#af rehab

[afrehab]

Rehabilitácia

Naše rehabilitačné centrum poskytuje fyzioterapiu a rehabilitáciu detí a dospelých. Sme jediné oficiálne špecializované pracovisko na SM systém (SPS Spirálna stabilizácia) na Slovensku. Na našej rehabilitačnej klinike nájdete aj certifikovaných terapeutov Vojtovej metódy. V praxi používame aj ďalšie rehabilitačné metódy podľa individuálnych potrieb klientov.

[confinesofmy]

me and my cousin i'm barely on speaking terms with (but in a relatively casual way) repotted her deceased grandmother's pothos today. this was our first time actually properly repotting it bc last summer it was in such a fragile state and we were so scared to hurt it that we just lifted it out of its pot and placed it in a bigger one but this go round we basically dismantled it entirely. we got eight discrete plants and placed it into four different pots!! in nine months it went from the edge of death to that many plants and like ninety leaves altogether. so if you're bad with plants but still wanna fool with them, i guess you should get a pothos.

[pineyw00dsshesquatch]

I just got an accidental cat. He's been here almost a week, he was crying at our door last Sunday night. I live WAY in the boonies, so I think some buttcrack dumped him out here.

We haven't named him yet, he's very young and affectionate, still has bawwls, but imma have a vet cut em out soon. I'd like to have him be more inside, but my resident house cat, Briggy is a certified C'OONT. It's ok, outside boi gets the best scraps.

I need a name for this sweet young man soon.

[liberty-spiked]

my local headshop moved up the street and not only did they play The Interrupters, no they have a pettable and love-addicted dog there 😭

[puck-luck]

evening embrace | jack hughes

warnings: oral (m! & f! receiving) aka 69 BABYYYY!!!!! whiny jack, silly jack, established realtionship af, very domestic pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes coming home from practice or a game all grumpy and frustrated and just ranting endlessly about whatever is pissing him off so u just casually decide to give him head mid-rant. without a word you just start palming him over his pants while he’s mid sentence and he’d be like “baby, what are you doing?” and you’d casually make your way to your knees with a shrug and say “you’re stressed, seem like you could use some relief” and once you’ve got his dick out and you’re about to bring it to your lips you’d say “you can continue with your ranting baby, promise i won’t get distracted” with an innocent little pout i-" wc: 4423

Jack had a bad day. The Devils just had their first few preseason games and Jack, although he felt ready to get back into his normal routine, feels like his shoulder injury from last season is still a little tender. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he snapped, but he thinks that he blacked out around the time when he missed a pivotal pass that resulted in a breakaway and goal in the game today. He’s never been so angry after a game– and this is just preseason.

He bursts through the door to your shared apartment, already ranting. 

“This is shit,” Jack complains, dropping his bags in the doorway and kicking off his shoes. 

“What’s shit, Jacky?” You ask from the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and reading a book. Now that he’s home, though, you set the book down and give him your attention.

“I’m not playing good enough,” Jack huffs out, frustrated and annoyed. “It’s my stupid shoulder. I’ve rehabbed it, I’ve gotten it fixed through surgery, and I still feel like I’m not playing at 100%.”

“Aw, honey, come sit,” you say, patting the cushion beside you. 

Jack stalks over, collapsing onto the couch cushions and pulling you onto his lap. He kisses you hello before going back to his ranting. 

“I knew I needed to work more on my wrister before the game,” he says. “But Keefe wanted us to run drills at camp so that we could be better all-around.”

You hum when you need to, but Jack’s just complaining and pouting. He had a tough day and wants to get all of his negative thoughts out, knowing that you don’t mind listening to him when he has problems.

“And I appreciate being a good team all-around, you know,” Jack continues. “But there should be times during practice when a guy can go work on his own shit, which will make the team better overall once he’s perfected the skill.”

“Maybe you can talk to Nico about that,” you murmur, tracing the letters on Jack’s shirt. 

“I don’t want to be that guy,” Jack grumbles. “It’s a team sport. If Keefe wants us to practice as a team, then that’s what we’ll do. He’s the coach.”

You nod absentmindedly, adjusting yourself on Jack’s lap. Your hand continues to pet over his covered chest as he talks. His muscles are defined; it’s clear that he put in the work during his time off. You know he did, actually. You’ve watched his body swell and gain muscle mass over the summer and you’ve been able to see the changes up close and personal.

But not this past week: training camp started and Jack has been so tired and stressed out that he’ll come home, eat dinner with you, and collapse into bed with nary a makeout sesh anywhere. He’s been too tired to get off with you, although you know it relaxes him and helps him keep his mind clear, so you haven’t pushed.

Yet, as he talks about his day, you can’t stop thinking about how much better this would be if your lips were wrapped around his dick.

Your hand drops to his lap, palming his length over his shorts and interrupting Jack’s sentence.

He catches your wrist. “Baby, what are you doing?” Jack asks. “I’m talking to you.”

You blink up at him innocently, moving from his lap and sliding down to the ground. You situate yourself prettily on your knees, right between his thighs. Again, you touch the front of his shorts, rubbing the area like you’re giving him a handjob over his pants. “You seem stressed,” you tell him, simply. “Like you could use some relief.”

Jack’s mouth is agape, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I– um, yeah, I mean, I guess I’m stressed,” he replies, agreeing with you with an additional nod.

“Let me help,” you offer, cupping his bulge with your hand before leaning in to brush a fleeting kiss against the growing tent. You mouth along for a moment before bringing his waistband down, revealing his tight boxer-briefs. His semi is much more noticeable in just the underwear, straining more against the fabric as he grows harder. You fit your lips over the tip of his cock and suck slightly, through his shorts, just to make Jack jump.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, touching the back of your neck hesitantly. He moves like he’s still confused and not quite sure what’s happening.

“Keep talking, baby,” you say to him as you pull his length out of his underwear and start to stroke it. You press a kiss to the crown of his cock, then pull back. “I’m listening. I promise I won’t get distracted.” You blink up at him through your eyelashes, watching countless emotions pass over Jack’s face before you kitten-lick over his slit and hum in approval. 

“It’s just hard,” Jack says, his eyes still wide and blown because of the shock that came over him when you made your bold move. “To, uh–”

He trails off, gesturing helplessly as your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his cock. You hum, bobbing your head in a commiserating, blatantly sarcastic nod. You know what you’re doing to him. You know that Jack goes boneless whenever you suck him off, that he promptly loses his words when you gag on his cock. 

So, you pull away from him. You let your spit pool where it lay while your lips were around him– able to use it as lube as you pump him, blinking up at him like you’re unimpressed. “C’mon, J. I thought you had things to be frustrated about.”

“I do!” Jack exclaims, finding his words after your mouth parts from his body.

“Oh, you do,” you repeat, a smug little smile on your face. “So tell me about it.”

“I– well– it doesn’t matter now,” Jack whines, his hips twitching under your calm palm. 

You furrow your brow and tilt your head to the side. “It doesn’t?”

Jack covers his face with his hands and makes a frustrated noise.

“Well, if that doesn’t matter, then why am I doing this?” You ask, feigning complete confusion even as you continue to stroke him. Jack has obviously gotten side tracked– and the relief of your mouth is like a wet rag on a dry erase board: it wipes everything completely clean and fresh. “I thought I was offering you something sweet to make up for your bad day.”

“You are, just– stop stopping!” 

You move your head from side to side with each word in your response: “You can’t make me!”

At a stalemate, Jack deflates. He frowns to himself, then pointedly at you. You’re still stroking him, just teasing him, waiting for him to sweetly ask you to continue until–

Jack pulls you up onto the couch and takes your place, sinking to the ground on his knees with his pants and underwear pooling around his ankles. He doesn’t bother to take his clothes off before he touches your leggings reverently with a light ghosting of his fingertips. He brushes a sweet kiss against the inside of your thigh as he touches you, but the sweetness and teasing doesn’t last very long.

“How was your day?” Jack asks with a smirk and another kiss to your covered skin. He pulls at the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your legs in a totally obvious way.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you warn.

“Not doing anything,” Jack teases. 

“Don’t lie to me, Jack Hughes.”

“Full name,” Jack notes offhandedly. He licks his lips and rubs his thumb along your slit, still covered by your godforsaken panties. If he’s going to do something, he had better do it. “Just giving my baby a taste of her own medicine,” he adds.

“My day was fine, thank you very much,” you retort.

Jack hums, fiddling with the edge of your panties, the part of the underwear that’s covering his favorite part of you. “What’d you do?” He asks.

“I showered,” you say.

“Without me,” Jack adds. You don’t have time to berate him for acting like a fuckboy– not when he starts mouthing over your hipbones until he finds the waistband of your panties. He takes the band between his teeth and drags the fabric down to meet your leggings. All the while, he stares up at you with his own wide, blown, horny eyes. 

“And I had breakfast, then I worked for a while, then I got lunch with my coworker like I told you about last night–” You continue, but Jack interrupts, pulling away from your bare cunt.

He pouts a bit. “What coworker?” Jack asks. “Who was it again?”

You muster the courage to glare at him. Jack just grins, his thumb sweeping through your folds like he hasn’t got a care in the world. 

“Sadie,” you remind him. “The new girl in accounting.”

“Oh, Sadie,” Jack drawls, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “How could I forget about Sadie?” He smiles at you briefly to show that he’s messing with you, then nears your mound. “What did you eat?” He asks, just before replacing his thumb with the tip of his tongue, pride written all over his face as you take a deep breath.

“We got those Mediterranean bowls you like,” you say. You don’t tell him that there’s one in the fridge waiting for him.

“Without me,” Jack repeats, sounding a little more forlorn than the first time. Who knew that showering without your boyfriend would be less titillating than a Mediterranean bowl from that place down the street?

Regardless, you still don’t tell him about your little surprise in the kitchen.

“Without you,” you agree. “I can’t always be with you, you know.”

“Mhm, and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to go through,” Jack says, using his thumbs to pull your lips apart so he can really dig in and lavish your cunt. Jack drinks up the gasp that leaves your mouth when his tongue twirls against your clit, then drops lower to press against your entrance. Jack presses a kiss against your entrance before his tongue really works into you, rendering him quiet.

You know he expects you to continue speaking, just as you expected him to continue. One thing you’ve always been better at than Jack is compartmentalizing– you swear it comes with the territory of being a woman compared to being a man– but you’ve missed this so much that you don’t care about his gloating that will come later. 

“Jack, come–”

You interrupt yourself with a breathy gasp, hands flying to his hair. Jack has always loved when you tug at the brown waves adorning his head, so the heady look in his eyes when he looks up at you is no surprise. It’s also no surprise that your gasp has Jack flattening his tongue and showering your cunt with attention.

You had meant to ask him to come back up onto the couch, wanting him to be comfortable, but Jack doesn’t seem to care. You still want him to fill your mouth. There’s a trace of his salty precum on your tongue and the absence of his cock on the muscle leaves you writhing. 

He eats you out messily, getting your juices all over his lips, cheeks, and chin. When he pulls away to catch a breath, you admire how his chest heaves with the effort to fill his lungs before diving back in and the way he licks his lips. You grip his hair, tugging slightly to get his attention, and then Jack’s disheveled baby blues are back on you. He smiles dopily, moving to wrap his lips around your clit, but before he can, you speak.

“Come up here,” you implore, tugging at his hair again. 

“Wanna stay here,” Jack replies, succeeding in his efforts to reconnect with your core this time. 

Despite the shockwaves flying through your body at his powerful suction, you remain steadfast. You’re even able to string a sentence together that has Jack pausing: “Please, J, wanna suck you too,” you complain.

It isn’t long until Jack thinks of a joke to refute you. “Baby, I’m 86, not 69.”

“Jack,” you complain, tugging his hair again indignantly as he laughs against your cunt, enjoying his own joke. “Not funny.”

“Very funny,” Jack mumbles, fitting a finger inside of you and thumbing over your clit in the absence of his mouth. You’re grinding down against him now, not nearly full enough or satisfied enough. Jack’s smirk tells you that there’s more coming. “You want to have my cock in your mouth so bad that you’ll do your least favorite sex position on the couch?”

You groan. Of course he remembered the conversation he walked in on when you had your girlfriends over a couple of months ago– a lengthy, very detailed, very philosophical conversation about which sex positions are practical and impractical, as well as what places are more practical than others. 

You don’t suck Jack off as he eats you out often. It’s not something you ever really feel the need to do, even though Jack has admitted to loving the way you’ll moan against his cock and rock back into his mouth like you’re unsure which is better. The reason you don’t do it often, though, is that you can rarely finish like that. And Jack, being the doting, pussy-drunk boyfriend he is, would rather have you in a position where you’ll come all over his cock or his face rather than struggle to make it to your destination.

As for the couch, you’ve always thought that it’s more fun to ride Jack and distract him from whatever he’s watching on the TV, or for him to bend you over the edges of the furniture to pound into you from behind.

But today– today, you’re confident that you can finish. It’s been over a week since Jack felt like doing anything and you’re needy. You’re not ashamed of it, either– you love your boyfriend and the passion shared between you both is enough to steam up the windows of the apartment. It’s no secret that Jack does everything he can to make you feel good.

Which is how you’re going to convince him to get back on the couch and fill you completely, please you from both ends until you’re boneless and smothering him with your cunt– “The ideal way to die,” according to Jack, and all of his friends who insisted he was right when he dared to bring up sex at one of the parties on the lake house the previous summer. 

“Jack,” you say, simple and plain. You lean forward on the couch, reaching down to cradle his face in your palms. Your hands get sticky with your own slick, but it’s no big deal. After all, you’d already touched Jack’s dick, so it’s not like your hands are clean. You press a fleeting kiss to his nose, making Jack grin widely. “Wanna sit on this pretty face,” you tell him. “While I gag on your cock.”

“Mm, yeah?” Jack asks. The way he perks up is laughable: if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. “Gonna come in my mouth while I come in yours?”

You shiver at the thought of a simultaneous orgasm– your own warmth and relaxation taking over your body while Jack fills you up. You nod slightly, biting your lip to hold back a needy whine. Your eyelashes flutter as you watch Jack stand from his spot between your legs. 

He lays on the couch, his head resting on a throw pillow for some extra leverage. He makes himself comfortable, and it’s a little silly that both of you still have your shirts on, but Jack sticks out his tongue and waves you forward. The position makes you laugh, combined with his antics, so you make a silly move of your own. 

You crawl towards him, across the couch, trying to look like Sophie in Mamma Mia while she and Sky sing ‘Lay All Your Love on Me,’ but there’s no music playing. It’s just you and Jack and your soft little giggles, which are eventually quieted by a sweet kiss and a swipe of Jack’s tongue against your own. You can taste yourself on him and he can taste himself on you, which has Jack smiling into the kiss. His teeth clink against yours for a second, then he pats your hip and you pull away.

“Come have a seat, baby,” Jack invites, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. You shake your head and avert your eyes, blushing a little bit at how giddy you’ve made him with just a few kisses, some attention to his cock, and access to your pussy.

“Forgotten all about your bad day?” You tease.

“It turned out okay, I think,” Jack replies with a wink. He keeps his hands on your body as you turn, then line yourself up with his mouth. You’ve got the perfect view of his cock in this position, standing up and red for you, just waiting for you to lean forward and welcome him into the warm wetness of your mouth.

Jack hasn’t waited to admire you. He’s already sloppily mouthing at your lips, sliding his tongue against your clit. He has his arms looped around your thighs, hands planted squarely on your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them so that he can pull you back further and work his tongue inside of you. For your hesitation, he gives your clit a little nip to encourage you forward. It doesn’t hurt, but it does surprise you, and you let out a hushed yelp. Jack giggles before returning to your entrance, prodding at you.

You bend forward, laying across Jack’s body and holding yourself up by laying your forearms on his abdomen. Your left hand pets over the skin on his hip while your right holds his base steady. You gather some spit in your mouth before letting it drip onto his slit. The fluid drips down his cock, but you’re determined to replace your spit with ropes of his cum.

You take him in your mouth as far as you can, moaning when his tip nudges the back of your throat. He twitches in your mouth, involuntary but welcome. You love when he’s unable to control his reactions, doubling down on his enthusiasm at your core. 

You can feel yourself dripping all over Jack’s face. His hands are strong on your hips, pulling you back to grind against his mouth. Taking an arm from around your thigh, he brings his fingers back to your core, sliding two inside of you while he focuses on your clit. 

He’s so messy and he keeps making slurping sounds because he’s so into it, which is completely not sexy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You treasure the moans and hums that follow the unattractive slurping– Jack’s voice has grown high-pitched and needy, completely intoxicated by your taste.

You imagine him now, cheeks flushed just as pink as yours. Hell, his lips are probably swollen and the same shade of red as his tip. 

You bring a hand up to move your hair to one side of your head, the strands brushing Jack’s thigh and tickling him slightly. It’s necessary for you to give this blowjob your full attention, and you can’t have your hair getting in the way now, not after you’ve been missing Jack’s cock for a full week.

No, you’re just as drunk as he is, moaning and gagging and humming. You pull out all the stops– leaving his cock to kiss over his balls and suck at the skin while you pump his member. Jack’s always enjoyed that extra touch, his hips jumping uncontrollably into your space for the second time tonight.

“Wanna fuck my face?” You ask, words coming out in a rush. 

Jack keens beneath you, holding you closer. He pumps his fingers inside you quickly, working a third into your hole and curling his knuckles until he finds your sweet spot, making you moan wantonly. His hips are moving again, wiggling beneath you until you bring your lips back to his tip. You press a kiss against his slit before opening your mouth as wide as you can, hollowing your cheeks against his shaft until Jack starts to move.

He’s quick like a jack-hammer. His movements are twitchy and shallow because, as you’ve said time and time again, Jack has never been the world’s greatest multitasker. He’s able to perform well on the ice, very athletically minded and capable, but when his mind gets all foggy and sex-crazed, he’s completely helpless. 

He chases his pleasure wildly. He continues to make his sweet, pretty whimpers against your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit as fast as he can manage while also fingering you and fucking into your mouth– he’s working overtime and his chest is heaving with harsh breaths. You take it, even rolling your hips against his fingers to try and help him out. 

You’d feel bad about making him do all the work, but you’ve known since the beginning of your relationship how Jack feels about making you come: he loves it. It’s better than his own release. He always wants you to come over his tongue or make a mess all over his cock or fingers.

“Baby, baby,” Jack whines against your clit, his lips brushing the nerves as he talks. “Fuck, gonna come, please, please–”

“Uh-huh,” you hum, the best response you can give with your mouth stuffed with his cock. The vibrations send Jack over the edge and he lurches beneath you, pulling his fingers from your hole and replacing them with his tongue. He switches, putting his thumb on your clit and rubbing furious circles until you’re writhing above him.

You’re able to swallow a mouthful of his cum before you have to squeeze your eyes shut and focus on your own orgasm, milliseconds away from breaking down the dam inside of you. You pull off of Jack’s cock and pant above him, continuing to stroke him through his climax. 

Your eyes are a little teary from the ecstasy coursing through your veins, fueled completely by Jack’s rapid movements and equally frequent muffled pleas. He can’t stop begging you to release all over his face, even with his tongue inside of you. You can’t focus on what he’s saying, but his voice is wrecked and bordering on distressed. That’s how bad he needs you to come, how badly he needs to make you come.

His jaw has got to be aching by this point, having eaten you out for so long, but you’re so close.

You sit up a bit, just enough that you can place your hands on his muscular thighs and grind back against his face. Your hips are quick, messy, and inconsistent. “Jack,” you cry out, your breath leaving you like a hard fall to the ground knocking all the air from your lungs.

“Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, his tongue flicking over your walls.

You come harder than you ever have like this– maybe harder than you ever have in general. Jack holds you against him and laps at your release, despite the pleasure causing your hips to jerk and try to escape. You lose track of yourself, feeling completely gone. There’s a chance you’ll have to wash the couch cushions later, with the way you’re spreading slick over Jack’s face. It feels endless, your orgasm, and you think Jack may have actually made up for a week of nothing in just one night. 

He licks over you until there’s nothing left for him to taste. His hair has gone wild, eyes bright but groggy and hazy at the same time. You’re sure you look the same, unwilling to find yourself in the mirror across the room when you roll off of Jack and find a shaky footing on the floor. Your shirt is damp with sweat, as is Jack’s. He lifts the neckline to wipe the lower half of his face, dazed. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, placing a hand over his heart. His eyes look up at you, a slight smile lifting the edges of his lips. “That might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to dying from your pussy, baby.”

You laugh at that, running your fingers through your hair. “I think we both need a shower,” you say with an easy smile. 

Jack yawns. “Then bed?” He asks. 

“If you don’t fall asleep on me right here,” you reply, nodding at his body as it lounges on the couch. You thought you were bad with going boneless– Jack seems to have sank into the cushions. The sight is hilarious– your boyfriend, completely love drunk and smiling up at you like you’re an angel, with his shirt still on but no pants and no underwear. His dick has softened against his hip, the cum you didn’t swallow drying against his skin. “With your dick out and all. Any burglar would run the other direction.”

“You don’t think he’d be impressed?” Jack sits up just enough to look at his length. 

“Maybe not in this state.”

“I’ll just have to explain to him that my girl fucked me so good that I couldn’t move anymore,” Jack ponders with a shrug. He laughs to himself, eyes hooded but blinking slowly at you.

“Well, you did come first,” you agree. You reach out and take his hands, dragging him up to a sitting position, then up to his feet. 

Jack stumbles into you, petting over your rat’s-nest of a head of hair and pressing a series of kisses all over your face.

“Gross, gonna have to do extra skincare tonight,” you pout, pushing him away. 

Jack continues making kissy noises as you pull him towards your shared bedroom, depositing him in front of the shower so that he can start the water while you grab new clothes for the both of you and go to the bathroom. 

He feels you up in the shower until you’re both laughing and covered in suds, unable to keep your lips from the other person’s for longer than a couple of minutes. He makes his hair into a shampooed mohawk just to make you giggle again. His displeasure from earlier in the night is completely gone, and you couldn’t be more glad. 

notes: this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written, so i hope y'all enjoyed!!

[milkwaydreams]

My conclusion after EP 13 for Perfect 10 Liners is: I LOVE FAIFA! 😍

He is so F extra, I really love him 🤣 And the way Junior portrays him is so cute, I have no idea how many times I said "I love Faifa" during this whole episode 🤣🤭 I'm really curious to know more about him and his traumas. I feel he tries to be friend of everyone and help them either because he himself don't wanna feel lonely or abandoned again, or don't want the others to feel lonely like he did. I really don't know but I'm dying to learn about it 🤔 Hope I continue to like him in his story please 😃🤣

Also, I love how EVERYONE in that class began to mock Yotha and Gun when they began the whole tie scene right there in the front. If you look at the extras, even them are making the "Do my tie" gesture and I quacked when I noticed that🤣🤣 The friendship mockery on this whole series is my favorite part, help 🤣🤣

AND THE WAY GUN HIDES BEHIND FAIFA IS SO CUTE. He feels safe with Faifa, he goes to him and opens up, breaks down crying in front of Fai, that's what I call trust and I love it. Also Fai protecting Gun from Yotha cause he don't want Yotha to hurt Gun anymore... I love him... I can't, that's too sweet 😭😭😭

And Junior showing that he can indeed act serious too and not just goofy, ooh, I love to see that🤭🤭🤭

About Warit and Klao, really can't talk on their matter cause, it just hits too close to home... I've been in the EXACT SAME situation as Warit and my way out of it was shitty af so, I don't even know how to react to watching what happened to me as a viewer cause I'll always lean more for Warit cause I FULLY understand him...

So I'm just gonna talk about the slap. I'm SURE that that slap hurt 100% more than any of the punches Klao took the whole episode. I vocalized a loud "OH SHIT" the moment I heard the sound. And I liked that Warit did that cause it was effective in a way that talking at that moment wouldn't be as Klao was completely out so the slap was like a reboot in the system 🤣🤣🤣 I think things will begin to move forward to them now cause they actually talked about it, Warit expressed how he actually feels about Yotha so, it should work from now (I HOPE, PLEASE 😃)

And then, Santa crying... OMG, THAT WAS GOOD SCENES. It sounds sad saying it like this but I swear I mean good🤣🤣

I was/am impressed at the way he cries cause he KNOWS how to cry. The way his voice shakes when he speaks, his whole body flinching, I don't know if I'm the only one that felt this but I was genuinely impressed. If you tell me that he was crying for real and not acting there, I'd fully believe you 😭😭😭😭

And let me tell you, I went 😮 when Yotha kissed Warit like... I was not expecting it😃 First of all, "OMG, PERTHBOOM" that was my stupid head first thought😃🤣🤣 Then I went "Noo, don't do this to me... Don't make he still like Warit..." and I KNEW GUN WAS GONNA SEE THAT, OFC HE WOULD😃😃

But please... My baby is pretty and looks good even crying but... Let's not make him cry this much anymore, please 😃😃😃 SPARE MY POOR HEART😭😭😭😭

And the preview... I'm scared actually. Wait for him why?! Why Yotha?! Wait what?! What do you mean?! Come back here and explain right now 😃 And now we will get the beach YothaGun scenes from the trailer so, that plus the "Wait for me" made me really go "???????"

Ahh... These series... Why can't they just be released all together so I binge everything and be happy?! 😃😃😃

+ I have too much of rot in my brain cause in the bar scene, Lykn's May I? plays in the background and all I could pay attention to was the song and that it was Lykn... I need rehab from them atp, this is an addiction 😃😃🤣🤣����🤣

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

im so sorry for this. i'm not allowed to see the words “mafia 2” and “au” in the same sentence. modern time or canon timeline - decide urself. @cambuznabrigantine its ur fault

Carlo, Rocco and Betty are dentists here

Betty: can you operate on my husband? Carlo: sure, why? Betty: he's my husband, it'd be unethical Carlo (<- Eddie and Lauretta only go to him and get the best materials for free): … ok (later) Henry: arsenic?* You want to put arsenic in my tooth? Is that what they poison rats with? Carlo:😟 (Betty, your husband is fucking stupid) *** Carlo: You've got a cavity on your six, Vito** (later) Carlo: try to smoke less Vito:👌k Vito walks out of the clinic and sees Carlo smoking outside the entrance *** Leo: that's the best anesthesia, isn't it? Carlo: sure, sure Carlo @ Rocco (quietly): give him the cheapest one *** Vinci @ Leo: do you want to exchange dentures?

(fun activities for old men) *** Carlo (sceptically): are you sure you want a gold implant? Eddie: sure. It'll match my costume (later) Carlo: I think it's ugly. Lauretta: no, it's kind of cute. *** Lauretta: can you sharpen my fangs? Carlo:😳of course, love (girl you should've asked this way earlier) *** Rocco: it won't hurt, don't worry (and then pulls the tooth out in the most painful way possible. He's a good doctor, but it's a nightmare to go to him) *** Carlo puts the most romantic songs on the bg while operating Eddie or Lauretta. Betty puts something chilling (she cares about other's comfort). Rocco.. something very specific. Will only change if the patient asks for it (with rolling his eyes) *** Betty is a kind of cheerful dentist that makes jokes and you genuinely enjoy visit her, continuous professional development, participates in scientific conferences (probly w Carlo. Rocco doesn't care, thinks he's good enough already); Carlo can often overprice materials if the patient is naive enough. But for his "own" people, he lowers the price or does it for free; Rocco is too serious & sarcastic & rude and it scares people; both Betty and Rocco would never overprice the materials; Betty became a dentist bc she's genuinely obsessed over this, Carlo & Rocco did it bc it's profitable. And Rocco is sadistic & secretly enjoys when people are afraid of him, bc he feels in control

*arsenic - makes more sense in russian bc it's called "мышьяк" -> мышь = mouse

**"cavity on your six" - only makes sense for a russian translation of m2. Carlo calls Vito "a six" instead of a pawn

m2 dentist au everyone listen & learn

[lostinlovingrevery]

He's Definitely Obsessed With You: Chapter 1

Plot: You're readjusting to life after a gunshot wound to the shoulder in Vietnam, figuring yourself out and navigating the waters of life back in the States. The only thing that really kept you steady was the thought of Logan, although after his letters to you dropped off, you still thought about him, and begin to wonder and doubt- if anything had ever been there between you two at all.

A/N: Okay, I PROMISE the next chapter will have more Logan. I really wanted to build on where reader was at in life both physically and mentally, and what they were going through. It's important I SWEAR. This also came out really long. I just kept typing and adding more and more to it. It's not perfect but if I don't post it now I'll never post it

Warnings: Reader gets horny af thinking about Logan (18+ please, although it's not super descriptive), mentions of blood and gore (not super in depth), politics regarding Vietnam, allusions to PTSD, and reader has anxiety and slight depression, mentions of nightmares mentions of weed, making out, etc. Probably spelling and grammar mistakes

Word Count: 6319

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CHAPTER 1: That’s Really Unhealthy Honestly

1971, New York City, New York

“You’re not going to pursue becoming a doctor?” 

You sat across from Doctor Frank Jones, the military doctor you were working under back in Vietnam. Today was your last day of physical therapy, rehabbing your arm and shoulder after getting shot in the jungle, a stray bullet hitting you- instead of the soldiers that stood guard around you while you were attempting an amputation on a young private, who had gotten stuck in a grisly dirt trap made by the Vietcong, and you were not able to get his leg out with the damage that had been done. Medics, doctors, nurses, were usually never targeted, either side knew not to hurt the people of medicine, that was just a rule of war, but that still didn’t mean you weren’t in any danger. 

Doctor Jones wanted to meet with you, having kept track of your progress when you returned to the states. It wasn’t his job to do so, but he was fond of you, and saw potential of making a good doctor out of you. You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure about it anymore. You hoped he wouldn’t push you.

Jones was a good man, a good doctor. He was older, and had served in the military a long time as a doctor. Salt and pepper hair, handsome, with a polite and genuine face that was beginning to see his years of military, worry lines that merely added to his character, he reminded you of an older version of Rock Hudson. His voice was steady and low, and he talked like a professor, quick and precise with his words. 

“Not now at least, I haven’t decided.” You informed him, cupping your mug of warm lemon herbal tea you ordered from the pleasant little coffee shop that you agreed to meet him at. It was in one of the less crowded neighborhoods of New York, but traffic and people were still bustling by the window, the door of the shop opening and shutting every few minutes, as a people came in to grab a coffee or a donut as they continued their daily routine, routine full of coffee, work, and some kind of personal dilemna, some angsty problem they face in their day to day life, and maybe a touch of romance, if they’re lucky. It was 8 in the morning, the world was waking up, and carrying on their lives.

As if there wasn’t a war going on. 

You have not exactly adjusted to your new life and routine. You had been formally discharged from the military, with some kind of honors, something your CO pushed for you, due to the work you did over in Vietnam. You didn’t really care about that though. You never joined the military for fancy honors and discounts, you joined because you wanted to help people. You had all your reasons why, your own personal backstory, but in the end it was just what you wanted to do. Although you do appreciate your CO vouching for you.  Now, you were left wondering what to do with yourself. A month of recovery and rehab, you spent it trying to figure out what you wanted to do when you finally were done with it all. Life back in the States was an adjustment, your sleep schedule was wrecked, a mixture of nightmares and insomnia. Your family and friends were happy to have you back, and you gotten countless visits from them- and while you were happy to see the familiar faces to, it felt weird just to jump into this new reality, where everyone is okay, happy, and not counting on you to save them. You’d think it give you some release, the pressure and stress dissipating the moment you got your discharge papers, but to be honest, you could never be more tense. 

It occurred to you that you had zoned out, staring at your tea that was slowly becoming cold, Doctor Jones having called your name multiple times, and it wasn’t until he gently touched your arm that drew you from your thoughts. 

“Have you seen a therapist?” He asked you, concern spread across his face. 

“What?”

“I get returning back to reality after what you went through can be…disorientating. There’s nothing wrong with searching for some help.” He says gently, letting go of your arm and returning to his espresso. 

“Reality?” You sat back in your chair, sitting your tea on the table, your voice tinged with irritation. “Felt pretty real back there.” 

“You know what I mean.” He mutters. “So, have you?”

“No.” You shook your head. It wasn’t that you saw anything wrong with therapy, or that you had trouble admitting you needed help. You were still adjusting, and you just weren’t ready to go and start working through the last four years of your service in ‘Nam. You wanted to figure out your next step, and get yourself settled first. “I will, I just want to figure things out first.”

He nodded. “So, are you planning to stay in New York?” 

You pursed your lips together, and shook your head. “Probably should, since my familys nearby. Honestly though the city just…isn’t where I want to be right now.” You said, your mind flashing with the place you did want to go. Somewhere you originally planned to just visit, but now your mind- your trusty gut instinct, was telling you that maybe it’s where you should be all along. “I’m thinking of moving out into somewhere small.”

“Ah, searching for a little peace and quiet?” He hummed, a tight lipped smile. You returned the same smile back and nodded, hunching in your seat a little bit. 

“Yeah, it’s…a place in Canada. In Alberta, a small little town.” You say. A look of surprise came across his face. “A friend, told me about it. He was from there and he always talked about how beautiful it was. He always thought I’d enjoy it, long as I get used to the harsh winters.” Your smiled turned into something warmer, as you thought about Logan. There was an ache in your chest though, something in your heart. 

You weren’t able to say goodbye to him. He wasn’t there when you got shot, and everything happened so fast, as they had thrown you onto the closest evac to get you to some medical hospital, since no one could take care of you there the way you did for them. When your belongings got sent back to you, sent to the hospital you were staying at in the States, he had written a letter, urging you to rest, and a heartfelt apology for not being there for you. It was that, and a polaroid photo one of the medic boys took of you two, his arm around your shoulder, his body turned to you, as he practically glared at the camera in his trademark expression, yet still managing to look handsome as always, and you, a big smile on your face, your hand up in a “victory” sign, which somehow turned into a symbol of peace in this era, and you were leaning in to him. You keep it on you all the time, a small comfort of him carried in your bag or pocket.  You of course quickly wrote back to him, telling him everything that happened, and expressed how deeply you missed him. It was unusually emotional for the both of you, considering you typically took jabs at each other, and joked around more often than not. Yet you both were always able to open up to each other- without fear of judgement. It was true, you missed him, and despite the fact that you were home, surrounded by loved ones, you felt more alone than ever because he wasn’t there. Perhaps that’s why you’re chosing to move to his hometown. 

“That sounds nice.” He nods, noticing the way your cheeks turned pink at the mention of your friend. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you’ll be putting off med-school. I’m glad you’re taking the time to rest though, that’s more important.”

“Thank you.” You say softly. “It’s not a permanent decision. I just want to figure myself out-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You have a good head on your shoulders. I know whatever you do will be the right thing. I simply want to just encourage you.” He stops you, holding a hand up, and then using that hand to brush his hair back, before resting it on the table. Despite his words, his body language told you he was slightly disappointed. “If you do however, change your mind-”

“I’ll call.” You smiled. You knew why he wanted this for you. Society was changing, while women doctors were not unheard of, it was still a rarity. It was part of the reason why you weren’t sure about going to med-school, you weren’t sure if you were ready to face the scrutiny that you would surely get. Not that anything like that has ever stopped you before, but Vietnam had changed something in you, you were lost in yourself and what to do, the world was moving so fast around you and you couldn’t keep up. He smiled back. “What about you?” You asked him, 

“I’ll be staying in New York. I was called to work on a project not far from here.”

“You’re still in the military?”

“Of course. With the injury I sustained,I can’t go back to ‘Nam, I wouldn’t be fast enough to work the pace it’s like there. They figure I’m more useful with this project, will supposedly help with the war effort.” 

“Help with the war effort?” You asked, annoyance creeping up your stomach. “Surely you don’t still think this war is necessary, right? It’s gone on long enough?” 

“Of course. I still feel a duty for my country though. I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do-”

“Frank, c’mon.” You scoffed. “There’s no reason to be over there. I watched so many young boys, and men, die, or get so messed up they lose apart of themselves-”

“I know, I was there too-”

“Then you shouldn’t want to help with the effort.” You voice rose a bit, filed with tension and anger, falling back into your seat and crossing your arms. “Every little thing you do for them, in regards to Vietnam, just keeps this war going, those boys over there - innocent people in that country are still dying and-” You stopped yourself, as he looked at you with indignation. “Sorry.” You mutter. 

“I get your frustration. I do believe the war should end, and I believe If I help with the effort, then perhaps I can help make things end faster too.” He explains himself calmly. Your hands were shaking, it wasn’t the first time you gotten heated over the topic of Vietnam since you’ve been home. It frustrated you to no end watching people endlessly argue on whether it should happening or not. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, sipping at your tea, now having gotten cold because you completely forgot about it. 

“Lets…just move on.” You suggested, feeling like if you linger on the thought of ‘Nam any longer you were going to burst in the middle of the shop. He nodded, and you listened to Doctor Jones ramble on, mentioning he couldn’t give you details on the project, but it was exciting nonetheless. Then he switched to talk about his kids, his son having turned into a huge hippie - which ended up making you laugh, as Jones was very patriotic for the most part, loyal to the country, but he seemed to understand and accept his sons opinions and lifestyle. Perhaps his injury had given him a new perspective on life, a new meaning, even if he was still aiding the military…

You, though, you were still trying to find your meaning.

1972, Alberta, Canada

“Oh shit!” 

You yelped as you stepped outside the porch of your house, into the freezing cold air that surrounded you. You wrapped your arms around you in attempt to warm yourself, as you quickly ran down the steps of your porch and to the mailbox. The metal door immediately froze your fingers as you pulled it open, peering inside for mail, and you spotted two envelopes. You reached in, snatching them and quickly ran back into the house, stomping your feet on the outdoor rug that sat in front of the door, and kicking them off once you stepped into the warmth of your house, the heat cloaking around you- just biting at the cold that stung your cheeks. 

“Girl you are CRAZY!” 

You smiled at your roommate, Rose Mitchell, a lovely yet feisty woman, around your age. You met her at your current job, nursing at the “local” hospital. (Not so local, but it’s the closest hospital to this little town you’ve moved too.). She was a new nurse too, and you invited her to be your roommate at the shaggy little house you found and slowly worked on fixing up. You had the money to be on your own, but you and Rose had become fast friends, despite being polar opposites in some ways. 

You loved rock music, but she was all about pop and that new disco, and you both found balance in enjoying jazz. Your styles couldn’t be more different as well, you sported jeans, bellbottoms, band shirts, jumpsuits, crop tops, the more comfortable style of clothing in this new era you were finding yourself in, while she wore short skirts, leopard prints, heels, tight dresses that barely covered your thighs- and she looked damn good in it. With such opposite styles of clothing, it guaranteed you wouldn’t steal each others clothing. You admired Rose for her honesty and confidence, her ability to fit in anywhere and everywhere because she was sure of who she was. She didn’t allow society to turn her into something she was not, especially with the discrimination she had to face growing up. She was a party girl, and why she decided to move to this small town with you, instead of the bigger city where your work is located, you won’t understand- but she had become your closest friend, another girl you could talk about those girl things with. She was close to your height when she wasn’t in heels, had a beautiful natural afro that she was quite proud of, and dark brown eyes that matched her skin color. She’s the only reason you haven’t technically become a hermit yet, as she pushed you out of zone, making you go to parties and bars and concerts with her nearly every weekend - and while at first you dreaded it, you began to grow to enjoy the time and memories you were making. In fact, you’ve really begun to start building a life for yourself here. 

When you first moved here, you were still struggling with yourself, adjusting to your life, a new job, and a completely new environment compared to New York, that you were previously residing in. You were shutting yourself off from people, staying in the comfort of your home, trying to pick up old hobbies you left behind before you had joining the army medics. You believed yourself to think that you were doing fine, but the longer you went, the more anxiety began to build inside you, nightmares plagued you, and you even found yourself growing paranoid when out alone in public, afraid of getting jumped, of getting shot. As much as you didn’t want to do it and begin to work through the trauma of it, you forced yourself into therapy. It got you to be a little lighter, to open up, which is how you ended up talking to Rose, and how she ended up your roommate. Slowly, as you were working through things, life became a little brighter, and less lonely. You made new friends, new connections. You still struggled deep inside, there were still days where’d you feel haunted by the ones left in Vietnam, men who always appeared tough as steel, clinging to you and sobbing, young boys begging for their moms to save them, the blood and the gore you witnessed that no human should witness. You’d have these impulsive urges, to pack up and go back to the country and do something. You may not be able to save every life but you could at least provide comfort to them, you could help, but you knew better. Going back wasn’t the answer. Looking back wasn’t the answer. It was time to move forward, and you always been good at embracing the future.

The only thing missing, was him

Rose was curled up on the couch, a blanket settled over her, as she had a book in one hand and tea that you made her in the other. “You are so obsessed with the mail, it’s really unhealthy. Just because your waiting for a man to write” She clicked her tongue. 

You sorted through the two envelopes, one addressed to her, which you flicked at her playfully, it flying across the room like a boomerang until she smacked it away with her hand, gasping dramatically at your audacity. You giggled, looking at the other envelope- it was addressed to you, but it wasn’t from who you wanted it to be from. You groaned, dropping your shoulders. Roses smile faded. 

“Nothing?” She asked. You shook your head, setting the envelope into a basket, stacked with mail addressed to you that you didn’t care to open. “Sorry hun….” She says sympathetically as you move to sit next to her, crisscrossing your legs. 

“I don’t get why he hasn’t been writing.” You say, bringing your nails up and chewing, an anxious habit you’ve formed. 

“He’s probably just busy.” She wrote. “You’ve been over there, didn’t you say you can’t get a break some days?” 

“Yeah…” Your eyes stared at the ground. As embarrassing as it was for you to admit, his letters were like a lifeline for you. You had been writing back and forth a little over a year now. You excitedly told him about moving to his hometown- even bought a polaroid and took pictures of the town, the forests, and your house to send back to him. You wrote about your job, and the friends you’ve made. He’d tell you about the things going on over there, the camp you were at has now been taken down, moved to a different location, nearby a village, he’d tell you the antics he and the others would get up too- and complain about how the new doctor that was assigned to the camp was a huge asshole, and that he was glad he had self-healing abilities because then he wouldn’t have to deal with his smug ass. His letters would make you smile, and blush, because he’d often tell you he thinks about you a lot. You two shared feelings more easily through writing than you would in person, because putting your feelings on paper than saying it outloud was easier. Although you still hadn’t addressed the other feelings you had for each other, ironic, considering if anyone had read your letters- they would have thought you two were involved. 

“I hate seeing you like this.” Rose says, turning in her spot to face you. “You’re so depressed over a guy you haven’t even slept with!” 

Your eyes widen and you gasped. “What- No- I’m not! I’m just worried about him.” you felt your cheeks start to burn.

“Yes you are. Girl it ain’t WORTH it.” She exclaims. “You shouldn’t be getting all worked up over him. You got to focus on your OWN life. I mean, you’re breaking your own heart, and you sit here all worried about him and if he writes letters and all, what if he’s come back, and ya’ll do the nasty and he’s got a small -”

“Oh my god, don’t-” You interrupted her, holding you hand up to make her stop, “ and Uh, excuse me, I have focused on my own life.” You rolled your eyes. “I got a house, a good job, you!” You argued. “I’m happy. I get out and socialize, do fun stuff-”

“Yeah because I make you.” She crosses her arms. “You’re so heads over heels with this guy, who’s literally halfway across the world. You don’t date and you turn down every man that does ask you out!” 

“Just because I’m not interested in dating doesn’t mean it’s because head over heels, for Logan. We are literally just friends, nothing romantic. And DEFINITELY, nothing sexual like you’re claiming- you vixen.” You rolled your eyes. 

That was a lie. You were definitely hard for Logan. When you were in Vietnam, you were too busy to think about sex or any kind of personal pleasure. Then Logan showed up and your hormones flared to life for the first time in a long time and haven’t stopped since - leaving you with the biggest, non-stop hard on you ever had- even if he isn’t here. Now your home and it’s so much worse. The only temporary relief you get is late nights alone with you, your hand, and your imagination. Hell any moment you’d see him shirtless around camp, or even just think about him shirtless, had you soaked within seconds, with his hard pecs covered in coarse hair, his chiseled stomach, hard abs that flexed anytime he strained his muscles, which led to a happy trail below his pants, a prominent vein that travels up from below his pants- that you have spent more time than you care to admit, staring at in secret. You’d watch how his biceps flex as he carried heavy boxes and guns, and you’d wish he’d put you in a headlock with them as he railed you from behind. It filled you with guilt to feel like that over someone you did consider a close friend, but sometimes your mind wonders, and suppose you are just a lady…Embarrassingly enough, your CO had caught you staring at him in a dreamlike state multiple times, and reminded you to keep your head straight and out of the clouds, but you did notice he began sending Logan to give you your supplies and papers more often. 

“You so are. I see how you blush when you look at that picture of you two.” She points accusingly. “You need to get laid girl. And not just in your head.”  she continues, leaning over to poke at your temple. You laughed, shaking your head. You were becoming embarrassed at this conversation. Yes, it’s true. You didn’t have a sex life, or a dating life. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have the choice, you had plenty of opportunities, you’ve been asked out, flirted with. Some of the men Rose was friends with were handsome, charming, and would usually be your type- but you just didn’t want them. Maybe it was a little unhealthy, holding onto Logan, you guys were still just friends, no matter how often you may fantasize over him, and build up your relationship with him in your head. Your little bubble was about to pop, the more Rose spoke in your ear. “I’m serious!” She practically shrieks. “This is the most freedom us women have ever had when it comes to sex. Take advantage of it!” 

You rolled your eyes. She was right. Things were starting to change in the world- slowly, and for the better you hoped. Society was beginning to be more open and accepting, signifying that maybe things will start to get better. There was peace talks with Vietnam, the US was considering officially pulling out of the war. Even mutants weren’t getting the hard flack they usually were, albeit, they’re still getting painted as violent criminals in most parts of the states, but the government had dropped the bill that would put restrictions on mutants, and force anyone who was a mutant to identify and register themselves as mutants. Much to your relief. It wasn’t that you wanted to go around banging every guy you see - which is an activity that Rose pursued often, not that you cared, but you did just want that human connection with someone that just wasn’t over paper. 

 You weren’t ready to let go of Logan though, even if you’re starting to wonder if maybe you were setting yourself up for heartbreak, and not because he may have a small… Well, y’know, that was not important. He may be over there, writing letters to you with one hand, while he has another woman- who knows maybe another nurse- in his other hand. How’d you know he really feels anything for you? He hasn’t written a letter back in weeks. Part of you though knew better, Logan wasn’t the type, you’d seen if even when he didn’t know you were watching. While surely he was a man with desires, he’d never participate in the “locker room” talk you’d overhear many of the soldiers do. He’d sit there in silence, eating his rations, or sharping his knife, or staring into the fire, not joining in whenever they asked him if he had a type- or if he liked this particularly pair of tits on a playboy magazine that somehow got snuck into the camp. It was part of why you liked him, respectful, even if he was given all the room to be…well, a man. Another part of you still worried though, Vietnam was already dangerous, and even if he could heal, neither you- nor he, knew his limits in that. He was smart and knew how to survive, you heard the stories the other privates would bring back when they came back from patrols. What if he gets discovered as a mutant? You got by lucky, he may not. What if he’s not writing because he got too badly hurt? What if he got discovered? What if he was captured by VC? You couldn’t bear the idea of someone you cared about so deeply being hurt.

Maybe you were just overthinking everything. You do that often nowadays. 

Rose could see it on your face, as she moved to sit next to you, resting her head on your shoulder. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for holding out. He is pretty darn cute in that polaroid you’re so attached too.” She hums, making you both burst into giggles. 

1973, Alberta, Canada

“So, you were in Vietnam huh?” 

You stared blankly at the fellow that Rose has introduced you too. He was leaning against the doorframe, where you were standing just in case you needed a quick escape, but now that he was here, that wasn’t going to be an option anymore. He raised a brow waiting for an answer, but you were lost staring at the mustache above his lip. It was becoming a common style nowadays, and you heard a few friends start referring it as a ‘pornstache’. You didn’t want to know why. The thing looked like a giant fuzzy caterpillar on his top lip, and honestly, it was grossing you out.  

“Um. Yeah.” You say plainly. “I was a army nurse.” 

“Groovy.” He smirks, a small nod of his head. “Bet you’re glad the wars over then, right?”

“Yeah. Glad.” You nodded. You hugged your cup to your body, looking around the party that Rose invited you to. Well, invited was a nice way of putting it. She practically dragged you here kicking and screaming. 

President Nixon declared that the US and North Vietnam had signed an agreement, officially ending the war between the two. Troops have been pulled from the country, coming home to the States. It was great news, finally ending the dreaded conflict that shouldn’t have started in the first place. Celebrations popped up everywhere for the last few month as the boys came home, but it left you feeling solemn, you were worried about the fallout. What was going to happen now? These boys coming home, having gone through hell on Earth. You’ve had two years to adjust and learn how to live and cope. You’ve had support. What about them?

It’s been a year since you last heard from Logan. You had to resign yourself and accept that you may never hear from him again. You weren’t given the privilege in learning what happened to Logan. After a month had passed with no letter, you gave into your worries and attempted to make calls to find out what happened, and no avail. You either didn’t have clearance, or they didn’t know. It wasn’t like you couldn’t find his family and reach out either, he had no family aside from his brother who was there with him. You were just starting to let go- and for some Rose thought that meant you were ready to mingle. You weren’t sure yet but you definitely didn’t want to mingle with this guy. 

“Why’d you go over there?” He asked. “Beautiful lady like you, you could have stayed home, shoot the fat, hang the breeze.” 

“I…Really rather not talk about it.” You say, trying to show how disinterested you were. Hoping he would get bored and go away, allowing you to slip out unnoticed. He just smiled though, 

“You seem tense.” He reaches out to touch your arm, making your eyes quickly dart down to where he was holding onto you, your lips pursing together as you tried your best not to rip your arm away and cause a scene. 

“I’m fine.” You say, slowly pulling back from him. 

“We could always slip away from here. Get to know each other a little better?” He grinned, flexing his eyebrows sensually. “I could help you relax.” Now you just wanted to puke. 

“No thanks.” You say pulling yourself away from the door. You’ll just have to look for another way of escape. You entertained the party long enough. It was inside a huge house, spanning outside over a large decorated lawn- some friend of Rose who was apart of a rich family was throwing it to celebrate his cousin coming back from the war, which you could appreciate family appreciating each other like that. Your own loved ones had done something similar, accept with maybe less questionable substances hanging around all over the place. Honestly, it seemed more of an excuse for people to make out and get high, than celebrate said cousin. Although as you moved through the crowded rooms and halls of people talking, drinking, dancing to some kind of funk playing in the background, and smoking cigarettes and molly. You spotted said cousin, who was introduced to everyone that came in, sitting on the couch in the living room, with scantily clad women at either side of him, giggling and petting at his chest and thighs. Well, at least he was enjoying himself. You can get along with almost anybody, but this type of party just wasn’t your beat, and not to mention you already had a long day at work, you’d like nothing more than to go home, get into something comfortable, curl up on the couch with some warm tea, and watch Clint Eastwood movies. You could appreciate Rose supporting you and pushing you out of your comfort zone, but you figured out a long time ago that comfort zone or not- this was not your idea of living. You’ll support her all the way, while you sat in pajames and slippers at home.

Searching for Rose in the crowd, you found her making out in the corner with some tall, dark, and handsome guy clad in leather. For a moment you’d pondered how rude it would be, if you interrupted her, at the same time though, she’d be madder if you left without letting her know. 

“Rose- Rose!” You called her name over the loud music, before tapping her shoulder, and she tore away from the leather beast. Seriously, he was wearing a lot of leather. That couldn’t be comfortable. 

“Hey! What’sup?” She turned her full attention to you, one hand still holding onto the mans hip, assuring him she wasn’t leaving, but still wanted to make sure you felt heard. 

“I’m going home-” You spoke over the music. “But thank you so much for inviting me- I’m just, tired, you know?” 

“What, you didn’t like Jeffery?” She asked you, seemingly surprised, as if she hadn’t learned what your type is by now. You laughed, shaking your head. 

“No, but thanks.”

“Well, are you sure? About going home?” She asks worriedly. You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. 

“I’m just fine,” You say amused. “You’ll be alright?” 

“Girl,” She looked at the man, who was watching you both with amusement. She leaned in towards you, a huge smile spread across her face, her lipstick catching your eye, a bright pink, slightly smushed from her tongue dance with leather daddy behind her, as she lowered her voice, “I’ll be more than alright, that’s for damn sure.” 

You both laughed, as you playfully pushed her back towards him, you blew a kiss to her, and turned around with a small wave to Rose’s new playmate, as you managed to find the back door and leave, not wanting to risk going back to the front and running into Pornstache again. 

The house was on the other side of the small town you were living in. You and Rose had a car, but the weather was warming up, and you both decided a walk over, which was your way of planning to be able to escape on your own if you needed to. Hopefully your solo walk would be a little nicer, since the walk to the party, Rose ended up complaining because she wore heels on the walk over. 

You zipped up your bolero jacket, and stuff your hands into the pockets of your jeans as you made your way down the quiet streets, the music and smell of weed fading off with each step, leaving you with a clear head. You had to applaud yourself. If you were there a year ago, you would have likely gotten a panic attack, locked yourself in a closet or bathroom until things had quieted down, or Rose found you and got you home. This time though, you felt good- glad you got out- but you don’t feel that tight squeezing in your chest, the way your blood would began to freeze, as your limbs began to feel weightless, your vision becoming unfocused. Nope. Not this time.

Now you get to enjoy the air, and the spring breeze. 

Of course, your mind wandered to Logan again. It often did, you couldn’t help it. You still missed him. You’d find yourself rereading his letters, searching for any signs of why he may have never written back, but you could never see it. He seemed just as eager as you to write. You’d stare longingly at the polaroid, which you’ve retired to stay by your bedside table, since carrying it around so long as started to wear it out, fraying the edges. You’d walk around the town he’d grew up in. He said it looked different then, compared to when he was a kid, which you’d imagine since it was over a hundred years ago,but you still imagined what it’d be like to see him there, tell you what things used to look like, how things used to be. It’d been a long time since you seen him, and even though you had the picture, you could still close you eyes and picture every detail of his face and his voice. 

How pathetic

It’s been a year since you heard from him, and two years since you last seen him! You were so caught up your friendship with him, turning it into a fake romance in your head because you were lonely and didn’t want to admit that. You felt embarrassed at this whole thing. Why were you so hung up on one man, when there was plenty of others out there, that you could easily build a connection with just as you did with Logan. Okay, maybe you felt like he saw you the way nobody else could, maybe he was the first guy to ever make your heart flutter with just a smile, maybe he was the first person ever to have taken the time to really gotten to know you, your faults, your quirks, the way you like your tea….

Ugh!

Maybe that’s why it was so frustrating. Because you felt like you had found someone you could truly connected with, and somehow it had whittled away. You were grasping at what used to be a rope, hanging off of it in the darkness- attaching you to Logan, looking at you with those hazel eyes that still made your brain fuzzy as it did the first time you met him, even a year later of getting to know him while in Vietnam. The rope was now just a few pieces of string, and it was officially about to snap. Whatever happens, or happened to him, you could only hope that he was safe, and happy, wherever he was, as you closed your eyes, and felt it break. You had to move on. Right?

You opened your eyes and found yourself in front of your house. You were so lost in your thoughts, you don’t even remember half of your walk anymore. You sighed, hands sticking in your jackets pocket to pull out your house keys as you approached your porch. 

“Stuck in your head again, huh bub?” 

A familiar voice ripped you from your thoughts, as you swung around, dropping your keys in shock at the figure that stood at the end of the sidewalk, your breath stolen at the sight, 

And you smiled.

[greml1nb0i]

While hazbin premise is Intresting I feel it falls flat as the main cast is more on the less redeamable side and deserves to be in hell if you think about it more. As most of them enjoy killing and have killed and alastor Is just a cannibal. They literally had to make heaven more bad to just make the main cast look good.

That's what i hate about Viv's characters and story progressions.

The Best Example is Angel Dust.

Pilot Angel vs Viv's Angel:

Pilot Angel, is careless and crass but he still shows empathy when he realizes he's hurt someone he care about.

When he makes his one off joke about how no one is in the hotel, it makes Charlie sad, and we see Angel get upset by this, he attempts to console her but backs off the last min. Even how he talks to Vaggie feels like they have had prior conversations together, like they know each other.

Viv's Angel, is rude, sexually harasses everyone and has little empathy towards others.

He yells at Husk for just being there for him, [scene before loser baby] then again at Husk AND Vaggie for calling him out on his bullshit. [every scene with husk telling Angel to stop being fake and pushing Angel off of him, and the one scene in ep2 iirc where Vaggie tell angel he has literally never tried to be better and he walks away in self pity]

He definitely pretends to care about Nifty "not ending up in the gutter" She was stealing cleaning supplies, how is that comparable to being SA'd and abused in the workplace? He never apologizes to Husk for harassing him, and even goes so far as to excuse his own behavior towards others cuz "he's struggling".

Charlie is another example,

In the pilot yea she was naive but at least she had common frickin sense. She knew how to trick Alastor into working for her, without making a deal with him, cuz her dad taught her "you don't take shit from other demons". She and Vaggie actually had a dynamic in their relationship rather than Vaggie being an accessory to Charlie. She actually tries to gain understanding.

In Viv's show, Charlie doesnt even understand her own people, let alone how terrible they all are, and yet she wants to save them?? She doesnt understand how her own kingdom even works. Its even more frustrating when you notice that Charlie is literally a Viv self insert, in a way.

-when someone doesnt agree with Charlie, she gets mad and makes them the antagonist

-When someone doesnt agree with Viv, she gets mad and lets her fans harass people

-When someone agrees with Charlie their given this whole moment of "yay you finally agree with me" type scene

-When someone agrees with Viv they get a good ole pat on the back and "the big fucking owl, is fucking watching you, you fuck, don't disappoint me" [big brother is watching you] type comments.

Viv is passive aggressive af and so is Charlie, look at ep4. Angel is obviously upset about having to go to work, but to Charlie she doesnt care, to her Angel just wants to ditch her preschool esque exercises.

Charlie, everyone in your Hotel is an adult, why tf are you treating this like its a preschool babysitting program??

So what does she do, she invades her Angels private life and gets him abused in the process just cuz he's not doing what SHE wants him too. Then gets upset when she's told to leave after wrecking the studio AND GETTING ANGEL ABUSED.

If her Hotel was running by the rules of an actual rehab center, the Hotel would've been shut down and she would've been charged for HIPPA violations.

Honestly Adam is realistically a better person than her own people, for the simple fact the worst thing he does, is be vulgar and sexist. Whereas her people are actual rapists, serial killers and kidnappers, yet she wants these people to be seen as misunderstood.

Like if Viv wanted to critique Christianity, the whole "what's makes a sinner" idea. It would've worked way better if the sinners actually were just decent normal people trying to learn from honest mistake. Not fucking murder, but like shoplifting or something mundane. There needs to be a distinct way of saying "hey these sinners are the ones who are worthy of redemption, we will focus on them in the main plot, while these sinners will be the contrast and unworthy of redemption"

Then make some sinners actual bad people rather than edgy bad. Like yea being a rapist is bad, but there's more terrible things people can do to end up in Hell, that isn't just abuse.

For example, you could have legitimate historically bad people in the show, rather than a cast of random demons, she probably picked from a random demonology site. Or she could have used the opportunity to make modern day problems, like bigotry or extreme fascism, a topic to show for what makes an unredeemable sinner. Someone so stuck in their ways they have no chance of being a good person.

If she wants her adult show be taken seriously by adults, appropriate usage of the adult topics and shows maturity, need to sky rocket.

FFS Viv have a character punch a n@zi or something. BE FUNNY! Im tired of the fake ass "daddy issues", tasteless jokes, tonal whiplash and thinly veiled fetishes.

I have no hope for S2 getting any better

[afrehab]

Funkčná medicína

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[shabbytigers]

voice evolution on t is at an interesting stage, allow me to blather about it, may have found a useful trick for shrinking the uncrossable gap between low and high ranges

ok so status

new low voice range: exists. interesting af. still hinky and unreliable and ~nothing i know about projection and support from my lyric mezzo past helps, bc it’s not just a different procedure but one i don’t have a mental model for — trying, rationally and cognitively, to project correctly is like i’m a character in Flatland trying to point at the n+1th dimension. my current plan is stop trying to think about it and wing it, like shower, spotify, bad karaoke, whatever to develop a stock of sense memories, not just song by song but literally phrase by phrase. (like trying to learn a language by talking in it instead of studying grammar and syntax, which i’m very resistant to wrt languages but this is different.) anyway though fuck alla dat: the real point is that johnny cash is now like eighty percent sing-along-able and i’m the fucking king of the world about it. where did this even come from, the men in my immediate family are very high tenors? i don’t think it’s settled enough to label, and, like, 360 idk here, but my money is firmly on baritone

medium-high voice range: back from the war. i’ve mostly stopped getting that thing where i go to sing and got silence. the high end is probably still gone, but i was jealous of the altos and not the coloraturas my whole life so i’m cool with it; the temptation to karaoke “wuthering heights” was a curse i’m well rid of tbh. it’s bedraggled and fucked up and needs intensive rehab but i think it’ll be okay

but between the two? there lies an uncanny no-man’s-land

theoretically i could sing both parts of “henry lee” now, but i wouldn’t dare. i can’t get from low to high range or vice versa without some sort of hard reset that may or may not be executable in the v short time between two verses

this seems to be a stage people go through. i found a reddit post that described it acutely. so yeah. midrange transition from chest to head is not currently functional

so and but i think i might’ve just found one weird trick to train the problem away

“in dreams” by roy orbison

starts low and climbs high and then higher with a lot of swooping and sliding: therapeutically it feels exactly on point. i’m gonna do some shower exercises with it. rip my roommate and the neighbors

h/t david lynch for the suggestion

[enbycrip]

I’ve not been posting about various stuff I’ve been doing over the last few weeks for various reasons - partially sheer exhaustion, partially a sort of weird holdover of “not wanting to go on about things because that’s performative” thing, partially that, tbh, much of the time when I’m posting I’m so *tired* that dragging complicated things about my own life out is so emotionally taxing and difficult that posting about them feels like a spoon hit I don’t have the capacity available to absorb.

But that’s probably not helpful. So here we are. Post One is going to be about the rehab programme because that’s been one of the main focuses of my time and energy since November.

I’m in the last week of my initial free 12-week chronic joint pain rehab programme at Nuffield Health, which has meant free membership there with specific classes which include exercise and also a whole bunch of advice on things that are supposed to affect pain. I’ve found it - complex but overall positive?

- It’s a rolling programme so when I first joined I was with a whole bunch of older women near the end of their programmes. That was really difficult for gender reasons, feeling maybe this wasn’t aimed at me at all etc etc. It became much more positive as they rolled off and a much more diverse group of folk in gender and age rolled on with me, and I’m honestly going to miss my peers in this. I’m still the youngest in the group, and I’ve not talked about gender in it because honestly that’s spoon-heavy, but it’s been a lot less difficult genderfeels-wise than I initially feared. I have been wearing my pronoun badges at least. I’d love some more Pride and non-binary-specific gym gear - please feel free to link any you know out there from ethical companies; I suspect a lot of it may be beyond my price range, but saving up exists.

- My initial health check showed I had put on a *lot* more weight than I thought, so I’ve been doing my best to utterly revamp my diet and how much sugar I was eating in particular as a maladaptive way to manage fatigue. My next health check is on Thursday after my last class and I’m trying *really* hard not to hope that I’ve lost tons of the weight because a) weight is not an indicator of health or worth b) I’ve been doing a LOT of weights work over that time and it’s entirely possible I’ve acquired a lot more muscle. This would be a very good thing. Trying to manage all of this and getting to a better way of eating with the old ED demon on my shoulder has been *complex* AF tbh. I do actually really need to thank person-centred therapy, many years in the disabled community in general, and FatDoctor and other people in the fat-positive community, esp the trans part, for this not fucking up my head more than it has. I should probably drop my old therapist a personal email to thank her for the help she was to me on this - is that a weird thing for an ex-patient to do? Does that cross boundaries?

- The “general advice on things that are supposed to reduce pain” bit was a barrier for me because it brings up so much trauma about pain clinics and other medical BS about pain over the last decade plus. The fact that it’s ten minutes before exercise has helped; not enough time to build up anger and then physical activity to release it. It’s also helped that we’ve had a lot of group discussions and almost everyone there is chronically ill or chronically injured so it’s been sharing experiences of the genuine systemic life problems that come with that and a *lot* of discussions about how unhelpful the wider medical system has been. Patient solidarity is helpful. Who’d have thunk it? 😜

- I’ve had to *keep* fighting my own “ADHD extremes” personality tendencies all the way through this, as I have through much of the last decade plus. I am *bad* at not throwing myself at things I’m trying to really engage with, y’all. I am *bad* at sensible moderation. It’s not how my brain works at *all*. But I’ve only had one sublaxion and one POTS collapse in the entire programme, and I am fucking proud of myself for that.

- That notwithstanding, this has been A Lot, esp as one of the classes is on a Thursday, the day I see my brother. I don’t talk about him on social media a lot because he is nonspeaking and can’t consent to me sharing stuff about him, but getting weekly contact with him again has been incredibly important to me, and to him, from what he has communicated to me. It’s also high-energy and sometimes exhausting, when he is having a particularly high-energy day, or a tough day, and means cleaning up afterwards. Given how often much less high-energy social contact just kicks the shit out of me, I’m really proud that I’ve missed very few days with him, but it has been *exhausting*. I have spent every Wednesday and most weekends since starting the programme entirely in bed, just crawling to the bathroom, and even with that I am *still* just bone-deep exhausted right now, though I think some of that is still fallout from the *great* weekend away we went to for a friend’s 50th a fortnight ago, of which I *still* spent much too much time in bed.

- I think that, no matter how hard I tried not to, I let myself somewhat entertain the idea that this programme might utterly transform my health if I put enough work into it. Because no matter how hard I try not to, it’s *difficult* not to get sucked into the prevailing medical orthodoxy about fatigue disorders that a big part of the fatigue is “deconditioning” and fixing that will fix the fatigue. Instead, I’m doing a thing that is genuinely helping my mobility but any effect on fatigue levels is very much on the “increasing” scale than otherwise, despite the level of pacing involved (which is the only thing that lets me do anything at all). So after the classes end I am going to be in the space where I need to keep on doing this to keep the mobility improvements and the long-term effects on my health (particularly re reducing my huge osteoporosis risk) and that is going to be *tough*. Some of it will help, esp re the flexibility to pace around other things I’m doing, but making sure I *keep* doing this when it’s going to mean keeping on having to ask my dad for lifts to the gym and the level of exhaustion involved is going to be *tough*. Going to do my best to keep up with other group people there in the hope that will help.

- Doing this at a time when, frankly, Labour is increasing attacks on disability support is extra-scary. I am *really* afraid any improvements in mobility etc will be read as “well you’re cured then” as opposed to “you’re improving prospects for your longer term health and increasing your capacities in certain ways but the work it takes to do and maintain that has at best huge knock-on effects on the energy, including the cognitive energy, available to do anything else with”. The proposed cuts to Access To Work mean any work I can ever get is even more going to have to be remote, which is scary too. The way disability is continually viewed in such zero-sum, capitalist-centered ways continues to just sap my energy across the board, and I’ve got so little to start with.

[foottoe101001]

Guys umm what I reramp my post book fic about pony struggling and Darry has to work overtime bc Pony had to go the hospital a bunch for smoke inhalation and it cost a shit Tom if money bc he kept passing it/ weezing until he collapsed (Pony never wanted to go Darry was concerned af and always told him it was ok, and the honest truth is that he would rather be working overtime then having Pont dead on him.) and pony feels really bad but curly exists and is like yoo you wanna do drugs si they do and pony gets hooked and dependent and it goes on for a while and then curly gets sent to the reformatory and pony had rlly bad withdrawal to a point he would throw up his guts at even the smell of food and Darry found out and was mad and then sent him to rehab but he didn’t rlly end up getting better and he accidentally ODS on the phone with Darry and it ends Darry pov at his funeral…

I need longs thiughts about this and suggestions pls

OOO I REALLLYYY LIKE THIS SODA PROBABLY NOTICED FIRST AND WAS LIKE “Ho why u skinny and pale also smell like pot🤨”

(Ponyboys coughs sound like a dying hamburger that’s over cooked but probably still moos)

[guiltymepleasures]

It's sweet and all but that necklace is ugly af 😨

But ok this is college Sun Jae who probably has no money and maybe less allowance since dad used up his savings to buy the plane tickets and rehab. And he also bought a cute cake so ok ok

[spirit-of-beetlejuiceblues12]

My thoughts on John Mulaney & the Baby J special

There’s so many places I could start but it doesn’t matter because this is definitely gonna be long af.

So. I’m not exactly clear on what exactly the beef with Mulaney is. Here’s what I have heard:

People are upset about his addiction and stay in rehab. Honestly, I don’t understand why this is even a reason to be angry at someone. Parasocial relationships really have y’all pissed at this one man for something a lot of celebrities have done, are doing, and will continue to do. Dumb reason to vilify him.

Divorcing his wife and having a baby with another woman even after saying he didn’t want children. Okay, if he did cheat on his wife, that’s fucked up and he sucks for that. Another ‘my wife’ guy down the drain. But whether he cheated or not, the reason his marriage fell apart is not our business. Stop taking it personally.

Dave Chapelle transphobia when he opened for JM. Alright, I’ll give you this one. I don’t know the details (honestly I don’t really want to go looking for them), so I’m not going to say whether it did or didn’t happen and how bad it was. I’m a genderqueer person and it makes me sad that Mulaney may have knowingly let that joke happen. I wish he would say something.

I found Baby J comforting in a weird way. I went into it wondering if he was going to address any of the shit that happened in the past few years; I was thrilled to see that that is literally all the special was about.

Someone on tumblr said “John Mulaney is a piece of shit, but he’s still the funniest motherfucker out there” and dude. Yes. As always, his comedic timing was incredible.

Baby J made me laugh so hard. There was some killer lines in there that nearly knocked me out; his vibe is truly different, but there’s also still that token Mulaney dry humor. It reminded me why I took so much comfort in his past specials as a teenager, because his sarcasm and wit have never failed to make me smile. As I watched the special, I found myself relieved that he was back, happy that I have new John Mulaney content to meme about.

Don’t get me wrong, Baby J was not as raw and brutal as Bo Burnham’s Inside. If Mulaney had tried to make it like that, it would’ve been disingenuous and boring. He was true to his own humor and I things that’s really important.

Everything he said was blunt and honest. I noticed that he was genuinely laughing at his own jokes and the memories he was recounting. I don’t think anyone ever realized how truly buttoned up and rigid he was onstage in the last specials because we were all “hehe funny man runnin around”. Isn’t that wild? Suddenly he’s showing his real self, and I think that’s incredible. He’s imperfect and uncomfortable and that’s not something we haven’t gotten to see in celebrities very often.

I can’t speak from experience with addiction because I’ve never had an addiction. But I do understand that it’s a remarkable thing to overcome. I’m really happy for John Mulaney, and I’m very glad he’s doing better. Hopefully we’ll see some more improvement in him from here. I wish we could’ve gotten to hear more about what happened with his wife and the baby, but like I said that’s not really our business.

“When I’m alone, I realize I’m with the person who tried to kill me.” Okay but that one felt very personal, I won’t be taking questions.

TLDR; I think parasocial relationships are a big part of why people are pissed at John Mulaney, and we all need to recognize that. He’s a human being and he’s allowed to fuck up. Baby J was an incredible show from start to finish and I will be watching it a million more times.

[terven-queen]

Back from rehab. Was there for a month. My dad died on Christmas Eve. 😭 It’s been rough AF. I went to an all-women’s rehab and dealt with so much hatred directed towards me, which has harmed my self esteem. I’ve been too broken and overwhelmed with grief to stand up for myself, and they seemed to pick on all the sweetest people. Some of them stole my vegan food that I was gonna take home today. I’m demoralized and so exhausted. So down on myself. I need some love and support right now please 😭