouldn't be after reacting in such an uncouth matter? His dorm members still keep their distance, eggshells more like glass shards as they tiptoe around him.

Yuu finds them after a throwaway comment from Adeuce about their dorm leader looking even wearier than usual

He's holed up in one of the study rooms, the floor is adorned with books and sticky notes, study materials repeated over and over, it's less of studying than a distraction, not that it's working.

He doesn't notice Yuu is there until he feels the gentle weight of a hand on his head, and the warmth it gives. Something tells him it's Yuu, and something else tells him that it's okay.

He cries there, without a single word exchanged between the two.

When times are hard, or when Adeuce is being especially awful to handle, he'll come over just for some quiet time, to get his head pat

Victim #2 - Leona

Leona is someone who hates being indebted to anyone, and he now owes his life to a bunch of meddling kids, and Yuu, some magicless nobody. It's embarrassing, not just for him but also his actions. Like a child who threw a tantrum.

I wanna say that Ruggie sent Yuu to talk to him. not for any reason in particular, other than the fact that Yuu is really helpful to others.

He's at the spelldrive practice, lazing off per usual, but this time while glaring at everyone. He shouldn't be mad at them, but it's sort of an automatic response.

He notices Yuu, but didn't expect them to approach, less to reach over and. pat. him. it's humiliating, especially in front of the crowd, but the sheer balls of their actions is the only thing keeping Yuu from disintegrating into a pile of sand.

"What in the land of the great seven do you think you are doing, herbivore."

"sharing good vibes."

If Yuu runs their fingers through his hair, he'll melt. if anyone asks, he hates it. if no one is there, he might mimic the action, and then curse himself when he realizes it.

Victim #3 - Azul

It's easy for Azul to hide behind the guise of work, to distract himself with ideas of promotions and menu additions and money-making schemes of the legal sort, but the usual chaotic grin wouldn't show when he was huddled over his desk.

Yuu doesn't have the money to get one of his little consultations, but that's okay, because the twins have decided they didn't want to deal with his BULLSHIT cruel increase in hours

Even buried in work, everything is organized and tidy, so much so that it doesn't look any different from the last few times Yuu snuck in, which is insane. If the twins hadn't noticed anything, they doubt anyone would have.

He's on edge, tearing his sight from the paper scribbles and readjusting his glasses.

He isn't given the chance to speak before Yuu stomps over and places a hand on their head. "You deserve a break, don't you?"

The Prefect is magicless, he knows this, but it feels like they put a sleeping spell on him, a heavy weight like that of a warm duvet blanketing over him.

It's the first he's relaxed, but he's too exhausted to say his thanks, resting his head on the desk as Yuu pets him.

Victim #4 - Jamil

Jamil is perpetually stressed. He has to worry about Kamil's food, Kalim's daily safety, Kalim's chores, Kalim's grades, Kalim Kalim Kalim, it's no wonder he's overblotted, but just because he has doesn't mean he'll be given any sort of break.

It's a bunch of Scarabia students who beg Yuu for help, since they were one of the handful of people who's actually faced off against his overblot, and who isn't terrifying to talk to.

Without any other attendants to help with Kalim or the dorm duties, Jamil would be found carrying stacks upon stacks of items to and fro down the halls

Yuu practically shouts his name, and a whole chill raced up his spine from Kalim trauma, but relief hit hard when he realized it was just the Prefect. He doesn't know why they are so worked up about him doing his job.

Yuu would offer a hand, and before he can refuse, it settles on top of his hood, pressing down just the slightest. When he looks back on it, he should have remarked that they would mess up his hair, but he was too stunned to even speak.

They would take some of the stuff in his arms, and spend the rest of the day just helping do small chores, and in return, get a lovely meal and a genuine thank you from Jamil.

He won't ever mention the headpat again, but if by some lucky miracle he gets some time off, he'll seek the companionship of the Prefect.

Victim #5 - Vil

Vil is hard to find stressed, because he knows that stress messes with his sleep and that messes with his skin and he can't risk that, so he has spa days - that always get interrupted, yoga and meditation - that are ruined when Rook enters and spews verse after verse about such a lovely day being spent outside, well fine, he still has his cheat days to fall back on, except Epel ate all the berries.

He has no choice but to escape, and whats the one place he knows for sure he won't be bothered? Ramshackle, as long as he brings some tuna to bribe Grim away.

Yuu is the one to open the door, surprised but not bothered by his presence, and he asks if they would let him stay for just a few hours to just... hide.

He ends up falling asleep on the couch, which is one of the worst things he could have done, but when he wakes, he finds a pillow under his head and Yuu patting his hair gently.

While it wasn't part of the plan, it's certainly got a calming effect. Probably not as useful as a nice soak, but certainly something to keep in mind the next time he needs a quick pick-me-up

Idia - head pat headcannons

Obviously Yuu is the one to initiate, probably because the bitch called them 'the real life equivalent of a discord kitten' and he got so scared that to stave off their wrath he had to meow for them Kawaii Anime Girl Style

He got headpats for being a good kitten and went [Windows XP Error Sound Effect]

Do not mention or his head will turn pink and He Will Never Speak Again

Ortho will spill the beans and say that his Nii-san has developed an odd fascination with the action Ortho PLEASE DONT SPEAK YOUR BROTHER COMMANDS IT

Malleus - head pat headcannons

So idk I've never met a dude with horns on his head, and I would think that the horns kinda be like tusks on an elephant, or like, a tooth. Not a lot of feeling, but they still got nerves

But they are still the symbol of his might and power, so it's gonna be hard to get him to let anyone get near them. I feel like it would almost be seen as an insult if he were to lower his head and expose his horns.

Yuu asked very politely with no ill intentions, and he knows that, so it's probably why he does let the Little Child of man inspect the horns.

What he doesn't expect is for them to place a hand right between, and just. pet him. He would chuckle, but he wouldn't complain.

This Child of Man always manages to surprise him somehow.

This was a little longer than expected, but it was fun to do an ask. Continue to feed me, children.

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blissfullyecho · 1 year

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healthy lifestyle habits + changes i’ve made in 2023 (part 1)

1. feeling my breasts (the muscle) for any abnormal lumps at least once a week— this is especially important a week after the first day of my period. i’ve learned this from my obgyn. it’s normal to feel some lumps because it’s a muscle but what’s abnormal would only be known IF you take the time to know your anatomy.

2. ditched soda completely and started drinking flavored seltzer water— what i’ve found to be good is putting a crystal light or water flavoring packet in there for a healthier alternative to soda. i like soda with greasy food because i feel like it helps “cut” the grease so this is good if you are the same way when you eat things like pizza, burgers, etc.

3. i stopped drinking alcohol— wine, spirits, champagne, all of it. if i go out, i order a seltzer with a lime or a mocktail of some sort.

4. i started being on social media less and it has made my sleep schedule better— i started using the queue feature on tumblr and i took less interest in instagram and tiktok. i love these apps but i stopped finding other people more interesting than i am

5. i stopped eating so much—i would mindlessly eat all day but now i have a set eating schedule which helps me focus on other things besides eating. i eat breakfast around 6am, lunch around 1:30pm, and dinner at 5pm. my meals go from big (breakfast) to small (dinner). i’ve noticed that these are the only times i actually get hungry so i’ve been listening to my body and being intuitive in such that i have a routine down.

6. just recently, i have started going to bed and waking up at the same time each day, even on weekends— this has helped me by having increased energy and just a better quality of sleep. i have to wake up at 4:45am on some days because of work so i use that time to wake up everyday and go to bed around 9:30pm.

7. confession: i used to be horrible at flossing, but now i have been flossing every night before i brush my teeth— i floss before so i can loosen up the food that’s lodged between my teeth so that when it’s time to actually brush my teeth, the bristles can get in there better to clean.

8. this is typical and base level, but i’ve been drinking water like crazy— i highly recommend a large, cooling water bottle that you can carry around with you throughout the day. it’s so important to stay hydrated. i aim for a minimum of 64oz, but sometimes reach up to 80oz if it’s hot, if i’m active, etc. i listen to my body but i don’t drink less than 64oz of water each day

9. i’ve been getting my body moving daily— it’s a privilege to move your body so i make the effort each day to be active. the days i work at the hospital, i’m on my feet my entire shift pretty much with the exception of my lunch break. when i’m charting, i try to stand instead of sit but i do allow myself to sit when i’m tired. so my hospital shifts allow me to be active and walk my 10,000+ steps each day but when i’m not at the hospital, i go to the gym and do an hour workout session there.

10. i started drinking my coffee black— it’s so gross, but i need the caffeine for work but i don’t want to have the unnecessary sugars that i like to have in my coffee. i’m starting to get used to it (kinda) and i don’t have those crashes like i used to when i did put cream and sugar in my coffee. occasionally i’ll have a sugary and creamy coffee, but it’s not a daily occurrence like it was before.

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ash-says · 1 month

Text

How to tackle Fragmented Sleep/ Sleep disruptions :

This post is inspired and geared to help @thisisneededfmr .

Also to every one of those who are going through similar issues. It becomes extremely taxing when you can't sleep peacefully at night. You keep on waking up in between after some hours if not then suddenly you are half asleep which according to me is even more annoying. Being an insomniac or nightmares can make this condition even worse.

Sleep fragmentation can be described as frequent interruption or disruption in the normal sleep cycle. It can cause various chronic health issues as well as have repercussions on mental health.

Ways to tackle Fragmented Sleep:

1) Develop a sleep schedule:

Instead of being a night owl jump into your bed and try to sleep. It will be difficult at first but slowly and steadily you might fall asleep. Count numbers?? Try to sleep at the same time everyday. Because once it becomes a habit you will automatically feel sleepy.

2) Avoid Caffeine or any foods that result in hyperactivity:

Coffee is infamous for making you feel nervous and jittery. So avoid it before bedtime hours. Any kind of foods that result in a hyperactive nervous system cancel them out.

3) Practice relaxation techniques:

Listen to calming music, do breath work, meditate, read a nice book before you fall asleep. This might help in calming your nerves.

4) Exercise regularly and do yoga before sleeping:

The benefits of exercise are well known to us. I don't want to waste my time in convincing you about it. There are some specific yoga asanas you can do before sleeping and trust me it works like wonders. One of my friends when I used to live in a dorm made us do it and the sleep after that was just a chef's kiss.

5) Limit screen time before bed:

The radiations emitted by the phone or electronic devices disturb your sleep cycle. So try not to use your phone before you fall asleep. In fact at my home this is a rule we never sleep with the phones near us. They are kept at a great distance so that the quality of sleep is not disturbed.

6) Try not to do work or other activities in bed:

I read it somewhere on Tumblr long back please if anyone knows the blog kindly tag them in comments so I can give the reference here. It stated that you should only use your bed for sleeping as it will automatically signal your brain to sleep once you are in there.

7) Address your mental issues:

Most of the time sleep fragmentation is caused by psychological problems. Is there something you are trying to escape from? Or are you in a stressful environment? Depression? Anxiety? Adhd?etc you get my point right. Try to fix those issues. Your problem might be arising from there. Who knows.

8) Check your medicines if you are on any:

Literally!!! I am not kidding. It's really serious. Some medicines put your nervous system in hyperactive mode resulting in fragmented sleep. Check with your doctor and share these things with them. If the problem has started after you started the dosage maybe it's responsible for it.

From here the suggestions are based on personal experience with no scientific data to back it up. Use your own discernment.

9) Hug someone or something and sleep:

This works for me sometimes. If there's someone you are close to then try asking them if they would be okay to sleep while hugging you or holding you close. It's therapeutic. Plus it helps in relaxing the adrenaline in your body and brings you out of the survival mode.

10) Sleep in an open space:

Sometimes our bodies are not able to relax in a confined place. It's part of a phase especially if you have trauma related to closed areas. It can be triggering for your body and your brain might wake you up in between to look for danger. So sleeping in an open space like a balcony or something might work.

11) Keep a knife under your pillow:

I know this sounds ridiculous but it's a belief in our culture that doing it solves sleep related issues. Especially if you are having nightmares. And even if it doesn't work you have a knife to swing if someone attacks you in case. It's cool.

12) See a doctor:

When nothing of the above helps and even your own techniques that you might know it's high time you take professional help. It's not something you should ignore.

Being stated all that I really wish you a GOOD NIGHT SLEEP and pray that you overcome these issues. There are a lot of underlying causes that result in sleep fragmentation but the main one being Stress, Trauma, Emotional distress,etc.

So find a friend and vent it out if you are going through any negative state of mind. If you don't have anyone my ask box is always open. Drop a message and I will try to reach out to you as soon as I can.

Reminder: You are doing great given the circumstances. So keep fighting on and don't let anything have power over you.

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xiaq · 4 months

Text

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it Pt. 11

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9 Pt. 10

Eddie wakes up the following morning to Steve Harrington sitting cross-legged beside him, loading the magazine of a handgun.

“Whu?” Eddie manages.

When they’d all gone to sleep––Eddie checks the clock, five hours ago, why are they even awake?––Robin, Chrissy, and Nancy had taken the guest bed while Steve and Eddie made due with sleeping bags and camping cots on the floor. The kids were split between Dustin’s room and the living room.

And now, instead of sleeping in like most sane people would do after the apocalypse was avoided, Steve is loading a gun. He’s also still wearing Eddie’s shirt and boxers. While loading a gun.

Eddie should not have to deal with this so early in the morning.

“Hey,” Steve says.“You can keep sleeping. A couple of us are going to do a quick check at the last open gate. Make sure it still looks like he’s really gone this time.”

The he is weighty.

Eddie shoves himself into a sit, scrubbing at the crust in his eyes.

“Okay. What time are we leaving?”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Steve murmurs absently, sliding in the now-full magazine, checking the safety is on before standing. “You’re sleeping. I’m going.”

“Okay, but who’s going with you?”

Steve tucks the gun into the duffle bag that Eddie recognizes from the night before, then stoops to pick up the ammo box. His movements are awkward around his still-bandaged hand, around the clear pain from his ribs.

“Hopper, Nance, Jonathan, Robin, El, and I,” he says. “One of the scientists from the lab and two of the suits. Not that they’ve ever been useful. Kids are staying here with Joyce and Murray.”

“You’re injured,” Eddie points out, standing.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m uninjured,” he presses. “And I’m a pretty good shot, thanks to Wayne. Especially if you give me one of those shotguns.”

Steve’s movements become even more jerky as he shoves another box into the bag. “No, Eddie. Just hang out here. We’ll be back soon.”

“Okay, fuck no. You’re not leaving me behind with the literal children again.”

“It’s not a debate,” Steve says, every ounce the infuriating my-word-is-law asshole that stalks the halls of Hawkins high. “You’re not coming, deal with it.”

“I am coming, and you can deal with it. I don’t know why you seem to think I’m useless and I don’t care, but you’ve got plenty of guns to go around and I know how to shoot one. I’m coming.”

Steve stops packing shit into his bag. “No,” he says, low and dangerous. “You’re not.”

Eddie steps into his space, tips his head, and practically snarls into Steve’s mouth: “Oh, Harrington. I am begging you to try and stop me and see what happens.”

“Would you just fucking—no,” Steve shouts, voice breaking. “No, okay? I can’t. I can’t take you down there.”

“Why not?!” Eddie shouts back.

“Because even when we thought it was safe, even when we planned for you not to––we took so many fucking precautions, but it always happened. Every time. And even if it seems okay now, I can’t do that again, especially not when we’ve come so far this time. I can’t even see you down there, okay? I will lose whatever’s left of my goddamn mind. So no. Please, no. Eddie.”

And that. Well. Eddie was not expecting that.

He takes a step back. He considers Steve’s face—the tight, stricken, set of his mouth and the sheen to his eyes. And something occurs to him.

“You said that when you first went back in time it wasn’t enough,” Eddie murmurs. “That you made several attempts but you still lost.”

“Yeah.”

“Was I there? For all of them?”

“Yeah.”

“How many times did you watch me die?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Too many,” Steve says, and his voice cracks between the words. “Please don’t make me do it again.”

The way he says it, the way he looks when he says it, makes Eddie take another step back.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Okay, I’ll stay here.”

They’re only gone for two hours but Eddie has worked himself up into something of a frenzy by then.

The kids keep trying to talk to him about the Eddie they knew before, about D&D and their former lives and hey if we’re going to be stuck in the past do you think we can skip a few grades?

Eddie does his best to follow along but he’s caught thinking about the panic in Steve’s eyes, the supplication, when he’d begged Eddie not to come. He can’t stop wondering how many times they went back. How many times they failed. How many times Steve probably blamed himself for the failure.

Eddie has been––not jealous, exactly, but a little frustrated by the fact that everyone except for him and Chrissy, and Barb before she left, had a strange and slightly overwhelming camaraderie. They had all these experiences in common––they’d shared life-changing moments, and Eddie constantly felt like the odd man out. Like he was trying to play catchup with only the barest of plot outlines. It didn’t seem fair, that he was expected to adapt so quickly to the knowledge that alternate dimensions and time travel and monsters existed while simultaneously trying to fill the shoes of his former––future?––self.

Now, though, he thinks about the shadows that seem to permanently live in Steve’s eyes and he wonders if maybe the opposite is worse. Steve had adapted to the horrors over time. Too much time. Time pressed between layers of time where the only memories created were negative. Were painful.

He thinks he should probably give Steve a hug when he gets back.

Wayne had called when he got off work––the suits had contacted him earlier that morning and put him up in the motel in town. They’ed told him there was seismic activity and the trailer had been damaged and the government would be taking care of a replacement, which Wayne had reported to Eddie with a bemused yet hopeful tone. “Guess I won’t have to save to fix the roof anymore, huh?”

Eddie probably hadn’t shown the proper enthusiasm for the unexpected windfall, because he was too busy twisting the phone cord around his fingers and staring out the kitchen window at the empty cul-de-sac, hoping that maybe, if he stared hard enough, Hopper’s truck might appear.

When it finally does appear, Dustin is trying to cajole him into eating a pancake while Chrissy is asking, for the third time, how, exactly, she died, which the kids are being very shady about––apparently she and Barb and Eddie had all been killed by this Vecna dude. Barb very explicitly did not want to know how she died. Crissy vehemently does. Eddie…isn’t certain. He’s afraid he was a coward, at the end. He doesn’t want that assumption confirmed.

When the truck pulls up in front of the house, the kids pile onto Steve and the others first, with hugs and questions and requests to go with them next time.

Eddie and Chrissy watch from the doorway.

“So,” Eddie says. “Is this super weird for you too, or––?”

“Yeah,” she says, not sounding very upset about it. “It’s nice, though, at the same time.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at her. “Finding out the monster from the hell-version of Hawkins killed you in a different reality is ‘nice’?”

She leans into him so she can poke her elbow into his ribs. “Well not that part, obviously. But the part where––I’ve never had close friends before. I’ve had, like, cheerleading friends. Or friends I spend time with because their parents are friends with my parents. But never people of my own. Who like…genuinely care about me.” She nods to the group in the driveway, laughing as Robin pantomimes something. “They all love each other so much. And they thought I was worth saving. That’s pretty cool. To have a group like this care about you.”

Eddie can’t argue with that.

Hopper shepherds everyone back inside and they cheerfully lay into the food that Joyce and Claudia had made in their absence. The kids are talking about the upcoming science fair and maybe they can win it this time with a little extra knowledge on their side. Joyce is wondering if that’s cheating since technically they’re all freshmen in highschool now competing on a seventh-grade level. Dustin says it doesn’t matter because somebody needs to put Justin Malcovich in his place—it’d be an act of public service to knock him off his science fair throne––

Eddie agrees with Chrissy. He does feel honored and flattered and a little uncomfortable, honestly, with the affection the kids and Steve obviously have for him. But he doesn’t understand how he fits here. Or at least how this version of him fits. Maybe he’s not ready to be a part of whatever this is. Maybe there’s a reason they didn’t meet for several years.

“Well that’s not a good expression,” Steve murmurs, coming to stand beside him.

He’s still wearing Eddie’s shirt. And he smells. So fucking good.

“This is just a lot.” Eddie admits.

“Fair,” Steve agrees. “You want to go sit on the roof?”

“...is that an option?”

Steve snags two pancakes from the table, grabs Eddie’s hand—his hand, not his wrist. His hand. And pulls him up the stairs.

They sit on the roof.

It’s not terribly steep, but it’s steep enough that they crab-walk past the window so they can put their backs against the sun-warmed siding for a little extra confidence.

“You mind?” Eddie asks, pulling a joint from his pocket.

“Only if you’re not planning to share.”

Eddie is planning to share.

They sit in companionable silence for several minutes, fingertips brushing, probably more fraught than it needs to be, as they pass the joint back and forth.

“So,” he says, shoving hair out of his face as the wind tries to push it directly into his mouth. “I’m assuming everything looked ok?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “totally fine. Hopper said the kids can come next time, so that should tell you how safe he thinks it is.”

“But still not me?” Eddie asks.

Maybe he shouldn’t. But he feels like their conversation from that morning didn’t ever get to the point he wanted it to.

“Still not you,” Steve agrees, abruptly somber. “Never you.”

Eddie waits for Steve to continue, to explain, but he doesn’t. And Eddie isn’t feeling so cruel to push. Instead, he tries to french braid his hair back out of his face and is only partially successful. If he and the wind are keeping score, the wind is definitely winning.

“Oh, here,” Steve rocks to one side so he can pull something out of his back pocket. It’s Eddie’s bandana. “This was in with my laundry from last night,” Steve explains. “Come here, I’ll tie your hair back for you.”

Eddie doesn’t move for several seconds because the words don’t really make sense. He’s perfectly capable of tying back his own hair, he certainly doesn’t need Steve's help. He’s also not going to turn it down, though.

He moves closer. He shifts so his back is partially to Steve.

Steve’s fingers sink into his hair with a degree of familiarity that is a little winding. He combs it back as best as he’s able and then uses the bandana to gather it at the nape of his neck.

“There,” he says, using one hand on Eddie’s shoulder to turn him back around “better?”

It is better.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, despite the fact that Eddie hasn’t said anything. He tucks a few flyaway strands behind Eddie’s ear. “Looks good.”

Eddie exhales the smoke he’s been holding in his chest: long and slow and contemplative.

He passes the joint. He decides to be brave.

“Can I ask you something? And if you’re pissed after, can you just…let me leave. And not punch me in the face. Please.”

“Punch you—Eddie, what?”

“Are you flirting with me? Because it feels like you’ve been flirting with me. Pretty blatantly, man. And it’s seriously doing my head in because there’s no way, except––I just need to know. If you are.”

“Fuck,” Steve says. “I’m not trying to. I mean, I guess I am, sometimes, but it’s not––”

“Cool. Cool ok so, we’ll just forget I said anything and––” he pushes himself up, careful to keep his sneakers parallel to the roofline so he doesn’t fall to his death. Though, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad at this juncture.

“No. Shit, I knew I’d fuck this up. Eddie, please.”

Steve pulls him back down. Eddie lets him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to act around you because I know you aren’t the Eddie I knew, but you’re so similar and I’m selfish and I just…

“What?”

“Typically I only had you for a few days. The same few days. Over and over. Danger and blood and death, so this is nice.”

“What, getting to leave the hellscape timeline? Getting to eat pancakes and smoke and not worry about the end of the world?”

“Getting to keep you.” Steve whispers.

He closes his eyes after he says it, too slow to be a blink. Eddie thinks he probably didn’t mean to say it, judging by the grimace on his face. “Before it was just the same thing. A week of terror. Over and over again. And I only got stolen moments with you in between all of it. So this, and the last couple weeks, it’s just nice. That's all.”

“Oh,” Eddie says.

The silence between them is heavy.

“Were we…” Eddie isn’t sure how to ask.

“No,” Steve says, meeting his careful gaze. “Not really. But there was something. Or I think there could have been something, but it was mostly just looks and touches and I probably misinterpreted them anyway.”

Eddie breathes. “You probably didn’t.”

“What?”

“Steve,” he says. “Come on.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

“Can I kiss you?”

You can do anything you want to me, Eddie thinks. Instead, he says, “Yes. Please.”

***

Tag list:

@perfectlysensiblenonsense @stxrcrossed186 @mushie8123 @starlight-archer @estrellami-1 @snowstar2368 @superfanne @starlight-archer @child-of-cthulhu @djohawke @zerokrox-blog @alwayscertainwasteland @brie-luna @sharingisntkaren @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @deadfromtheneckdown @y4r3luv @manda-panda-monium @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlprocastinator1000

#steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson/steve harrington #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve/eddie

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amywritesthings · 1 year

Text

SEEING YOU, SEEING ME (6/7)

(gif by williamsmiller)

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.8K

Summary: Day four, also known as the final day with Joel

Warnings: SMUT! 18+! No Minors! Pre-TLOU, One Bed Trope, Age difference, Semi-Enemies to Fuckers, Angst, Sexual Tension, Dirty talk, Pet names, Touch Starved!Joel, Doggy style, Multiple positions, Nipple play, Oral (f!receiving), Oral (m!receiving), Orgasms (4), Rough sex, Spanking, Protected PiV

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter | Masterlist

CHAPTER 6: REACH OUT, TOUCH FAITH

Sunlight blasts its way through the small studio apartment by the time you stir awake.

In the aftermath of a fervent night, the day arrives calm. Birds chirp blissfully in the crisp morning air. Shouts are few and far between on the quarantine zone streets below. A breeze billows the thin ivory curtains at the windowsill and tickles your nose.

Then something runs against the thin sheet — a hand — and nudges your ankle lightly in an effort to bring you back to the land of the living. At first it feels like a mirage, but then the hand once again wiggles your leg with added pressure.

While the gentle touch should startle you, you only smile against the pillow case and roll towards it.

(Maybe he's tired of hiding behind walls.)

“Hey, Joel.”

“Joel?”

The question is heavy with surprise.

The voice is gruff but melodic.

Instantly your eyes snap open to see a grinning Tess at the foot of the bed. In the glow of the morning, your friend appears exhausted. Yet the longer she watches your horrified stare, the more her tiredness twists into playful intrigue.

“I leave for three days and suddenly you two are on a first-name basis? Damn.”

“That isn’t—”

“Must’ve been one hell of a vacation, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Tess—”

“Relax,” she interrupts, leaning in as if she holds the greatest secret in the quarantine zone. She pats your leg one more time from over the sheet while you scramble to sit up against the back wall. “I’m only fucking with you. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I am happy to see you,” you correct sharply. “You haven’t been back here in days.”

“Yeah, because Robert has a hard-on for being difficult.”

Tess relents and stands to give your space out of your slumber. Albeit exhausted, she also seems pleased to say the least. Chipper.

Tess is rarely such without a reason.

“But you’re okay?” you ask, quickly buttoning your denim jeans while her back is turned.

“Yeah, thanks to you. You know how much I hate owing people,” Tess replies over her shoulder while her hand reaches out for the back of a dining table chair. The furniture drags along the floor until she can position it between the threshold separating the bedroom from the living room. Her leg lifts to straddle the seat, unceremoniously flopping as she descends. “Good thing I don’t owe you anymore though.”

You blink. “Wait, they took the deal?”

“And then some.” Tess drops her chin to her stacked hands at the crown of the chair’s backing. “As of four hours ago, we have a ceasefire deal for the next six months.”

“Six months?” The words blurt faster than you can stop them, eyes wide. “No shit?”

“No shit."

"They've never agreed past two."

"I know, so color me shocked when he put six on the table. Congratulations, you’re a free woman.” She stops, holding up a cautionary hand. “But — starting tomorrow. Don’t run out the front door just yet. I have to let Joel know he’s putting up with you for one more night, but it seems like he’s managing it.”

His name makes your skin burn.

You shouldn’t ask.

“Where is he, by the way?”

(Why did you ask?)

“As far as I know, he took up a job early this morning. Body disposal.” How grave, no pun intended. “Why? Eager for Eeyore to come back?”

You stay purposefully ignorant to the lingering question Tess isn’t asking, not when you know your face is turning shades of a sheepish color. Shaking your head, you remove the sheet from your waist and stand, toeing your boots on.

“And where are you going to be?” you ask instead, switching the subject.

Tess shrugs a shoulder, not the least bit bothered. “I have to come up with a token of good faith with some Fedra fucks tonight, but I'll be fine. Probably going to head back here early so we get you out at curfew start. I signed you up for a first shift sweep job tomorrow, so you can crawl back into QZ like nothing ever happened.”

Except everything has happened, at least to you.

Only a few more hours before you’re not contained in this apartment.

(Only a few more hours until Joel Miller never has to speak to you again.)

“Hey.”

The sound of her voice wakes you from the morose thought. You blink back to her — she stares with a knitted brow. Observing.

Christ, they really are like two peas in a pod.

“You good?”

“Better than good,” you lie. “Thank you for doing all of this.”

At first the other woman doesn’t answer, instead opting to mull over whatever’s laced between the lines of this conversation that aren’t clicking. Unlike Joel, however, Tess gives up fairly fast. She rises from her seat, wiping her hands on the thighs of her denim jeans.

“Thank me tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m off to tie up loose ends. Joel should be home by four-something.”

“Okay,” you answer numbly, staying put where you stand as she gathers some food from the cupboards to shove into her pack for the day ahead. She pays no mind beyond a bland smile, waving goodbye behind her as she goes for the front door.

It slams shut on her way out.

According to the rusty clock on the nightstand, it’s 4:00 p.m.

Joel is nowhere to be found.

You wait on the couch fidgeting with your thumbs, staring up at the door every few minutes.

Maybe the clock doesn’t work.

It’s 6:00 p.m.

The clock at least works, but still no sign of Joel.

7:55 rolls around.

Curfew is in five minutes. You begin to worry.

Maybe he’s not showing up tonight.

9:02.

You fluff the pillow on the bed, deflated in spirit ready for a shorter night’s sleep.

It's all but confirmed that last night must have been a fluke thing. A midnight decision that doesn’t follow into the day.

A mistake.

Boom.

The front door bursts open, startling you to stand in a defensive panic. The sight of a disheveled Joel Miller greets you from the hallway, breath labored and ragged. Yet he turns to quietly shut the door behind him, lingering there for a beat.

"Miller?"

He turns at his last name with a step forward to walk towards you. Worry spills into your gut, twisting it.

“Hey, where the fuck have you—”

Joel doesn’t stop walking, so you stop talking.

Past the kitchen, past the living room.

He barrels clear past the archway’s threshold and into you with this thousand-yard stare. He takes both sides of your head into his large hands with a gentleness you didn't expect him to possess. You don't move away, stilled in shock by his abrupt advancement.

Waiting.

It’s just Joel, nostrils flaring and gaze empty — haunted — as he catches his breath, and you, wide-eyed and waiting for an explanation.

He doesn’t give one, not at first. It’s like he’s not really here with you — he's lost in a pool of memories he can’t swim his way out of, not on his own.

So you gently place a hand on his wrist.

“Miller.”

A demanding bark without fear is the one thing that blinks the older man back into his body. Finally he looks into your eyes, alert and aware, as plush lips part with an excuse he cannot find.

There.

Joel’s back from wherever he went.

“Talk to me. Is everything okay?” you murmur, mindful of your tone.

Joel licks the seam of his lips, contemplating, but he never removes his hands from the sides of your face. The proximity of him in this impossibly small space is palpable. He shifts in an uncertain manner, like he’s nervous.

(Joel Miller, nervous; it's as ludicrous as it sounds, yet it's happening right in front of you. A skittish animal stuck between rock and a hard place.)

“You said you don’t care," he finally says.

It isn't the statement you were expecting him.

“What?”

“Was any of it true?” he asks instead. You don't answer beyond furrowing your brow, so he speaks again. “That it doesn’t matter. That you don’t really care.”

The dots in the dark connect.

“...wait, you mean about last night—?”

“M’asking if what you said was true,” he growls, causing a pause to settle in the night air.

(Don’t ask for things you don’t understand.)

You're able to nod every so gently into his hands.

He exhales sharply like it’s a blow to the gut, but doesn’t let go.

“You were still asleep,” he tells you in a mumble, "so I took up a job."

“I know,” you finally say just as softly. “And it’s a good thing you did, too, because Tess stopped by to say that I was—”

“Out of the woods,” he finishes for you. “Yeah, she showed up after my shift and told me. Said it was your last night stuck here.”

“And she told me that you’d be back by four o'clock.”

“Yeah, was supposed to be, but I showered and ate somewhere else. Thought maybe you needed the space.” He swallows thickly. “Except she said you woke up asking for me.”

(Thanks, Tess.)

You scoff. “Well — I wasn’t asking for you, but I thought it was right to assume it was you trying to wake me up.”

“So then you don’t regret it.”

What ought to be a question is not.

It takes a minute to swallow what he’s really trying to say — you wouldn’t have wanted to see me after the things we did last night, right? God forbid you regret mutually jerking off with me.

A humorless huff passes your lips, causing his brow to furrow. “Did you really think I would?”

By the way the older man hesitates once more, clearly not expecting a question in return, he did.

Your shoulders drop with the weight of his shame, his uncertainty — your hope.

(Because you deserve something better. More. Not something hollow or broken.)

Without thinking, your fingers squeeze his wrist in a comforting pulse — I’m here — and his frame deflates.

“I can’t give you much,” he admits under his breath. He looks into your eyes with a struggling honesty. “I don’t know if I can give you anything at all.”

The confession is almost heartbreaking.

You shake your head with a short huff. “Look, I’m not asking you for—”

“I know you’re not,” he interrupts. “That’s the frustrating part. You’re not asking anything of me when you ought to. You keep saying you see me when I thought I got nothing left in me but..." Joel trails off, licking the seam of his lips. "S’why I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You ask before you can stop yourself.

“Haven't stopped thinking about... what?”

He gets quiet, hands still cupping your face. You remain there, hand resting on his wrist.

Slowly Joel begins to lean his face in, closer, as if he might kiss you.

Caution to the wind; if you raised your chin, your lips would meet.

Joel then draws in a loud, sharp inhale from his nose and closes his eyes like he’s in pain. As if all of this is too much to bear — I can’t give you much — when all he truly wants is to be able to do one thing and one thing alone.

So you speak when he can’t find the words:

“You don’t have to kiss me.”

The bluntness of your whispered statement makes him open his eyes.

You smile, small and certain, to show you mean it.

Something shifts in his expression, wounded yet grateful for your willingness to see him here. The soft puffs of his breath tickle you when he speaks.

“I will,” he decides.

His left hand leaves your cheek to run along your ear and into your hair, snaking and threading through the strands. He tugs your head back to expose your neck, ripping your attention to the ceiling with a gasp.

“Just not there.”

Finally he takes the plunge, pressing his lips to the pulse point of your neck like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do all week. They travel hungrily up the base of your throat, eliciting a whimper from you. He hums appreciatively against your skin.

You laugh breathlessly at the sky. “I swear, Miller—”

He tugs at your hair again, this time harder. You wince from impact.

“What did I say about my name?”

From the couch was one thing. Up close? His voice, his demands, are downright sinful. The implications make every bone in your body melt on impact.

“Joel.”

He nips at your flesh, careless to the thought of the mark showing later. You jump, but he keeps you in place with a hand at your hip. The touch is desperate; his fingers tremble against the sliver of skin your hiked shirt gives him, but he feigns total confidence as his kisses climb higher.

Joel's tongue hotly drags along the shell of your ear with a whisper that could end you.

“You gonna listen as good as you did last night, Gibson Girl?” You nod. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I will.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I’ll fucking listen, Joel, now stop teasing.”

“It ain’t you who’s in control here, darlin’.”

Abruptly Joel moves away and you worry that you’ve spoken back too much, but he hunches down and uses a smuggler’s strength to position his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and off the floor.

Purposeful in his walk to the bedroom, you lean in to press chaste kisses down his neck, earning a grunt of urgency. In one swift motion he tosses you to the mattress and drags you by your calves towards the edge of the bed, bringing both of your knees to rest against his hips.

Quickly he leans over, unbuttoning your worn shirt and ripping it away to expose your chest to the cool night air. Your nipples are already taut from want, standing at attention, and he stares for a moment to witness your nakedness for himself.

If you weren’t so turned on, then maybe you’d feel the need to be modest. You don’t. Not when you damn well know you’re already wet for him, all too eager to please.

Joel stands tall to struggle with his own flannel shirt, popping the buttons one by one as you watch. He pauses for a moment, as if in an internal debate with himself, before shrugging it off and tossing the fabric to the side.

You see it all: the knicks and scars of a survivor, the stray bullet streaks and worn patches of wounds that never, and will never, heal. From his belly button trails a line of dark hair that disappears straight into his denim jeans, causing your mouth to water.

Joel stops moving at your blatant hungry stare while catching his breath. In this light, he looks vulnerable. Lost, like he wants everything all at once yet without taking the first step to get it.

You can be the light he follows, here, in the dark.

Slowly you slink from your laid out position — first your elbows, then the drag of your knees up to plant your feet — before gliding to sit on your knees. The older man’s expression darkens, pupils blown to black, as your button-down hangs loosely off your shoulders.

In a test of faith, you reach your right hand forward — and hover your fingers at the zipper. His jeans seem uncomfortably tight, but Joel does not move.

“What are you willing to give me?” you murmur, staring up at him.

His nostrils flare, confliction etched across his worn expression. You nod — it’s okay, it’s fine — before sliding the zipper down to release some pressure.

“Let me,” you implore quietly, and his stomach tenses. “If you want me to stop, I will. You know I can be good for you. I’ll listen.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, but it isn’t a flat-out no. You pop the button of his jeans, careful to take your time with tugging the waistband down his hips, over his ass, until his hard cock springs free.

The sight of it is better than you could have ever dreamed.

Your mouth waters.

“May I?” you ask in an out-of-body experience, fixated on what you want. Joel only responds by threading a hand through your hair, leading you lower.

Bending at the hips to accommodate, you place a chaste kiss to the tip of his cock. The smuggler hisses under his breath, grip painfully tight in your hair, but it only encourages you to continue.

Dragging your tongue along the vein of his shaft, you make it a point to look up at him — to watch the concentration on his face — before closing your mouth over the tip of him. The swirl of your tongue is enough to warrant a vice-like grip in your hair, balled in a fist and causing your eyes to water.

You don’t stop.

All of your attention is focused on tasting him, to worship what little control he’s relented. You hollow your cheeks and he curses outright, loud, and you’ve never felt more alive in your life. Taking him in with a rhythmic bob of your head, you feel the excruciating ache between your legs grow. He grunts, bucks, and breathes heavily through his nose like he’s trying to keep a semblance of control.

You barely get to take him in deep before he’s forcefully dragging your mouth off his cock with a lewd pop that echoes in the apartment.

“You do that any longer, and I’ll be out of commission real quick,” Joel exhales.

Before you can protest, he shoves you back onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. His hands rip your shirt away from your shoulders, lips possessed to leave their mark in a brutal suck to your clavicle. His fingers drop to your jeans, determined to pop the button.

He curls his palms around the waistband of your jeans and underwear and shoves them down your legs in a singular motion, leaving you completely exposed. The gasp is delayed, lost somewhere in your throat when he surges both of your arms over your head, pinning you in place.

Joel hovers over you, chest to naked chest, and stares into your eyes as he takes one hand in his, guiding it by entwining your fingers together. Mesmerized, you allow him to drag your palm under the cool belly of the pillow overhead. He repeats the motion with your other hand, placing them out of sight.

“Keep your hands under that, y’hear?”

Your expression shifts with realization: he isn’t going to let you touch him anymore.

“But I wanna feel you," you protest.

“You’re gonna feel plenty of me,” he promises, dragging a finger gently down your chest until it passes over a nipple. Your body jolts with electricity. “Gonna be nice and slow until you can’t stand it.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He chuckles as he tests the waters, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. Yours grip onto the fabric of the pillowcase for dear life.

“That ain’t my name, but I’ll take it.”

You huff out a laugh, but the humor is quickly lost as he continues to roll your nipple between his fingers. Experimenting. Seeing what makes you tick.

(If the pool of wetness between your legs is any indicator, then he should know everything about him has worked plenty.)

“I don’t think I can handle the slow part,” you admit as he continues to toy with the same nipple without a plan to continue forward.

“You’re gonna take whatever I give,” Joel tells you. “Can take twenty minutes. Can take two hours. Can take all night. I know you got nowhere to be.”

You could come right now without him ever touching you anywhere else.

And he means it — for what feels like hours he experiments playing with your breasts, cupping each mound and swirling his thumb, pinching, rolling, before making you shout when the wet heat of his mouth closes around it.

Then he repeats with the other in similar glacial torture and you feel like you might cry.

You’d be embarrassed at how slick your thighs have become, but you just tremble under his attention, hoping he’ll find some mercy and fuck you before daylight.

Finally — finally — Joel begins his descent from your chest to your ribs, kissing his way down your body. You choke on a sob when he hooks an arm under your thigh.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmurs into your skin like his own personal infection, sending your nerve endings on fire.

“Please, Joel,” you whimper, fighting to keep your hands under the pillow as promised. “God, please, I’ll give you anything you want if you just—”

“If I what?” he interrupts, looking up at you from your pubic mound. “Ain’t you giving me what I want already?”

You’re ready to fight him, but he silences any argument before it even hits your tongue the second his drags along your folds. Gasping loudly, you fly your hand to the top of the pillow to grab the material into a fist, breaking his rules.

Joel merely hums in approval around your clit before swirling his tongue with relentless determination. Maybe he’s implied it has been a while, but you’d never know. Not from the way he licks, sucks, and worships you from the edge of the bed like you hold the lifeline of what it means to survive right between your legs.

You can already feel the orgasm cresting, forcing your hips to buck into his face.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t try, when you’re busy babbling a stream of curses laced with his name.

Joel, Joel, Joel—

Like a star bursting in the night sky, your sudden orgasm causes you to yell. He groans into you, keeping up the rhythm of his tongue against your clit until you whisper frantically for him to stop.

He obeys, backing off for a second, but not for another longer.

Brutally his hands grab your hips, flipping you over on the bed so that your nose collides with the sheets beneath you. His hands maneuver your already pliable body, raising your hips up, up, until you're on display only for him.

Joel pushes your knees wider so that he can look at all of your, thumb impatiently dragging along your sensitive clit and forcing you to jolt on contact.

“Feels like you’re ready for me,” he murmurs behind you, and you nod like a madwoman into the mattress. You hear the tear of a wrapper foil before he positions the tip of himself against your entrance, testing the give with gentle nudges, and you whine.

“Joel—”

You can’t ask him to fuck you when he wastes not a second more to slide into you, body so worked up that he easily fits. He groans loudly above you once he's bottomed out, right hand smacking your ass with a resounding pop.

“You feel even better than what I imagined,” he confesses in gruff adoration, gliding his hand down your spine. His palm presses your chest into the mattress as he drags his cock slowly back out of you. The older man then snaps his hips, filling you again, and doesn't stop once he's taken to a mercilessly rhythm.

The room reverberates with the sound of skin against skin, your moans and his grunts, the squeak of an old mattress on concrete slabs.

You want to be used.

You want to be ruined.

And he’s well on his way to doing so when he leans forward, gathering your waist with his arm. Joel surges you to your widened knees and drives his cock straight up into you as he traps you against his chest, fucking you relentlessly.

From gritted teeth you hear him groaning, cursing, praying on your name.

It’s too much.

“I’m gonna cum again,” you whimper, and his hand encloses over one of your breasts as he continues to fuck you.

“Yeah?” he asks into your ear. You nod against his shoulder, head bent back, and he toys with your nipple between his fingers. “Gonna get at least three out of you.”

“I don’t know if I can do—”

“You’re gonna,” he reassures, pinching your nipple hard. “For me, you’re gonna.”

It takes little to nothing beyond his voice to get you there. You feel yourself tightening around his cock, spasming from another devastating orgasm, and he groans through it. His movements slow, afraid you’ll milk him for what he’s worth here and now, and gently pulls himself out of you.

You fall forward on all fours onto the bed, limbs shaking from the power of your second climax. Joel stays close behind with a hand on your ass — I’m right here — before kissing the small of your back.

“Shit, Joel,” you mumble, and he laughs behind you.

Actual laughter, like this is a game.

“C’mon, girl. At your big age, you better not be quitting on me yet,” he teases, voice wrecked, before offering a light tap to your ass. “Turn around.”

Although your body feels like jelly, you oblige and roll onto your back. Joel Miller crawls onto the mattress to meet you, cock still hard and eager. Something magnetic forces you to sit up — first on your elbows, then to climb to your knees, until you’re meeting him in a straddle of his waist.

Nose to nose.

The unbridled confidence Joel had when he was behind you seems to dissipate. It’s replaced with a palpable uncertainty — one hesitant of the closeness, the intimacy, of finally being face to face with you here.

“It’s okay,” you murmur into the finite space between you, and he nods. Reaching for his hand on your thigh, you raise it to curl into the hair at the nape of your neck as you align the tip of him back over your entrance. Joel lets out a sputter of a breath, face flushed with sweat and arousal.

Inch by inch, you glide yourself back onto his cock.

Joel’s eyelids flutter from the sensation.

Soon you’re fully seated, legs wrapped around his waist. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist to keep you in place as you drag yourself up, then gently back down onto him. He groans with pleasure, brows screwed tightly together — but his eyes never stop watching.

Rather than close his eyes, he wants to watch.

So you watch, too.

Joel begins to meet your hips in a thrust from below, causing you to moan. Gradually the confidence returns as you fuck him, bouncing onto his cock with an urgency to find you third orgasm. He encourages you to take the lead, thrusting to meet you.

Breathing heavily through his nose, Joel then drops his hand from your hair to wrap it around your neck. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your head drop back with ecstasy. His hand reaches between you to find your clit, rubbing in furiously circles once you shout with the sudden pleasure.

From the way his hips begin to sputter and his groans get louder and more urgent, you imagine he’s getting close.

The thought alone of Joel coming now with your name on his lips — in front of you, because of you — brings that euphoric ache back through your body.

You drag your chin back down and he presses his forehead to yours, frantically thrusting up into you to find his orgasm.

You whisper dirty nothings between you, begging him to let go.

To feel.

I see you.

You never anticipated that he would drag you into a kiss just before he comes, but he does.

Joel pulls you in — devastated and broken — to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

Despite the shock of the sudden action, you bring both hands to his cheeks and kiss back.

Your mouth drinks down his loud moans as he comes inside you. The fingers swirling at your clit pull you to the edge with him as you whimper into his mouth. Your walls clamp down hard on him, causing him to only kiss you harder.

When his hips still, he doesn't pull away.

When the tremble of your limbs stop, neither do you.

After discarding the condom, Joel returns to bed and keeps you close.

You both drift to sleep without saying anything at all.

By morning light, you're gone.

Author's Note: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this series. The epilogue will publish a little before my birthday trip. (I turn 30 on March 2nd!) I am so very grateful for the likes, comments, reblogs, and everything in-between.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #tlou spoilers #joel miller imagine #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #fanfiction #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #amywritesthings #fic: seeing you seeing me #seeing you seeing me

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hottpinkpenguin · 1 year

Text

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us - Part 6

A/N: read part 1 ! read part 2 ! read part 3 ! read part 4! read part 5! Taglist: @midgetpottermills @casssiopeia @flyingmushroomss @amethystwonders11 @hiphopdancer101universe @kiszkawagnerwhore @littleshadow17 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @alm0501 @ch4rcuterie @lodeddiperrodrick @amandalove1355 @laurathefahrradsattel @moshpot24x @middleof-thenight @kettlechips3 @happymakercollectorsworld @alainabooks143 @mikariell95 @superbreadsoul @twd-rocks-blog @livmadsen11 @sage-bun @emmy626 @somenerdyuser @vitavenio

Warnings: dark themes; substance abuse; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 1824 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

----

Joel brought the radio closer to him, studying the frayed wires and noting the burnt out coil at the top. His brows furrowed in confusion as he tilted the radio to get a clearer angle in the morning sun. After trying to fall back to sleep for hours, Joel had finally succumbed to the sunshine and risen from the bed he shared with Tessa an hour or two after sunrise. It was the earliest morning he’d seen in weeks, and it reminded him of why he so often slept in. The sun was too bright, too warm and carefree to match the shades of gray he lived in.

With a heavy sigh, Joel took another healthy swig of coffee mixed with whiskey. He felt the heat of the liquid and the burn of alcohol all the way down his throat. He put his mug back down on the workbench in the old mechanics shop below where he and Tessa slept.

“Where the fuck have you been all morning?”

Tessa entered the shop in a swarm of anger, the door to the street outside slamming open and slamming shut again behind her. She’d left shortly after he’d awoken, presumably to organize whatever smuggling run she had planned for later that night.

“Right here, where I always am,” he drawled back. The whiskey in his morning coffee took just enough of an edge off his anger to keep him from taking Tessa’s bait.

“Yeah, well, I could’ve really used your help. Shit’s going fucking sideways around here and all you’re doing is holed up, drinking yourself til you’re pickled and playing around with a fucking radio!”

Joel shot Tessa a dark look, but didn’t move from his seat in front of the workbench.

“Aren’t you going to say something? Anything?!”

He shrugged, swapping out the screwdriver for a pair of needle-nosed pliers and keeping his face a mask of indifference.

“What do you want me to say?”

In truth, Joel didn’t care what Tessa wanted him to say. Between the terrible sleep he’d gotten last night and the hangover that he was now layering with a new buzz, he wasn’t sure he could name anything that he did care about at that moment.

“Fuck, Joel. You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?”

Tessa’s anger was beginning to deflate, bitterness taking its place.

“Look around you, Tessa. It’s the end of the goddamn world. What do you want me to do, make you breakfast in bed and fuck you on our granite kitchen counter while the kids are at soccer?”

Tessa didn’t reply. He could feel her eyes boring holes in the side of his head. A very distant part of Joel knew he should hate himself for taking out his own misery on someone else. But mostly, he didn’t care. He felt hollow like an empty well, and even drinking didn’t hit the bottom anymore.

A few moments of hateful silence stretched between them, the only sound was the soft metallic clink of Joel’s pliers at work on the radio’s wires.

“That explosion last night? That was Marlene and her crew. They got held up in a showdown with a horde of infected and blew up a propane truck.”

Joel couldn’t imagine why Tessa imagined he’d care. Marlene and the Fireflies were always taking unimaginable risks “for the cause”. Joel knew Marlene the way anyone who lived on the fringes of QZ society knew her. He didn’t care for the woman, although he had to admire her grit. The Fireflies were a losing cause if ever he’d seen one, but she’d kept their ill-fated rebellion limping along for years longer than he’d ever thought possible. She probably could have been someone worth a damn before the outbreak.

Tessa’s eyes were still glued to him, analyzing him the way a torturer would watch a prisoner during an interrogation. Joel tried to see the connection between what she’d just told him and whatever reaction she was watching for.

He turned to her, dropping the radio and his pliers in irritation.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” he challenged, his tone flat. He couldn’t even feign interest; he only wanted her to leave. The quiet and his broken radio were better companions.

A glimmer of triumph sparked in Tessa’s eyes. She smirked softly.

“Apparently your old bed warmer was with them.”

Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the lack of sleep, but he didn’t register her meaning for a few breaths. That self-satisfied glint in Tessa’s eyes didn’t dim.

“Y/N. She was out with Marlene last night. Didn’t make it back, so I heard.”

The bottom of Joel’s stomach fell out as his understanding clicked into place. He felt his fingers dig into the skin of his palms as he struggled to maintain a semblance of composure under Tessa’s gloating gaze.

“K.”

It was all Joel could manage. His grip on himself was slipping fast.

“Choke on that, asshole.”

Tessa left, the door slamming on her way out. Joel barely heard her walk away, his addled thoughts coalescing on one and only one thing.

Marlene.

He had to find her. If you had been out there… if you were still out there, or worse… Joel would pull Boston apart brick by brick with his bare fucking hands if he had to. It’d be easier - and faster - if he knew where to start. If something had happened to you, god forbid…

He stumbled up from the workbench, careening out into the street, his body moving faster than he could stitch his thoughts together. He had a pretty good idea where to find Marlene, and he hoped for her sake that she could tell him where you were. He didn’t trust himself to hear anything other than news of your safety.

*****

Marlene slumped sideways against the concrete wall of the old subway tunnel they called the T in Boston. Bending over, she emptied her guts into the trickling water running down the center of the tunnel. At this point, she was throwing up blanks, just sour-tasting stomach acid. She wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from last night’s narrow escape or if there was something more serious going on. She didn’t have time to stop and wonder.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she willed herself forward, hugging the wall. She’d been walking - a generous term for the limping shuffle she’d been forced to do by a broken ankle - for what had to be close to eight hours at this point. Her body was weak from dehydration, shock, and hunger. But she hadn’t stopped, knowing that was a death sentence. And finally, mercifully, she saw it. An old maintenance ladder hanging down into the empty space in the tunnel. Right above that ladder was the old MBTA garage. Firefly territory. She’d made it home.

Ignoring the pain ripping up her leg from her swollen ankle, she shuffled forward, arms outstretched greedily for the ladder. She fell against it, the steel rattling and echoing in the cement tunnel that the Fireflies used to sneak in and out of the QZ.

She gasped a few breaths, wondering if she was simply imagining that the air tasted a little fresher here than the rest of the dank tunnel. Looking up, she calculated at least eighteen feet of ladder before it disappeared into darkness just above the ceiling of the T tunnel. Up there was the garage. The Fireflies. Salvation.

As close as she was, Marlene knew her ankle wouldn’t handle the climb, not alone. She was worried that she’d pass out halfway up and fall off. There wouldn’t be any soft landing for her. No, the only option for her was to hope and pray that someone would hear her down here. She couldn’t go back - the entry was blocked by what remained of the horde - and she couldn’t go forward. She’d memorized the old T maps of Boston: she knew this tube dead-ended a half mile farther up, with no exits. This was it. It was now or never.

“Hey! HEY! Is anybody up there? HELP!” Mustering what little remained of her strength, she rattled on the ladder, projecting her parched voice into the darkness above.

“DOWN HERE! SOMEBODY!”

Marlene wasn’t sure how long she yelled for. Her voice was almost gone before she saw a fluorescent light flick on at the top of the ladder. Weak with relief, she felt tears stream down her cheeks.

“Thank God! Please, you’ve gotta help me. I can’t climb.”

Before she could finish, Marlene saw a dark shape blot out the light from above. It took her a second to realize it was someone climbing down to her. Looking up from underneath, all she could make out were the soles of boots - men’s boots, she thought - and a sturdy pack on the person’s back. The kind of gear you wore when you went out into the open city.

Marlene took a few halting steps back from the ladder to give the man enough space to climb down. He did, skipping the last few rungs and landing hard on his feet. He was agile, strong. Marlene couldn’t place his silhouette in her mind, couldn’t think of a face that matched the thick, salt-and-pepper hair.

“Where is she, Marlene?”

His voice was dark and familiar.

Joel Miller turned to face her, his expression hard like black granite. It had been almost a year since she’d last seen him at a buy she’d arranged with Tessa. He’d changed, something darker in the back of his eyes. It almost frightened her.

“Where is she,” he repeated, snapping Marlene out of her own thoughts.

“Who?” she replied.

“Y/N.”

Marlene didn’t know how Joel Miller knew you. She thought better of asking him.

“I don’t know, Joel. We got split up. It was… it was fucking chaos last night.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his fingers squeezing the barrel of the rifle he had slung across his chest.

“Last place you saw her.”

Marlene heard voices above her. Someone called out her name in recognition. She longed to call back, but something in Joel’s eyes seemed to catch her words in her throat.

“You’ll never make it.”

“Like hell I won’t.”

“Joel, it’s a fucking horde, the biggest I’ve ever seen. You’ll never get through, it’s a suicide mission.”

“Marlene, I won’t fucking ask again.”

His patience was wearing thin. Marlene didn’t miss the subtle way he angled the muzzle of his gun in her direction.

“Take this tunnel three blocks south. You’ll come to a five-way tunnel crossing. Take the southeast branch and walk another six blocks. You’ll see a ventilation shaft. Right past it, there’s an emergency access door. Take that exit. It’ll spit you out eight blocks north of where I lost her.”

Without a word, Joel Miller turned on his heels and walked off into the dark.

read part 7 here **let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters! ty to everyone showing this series so much love! <;33

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller imagine #the last of us #the last of us joel miller #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n

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ador3him · 2 years

Note

hello! can you do “i’d never turn down a kiss from you.” with dream??

pairing: Dream x gn!reader

warnings: alcohol usage/abuse (not that noticeable but can be interpreted that way) swearing

requested? yes by anon

word count: 630

a/n: WOOOO NO.4 OUT OF 10 its offical guys I am only doing 10 of these quick writes for the event. SO, REQUEST QUICK!!!!! (many bc i j found out i am moving this weekend so i dont exactly have time to be writing a billion) any request that are out of the 10 i will still do! just not is the 24hr time period (it will still be a part of the 150 event though!) I got this request at 6:31am AEST (16 hrs agoish)

Dreams’ eyes widen at the sight before him. A messy, drunken y/n. Their hair knotty- almost matted, their eyes droopy and their smile lopsided. The straps of their top falling down without notice as their arms wrap around Dreams’ neck bringing his for a hug, y/n basically hanging from his neck from the height difference.

“Hello D-Dream,” y/n slurs stumbling into the foyer of his house, they felt tiny inside the high roofed mansion he lived in. Dream looks stunned, y/n barely if ever drinks this much. Sure, they drink every week, but not so much that they are rocking up at their best friends’ house stumbling and slurring words. “y/n, why are you drunk and at my house,” he pinches the bridge of his nose sighing at the scene: y/n on the couch trying yanking off a pair of shoes failing miserably. y/n just shrugs unsure of why they are actually here. Dream had just gotten home after being at LA for TwitchCon for a good week and a half. After TwitchCon Dream and George went to a café with Addison Rae, the stunning Addison Rae, jealously immediately boiled within y/n and they haven’t stopped drinking in the 2 days since the photo has been posted.

“C’mere give me your foot,” Dream motions for y/ns’ foot. “Why of course my royal slave, get me out of my shackles,” y/n retorts in a fake as ever British accent which was utterly horrible but he just chuckles. He gently unties their shoelaces and shimmies the shoe off of each foot being careful and slow not wanting to yank their foot like they were to themselves before.

“Look you are drunk and incoherent, lets get you to bed and we can talk about this tomorrow. Hm?” Dream offers a hand and pulls up y/n, they latch onto his arm and trudge slowly to his room- well toward his room. They were extremely slow so Dream lifts y/n up and carries them to his bed effortlessly. He lays them down and hands them a pair of his sweatpants and his hoodie, walking out the room. “Where are you going?” y/n soft voice startles him, not expecting them to be so soft-spoken after before. “I am going to sleep on the couch,” he answers as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Nuh-uh,” they walk over to the door- tripping a bit- and pull on his arm. He follows them to the bed thinking he would sneak out when they fall asleep.

“Can I kiss you Dreamy?” y/n breaks the silence that fell between them for 2 minutes. A couple more seconds and Dream would’ve assumed that they were asleep. “I’d never turn down a kiss from you, y/n but you’re drunk, and I am not taking advantage of you like that, have a good sleep,” Dream moves out from under them and kisses their forehead goodnight.

He sleeps on the couch that night- well more like lays there until the sun is fully up a couple hours later as y/n came to his house pretty early in the morning. He walks to y/n his room with water and some Panadol, planning on placing it on the bed side table and leave but y/n is wide awake groaning softly. “Rough night?” Dream jokes handing them the hangover supplies. “Fuck up,” they mumble taking the water and Panadol. He lifts his arms in surrender and goes to leave the room- maybe to make breakfast for them both and his 2 other roommates. “I remember what I asked you last night, I am sorry,” y/n blurts out. “I stand by what I said I’d never turn down a kiss from you.” He says and walks out of his room.

Just fucking walks away leaving y/n stunned.

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bey0nd-1he-stars · 2 months

Text

You owe me at least three days of rest in the infirmary - Solangelo

Masterlists

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Pairing: Nico di Angelo x Will Solace

Warnings: nightmares, think that's it

Word count: 1233

Summary: The three says in the infirmary with some change.

SEVEN | NICO

- I like being alone

but I hate being lonely -

Nico woke up in the infirmary in the worst way possible. The 4 hours of sleep he'd gotten had been filled with nightmares and flashbacks of the worst parts of his life. The walls of Tartarus and all of the things that had bruised him down there, both physically and mentally. The claustrophobic walls of being locked up in the jar, Persephone turning him into a dandelion. The last memory of Bianca flashing in front of his eyes, Percy coming back with the statue of Hades, telling him how his sister was gone. The soft eyes of Maria di Angelo looking down at him as they walked through Venice. Camping with Minos along the river Styx and Cupid manipulating him in his cave with Jason. He still hadn't told anyone about that. Jason and himself were the only ones who knew what really happened there.

With gasp Nico sat up straight in the hospital bed. Cold sweat was running down his face and his hair was damp and messy. A few tears ran down his cheeks and he furiously whipped them away with the back of his hand. His breathing was uneven and his throat felt sore. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump and Will immediately took it away, looking a bit offended. He offered Nico a glass water which he gladly took and gulped down the cold, calming liquid. Definitely better than liquid fire from the River Phlegethon. He mumbled a weak 'thank you' as Will softly took the empty glass from Nico's hand. The soft thud from the glass made him jump again. Everything felt off. Nico was more tense than usual and he was easily frightened which he definitely usually wasn't.

"You okay, Nico?" Will asked and squatted down beside the bed, resting his arms on top of the mattress. Will's eyes were worried when they met Nico's and judging by the worry in his voice and the wrinkles between his furrowed eyebrows the son of Apollo was very worried.

"I'm fine, Will," Nico snapped at him and turned away. The dark hair hiding his glossy eyes.

"I can see that you're not. You can talk to me, Nico," Will said softly, reaching out to push away the dark hair from Nico's face but he moved out of the way. Will let his hand fall and Nico could sense the disappointment and worry in the air.

"Please... Just, just leave me alone," he stuttered and turned away from Will. He was still wearing Will's too big clothes but Nico didn't have much of a choice. They were comforting and still reminding him that Will wanted to help even if Nico wouldn't let him. The soft material smelled sunshine just like Will and as Nico breathed in the sent he calmed down. The thought of Will's sent calming him down irritated him but couldn't help but feeling a bit graceful for his kind gestures.

"Okay... Tell me if you need anything," Will answered quietly and then he stood up from the floor and walked over to his desk again, leaving Nico to himself. Nico looked up, shocked that he'd done as he asked. Will was stubborn and Nico was shocked that he'd left without so much of one single argument. He shook it off. Nico reached for the glass again only to realize it was already empty. His head was full of things and it made him lose concentration on every little thing and that annoyed him. He was always on point, ready for everything and anything. Now he couldn't even remember how he'd swept down his water just minutes earlier. Nico placed the glass on the table again and when he looked over he saw the drawing of Bianca lying there. Will had given it to him at 5 am and it was the most beautiful drawing Nico's ever seen.

He was thankful for it and would probably even ask Annabeth for a frame for it later, when he got out of here. This was his last day and Will had promised to let him go in the afternoon at 6 pm. Now the clock was standing at almost 9 am so he still had a few hours left here.

"You want anything to eat, di Angelo?" Will asked. He was standing in the door, resting against the doorframe. The sun shone behind him, making him look like he was glowing himself. Nico couldn't say something, his eyes stuck on the son of Apollo. He managed to look away and a faint blush came to his cheeks.

"It would be nice with some fruit or pasta," he mumbled. Will nodded and walked out, leaving Nico alone in the infirmary. The silence gave him time to think clearly again. He'd pushed Will away again. The trust, friendliness and care was okay but when things like this happened, when his past haunted him in his dreams. He couldn't lean on Will with all that. He'd gone through Tartarus alone; he could manage through this alone too.

The sound of the door opening made him cut his thought and meet the gaze of Will Solace. He had brought a plate of pasta and a bowl of fruit to the infirmary. Nico smiled softly. Will placed it all on a small table and placed it beside Nico's bed. Out of habit, Nico jumped back a little to make place for Will on his bed. They'd eaten every meal like this, in Nico's bed facing each other. And Nico enjoyed it. Having this little thing with Will they always seemed to do. Will looked shocked at the gesture though. Nico had pushed him away, not even meeting his eyes honestly. Now he wanted Will to accompany him while they ate. But he still smiled at the gesture and placed himself on the end of Nico's bed.

"Sorry," Nico started and looked down. "I didn't mean to push you away but... it seemed easier that way. To not let you in and have you deal with all the stuff that runs my mind. It's not very pretty, if I do say so."

Will softened and reached out to take Nico's hand in his and this time he didn't pull away. He didn't know why but it felt right.

"It's okay Nico, I understand, I get it. But I want to help you. I want you to know that I'm here for you. No matter what it's about, I'm here. You can talk to me or not talk to me, that's up to you. But I'm here," the blond boy smiled softly and Nico felt a bit more at ease in his chest. The anxiety from his dreams was still there but it seemed to lighten up at Will's words. Once again he had to thank the boy in front of him. He pulled a hand through his dark curls.

"Thank you, Will," Nico pulled his hand from Will's but kept a small smile on his lips. He reached for the pasta Will had brought him and stuck a fork in it. Will shook his head at Nico but smiled with him. The tension in the room eased and Nico seemed quite happy with himself. Another thing to thank Will for, he thought and put the pasta in his mouth with a smile.

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