Band-aids And Bullet Wounds

band-aids and bullet wounds

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summary: frank comes home with bumps and bruises. you sing him a little tune to brighten his night.

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: general frank castle injuries :(

a/n: back to posting! although it’s still irregular, i have a break from school on the horizon in which i may or may not have some prompts lined up. in the mean time, i love writing for lovable trash men, so please send in requests!

She woke to the sound of jangling keys in the doorway. Shuffling feet, and a clang of them falling to the floor had her up and out of her uncomfortable position on the armrest. Her feet patter against the hardwood floor of Frank's apartment, and behind the bed she hid, her eyes peeking out from above the comforter. She groped the floor for a gun she knew was there. There was a grunt of pain, the keys jangled again, and watched with baited breath. She sighed in relief as Frank walked through the door. Then furrowed her brows in panic as she quickly surveyed his bruised body.

Before she can do, or even say anything, he collapses into a chair near the door and bends down in pain, wincing as he attempts to undo his large combat boots.

"Frankie..." She criticizes, almost pouting as she makes her way over to his seat.

"Oh, don't start," He begins in an attempt to comfort her. He's hunched over, breathing shallow, yet laborious.

"What did you do, Castle?" She asks quietly, getting down on one knee to undo his boots.

He leans up slowly, allowing himself to relax into the shitty upholstery of his chair. He’s pretty sure he got it from a garage sale. It certainly feels like it. Frank gives no response. Instead he grimaces and sighs, closing his eyes and moving his hand to run it over his hair and face.

Without words, she's up off her knee, extending her hand to him. He mindlessly moves his to rest in hers. A gentle tug from her and a grunt of pain from him, and he resists, instead pulling her in towards him. She stumbles over his boot and whimpers as she accidentally bumps into his leg, her face planting straight into his severely bruised shoulder. He whimpers, but drowns it in her neck, letting himself lay idle there as she tried to figure out where to place herself in order to not hurt Frank. She settles for his knee, and for also wrapping her warm arms around his broad, tough shoulders.

"Frank," She murmurs into his jawline, her body rotated so that she could turn into him.

"What happened?" She inquires, running her hands over his freezing ears.

"Just a few bad guys, sweetheart. Don’t worry about it. Nothin' I haven't handled before." He reminds, letting his frigid hands run under her shirt for warmth. He hears her sharp intake of breath, and her chuckle into his ear and he melts. All the cold from outside and the pain from a few hours ago just melts away and he lives in her breathing for a second, before she removes herself from his lap carefully.

"C'mon," she encourages, taking his hand and gripping it tightly. With intent.

He sighs and removes himself from the chair.

She drags him unceremoniously into the bathroom, and sits him down on the side of the tub. Frank closes his eyes and, seemingly, for the hundredth time that night, sighs. He watches her, and wonders how he got to be so lucky. These patch-up sessions happened so often now, that he just let himself be cared for. Maybe he was getting sloppy. Did he deserve the aftercare? Probably not. But he had resisted long enough to realize that whether he likes it or not, if he comes back home and she’s waiting for him, he’s getting stitched, bandaged, and iced.

“What hurts?” She asks. He doesn’t answer.

“Frank—” She begins, but he interrupts her.

“I’m okay.” He lies.

“Bullshit. You’re sitting there, looking like Barney the dinosaur and you’re just gonna, fuckin', lie to my face?” She jokes, halfheartedly.

“Sweetheart,”

“No—don’t even, don’t even pull that shit with me, Castle. God. You know—do you even know what you look like right now, Frank?” She says, opening the mirrored medicine cabinet wide, so that frank could take a good look.

The dried blood on his temple immediately stuck out to him. A large gash where the skin was frayed definitely looked like it would hurt tomorrow. Not to mention the bruises. The cut on his lip would make eating anything spicy a pain. Though he had to admit, he’s seen worse.

“Would you believe me if i told you I won?” He asks, grinning at her.

“Unfortunately, 100%.” She answers. She rolls her eyes and takes the first aid kit from the cabinet.

On the floor next to him, after he takes off his jacket and his shirt, and all other unnecessary clothing items, she spends a ridiculous amount of time deciding what to use on him. Band-aids, gauze, ice packs, and a small suture kit were intermittently attended to as she cared for Frank. Not before long, the gash on his head was closed as best she could, and the majority of the larger cuts were bandaged up. The only things left were the small thin scrapes, littered over his face and arms, and the medium sized laceration on his bicep.

In the middle of applying comically small band-aids to the wounds, she decides that the fastest way to get through the process would be to murmur a very relevant, catchy tune. She sings it proudly yet quietly, applying one of the sticky ends methodically to Frank's face.

"I am stuck on band-aid brand, ‘cuz band-aids stick on me,” she sings under her breath. Frank recognizes the melody. It’s the only commercial that came on kids television, apparently.

“What?” He questions anyway.

“I am stuck on band-aid brand ‘cuz band-aids help heal me,” She croons, looking up at Frank’s incredulous expression.

“I can’t deal with you,” he chuckles, and turns away to watch the wall, before his gaze falls back to her smiling widely on her knees, getting the alcohol to disinfect the scrapes. Without warning, she pours the alcohol into the gash in his arm. He growls. 

“Ah, watch the fuckin'... thing, please.”

“I’m gonna put a band-aid on your mouth,” she mutters, “maybe it’ll fix your language.”

“Ah shut up,” he retorts, and tries to run his sticky, dirty, bloody hand through her hair.

“Nooo!” She whines, dodging it.

“I’m almost done, and then, ah shit—“ she cuts herself off, realizing she should’ve had him take a shower first. Too late now

“Well, we can have it sit for a while, then I’ll hop in the shower with you?” she suggests. He rests his hands on the edge of the tub.

“Sounds good to me,” he responds, listening to her hum and take paper off of band-aids. 

He watches as she meticulously covers each cut with nurturing hands. He doesn’t mind the touch. The cheap whiskey stings a bit when first applied, but the pain become dull after a while. Like a tattoo needle. He only realizes he’s tired when he yawns, and then again when she reaches up to rub the back of his neck after she’s finished. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and relishes in the undisturbed tranquility of the night. A clock ticking from somewhere inside his apartment. Nearly ancient walls creaking. A car driving by every now and again. He’s glad he’s not alone, is the only thing he can think of when his lips meet hers.

More Posts from Pitaparka and Others

5 years ago

You’ve outdone yourself again. “ hot and bothered” chef kiss -🐞

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im so happy you exist. you have a beautiful soul my little ladybug friend. keep doin you pal. big love :)


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5 years ago

eye of the storm

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request: Hi! Can you do an imagine where the reader is surfing with John B en JJ on a stormy night and she gets hurts/almost drowns?

summary: john b., reader, and jj go surfing during agatha. they get hurt and the boys fuss and care for them. 

pairings: jj x reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: near death experience, near drowning, large cuts

a/n: no super huge romance, just some friendly post trauma kisses. nothin gay about kissin your homies. big love

You shouldn’t have gone with them in the first place, but by the time you realized the tides were too rough for you, for anyone, it was too late.

The waves were frothy white, loud, and gorgeous. It was impossible not to feel tempted by them, by mother nature’s intense beauty. They surged high, rolling in on themselves before pushing in as far as they could onto the beach.

At first, you weren’t going to go in. You were going to stand around, watching them in the cold rain, making sure they didn’t drown or get hurt. It was stupid, you thought, as they blared music in the van, harsh winds and pelting rains sounding loudly against the metal, almost pushing John B. off the road a few times.

But the crash of the waves and the peaks of the crests, the strong pulling of the tide at your bare, sandy feet were too much for you. It courses adrenaline through your veins at an unfiltered rate. The sides of the beach were blown out, so you’d have to stay in the middle. You’d be able to live with that.

As JJ and John B. paddled out into the water, you retreated back to the van, where your board sat, begging to be used in the storm.

Paddling out into the ocean, you feel how intense the current is. You have to duck under many waves before you get one that’s salvageable.

It’s incredible to see through the barrel of the wave, but only for a second, as the wave changes and you’re under the water, eyes and lungs stinging. Your hand catches your board before you go too far down, and you wait the wave out, before pulling yourself onto the board, stomach flat on the hardwood finish and paddling out further. You have to duck under the waves that have already started to swell, but you have a good feeling about one far out, forming in the distance.

You see the break line and you’re off, paddling as hard as you can to catch it before it peaks. Before you know it you’re up on the board, and you make the bottom turn, cutting through the wave like a knife, balanced out and eyes the clearest they’ve been all week. You curve up, and then back in, watching the water crest right in front of you. But the whole wave closes out at the same time and you go under again, water in your eyes and ears. The wave turns you over in the swell, and you start swimming back to the surface.

Only, you’re not. You feel the tug on your leg, and you realize you’re swimming in the wrong direction. Using all your strength, you make it to the top, but are pushed back under in another swell, breathless and disoriented.

You pull your leg up to find your strap, panicking, and climb it up to where your board was, getting pulled viciously toward the beach in another wave. You swim up to the top, finally getting some air, and try to find your board. You pant as you wipe your face, but you can see another wave coming. You go under as it crests right above you, and your lungs sting. You come up coughing.

After the wipe out you don’t realize how close you are to the rocks near the pier until you’re on top of them, scraping your legs and the palms of your hands. The ocean is pure white there, all froth and harsh currents. But it’s not as strong as the waves in the middle. You pull your board into you, and decide you’ve had enough for the day, when you see John B. on  the beach, board in hand. You wipe your face again, and sit upright on your board. You survey the water and are surprised to see JJ making his way over to you. His hair is curled over onto his face, almost like a wave itself, his chest bare and his arms moving hard.

“Rocks!” You yell out to caution him, but he’s pulling his board to his chest and ducking under a wave.

He’s almost close enough to hear you when you watch him wince. He must’ve caught himself on a rock.

“You okay?” He yells, and you’re nodding, ready to go back in. He’s by your side and grabbing your arm to keep himself next to you. You grab his knee and feel the waves rock the two of you steadily.

“What happened?” He asks, and you know what he means but it’s too dangerous to hold a conversation out here.

“Let’s go in!” You yell over the swell, and he watches you with concerned eyes for a moment, before he makes you go first. It’s not as bad just riding the waves in, and as soon as you can stand, John B. is in the water, taking your board for you and walking alongside you.

You get to dry sand and rip the velcro off of your ankle. The waves are still loud, but at least now you can hear when John B. tells you, “You’re bleeding.”

You look down and see the culprit: a large scrape down the entire side of your calf, which stings with the salty air. He puts your board down in the sand and kneels down by it to get a better look when JJ makes it in too. He drops his board to the sand and doesn’t even bother unstrapping himself from his board.

“You okay? We saw you wipe out pretty bad,” JJ says, and there’s no pride in his voice. Just concern.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I just cut my leg on the rocks over there,” you say, watching John B inspect the cut.

“I think I have a first aid kit in the car. We have towels too,” John B. informs, and he picks up your surfboard and his own, waiting for you to start walking.

JJ is on you in a second, throwing your arm over his shoulder, his board under his other arm, as his hand wraps around your side. You smile and hobble with him over to John B.’s van.

The walk is silent save for the wind, and is entirely awkward.

“You’re shaking still,” JJ whispers to you as he sits you down on the floor of the van.

“I’ll be fine,” you reply. He moves to the back of the van as John B. starts it up. You wipe your sandy feet carefully on the asphalt before JJ comes back with a towel, pressing it carefully to the cut.  You wince.

“Sorry,” he mutters, lifting it off the cut to inspect the blood. He places it gently back down and applies pressure.

“Ugh, JJ stop doing that. I’m gonna pass out,” you tease, but JJ is not laughing. He glares up at you, and you watch him with warm eyes.

John B. enters from the other side of the van and closes the door, surfboards piled up in the back. He looks under the seat and finds an old first aid kit, probably from when his dad bought the van. It’s dusty and yellow and disgusting looking. He sits down behind you and starts going through it. You turn to him.

“If you take anything from there and touch me with it I’m gonna drive home and leave you here,” you say, and JJ chuckles.

“Be careful, man, she’s bleeding. There’s no telling what she’ll actually do,” JJ says, and he tries to tie the towel around your cut. He’s having a hard time.

“Come inside, you’re gonna catch a cold,” you tell JJ, but he ignores you. Until he laughs out loud.

“A hoe never gets cold,” John B. says from behind you, and JJ remarks, “Hey! I was gonna say that!”

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

“That’s not true. I’m freezing,” you tell the boys, and they both laugh, which fades into silence between you three as John B. puts the kit back under the seat and JJ finishes tying the towel.

There’s a radio station playing ads from the front seat.

“Get in. I’ll close the door,” JJ says, and you scoot backwards as he hops into the back, sliding the door behind him. John B. strategically maneuvers his way into the front of the van. JJ sits next to you, inspecting your fingers and bending them, as if to make sure they’re all in working order.

“You scared us, y’know,” John B. comments from the front. You rest your head on JJ’s shoulders as he notices your scratched palms that have since stopped bleeding.

“It’s okay,” you chide, and JJ runs the pads of his fingers over the cuts.

“It’s just a bad wipeout. It happens all the time to you guys,” you explain, and you feel JJ kiss the top of your head. You pull away to look at him, eyes wide, but he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s watching the rain pelt the window on his side. You two should probably be in seats, but it doesn’t matter at this point.

He refuses to look at you, so you don’t make him. Instead, you place your head back on his shoulder, bring his own palm up to your lips, and plant soft, inaudible kisses there.

You feel him smile as John B. takes his time cruising down the highway.


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4 years ago

Aw I love your recent Frankie imagine! Hope to see additional ones to that story, or just more in general! I really like your writing style 👍🏼

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I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!!!!! you’ve made my day anon <3333 if you’d like to see more, i love getting requests and they’re always open! big love!!!


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5 years ago

“I desperately need a haircut. Will you try to cut it for me? Please?” w billy

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summary: billy’s hair gets a little too long for his liking. you decide to take it into your own hands. literally.

pairing: billy russo x reader

word count: 1.8k

a/n: that billy gif does somethin’ to me man...

Billy had been wearing a hat every day for a week. In the house. Not going anywhere.

It was driving you insane.

"Take that stupid thing off, Billy," you’d say to him. His hair had been abnormally soft since he hadn’t been gelling it for work lately, not that you could see it. It was a stupid thing to get mad about, but tensions had been running high in your apartment. After Billy moved in, it had been much easier to spend time with him, and you were grateful for that. But during this quarantine, you both had been a little on edge.

“It looks like shit. I need a haircut,” he’d say, running his fingers through it in front of the mirror in the morning. He still woke up at an ungodly hour for some reason. It’s not like he had to. All of his meetings happened after nine o’clock in the morning, but the smell of a fresh pot of coffee brewing wasn’t the worst thing in the world to wake up to. Either way, the hair thing was stressing him out.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said, grumbling in bed after a long day of zoom calls and meetings on the phone. It was incredibly inconvenient to be running a company during this time. Especially because the people he was in charge of did most of their work in person, manually laboring away on a typical schedule. Billy had been trying to work that out over the phone, face to face with his higher-ups who were also confined to their houses.

“Just cut it yourself, Billy,” you say, sitting at your desk, typing away at an assignment that was due later on in the week. You sigh and sit back in your chair, leaning back to recline your feet on your desk and put your hands behind your head.

“I don’t know how. I’ve never had to before. I’d fuck it up,” he says, running his hands over his face and letting out a loud yawn. 

“There are videos online?” you suggest. Billy’s ears perk up.

“I think I have clippers somewhere…” he muses. He sighs.

“I desperately need a haircut,” he says, pulling a lock of hair down over his face. He goes almost cross-eyed to look at it, and it comes down to about the tip of his nose.

“I know, Billy. You complaining about it isn’t going to make your hair shorter,” you clarify, and he huffs in frustration.

“Have you ever cut hair?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow to take a good look at you. It was easy to see you in the soft light of the lamp on your desk. You let out a little laugh.

“No… Actually, yes, once. I think I was like five? My mom was not happy. I gave myself bangs.” You laugh at the story, but that’s only what you had been told. It’s not like you knew the first thing about cutting hair.

“Come on, I’m serious. Will you try to cut it for me? Please?” he asks, and you check your clock.

“Right now?” you ask, and you rub your arms softly.

“I have stuff that’s due,” you say to him. He just looks at you in response.

“You could do it tomorrow if you want,” he finally says, and you close your laptop.

“No, let’s just… let's get it done tonight. I don’t want you complaining if I give you a bad haircut though,” you say, planting your feet on the ground.

“I don’t want a whole cut, just a trim. Let me go find the clippers,” he says, getting out of bed. You resist the urge to slap his ass as he walks past you.

“You don’t get to be picky, Russo,” you mutter after he leaves the door slightly ajar behind him. You take the opportunity to look up some articles and videos about cutting hair.

Billy’s setup includes one chair he got from the dining room, an old towel from the closet, and his face trimmer from under the bathroom sink.

“Okay, do you know how he cuts it? Does he just hold it like this or does he like… run a comb through it?” you stand behind him like his barber would to demonstrate, holding sections of his hair.

“I don’t know, he just, cuts it…” Billy says, adjusting the towel around his shoulder.

“Wow Billy, that’s… such a wealth of information you just gave me.”

“I don’t have eyes on the back of my head! How am I supposed to know—”

“Okay, so you’re gonna get what you’re gonna get and you’re gonna be happy, okay?” you say, and you hear him chuckle and mutter, “Oh god…”

“I can’t blend the hairline with the clippers we have,” you say after he explains the settings. You clip his hair back to see the lines the barber left behind from his last cut. It hasn’t been so long that they’ve faded too much.

“That’s okay. We can do just, high and tight on the sides. No fades.”

“You can’t move.” You clarify, and he plays with the trimmer before handing it to you.

“I know. Thank you for doing this for me by the way,” he says. He can’t see himself in the mirror, so he just has to trust you.

“Mhmm,” you agree absentmindedly as you focus, bringing the trimmer to the back of his head. You go over one spot repeatedly, but the hair doesn’t look like it’s getting any shorter.

“What do you see back there?” Billy asks, obviously scared you’re going to make him bald.

“It’s like, barely even cutting anything,” you say. You pull the clippers away from his head. He shifts in his seat.

“Uh oh. Let me feel it?” He asks and touches the hair there.

“Nope,” he agrees and gets up from his chair. He looks at the attachments and fiddles with the trimmer for a bit before he figures out the attachments were wrong, and the one you were supposed to be using was on the counter, not on the buzzer.

You turn it on and put it back to his head, and it seems to work better.

“Is that any better?” Billy asks, almost reading your mind.

“Yeah, I think so,” you respond, taking slow, precise movements through his hair. You can feel the hair gather in little piles around your feet. You find yourself in a groove and it becomes a lot less scary when you’re not worried about having him end up with some god awful buzz cut. You hold his head steady, one hand cupping the side of his face.

“It looks, chunky,” you complain, and you can feel his face scrunch up a little bit.

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to hear,” he says, tilting his head back more when you press your fingers into his jaw and guide him slowly.

But after a little while, it all starts to come together and looks much more even. You turn off the trimmer and admire your work, which is pretty darn good if you do say so yourself.

Getting up from the chair, Billy admires himself closely in the mirror. He runs his fingers over the newly buzzed sides of his head.

“I mean, up close you can tell it’s not faded, but it looks like I got a fresh cut,” he says, sitting back down. You can’t help but feel a little pride over it.

“I can clean up the sides without the guard on, like the ears and stuff,” you say.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, taking off the blade guard from the clippers.

He puts the trimmer back at your hand and now the metal gleams intimidatingly at you. It’s oddly intimate for the two of you. Something about having the blade so dangerously close to his skin was personal. Just the persistent buzz of the clippers and the stories coming from Billy about bad barbers. You can feel the goosebumps on his skin as you clean up the hair on the back of his neck. Then came the lines around his ears on both sides.

As you finished up, you offered him a mirror to see the back of it.

“If you want, I can round the edges a little more,” you offer.

“No, this is perfect. It looks great back there,” he says, moving the mirror from side to side, examining the back of his head. 

“Okay, I think we’re done!” he says, and you correct him.

“With the clippers.”

“Yes, with the clippers.” he agrees.

You wet his hair with a spray bottle newly filled with water you had retrieved from the closet, and with the smallest scissors you could find you take off little sections of hair from the top of his head. The reaction from Billy is physical, his shoulders standing a little taller, a little more confident in his new look. Some pieces of hair still cling to his t-shirt and shoulders, making him scratch at his neck.

“Hop in the shower quick and then I’ll blow dry it before you get into bed,” you tell him, and he listens, but not before he rudely kisses you, hands cupping the side of your face.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, before stripping off his clothes before he even turned the shower on. You leave the bathroom, face hot as you hear him turn it on. Maybe another day, you’d join him.

He comes out smelling good and looking fresh.

He pokes his head into the bedroom, his hair dripping wet onto the floor, with the need to tell you that he was done, not that you couldn’t hear the shower turn off all by yourself.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he says smiling, and there’s something childishly innocent about him getting excited about you blow-drying his hair.

The loud blow dryer made for little conversation to be had, but you were both fine with that. The heat on Billy’s skin made him tired, especially after the hot shower he had just taken. When his hair was sufficiently dry and you put away all of the tools from the night’s impromptu hair cutting session, Billy came up from behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, placing his head on your shoulder. You watched him in the mirror.

“Thank you for this. It feels so much better,” he says, planting a kiss to your shoulder. The one he plants gently on your neck makes you smile. You wrap your arms around him, holding them there, around your body.

“I didn’t mind,” you clarify, “I like how it came out.”

“Now I don’t feel like I have to wear that fuckin’ hat everywhere,” he says, and pulls away, making his way down the hall to the bedroom.

“Oh thank god,” you whisper under your breath, and follow him.

In bed, you stroke Billy’s newly cut hair. Under your fingers, he pulls you just a little bit closer to him, chest to chest under the warmth of your blankets. The darkness of the night filled the room, the only light streaming in from your window was that of the moon and the stars. You smile, but Billy is already fast asleep.

It really had gotten softer.


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5 years ago

pls write more jj smut, the first one was so good :(

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ugh bby you got it. it’s what i’m working on right now ;)


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7 years ago

flower meanings

Just some flower meanings I wanted to get out there. It seemed pretty cool to me and was a lot of work, so I hope y’all enjoy it! Now updated with pictures of each one! 

Disclaimer: None of these photos are mine, and this post is obscenely long. Like, super long. Beware. But also enjoy ;)

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Alstroemeria - Wealth, prosperity, fortune, friendship

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Pink/red alstroemeria - warmth and affection towards a friend

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Orange alstroemeria - keeps you working towards your goals

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Yellow/white/blue alstroemeria - express your concern to a loved one who isn’t feeling well

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Amaryllis - Splendid beauty, worth beyond beauty

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Anemone - Fading hope, forsaken, anticipation 

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Pink/Red Anemone - forsaken or dying love

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White Anemone - death and bad luck in Eastern cultures where white is the color used at funerals

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Purple/blue Anemone -  anticipation and protection from evil meanings

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Anthurium - Hospitality, happiness, abundance

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Red Anthurium - Love and Passion

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White Anthurium - Innocence and Purity

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Pink Anthurium  - Compassion, Femininity, Motherly Love

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Aster - Patience, a love of variety, elegance, daintiness

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Bird of Paradise - Joyfulness, magnificence, wonderful anticipation

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Bouvardia Double - Enthusiasm, zest for life

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Calla Lily - Magnificence, beauty, purity, innocence

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Carnation - Pride, beauty

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Red Carnation - Love, pride, admiration

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Pink Carnation - Love of a woman or a mother

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Purple Carnation - Capriciousness

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Yellow Carnation - Disdain, rejection, disappointment

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White Carnation - Innocence, pure love

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Striped Carnation - Refusal

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Chrysanthemum - Fidelity, optimism, joy, long life

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Red Chrysanthemum - Love

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White Chrysanthemum - Truth, loyal love

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Yellow Chrysanthemum - Slighted love

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Daffodil - regard, chivalry, rebirth, new beginnings, eternal life, unrequited love


Daffodil (Single) - Foretells a misfortune


Daffodil (Bunch) - Joy, happiness

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Daisy - Innocence, purity, loyal love, “I will never tell.”

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Gerbera Daisy- Cheerfulness

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Delphinium - Big hearted, fun, lightness, levity, ardent attachment

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Freesia - Innocence, thoughtfulness

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Gardenia - Purity, sweetness, secret love, joy, conveys loneliness from the giver

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Gerbera - Cheerfulness

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Gladiolus - Strength of character, remembrance

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Lavender Heather - Admiration, solitude, beauty

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White Heather - Protection, wishes will come true

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Hyacinth - Playfulness, sporty attitude, extreme rashness, constancy

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Blue Hyacinth - Constancy

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Purple Hyacinth - Sorrow

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Red/Pink Hyacinth - Play

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White Hyacinth - Loveliness

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Yellow Hyacinth - Jealousy

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Hydrangea - Heartfelt emotions, gratitude for being understood, frigidity, heartlessness

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Iris - Eloquence

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Purple Iris - Wisdom, compliments

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Blue Iris - Faith, hope

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Yellow Iris - Passion

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White Iris - Purity

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Larkspur - Levity, lightness, fickleness, haughtiness

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Lilac - Youthful innocence, confidence

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White Lilac - Humility, Innocence

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Field Lilac - Charity

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Purple Lilac - First love

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Lily - Purity, refined beauty

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White Lily - Modesty, virginity

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Orange Lily - Passion

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Yellow Lily - Gaiety

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Lily of the Valley - Sweetness, purity of heart

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Easter Lily - Virgin Mary

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Orchid - Exotic beauty, refinement, thoughtfulness, mature charm, proud and glorious femininity

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Peony - Bashfulness, compassion, indignation, shame, happy life, happy marriage, good health, prosperity

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King Protea - Change, transformation, daring, resourcefulness, diversity, courage

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Queen Anne - Haven, sanctuary, complexity, delicateness

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Ranunculus - Radiant charm, attractiveness

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Snapdragon - Graciousness, strenght, deception, presumption

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Statice - Remembrance, sympathy, success

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Stock - Lasting beauty, happy life, bonds of affection, promptness 

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Sunflower - Pure thoughts, adoration, dedication, dedicated love, haughtiness

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Sweet Pea - Delicate pleasure, bliss, departure after having a good time

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Tulip - Declaration of love, fame, perfect love

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Rose - Love

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Red Rose - Love, longing, desire, respect, admiration, devotion

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Deep Red Rose - Regret, sorrow

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White Rose - Purity, chastity, innocence, new beginnings, sympathy, humility, spirituality

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Yellow Rose - Exuberance, joy, warmth, welcome, friendship, caring, purely platonic emotions

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Pink Rose - Gentleness, admiration, joy, gratitude, appreciation, elegance, grace

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Orange Rose - Passion, energy, desire, pride, fervor, fascination

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Lavender Rose - Enchantment, love at first sight, majesty, splendor, fascination, adoration

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Blue Rose - Elusive, unattainable, mysterious, desire, I can’t have you but I can’t stop thinking about you

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Green Rose - Harmony, opulence, fertility, best wishes for a prosperous new life or wishes for recovery of good health

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Black Rose - Death, farewell, elusive

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Mixed Roses - Mixed feelings, I don’t know my feelings yet but I care about you enough to send roses

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Moss Rosebud - Confession of love

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Thorn-less Rose - Love at first sight, early attachment

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Leaf Rose - You may hope

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Hibiscus Rose - Delicate beauty

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Burgundy Rose - Unconscious beauty

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Christmas Rose - Relieve my anxiety

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Dog Rose - Pleasure and pain

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Damask Rose - Freshness, Persian ambassador of Love

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Garden Rose - I am from Mars

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Tea Rose - I will remember always

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Rose of Sharon - Consumed by love

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Carmine Rose - Deceitful desire

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Cardinal Red Rose - Sublime desire

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Amaranth Red Rose - Long standing desire

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Wild Rose - Simplicity

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Musk Rose - Capricious beauty 

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Rosa Mundi - Variety 


Single Red Rose - “I love you”


A Single White Rose - “My feelings are pure”


A Single Yellow Rose - “You bring joy to my life” “Let’s be friends”


A Single Pink Rose - “I like you“


A Single Orange Rose - “I am proud of you”


A Single Peach Rose - “Thank you” “I sympathise with you” 


A Single Lavender Rose - “I am enchanted by you”


A Single Blue Rose - “You seem like an unattainable dream”


A Crown Of Roses - Reward of virtue


A Bouquet Of Roses - Gratitude 


A Rose In A Tuft Of Grass - There is everything to be gained by good company 


One Red Rose - “I love you” “You are the one for me”


Two Red Roses - “Let us be together”


Three Red Roses - “You and me and our love for company”


Five Red Roses - “I am halfway in love with you”


Twelve Red Roses - “Be mine”


Twenty Five Red Roses - “Congratulations”


Fifty Red Roses - “My love for you is limitless”


Tags
5 years ago

would you ever write a reader/jj/john b three way? only write what ur comfortable with. i love reading your stuff!!!!

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ahhh thank you so much!! consider it written bby ;) she’s on her way


Tags
5 years ago

fall sentence starters

hey y’all! i’ve been in the writing mood so here are some autumnal writing prompts, both tricks and treats!

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1. “I don’t really like candy corn.”

2. “I have no one to go apple picking with...”

3. “Do you... maybe wanna have a scary movie night?”

4. “Did you bring an umbrella?”

5. “My hands are so cold.”

6. “Can I borrow your hoodie?”

7. “Look at all the leaves!”

8. “Can you light a candle or something?”

9. “I know a way to warm you up.”

10. “What kind of candy should i get.”

11. “My nephew wants us to take him trick or treating this year.”

12. “Haven’t you ever seen the leaves change colors before?”

13. “Oh no, it looks like it’s gonna rain.”

14. “Your sweater is so big!”

15. “Lay with me?”

16. “Why is it so hot? It’s October!”

17. “Why did you get such a tiny pumpkin? We have to carve this!”

18. “You didn’t tell me we had to carve this!”

19. “Be careful with the decorations! That ladder won’t hold your— weight.”

20. “Are you seriously going all black this month?”

21. “What is the point of pumpkin spice pringle’s.”

22. “Summer is over. Stop wearing sunscreen.”

23. “The sun doesn’t go away just because it’s fall.”

24. “It’s raining so much.”

25. “But you’re so tall! Can you pleaaase come apple picking with me?”

26. “We are NOT dressing up my animal in a halloween costume.”

27. “You make a pretty cute ghost, babe.”

28. “I don’t want to go either but it’s a company party and there’s free food and we might as well have fun with it, right?”

29. “When was the last time you went to a Halloween party?”

30. “What are you going to dress up as?”

31. “You’ve never been to a corn maze?!”

32. “If you want to go to the haunted house I’ll go with you, just so you don’t get scared, y’know?”

33. “They have the best plain donuts here i’ve ever had in my life.”

34. “Cider is the best drink. Period.”

35. “But I’ve never made an apple pie before.”

36. “Come on, aren’t you excited to see the little kids trick or treating?”

37. “I don’t have to have to hand out candy alone, just put on the costume!”

38. “I picked it out especially with you in mind! You’re hurting my feelings!”

39. “They have good stuff down at the farmers market.”

40. “Why are your eyes so... red?”

41. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

42. “Did you hear that?”

43. “Is that an... actual skeleton?”

44. “It’s just your imagination.”

45. “Maybe it’s just a scary prank.”

46. “Is that your blood!?”

47. “Is this what being poisoned feels like?”

48. “Help them! They can’t breathe!”

49. “It’s just a scrape...”

50. “How did you break your leg? And so close to Halloween, too?”

51. “Do you know what death smells like?”

52. “Is that a real knife?”

53. “Your nose is bleeding, like, really bad.”

54. “Just sit down, I’m gonna take the nail out.”

55. “It’s Halloween, they’re probably just in a costume.”

56. “You’re scary good at that. For a beginner.”

57. “I love that sound.”

58. “There’s nothing better than fresh meat.”

59. “When I said trick or treat, I meant just treat.”


Tags
5 years ago

oh shit who stole ur stuff

it doesn’t matter anymore, i filed a copyright claim against them and they took it down quickly afterward. just keep an eye on wattpad “imagines” books, because that’s where i’ve noticed most of the plagiarism is going on. big love y’all!


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pitaparka - reader, meet writer. a lover and a fighter.
reader, meet writer. a lover and a fighter.

nat | she/her | gryffindor | sagittarius | xviii

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