#Cat Pee Has Blood In It

[sillysadduck]

where are you are you okay are you safe I miss you mr italian ethan

I am in my house (instructions on how to get here not included)

I am safe-ish I guess?

I am nooot okay but I am trying

thank you for checking on me anon who still calls me ethan even tho I can't remember who decided that was my name

I wish I had more stuff to post 🤧 ahh but that's life

[strawberrymothteeth]

ahahaha oh boooooy.

[opiumvampire]

mad bc he wanted rabies really bad but i made him get the vaccine anyway

[depresseddepot]

me: hey so one of the three cats has diarrhea but I need to figure out who. can you keep an eye on your cat, because he only really comes down here to use the litter box so I can't watch how he's acting like I can the others

my mother: wh.......huh........... .? "keep an eye on him"...........i mean............ill try.......how am i expected to do that......................do i just "look" at him.....?. "pay attention to him..?"......i don't think i can do that.......... .you're being so fucking dramatic actually. this fork becoming dirty after i ate using it is your fault too

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!

Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️

Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!

If You Bite My Hand Again

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.

WORDCOUNT: 6.6k

WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.

A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 

As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 

The dreams weren’t uncommon. 

Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 

As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 

The tremors in your hands persist.

You never should have met him.

—

Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 

It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”

The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.

Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 

Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 

Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.

He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.

The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”

You smile and stand straighter. 

“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 

“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 

“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 

“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 

Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.

“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 

“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 

He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 

Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.

The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 

“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”

“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 

A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 

You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 

After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 

The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 

“Call me Ember.” 

A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 

He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.

“...Simon.”

You walk together the rest of the way.

The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 

—

You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 

Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 

And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 

You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 

“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 

Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 

Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 

Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 

“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 

“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.

Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.

Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 

Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 

In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 

“Ember…” 

Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 

There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 

He left. 

“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 

There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 

His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.

Simon.

You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 

His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 

“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.

Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 

The same boy you still loved. 

The same boy who’d broken your heart.

—

After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 

When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 

Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.

When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 

When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.

So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.

You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 

The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 

He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 

In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 

You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 

While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.

He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 

It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 

“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 

“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 

He was shaking slightly. 

“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”

You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 

In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 

But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 

Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 

Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 

You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 

He didn’t let you touch him. 

And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 

‘Don’t look for me.’ 

And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 

All of those years. 

All those vows and shared nights.

And he disappeared on you.

—

You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 

More like chucked at his gut.

No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 

Simon’s avoiding your eyes.

“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 

“I’ll be fine in a while—”

“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 

And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.

The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 

His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 

Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?

Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.

So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 

You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 

“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 

You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 

He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 

“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”

“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 

“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”

“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 

He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 

“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”

You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 

“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.

Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 

“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”

“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“But you did.”

“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 

Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 

“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”

“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 

Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 

“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”

“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 

You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 

He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…

Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 

A pact of loyalty. 

Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.

He asks the first thing that comes to his head.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.

“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 

You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 

“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”

Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 

He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 

“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”

His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 

“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 

You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 

Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?

Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 

How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 

Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 

The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 

“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 

He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 

Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.

Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.

“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 

Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 

“Ember…”

“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 

It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  

You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 

“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.

“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 

“Need you t’know it.” 

“...I do.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 

You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 

“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 

In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 

Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 

“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”

“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 

“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 

Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 

Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 

Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.

Nearly. 

“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 

“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”

“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 

A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 

Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.

Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 

If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 

It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 

“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.

He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 

Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 

“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 

You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.

You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 

With you survival became secondary. 

Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 

“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”

You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 

“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”

“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 

Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 

“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”

“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 

“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 

That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 

And he’d give you it. All of it. 

Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.

So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 

And you’d both never slept better

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[leeknow-thoughts]

piss kink fic w chan.....!!!!! 😍😍😍😍

oh absolutely.

୨୧ DRINK UP!

𝝑𝝔 cw : piss duh, petnames, daddy kink bc it's Chan duh, piss drinking (idk what to call that), this is so short, all porn no plot, kinda clit play, mentions of blood

𝝑𝝔 a/n : sorry I have been inactive asf as of lately coming back from the grave to finally post this!

"Aww kitty cat, I know tch tch tch I know," Chan coos as he holds the vibrator to your clit.

You squirm, the pleasure becomes too much. "Daddy please, please need it-" you whimper.

You bite your lip so hard you feel blood in your mouth. "I know I know, precious girl," he uses that condescending voice when he talks to you, "feels too good doesn't it yeah?"

You nod, your vision going white as you feel the knot in your stomach break, cumming before you can stop yourself. "Atta girl, c'mere daddy has a treat for you kitty cat," Chris smiles watching you writhe on the bed.

He pushes his thumb into your mouth, you suck on it tenderly. "Your gonna drink all of daddy's piss, open your mouth for me c'mon," he coos.

You keep your mouth open as Chan takes his fat cock out of his boxers. Slipping his tip past your lips, "drink up."

His head falls back and you taste him in your mouth. You had never drank his pee before, you thought it would be gross, but here you are chugging it like it's the nectar of the gods.

"There you go, fuck such a good fucking girl for me," he moans.

[bomberqueen17]

looks like i picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines

no no that's a quote from the movie airplane. i tried amphetamines, by prescription, and i know i didn't find them particularly helpful, but i don't remember why. i've spent the last couple of weeks aggressively checked out of reality almost completely lost in my attempts to write a novel about solarpunk tall ships and the hot bisexuals who sail them, and that has been hella fun (i should share a snippet sometime. i will.) but it also means my car is still overdue for inspection and i need to figure out how to pay my physical therapy bill and i have several other urgent tasks piled up plus i still have an enormous quantity of luggage and things i removed from my cabin to winterize it piled in my house's entryway etc. so.

so anyway i've resumed amphetamines, since i had a two-week supply and only took one of them. and we'll see how that goes.

(yeah other friends of mine who've gotten diagnoses have had doctors insist on them monitoring their like, cardiac health or blood pressure with these, and it is slightly surprising to me that nobody has asked me about those things, but on the other hand, i seem to have been fine, so i guess this is ok. i found this guy through my insurance company so this isn't like. well. i don't know. it's the finest supervision i can get through my shitty insurance i guess.)

anyway. tall ships bisexuals is actually going pretty well but extremely disorganizedly. i need to get that under some kind of control.

i bought a stand mixer but haven't gotten it yet.

I also just forgot what i was going to write here, so this is going really well, score another one for the vyvanse. yes yes i'm keeping a comprehensive journal.

wow no really i don't remember where i was going with this. heck! welp. oh yeah no, i've been queueing enormous numbers of political posts and then going back and deleting them as unhelpful, so you're welcome. facebook memories helpfully showed me my post from eight years ago on this topic and mostly i'm like oh wow i was on facebook eight years ago? but if i look, mostly i was not. lol i signed up for facebook almost twenty years ago and decided it was Not For Me almost fifteen years ago and it still sends me twenty emails a day about my friends it's holding hostage, this is kind of amazing. anyway.

well i've been sitting here trying to lure my agitated cat to sit down and kick me out of the recliner, and after literally half an hour it has finally worked. so, off i go to drink like three gallons of water because that is the one thing i remember about being on meth that was really really important. you think "ah i need some more water" and you pour yourself a cup of it and it's gone and you're like "where did that go" so you drink three more cups and then you're like "wow i'm thirsty did i forget to drink water" and you wind up drinking incredible amounts of water and never peeing so. anyway that's a lot easier now that it's winter and i'm living someplace with running water, so. thumbs up.

woof i took a multivitamin and a fish oil capsule at the same time and i can taste that fish oil capsule, well done me =_=

[bardic-inspirjaytion]

Why do you call your cat piss king? Is he really good at it or something?

hi anon!

we're gonna learn a bit about cat urinary systems and issues! it may be a bit TMI for the scope of the question but, given how few cat guardians know about this, I'm always looking for chances to educate since being informed can literally save a cat's life.

the main takeaway: if you notice that your cat cannot pee, HEAD TO THE EMERGENCY VET NOW, DO NOT PASS GO! full stop.

if they cannot pee, that is one of the few true emergencies in a healthy cat, and you NEED to treat it as such.

usually you'll see a blocked cat straining and vocalizing in the box, licking themselves, whining and highly reactive to being touched on the lower belly, and - of course - you won't see any proper urine in the box. there may be dribbles or blood, but no pee. this is a problem that escalates really fast, and can easily be lethal. do NOT fuck around with it.

what qualifies me to talk about this? it's exactly what happened to pekoe (peek for short) about three years ago.

proper Storytime and more detail below the cut.

see, the thing with cats is that their bladders are tiny and their kidneys are, uh, bad! so if they can't pee, not only is it incredibly painful, but the liquid and toxins building up in their system can do a LOT of organ damage in a VERY short amount of time. this can get very bad, very fast, and it is very easy for them to die from it if the issue can't be fixed easily and promptly.

usually, the vet will be able to get a catheter into the blocked cat to relieve the pressure, flush out their bladder if there's a physical blockage (ex, if they've made bladder crystals/stones, we gotta get those out of there!), and give them medication to prevent spasms and infection as they heal. a cat then needs to go on urinary-friendly food to prevent additional blockages for the rest of their lives, and some other lifestyle adjustments should be made to treat any underlying risk factors that the animal might have.

sometimes, however, that doesn't resolve the issue, and they block again. and if you're extra unlucky, they'll block AGAIN after that. and maybe again, for extra spice. if you're extra extra unlucky, this will all happen in the same week.

this is the situation that peek and i found ourselves in.

picture the urinary system of a cat as a funnel, with the external bits being the tip of the funnel. when you ultimately need to make a funnel bigger because it can't drain anymore, what do you do?

you remove the tip.

this is an operation called a perineal urethrostomy, or a PU for short. it's a last resort salvage procedure that essentially removes the external genitalia of a male cat to widen the exit of the urinary tract and prevent future blockages. it's a difficult and delicate operation with a very long recovery time. it was also the only option left to save peek's life.

real talk before this next bit: i will never judge pet guardians for impossible decisions made in good faith based on qualified medical advice, in the interest of trying to do what's best for their pets. flat up, i don't stand for that shit.

okay? cool, let's keep going.

a PU is definitely not a surgery that has any guarantees, it can be very painful, it needs a very skilled vet to do it, and it's both expensive and difficult to see an animal through it safely. it was also the one option we had left to save peek, who was very very VERY sick at that point. the vet told me that she was also willing to do euthanasia, if the PU was not right for us, with zero judgment - the little guy had been through a lot of pain and several surgeries already, and doing this operation would be asking a lot more from an animal that was already very weak, with no guarantees of success.

he was briefly stable so i took him home to think about it and sat with him overnight. hours in the darkened living room, with my fluffy best friend sleeping fitfully in my arms like a sick baby. in the morning when he woke up he gave me a little lick on the face, and then a headbutt with a weak but undeniably hungry little meow. he hadn't had an appetite in a week, but now he wanted breakfast. in that moment, i knew he was letting me know that he wasn't finished fighting yet, so i knew the right decision for me was to keep fighting for him.

i called the vet, and we went ahead with the surgery.

i'll spare you the rest of the grisly details - the procedure was a success, and i was lucky enough to be able to work remotely and nurse him through the recovery. it was long and difficult and stressful. it sucked! it was crazy making. i would break down weeping with relief every single time i saw a dirty litter box for WEEKS. if you're reading this and going through it yourself, please feel free to reach out to me any time, okay?

but we persevered. i took care of him, and he rallied like a goddamn king. and hey. anon. guess what?

that was almost three years ago. his life went fully back to normal after he healed. you wouldn't know that this had happened if you didn't already know, because that fluffy little king still pisses like a champion race horse.

so, that's the story of how pekoe became

THE PISS KING.

[apollodeath]

MORE KÖNIG HEADCANNONS!

I loved writing them last time so I thought I’d drop some more!

Here’s my other hc’s

MDNI

NSFW and SFW mixed together

Warnings: mentions of slapping, rough, blood and, of course sexual topics.

König loves hearing you say his name, but even more when you attempt to say German words

You usually ask “how do you say _” and he’ll repeat it until you get it.

König gets embarrassed if someone makes fun of his accent when he speaks English

He has favorite English words “cat” is one lol

If you ever accidentally get a cut on your finger and it begins to bleed he will lick the blood off and give your cut a kiss

If you raise an attitude and say something out of line expect a slightly harsh slap from him. He doesn’t do it to hurt you but for you to understand what you’re doing is being bratty plus he knows it makes you hot and bothered.

König loves Halloween purely to start scaring you randomly throughout the day

Once hid in the bathtub for 20 minutes to scare you while you peed but, he didn’t realize you didn’t have to pee for awhile lol

When you are on top, riding him he loves having a pillow under his head to help him stay up and watch you fully submerge his thick length deep in you over and over again.

He loves the sound of the lube slapping sound while the both of your hips collide together

Sometimes when he’s close to cumming he loves edging himself in you by staying completely still and letting himself pulse in you, he usually has his back curled forward holding your hips so tight holding on to the burning release in his core. Just to wait enough to start thrusting fully again and repeating the process as long as he wants

When he is ready for the release he’s a moaning mess slurring every word he’s trying to get out and starts oozing the first stream of seed his eyes roll back and his mouth gapes open quite literally drooling as his toes curl and hips lock stuck to yours and his cock unloads massive amounts.

Notes: got carried away on that one my bad

He doesn’t mind sitting in silence all day, non-verbal days or moments are completely fine for him

When you aren’t tired he’ll always suggest three things: warm milk, orgasming or a warm shower before bed (which will probably lead to the second thing)

He loves offering you his food even if you have your own

If you’re out in public he doesn’t enjoy a lot of pda but he enjoys hand holding soft touch of his leg under the table or in the car

If he can manage to squish himself into your clothes he’ll accidentally put it on (even if it’s a crop top)

He has a preference on lube so he’ll go to the store himself and read every bottle/tube until he finds a perfect one

Once he went into a sex toy shop and read the back of a “heated and tingly” one and his skin crawled thinking ‘who would want it to be hotter’

Left the shop with a bag. Bag contents: dildo, lube, condoms, flavored condoms, silk rope and a lolli pop shaped like a penis (a gift for you)

He is a soup girly

König will break something accidentally in a glass shop (he’ll buy it after)

He loves when you ask before pulling off his mask “May I take off your mask, my love?” He’ll think if he’s okay with that before answering “I’d like to keep it on just for a little longer” he blushes “of course, köni~”

When he’s away on deployment he lays in his bed and misses your arms around him

He always awaits the moment of getting to hear your voice over the phone when he’s away

If randomly he begins to think of your body while trying to sleep he’ll surely get hard and try ignoring it at first but if it persist he’ll make his way out of the sleeping quarters to the bathroom, bringing his Polaroid of you with him.

Once he was sitting on the lid of the toilet in a stall late at night. His legs outstretched, one hand on his balls and base holding his cock up while the other stroked fast enough to hear the precum slap in his hand with every stroke, he let himself moan your pet names and heavy breathing knowing everyone was asleep down the halls and couldn’t hear him

He once was caught and boy did the others hold it over his head. Some teasing jokes and Soap even mimicking his moans which lead to the group laughing.

It stopped when soap walked in and saw König’s cock while getting out of the shower

Ghost and König def don’t like each other. I feel like they get competitive

That’s it for now! I got super carried away on some but I hope y’all like them💗

[sillysadduck]

I never wanted it to get to this point, but I don't have a choice. I finally made a paypal and I'm trying to set up a ko-fi.

Please read to the bottom and reblog, for the first time I seriously need your help, I mean it.

Hi again, context for my desperate behavior:

For those who know me from my dhmis or fnaf fanart, you know I have been around for years, and I was always happy to bring you free requests. I have never asked for money, it didn't feel right for me even when you were willing to donate to help me escape my living situation, but I am eternally thankful with those who offered ♡ having said this, you know I would never ask unless I absolutely HAVE to.

I'm studying -and pretty much living- with the money of a scholarship, but with the costs of food and books I cannot afford to live. I'm not being dramatic, I have spent more than one day without eating in the last few weeks.

I'm off my meds because I cannot afford them either.

I can't work because I'm the only one who takes care of my disabled sister at home, my mom isn't strong enough to pick her up and change her on her own anymore even if she tries. The days when I'm not home, I'm at college all day trying to survive while my elderly aunt helps take care of my sister.

Recently, what made me hit rock bottom was that my cat, Chimu, started peeing blood. My parents refused to help me pay for his vet bills, even when they're the ones who adopted him. He cries in pain everyday, he's a cat from the streets with a mental disability and I'm the only one who cares about him. The cat food for cats with urinary issues is $70, it may not seem like a lot but I'm surviving with $20 a month (in my country's currency, minimum wage is around $200) and I didn't care about suffering on my own but I won't drag him down with me.

Plus, this month, the government website has been glitching and I didn't receive the money I had been receiving so far. I need your help, if you can't buy then please reblog. I'm currently trying to set up a ko-fi too. I need you more than ever, even if I'm not as active as I used to be, as you can see now there is good reason for my absence.

TLDR: I can't afford to eat, study, or save my family cat, and my parents are pretending I don't exist. Please help me.

Thank you if you read this far <3

[fox-daddy]

The arcana as stolen memes again, again

Julian; the desire to disappear vs the desire to be held and wanted

~~~

Mc: what is the most complicated way to cook an egg?

Nadia without missing a beat: Atmospheric re-entry

Mc holding an egg:...well shit

~~~

Muriel: What if instead of stepping out of my comfort zone I step into an even comfier zone?

~~~

Lucio: huge fan of when my speech patterns rub off on people enjoy when that happens

Lucio: NEVERMIND, my mum just said skill issue to me

~~~

Mc: I wish I had the ability

Muriel:...to do what?

Mc:yeah

Muriel:...

Mc:...

~~~

Asra: I think we should have glowstick juice injected in our bones when we're born so if we break em there's a fun little surprise

Mc: whats the surpise?

Julian cutting in: blood poisoning

~~~

Lucio: if you step on a person's foot they open their mouths, just like trash cans.

Mc: trying not to encourage him by laughing*

~~~

Mc: one time Asra put a glass of milk on the table in front of me and I meant to ask them 'who's milk is this?' because I wasn't sure if it was for me or if they were putting it down on the table to go grab something else and I just stared down at the milk and said 'who's this?' and they turned around and without missing a beat said 'that's your new friend mr.milk' then we stared at each other for a solid twenty seconds before they asked if I was high.

~~~///~~~

(modern day arcana *not the au faking it*)

Nadia: the worst part about parallel parking is the witnesses

Mc: you know their are no witnesses if you're bad enough at parallel parking

~~~

Mc; those moments when straight people assume you're one of them and you feel like a gay secret agent

Nadia: lebionage

Portia:bi spy

Julian: it's an ace case

Asra: secret gaygent

~~~

Nadia: 'kobe' is for accuracy and precision while 'yeet' is for power and distance

Mc: I can turn this into dnd stats

Nadia:???

Mc:Kobe is dexterity, yeet is strength, oof is constitution, tea is intelligence, yolo is wisdom, and wig is charisma

~~~

Mc; You want to know one of my favorite facts? If you leave a hamster wheel out in the forest wild mice will come and run on it. That is one of my favourite facts.

Muriel:... bobcats and lynx's will sit in cardboard boxes abandoned in the forest. I asked Asra about it and they said 'cat's' while shrugging.

~~~

Mc; George Washington died in 1799, 15 years before the first dinosaur was classified. So therefore, Gorge Washington never knew about dinosaurs

Portia: Why does this make me so sad?

~~~

Nadia: if you add two pounds of sugar to literally one ton of concrete it will ruin the concrete and make it unable to set properly. Which is good to know if you want to resist something being built, French anarchists used this to resist prison construction in the 80's.

Portia: I'm just going to go ahead and take a note about this for purely educational purposes.

~~~

Julian: you got to be dunkin my doughnuts

Asra: you gotta be hutting my pizza

Portia: you gotta be mackin my donalds

Nadia: you're really innin my outs here, buddy. You're fivein my guys.

Lucio: ya whiting my castle. Ya darying my queen. Ya steaking my shake.

Mc: but are you belling my taco?

~~~///~~~

(ones with my oc's because why not)

Hunter: stuck in an elevator because Portia decided to jump?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: fucken mint

Hunter: Julian's had three panic attacks in ten minutes?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter:Muriel hasn't said a thing since we got stuck?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Lucio being immature and yelling the whole time?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Asra has just been listening to music and trying to call Nadia to come get us?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Kyle has to pee so bad he might get a bladder infection?

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

Hunter: Lucio's going to be the one we blame because we all hate his fucking guts

Everyone minus Muriel and Julian: Fucken mint

~~~

Hunter: I've got some kind of allergic reaction going on and my face is breaking out in a bad rash and Julian is freaking out and wants to take me to the hospital. Portia was like 'let's not make any rash decisions' and we high-fived and now Julian is yelling at both of us.

~~~

Hunter: someone will be like 'coca cola can remove rust from metal imagine what it's doing to your body' like psssh removing the rust obviously

Nadia: that's not how that works

Hunter: Yeah? while I don't have rust in my body so check mate

Nadia:

[compassionatereminders]

Lord. Today has been such a day. I hope it's ok to just rant about it here, if not obviously feel free to delete!!

Got woken up at 1am because my mom needed to go to the ER for excruciating pain. So we load up and I take her. It takes an HOUR for them to even pay her any mind- and it's not because it was busy. We live in a small town, and there was literally nobody there waiting to be seen. We think they were ignoring her because she looked like she was having drug withdrawals (shaking, pale, she couldn't stop moving/fidgeting). They only came out to see her when I brought my little brother in, and they realized that she wasn't just there to try and get meds from the hospital (this is all speculation ofc, but I really can't imagine any other reason that 'nobody saw her'). I'm still so mad because she sat there for so long, crying in pain (my mom NEVER cries, so that's how I could tell it was really bad) and nobody even bothered to check on her for over an hour. It took another hour for her to get any pain relief and while the nurses were all really nice, I'm still incredibly upset that she had to endure it for so long.

Anyways. Mom's going to be fine, she's getting flown to a better hospital a couple hours away to get the problem dealt with. That's all good. I'm staying home with my brother, and my aunt is going to pick her up later today (hopefully; it might take a few more days). The only issue is that I'll need to meet with my little brothers father (not my dad) to drop him off for the weekend, and I hate the guy, but I can easily ignore him so it's fine.

I think it's the stress of coordinating 4 different people's schedules that put me so on edge (my aunt needs to know when my mom is leaving, my sister is coming 1400 miles to Nevada from Texas, my little brother needs to do his homework/get ready to go/be dropped off). Family keeps calling me because I'm the one who lives with my mom, but I don't have any updates, because I'm home looking after my brother. I feel terrible that I can't tell them anything else, but it's still frustrating when I'm trying to get the house cleaned up, take care of a worried 7-year-old, and answer calls just to repeat the same thing.

The final straw though was one of my cats. When my brother and I finally got home around 8am, we were having breakfast. I look over, and my cat is peeing on my moms lunchbox. I freaked out, because that's disgusting, and he had NO reason to do that- their box is perfectly clean, he's not a serial pee monster, he's never been in competition with the other cats. I don't understand why today, of all days, he would choose to make a mess.

I've spent the past hour and a half trying to clean it by hand because I can't just throw it in the washing machine (it has a cloth outside, but its not removable). He ALSO managed to pee on my brother's homework tower (a short, plastic 'filing cabinet' with drawers we keep his stuff in), and of course, it got inside some of the drawers. Luckily the only stuff I had to throw away was some construction paper and white printer paper, and the rest was untouched, but I still had to clean up a MASSIVE puddle of cat pee on the floor, and empty + wipe out four of the drawers.

So. Anyways. I'm not feeling solution-oriented right now, I'm just really angry that this is all happening at once and there's not really anything within my control besides making sure my brother keeps to his schedule. At least he's not too worried, but I've kind of been avoiding talking to him at the moment because I feel like I might snap at him when it's not his fault at all. I'm also avoiding the cat because, while I would never hurt an animal for doing something dumb, I'm still so mad about it. I'd much rather he'd have peed on something of mine.

Now I just feel super on edge, and I keep waiting for ANOTHER bad thing to happen, because at this point it just feels like the universe is out for blood. It's not even noon yet. It's barely 10am

I'm so sorry about all of this. Anti addict ableism is completely unacceptable and literally kills people. It's not like an addict can't ALSO be in excruciating pain/genuinely need urgent care. I'm glad your mom will be okay, but it makes me furious that she was neglected for hours because of prejudices against a potential addiction. And I completely understand that you're not in a good place right now. I'm sorry about the pee situation also, though it's important for me to note that the cat didn't CHOOSE to "make a mess" just to bother you - either he was a bit ill or it was simply an unfortunate accident.

[withlovefromsimtown]

Lifa's Life Update (+Sims Progress)

Well it's been a minute, but We're still here & I don't mind.

Things roughly in order:

I fully remapped onto a custom SC4 terrain & rebuilt an entire Sims 2 BG neighborhood to update it to UC (any guesses?), started working on clothing defaults for the aforementioned neighborhood.

Started 2 huge TS2 projects that I may someday finish, completely unrelated to all of that, because I was in Milkshape & I can't control myself.

Had my partner's friends over A LOT, like it seemed like every couple weeks for awhile someone would be crashing in the guest room. (They're my friends too they just... started off as partner's friends lol.)

Barbecued & grilled a lot, because friends & food.

Went to a VNV Nation show with my friend (things that are on the Elder Goth Bucket List lol), made a whole Yeet Weekend outta it & also went to Ikea, Fivebelow, Spirit Halloween, a local outdoor market, & a snowcone stand.

The fucking holidays.

Got sick, part 1.

Surprise, my cat has diabetes & needs 2x daily insulin shots!

More of the fucking holidays.

Got sick, part 2.

2x/month cat checkups to check blood sugar & adjust the dose, for like 3 months.

TX freezes, local friend doesn't have sufficient insulation or central heating in their home to deal with the temps, because TX, & comes to stay with me (with their cat) for a week because I have central heating.

During that week that my friend was here, Mr Diabetes Cat decided to a) eat all the dry kibble out of every bowl, b) refuse wet food at shots time because he was full of dry kibble, & then c) throw up kibble & turn around & pee all over my carpet right after throwing up, which resulted in him not getting his shots that night--they have to be given with food---& getting scheduled an urgent vet visit in the morning. (He's fine, just expensive.)

On the day it actually warmed up outside before it went back to 20 degrees, friend & I did a mini-hike together. We also had food from the Generic Asian Cuisine place (yeah I know, it's Texas though) where we got Pho, Lumpia, & a tofu stir-fry.

I regret having to work during the freezy times, unfortunately.

Partner obtained me a uhh... knockoff Steamdeck handheld? Rog Ally? so I can keep Win7 on my monster computer & also play my dumb ancient murder-aliens 4x RTS game on Steam that I like, but I haven't fixed my mods for it to play it, because I...

Got sick, part 3.

While sick, took Mr Diabetes Cat to his very last 2-week checkup; we're on 3-month checkup schedules now! Because he's stable! Yay!

The entire house is a disaster & I'm still not 100% but I'm back to cooking/cleaning a bit between work at least.

Working on more of the necessary clothing defaults for the TS2 neighborhood I redid.

Planning for March when the entire zoo needs to be vetted again for vaxxing, just gonna wrap the diabetes checkup into that & do everyone's bloodwork at that time also unless something drastic happens. (We do like 2-3 cats at a time over the course of 2 weeks, & then the dog on her own, we're not like... hauling a van of animals to the vet all at once...)

Need to get some of the soft mesh transportation prisons for the cats before then, because the big crate with the lid is about to disintegrate.

[cve-th3mvsic]

to anybody and everybody who has a uterus, still gets their period, and uses pads when they’re on their period:

do you ever think you’re like, at the end of your cycle or that your period is done, and you should be done bleeding, (and you’re also js secretly desperately hoping in your mind that you’re done bleeding right now because you’re just so done with it and don’t wanna wear the damn pad anymore), so you decide to not wear a pad/not put on a new one because there wasn’t anything on it before and you’re like almost sure that you should be done, but then later, the next time you use the bathroom, you realize, whoops!! you’re wrong. you are still bleeding, and, just to your luck, you bled through your underwear. and now you’re extra upset because you really hoped that you were done and you really didn’t wanna have to put a pad on, but it bled through and now you have to put a pad on again. and what’s even worse, it didn’t just get on your underwear. it might’ve even gotten on your pants/shorts, or your inner thighs. so now you probably feel gross, and you feel like you have to shower asap.. because who would want to keep the blood on their inner thighs? 

it’s such a disappointment. especially when it’s a lot of blood.

(i don’t mean this in a pissed tf off kind of tone, i’m just bummed out about it. this happened to me today, which is why i’m posting this. i wanna know if anybody else relates)

___

also, i’ve seen lots of people say that apparently, to some people in society, talking about periods/menstruation is considered a weird thing to do. the people that i’ve seen say that have also said that we should normalize talking about periods.

we should 100% normalize talking about it.

we’re fucking humans and it happens to us. we bleed down there. it’s a normal thing for us people with a uterus. hate to break it to ya, but we can’t change that. and ya know, if i could i would. if i could choose to not have a period anymore, i wouldn’t have it. — it should not be weird to talk about periods, or what it’s like having a period. that shouldn’t be considered weird.

like be for real.

the human body is a strange thing (in my opinion), but definitely not strange enough to be something i wouldn’t talk about.

i think that this kind of thing/topic may be something that not many people would have the confidence or guts(?) to talk about .

to the people who may be too scared to talk about the struggles of having a period and what it’s like: i’ll say it for us. i’ll talk about it.

we bleed down there. it’s not very fun. when it starts, it’ll probably get on our underwear if we don’t put a pad on or use some other kind of feminine product to stop it from doing so. (i only use pads, so i dunno what it’s like using a tampon or whatever the other options there are). sometimes, it bleeds through our clothes. like our underwear or shorts/pants. it might be embarrassing if someone sees it, but hey, shit happens. if it does, we shouldn’t be judged for it. it happens, it’s not fun. but it’s not weird.

i mean, honestly, (in a similar scenario), if i peed my pants, hell yah i’d be embarrassed. but dude, i couldn’t get to the bathroom soon enough to go pee and prevent that. yah that sucks, but don’t judge me for it. and don’t compare me to a kid or call me a kid if i pee my pants either. i couldn’t get to the bathroom soon enough to pee, that doesn’t make me a child. i just couldn’t hold it in. big deal. it’s not funny, and it shouldn’t be.

and if you don’t wanna hear about this, cool. you don’t have to.

and ya know, there’s an option of simply scrolling past the post. of simply not reading it. you can ignore this. scroll away. it’s fine. i mean, if you’ve read to here at this point, you did choose to do so.

so if you read this and got uncomfortable, maybe don’t read it. if you’ve become uncomfortable by reading this, maybe you could have not clicked the “Keep reading” button to prevent that.

(i mean, sometimes curiosity kills the cat, but still)

if you did get uncomfortable by reading this, don’t mention it here please. please don’t reply to this post about it. it’d be nice. go talk to someone else about it. i cannot force you to not reply, but i can ask you.

you have your opinions too, and that is 100% okay. we all have opinions. we should be able to share them.

but if they include that you think that the stuff mentioned in this post is weird or gross, please do not reply to this post. i ask you very kindly.

i mean this respectfully, i don’t wanna hear about it. if you disagree with me and what i posted, please go somewhere else to talk about it. i’d rather you not tell me. i cannot stop you, but i’d like you to know that i do not want to hear about your opinion if it is negative. again, respectfully, please go somewhere else to discuss your opinion if you disagree or have a very strong and negative opinion on this.

i do not tolerate any kind of hate. i will not tolerate if you decide to reply to this post, (in any way, whether it’s a reply in the messages thingy or a reblog), with hate or discrimination. if you reply with hateful words or discrimination, you will be blocked. i don’t know if you care about that, but please, take your negative opinion(s) elsewhere. it is not okay to discriminate.

___

[nym-wibbly]

How is Cat please?

She's feeling better in herself, but the blood and urine test results aren't good. Her hyperthyroid disease, which was undetectable on medication 6 months ago it was so well controlled, is completely out of control now, so we've doubled her daily medication. Her kidney disease has progressed from stage 2 to at least stage 3 - can't be sure how bad that is until the thyroid is under control again, as hyperthyroid masks kidney failure. On the bright side, her bloodwork showed no signs of inflammation or infection, so the bladder issue that got us the emergency visit the other day is probably just stress cystitis and will pass on its own. Still waiting for a culture on her pee just to be sure though.

I'm concentrating on trying to feed her up and keep her hydrated. We'll repeat the blood tests in a few weeks to see how she's responding to the higher dose of thyroid meds.

Between the vet visit, the tests, the medication, and the new foods we need to try out, I've dropped roughly £950 on The Cat this week. I have to budget for another £550 vet bill in 4 weeks when we repeat the tests. *headdesk* It's just awful that responsible pet ownership has become a luxury-level lifestyle choice. Then again, so has eating decent food and staying warm. I committed to caring for The Cat when I rescued her 10 years ago, and I'll move mountains and tighten my belt endlessly for her, but I've got an awful feeling that she's going to be my last pet, short of a financial miracle. That doesn't make it easier to cope with what's basically her end-of-life care - something I'd otherwise be philosophical about, having joyfully given her a great life here. :( She's an incredible friend, and the last decade would've driven me to despair without her quiet, constant company.

@luthienebonyx @intoni

[neigetriestheirbest]

idk sand x ray shit

“Some part of me must have died the first time that you called me ‘baby’, but some part of me came alive the first time that you called me ‘baby’” 

He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t - that this isn’t smart, isn’t healthy; it’s clearly fucked to all extremes, beyond any one person - but Ray is here, and so soft - but sharp (with his teeth) - , and warm; and his tongue and mouth are hot; his body hard and supple; keen; lust-furious and enamoured. He’s small, but edged like a blade, easy to cut yourself, easy to see yourself- a hard reflection,- addictive to taste. 

 He’s loud, too, in a way that San hasn’t had lovers before. Vocal in all that he likes, and bratty; greedy, like the rich kid that he is. San takes special care to make him beg, plead, for the pleasures and coital bliss that they make. Manners matter, after all. Even rich boys have to say please. And he does feel so good. So hot and brown and limber, petal-soft skin; the delicate dark coins of his nipples; and even darker, coarsing hair; thighs like sucking candy - sweet and round and parting, melting, like spun sugar under the sunlight. San wants to bite and squeeze them until they’re blue and violet, marked, especially, just for him - clear to all the other lovers Ray takes to his bed. (Not that they’re lovers - they’re just friends.)

 He has a mouth, too, Ray, generous with dirty words (and curses and foul shit) that San would otherwise find entirely off-putting with anyone else. But Ray can croon “fuck-“ and “harder, baby, yes-“; “fuck me there”; “don’t stop-”; “fuck me hard, baby, please-“; and it gets him going unlike anything else he’d imagined before. He’s so easy to indulge in; a nagging temptation so easy to bend for, account for, bloody stampede for.

 “Fuck me, you feel so good,' Ray pants in San’s ear, and San moans at the feeling of him clenching tight around him, his thighs tensing hot and flesh-taut around the angular planes of his hips. “Kiss me,” Ray says, sweat beading on his brow, hair mussed to oblivion, his arms embraced around San’s neck.

 “So demanding,” San admonishes, breathing hard, ecstasy broiling in his loins and brainstem; flame-hot hard in his cock as he licks his tongue firm over Ray’s teeth, the soft palate of the roof of his mouth; sucks on the wet muscle of his tongue - it feels fucking cosmic.

 “Yes - fuck, yes -“

 “Ohh, Ray, you-“

They come, together, in synch, unison, as Ray cants his pelvis up, deepening San’s reach inside him. Rich, lance-sharp waves of pleasure crash through them as they gasp and moan achingly into each other’s mouths. Their breaths mingle, and Ray tries his best to chase the orgasm fast-fleeing their flesh, bucking hard into San and digging his nails in, grinding deep into the lines of his back. He whispers, “Fuck, San-”, and San exhales exhaustedly against his throat, agreeing, “yeah, fuck,” because that, most assuredly, had been GoodTM. 

San pants against his neck, blood and brain buzzing with climax and the feeling of Ray’s fingers brushing slowly through his hair.

 “I think,” Ray manages, voice-tired, hoarse, San notices somewhat smugly, “we deserve some kind of prize for that.”

 “For sex?”

 “For coming that late, that hard-“

 “Oh shut up, dickhead-“

 “-Jesus!” Ray half-shouts in his ear, “Honeymoon period over or what?”

 San laughs and grins, lifting his head from the sweet curve of Ray’s neck. “Honeymoon? When did that begin? Before or after I threatened to pee on your head?'

 “God. Please. I’m trying my best to forget that threat of yours.”

 “Hey. You were in my way. I needed to go - simple math.”

Ray squeezes the back of his neck, tender. “I don’t think you know how to math - how math works.”

San sniggers, “How to math?” He repeats, chest rumbling with laughter that Ray feels deep down into his torso.

 “Shut up. I’m sex-stupid right now, I don’t know how words work.”

 “Hmm, clearly.” San levers himself up, up onto his elbows and stretches his body in a kind of cat-stretch, enjoying the curve of his spine. Ray makes noises of protest at his bodyweight leaving him, selfishly (dangerously) wanting to revel in the relaxed intimacy of the moment: the feel of San’s warm angles on top of him. San only kisses Ray’s navel while he’s level with it, licks it, the taste of his spend sharp on his tongue, and he smirks at the tensing jolt of muscle jerking tight beneath the skin.

He never used to allow himself pillow talk with Ray after sex; didn’t allow the kind of lingering closeness -the fluff- that they share currently. It used to be just sex, their body-stuff over when the sex itself was over. ‘Nail and bail’ as Ray had coined it after they first slept together (it had meant to be a one time thing). But - San had found himself drawn in, into Ray, pulled into his gravity like the moon pulling the tides. Ray nagged, persisted; he was touchy, grabby, constant; he clung to San like San’s favourite old band shirt. And San started to enjoy it, enjoy Ray, find it comfortable: his bratty persistence. He let them get too close, let himself get too close.

 They were friends, not lovers. San knew that. But he also knew that that line (forever wavering since the dawn of eternity but strictly separating one from the other) was all too easily stumbled over. Not to mention that San was almost entirely convinced that Ray was utterly gone on someone else. He suspected it was his friend with the easy smile and the glasses. Mew, he thinks. San is just convenient, a distraction - enjoyable and fun but a distraction, nonetheless.

San knows all of this but he leans over Ray and kisses along his jawline all the same; mouths along the curves of his forever-baby-face. He sucks slowly at the apple of his throat, purely for the feel of him - and the reaction he knows it will create.

Predictably, Ray makes a soft croak of a sound, “San,” he warns. Ray didn’t do well with aftercare, San had learnt - with him it tended to inevitably end up in another round.

 “I can go again,” San considers, kissing deep beneath the bone of his jaw, teeth biting down suddenly against the sharp angle. 

Ray whole-body-flinches. 

His neck is very sensitive. 

And San loves it.

 “Ah-! No, I - I can’t, I’ve got - I’ve - got that dinner,” he sighs, smoothing his palms down over San’s shoulder blades. “I better start getting ready. I should shower. Probably.”

 “Change that to definitely.” San smirks. 

He untangles himself from Ray and falls back onto the bed, allowing himself to sprawl for a bit before he hunts down his clothes. He regrets the lack of closeness they had shared. He wants to go again, to pull Ray in close and whisper how he wants him, cares for him - how he wants be the only one who makes him feel incredible. He wants to be the only one to make him come. Wants to be the only one who knows how.

 “Uhh,” Ray makes a face at the tackiness of his skin and sits up. “So gross, San. How could you do this to me?”

San ignores his shit and instead asks, “Anyone I know?” But he yawns then, interrupting himself, too much work and too little sleep catching up to him. More importantly, he asks, “Anyone hot?”

Ray scoffs at him and leers, getting in his face. “Hotter than you.”

San grins, shoving his chest. “Please. As if.” He says it mostly to make Ray laugh, which he does, and he also scoots closer to kiss him. It’s slow, and sweet; intimate and Not Like Them; and San finds himself chasing Ray’s taste as he pulls away.

 “You got plans?” Ray murmurs, asking from above him, leaning up on his palms either side of San’s mussed hair.

 “Hm,” San affirms, “Study. Yo’s later.”

 “You’re playing?”

 “Hm,” San nods, his eyes flicking over Ray’s face, enjoying the warm pink-brown flush of his skin; the tender glint of his eyes, remnant of ecstasy and pleasure; the soft rose-blush of his mouth. 

 “Mm, I might see you then. I think the others are heading there later.”

 “Lucky you.” San grins.

 “Fuck you,” Ray responds instantly, so fast it’s as if it were reflexively.

San only raises an eyebrow, recalling what they literally just finished doing, and they both break down in laughter.

 “Okay, okay.” Ray hiccoughs slightly, shaking his head like a dog to banish the breathless sniggering, “Shower. I need to shower.”

 San snorts and shoves him bodily. “Yeah, rich boy. Piss off.” He pushes him upright, maturely sticking his tongue out when Ray flips him off, backing away to the ensuite bathroom his rich ass has. He stretches his back, and arms and legs, against the sheets and pillows, sighing. He could fall asleep right here. So comfy, goddamn.

 As if on point, on command, as if he somehow knows, Ray chooses to interrupt his moment of peace by re-opening the bathroom door and yelling at full volume, over the noise of the running water, making San flinch - 

 “WANNA JOIN ME?”