#but i have to be careful with drugs as i hate puking

[betweeninstrumentsandbooks]

.

[talaok]

Just this once

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!babysitter!reader

Summary: Everyone hates you in town, everyone except for Mr. Miller, who was kind enough to hire you as his daughter's babysitter.

Warnings: mentally and verbally abusive father, angst, unreciprocated love, no happy ending. Smut| oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie

Everyone hated you in this town.

Kids at school, moms, dads, even grandparents sometimes.

People crossed the street when they saw you, they waited until you turned around to whisper and scorn to the person beside them.

Everywhere you went, followed dirty looks and rude remarks.

In the hallways at school, at the drug store, pharmacy, park, you name it.

Everywhere, everyone seemed to despise old Carl's daughter just for being born, or maybe, maybe also because of the rumors that spread about her.

Like the one where you dealt drugs, which was not not the truth... but you never dealt meth.

Or the one where you'd fucked half the guys in town,

And least but not last, the one where you were the reason you poor pops had turned to alcohol.

Except they didn't know anything. they didn't know that your "poor pops" had begun his diet of a bottle of whiskey a day long before you were born, that he drove your mom mad to the point where she had fled without so much as a goodbye, leaving behind a few clothes and a stupid scrap of paper where she had written a fucking lie.

I love you

If she had actually loved you, she wouldn't have left.

And they didn't know that all the anger your father had, had turned to you, they didn't know how scary it was, to be afraid of your own father, to be alone at the age of thirteen, to have to take care of yourself, to have to grow up faster than you should.

They all hated you, and you didn't care, you swore you didn't care, because they didn't know, they didn't know shit.

But Mr. Miller was different.

He was the only person, together with his daughter, who had ever shown you kindness, the real kind.

He had seen you sobbing as you ran from your house after your dad had another one of his "episodes".

And god, you were so confused when he stopped you, when he put a hand on your shoulder and asked if everything was alright.

And you didn't tell him then, you didn't tell him everything that was going on and that your dad was an asshole and that your life was hell, you couldn't, there was always this everlasting shame fizzing underneath your skin whenever you felt the need to share. But he hadn't cared, he hadn't cared that you had told him nothing, he hadn't cared that all you did was say sorry and I need to go, because with just a glance it felt like he had seen right through you.

So then he'd told you where he lived, and even if that time he couldn't convince you to come in, it was you who showed up at his doorsteps two nights after, asking for a place to sleep which he offered without so much as a question.

And it was only a week later when you told him everything.

He had sat and listened as you cried and cried, he had stroked your hair and given you tissues, until finally, he offered you a job.

Babysitting his kid.

And you were scared at first, you weren't really equipped for the job, but the moment you met Sarah you realized just how easy it was gonna be.

taking care of her was fun, and it gave you an excuse to be away from your own home, sometimes even at night when the mere thought of seeing your father made you want to puke.

And Mr. Miller was always nice, he made breakfast, overpaid you like crazy, and he listened, he was always there to listen.

"dad, what are you talking about?" 

Mr. Miller's backyard was always perfectly mowed, and the treehouse he'd built his daughter stood high on the oak in the middle of it.

"I said-" even if you couldn't see him, you swore he was taking another gulp straight from the bottle " Where the fuck are you?" 

"I'm working dad, I told you" you said, trying to remain as calm as possible.

"You working?" he laughed "That's funny" he said, as his laugh turned into a disgusting cough "Tell me where you really are." his voice was slurry, but the anger in it still made you shiver "You at one of your boyfriends' houses?"

"No Dad, I'm at Mr. Miller's house" you sighed, it was sad really, how used you were to this by now.

"Mr. Miller huh?" a hiccup sounded through the phone "You fucking him too? You started going for older guys? Is that it? I bet that's it you little slut" he hissed "Your mother would be so disappointed... to see her only daughter grow up to be such a fucking whore"

There's a difference, when it's strangers calling you names, and when it's your own father.

You'd always wished his words didn't affect you, but somehow, they always found a way to hurt.

No matter how tough you made yourself to be, when it was him, you felt like a kid all over again.

"fuck you" you muttered, as tears pricked your eyes 

"Is that how you talk to your father you little bitch? Just wait till you come home, I'll see what you'll have to say then-"

And there were so many things you wanted to tell him, to scream at him, to drill into his non-existing brain, but all you did was press the red button and hung up.

And it took about a second before the tears started flowing like rivers.

You ran back inside the house, forgetting all about closing the glass door as you curled into a ball on the couch, trying to cry as silently as you could, so that Sarah wouldn't wake up.

You hated him. You hated everything, you just wanted to run away and start a new life somewhere else, Canada, Austria, even the fucking north pole sounded better than this.

You were just so tired, so exhausted. Every time you talked to your father all the energy you had, or thought you had left, got drained from your body, and for hours, you remained lifeless,

The only exception was when-

The front door opened, and those purposely quiet footsteps that you would have recognized anywhere, followed soon after.

Him, the only exception was when he was there to comfort you.

You sat up, quickly wiping your tears to try and look somewhat presentable.

"hey," he whispered, entering the living room "Sarah's asleep?"

"mh-mh, yes" you nodded

"I'm sorry I came home this late, it's just that the guys wanted to go out after work and I always tell them no..." he trailed off, as he sat next to you and got rid of his overused boots.

"I-It's not a problem, Mr. Miller"

He shook his head, smiling in that charming way of his as he sat his shoes next to the coffee table and turned to look at you.

"How many times have I told you that you can just call me J-"

But his words died in his throat the moment he caught a glimpse of your red, puffy eyes, (that he'd come to know too well) and of that look on your face.

"What happened?"

They were such simple words, but they hit like tnt too close to a dam, breaking the barrier and causing all the water to run out.

His arms were around you the moment the first tear fell.

"shh" he cooed, stroking your back as you sobbed into his chest "It's alright, everythin's alright, sweetheart"

You wrapped your arms around his broad torso, feeling all his muscles underneath the fabric as you drowned in his scent. He always smelt so manly and so... good.

"I-I'm sorry it's just" A sob climbed up your throat "He-he called and I-I" You never finished the sentence as other tears started flowing from your eyes.

"I'm sorry honey" he cooed, placing his cheek on top of your head"it's ok" he murmured "It's all gonna be fine, I promise"

"w-when?" you cried, finally looking up at him "I'm so tired of this Mr. Miller..."

"soon" he promised "You're a smart girl, you'll get far in life sweetheart, I just know it"

you breathed heavily into his chest for a few minutes, listening to his heart beat as you calmed your own.

"t-thank you" you sniffled

"of course, darlin'"

And as you glanced at him, at his soft beard, at his kind eyes, your brain short-circuited and your mouth got a mind of its own, and before you realized it, your lips were on his.

And god he felt so good

"y/n-" he spoke as you tried to deepen the kiss "What are you doing?"

"I just-" you stuttered, not able to tear your glaze off his soft lips "please" you murmured, not knowing what else to say as you leaned up to kiss him again,

"sweetheart this ain't right I-"

"please Mr. Miller" you begged, placing your hand on his shoulder and pecs, as you left a quick kiss on his lips again "please just this once"

"y/n..." he tried to speak but was interrupted by your mouth finding his neck.

"please" you repeated for the thousandth time, your breath fanning over his neck "just this one time" 

"darlin'... I don't know if this is a good idea"

"it is" you quickly corrected him, your kisses lowering down his body, until all you could do was shuffle off the couch to get between his parted legs "it's a really good idea"

You saw him swallow thickly at the sight before him

"no sweetheart, you don't gotta do that"

"I want to" you reassured him, hurriedly undoing his belt and zipper until his black boxers were all that obstructed your view.

You palmed his manhood through the fabric, feeling it harden underneath your palm, before you gently took it out, looking up at him for approval as you wrapped one hand around it and let your lips follow suit.

A loud shuddering breath fled his mouth as you fitted more and more of him into your mouth, and you took it as an incentive to get lower, fully choking on his cock.

"f-fuck" he groaned

You started bobbing your head up and down, your eyes never leaving the sight of him breathing heavily before you.

You were doing good, but you wanted to do amazing for Mr. Miller, so you gingerly took his cock out of your mouth to start a slow trail of kisses and kitty lips down the whole length of him, until you reached his balls, and without a second thought, reserved them of the same treatment, before starting to suck on those too.

"fuck. me." he breathed, throwing his head back as he shut his eyes.

You leaned away for a moment, still pumping him with your hand "Does it feel good?" you asked

"fuck-yeah sweetheart" he gulped, looking down at you "it feels real fucking good- you're-fuck-you're amazing"

The biggest smile ever spread on your face at that, and with a renewed vigor, you got back to sucking his balls even better.

series of profanities continued coming out of his mouth as you got back to his dick, letting your tongue run on his tip for a few moments before getting back to filling your mouth with it.

You watched his hands curl by his sides, and without thinking, you let one of your own travel to his, softly placing your palm over it in a makeshift hold, which wasn't really a hold because he didn't turn his hand to do it properly.

But it didn't matter now, he was enjoying this, something you were doing for him, something you had dreamed of doing to him times and times again, and that's all you cared about.

You bobbed your head for a few more moments before you leaned away and quickly got up to get rid of your pants.

He watched you, too fucked out and torn with guilt and confusion to understand anything anymore, step out of your panties, place your hands on his shoulders, and straddle him.

you reached down for his dick, and without too much of a premise, sank down on it.

"oh god" you moaned, stopping a moment to take a deep breath at the feeling, as a low groan rumbled in his chest.

"you feel so good" you murmured, kissing him passionately as you started riding him.

His hands gripped your waist as a way for him to try and ground himself back on this earth because fuck but, you felt fucking good too

"touch my tits please" you said, ghosting his mouth.

"Sweetheart..."

"Please, Mr. Miller" you pouted, rising and sinking from his cock even faster

"Joel- please call me Joel" 

"Please Joel, touch my tits"

And who was he to say no to you when you asked him like that?

One of his big strong hands seeped underneath your top and found your boobs, stroking and grabbing at them heavenly.

You couldn't help but gasp at the mix of pleasures, your head falling to the crook of his neck.

The sound bouncing off the walls of the living room was straight out dirty and the breeze coming from the open glass door on your left softly floated through the room, at times hitting your raw skin.

"oh my god" you whimpered, muffled by Joel's skin "o-oh my"

He was filling every inch of you, stretching you so fucking good it made you want to scream if it wasn't for Sarah sleeping just upstairs.

You lost yourself in him, in his soft grunts, in his most raw scent, in the way his beard rutted against your cheek, and slowly, slowly you felt a bubble form in your belly, getting more and more ready to explode.

"F-fuck" you whined, "I-I think I'm-I'm coming"

His only response was to tighten his hold on you, before you fastened your pace, desperately chasing your high.

your breathing got even heavier as you remerged from his neck to look at him in the eyes and meet his lips with yours once again.

Kissing his was like traveling to another universe, he was just so... perfect

 "Joel" you whispered, losing yourself in his hazel eyes, as the pleasure got stronger and stronger until you felt like you could barely breathe "Joel I love you"

You watched his eyes widen slightly but before he could speak your orgasm took over your body and you had to hide your head in the crook of his neck again to try not to moan too loud.

"it's ok" he murmured, placing a hand on the back of your head soothingly "It's all gonna be ok sweetheart"

You rode out your high, never stopping your movements, and by the time you had come down from it, Joel was on the verge of it.

"shit-I'm coming" he groaned "Where do you want it?"

 "inside" you whispered without missing a beat

"I c-can't honey-"

"please Joel" you whimpered, starting to get overstimulated "Please fill me up, Joel"

And with that simple sentence, he was done for.

"fuck-shit. shitshitshitshit" That's all he managed to spit out, as ropes of his come filled you up to the brim, just like you wanted.

You took a moment to compose yourself, inhaling his scent one more time, before you slowly got off of him.

And as you did, the moment it was all done, a strange sensation overtook you.

you'd thought that this was all you wanted, that this was gonna make you feel better, and yet... yet you couldn't help but feel like a piece of you was missing, you couldn't help but feel emptier than you were to begin with.

As you watched him hurry to put his boxers back on, you couldn't help but think that, once again, you had managed to fuck everything up.

[thatwritterbeach]

One messed up bat pt.2

Dc masterlist all other parts found here

Batfam x reader Jason Todd x reader

Summary: the batfam's approach to Y/n self harming, Bruce is a meanie, and neglectful meanie

warnings: Angst, self harm (active), self hate, depression, anxiety, eating disorder,mentions of alcohol and drugs but not use of either, sexual assault mention, non-con mention, joker has bad touched y/n, puke, purging,

I do not own dc, kinda short sorry. Full bruce hate, I never forgave him for not killing the joker, among other things

Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian all sat around her while Alfred poured tea. Her leg was bouncing and her fingers were tapping on her knees.

"Somebody gonna fill me in," Bruce asked into the silence.

"I second that," Jason said.

"Well, we are here to support-" Tim started to say before Damian cut in.

"Y/n was cutting herself and you have to fix it," he said from his spot next to her. He latched himself onto her arm and rolled her sleeve up to show off the bandage.

"Y/n," Bruce said softly, running a hand down his face in exhaustion. He's too tired to put up with you.

"Why," Jason asked moving to sit next to her and grab her other hand. Tim was sitting on the back of the couch behind her, Dick was perched on the arm next to Damian and Bruce was across from her in an arm chair.

"I'm in a family of superheros that spends more time looking after strangers than they do their own people."

"Y/n," Dick said on a sigh.

"It's our job," Bruce said. Like that excused all the neglect.

"If you're just gonna undermine everything I say and bring up 'the mission' as an excuse for everything there's no point in having this conversation cuz it's just gonna make things worse," she seethed glaring at Bruce.

"No more work talk, just tell us about you," Dick said.

"Damian go help Alfred with dinner."

"But-"

"Go." He rolled his eyes but stomped out of the room.

"I've been cutting since Jason died-"

"Shit," Tim interrupted quietly.

"Burning too when I feel like it. Definitely have an eating disorder, depression goes without saying. All forms of anxiety, panic attacks, anxiety attacks, hmmm," she paused in mock thought looking to the ceiling for answers.

"What do you mean burning," Jason asked before she could continue.

"I use a lighter to heat up a blade, or something else metal and hold it to my skin. Just 1st and second degree, enough to blister. I prefer burning because the pain lasts longer," she explained casually. Stop talking you idiot!

"Y/n," Dick muttered, so sadly the guilt crept up her throat.

"How else do you hurt yourself," Bruce asked sliding her tea closer to her, like that helped.

"I think that's it, don't know I've done shit for so long I don't even think anymore. I blink and there's a few new cuts I don't remember making." Stop talking!

"Oh my god," Tim whispered.

"You black out? Do you drink," Jason accused, unwilling to ask about drugs.

"Nope, never touch the stuff." Where her hands shaking or was she imagining that? Didn't matter Jason's warm and rough hand enveloped both of hers to stop them. Are your eyes meant to get fuzzy when your crush touches you?

"What can we do to help, what do you need from us," Bruce asked eyeing their hands with a touch of unease?

"Oh, now you care. What fifteen, twenty kids later you care? I don't need or want anything from you, actually, no, what I want is my damn job back." Is your heart supposed to be at 150 BPM?

"Sweets, I can feel your heart through your finger tips."

"I'm fine, my heart rate's always a bit fast." But she was starting to sweat.

"Are you having any other systems, how often do you have anxiety attacks," Dicks asked sitting beside her to hold two fingers to her pulse and count.

"Once a week, once every two weeks, I don't know, why?"

"Do you feel like you're going into one?"

She took a deep breath and did a mental self-assessment. Fast heart, sweat, shaky hands, but clear thoughts.

"I don't-I don't...it doesn't feel like it? Maybe just heightened anxiety, I don't know, I feel more anger than anxiety," she told him smacking his hand away when he tried to check for a fever.

"Does your heart rate usually get to 160 when you're mad," Dick asked.

"Sounds right, I have anger issues." Jason snorted out a laugh.

"Welcome to the club kid." His hand moved to tug on her hair then dropped to her neck to rub circles with his thumb.

"When you call me kid it makes me feel small and useless," she told him with soft smile.

"Shit, sorry."

"I cal you kid, like ninety percent of the time," Dick panicked.

"Chill big bird, it's not gonna drive me to a cliff."

"You're not going back to work."

"Wayta' read the room, Bruce," Tim chastised dramatically draping himself over the back of the couch.

"Careful, Tim your fruit is showing," Y/n said, laughing at her own joke. ( Tim is bi in this)

"His what," Jason whisper yelled whipping his head around to check his brother fly. Dick who was 'hip' to the kids slang these days just laughed and high fived her.

"What's fruit then?"

"When someone is gay you call them fruity," she explained gesturing to Tim's totally not straight pose.

"Oh, got it. Wait a damn minute, that's what you meant when you called me a mango nerd the other day."

"Dude you said and I quote 'you can't wear that spring outfit with that fall purse you heathen' with a hand on your hip."

"It was for a benefit ball, I was trying to help you, you fashionably challenged fool."

"Get a room," Tim complained throwing a hand over his eyes like even watching them was painful.

"Was it that peach dress with the blue clutch," Dick asked, of course, he hadn't attended but he saw the papers and news.

"Sorry, I thought I was the girl in this family, let me just turn my closet over to you-"

"Can we get back to your issues," Bruce interrupted, freaking buzzkill.

"Sorry, was my bonding time with brothers I haven't seen together in over a month cutting into your plans. Are you trying to wrap this up so you can put on your Halloween costume and go beat up poor people. Sorry my depression is such an inconvenience for you. Don't worry, me slicing into my own flesh can take a backseat to your useless and selfish vendetta.-"

"That's enough, I do care-"

"Really! Did you care when your second robin got murdered and you couldn't be bothered to stop his killer, did you care when you forced me into that suit and took me out with basically no training? Did you care when the man you refused to kill took me hostage, when the devil you clearly love sank his claws into my innocent skin? Did you even ask when I came back to the cave with blood running down my legs-" Her jaw might have popped from the grinding of her teeth if Dick and Jason hadn't cut her off.

"What the actually fuck, Bruce!" Jason.

"What the hell!" Dick.

"I didn't know," Bruce said hanging his head and shoving his fingers into his hair.

"You didn't fucking ask. Why the hell else would I have come back looking the way I did, did you even notice I was gone?"

"I-"

"I don't care," she interrupted with an eye roll, shaking the boys off her to try and leave the room. Tim was faster and blocked her path but she knew he would cave, they would all give her alone time after the bombshell she'd just dropped. She tried not to smirk when Bruce moved to follow her and both Dick and Jason stood in his way.

"So not only did you fail to stop a kid from being murdered, you failed to tell me he was even dead until after his funeral, and you failed to protect her."

"I hate you," Jason said and they all knew he meant it. The guilt was back, clawing at her insides and making bile rise to her throat. They'd been mending their relationship and she just turned Jason on Bruce without thinking.

"I'm sorry," he tried.

"We don't care," Tim spoke for all of them stepping aside to let her through. She hurried to leave before they changed their mind but stopped short with a soft 'shit' when she nearly ran into Damian.

"You heard it all didn't you?"

"Father's an idiot."

"I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"Tt, I'm sorry you had to go through that, my beloved." (he calls her that cuz she's his favorite and acts almost as a mother figure)

"You mind telling Alfred not to set my place?"

"Of course."

Thank God, he didn't insist on following her. With a quick hug and hair ruffle she sent him off and nearly sprinted to her room, her trained feet not making a sound on the polished wood. They hadn't taken any of her blades yet so she had her pick for one last hurrah before they found her. With what could only be described as a quiet evil laugh she selected a simple pocket knife and skipped to her en suit locking the door behind her. her shorts were off in a flash and she had four quick and clean cuts in no time, the sting was ok but not enough to ease the guilt from blabbing her big mouth so she did a few more. The feeling didn't ease and her chest only got tighter in panic of being found so she cleaned and bandaged them then sank to her knees in front of the toilet. Pressing on her stomach right where her ribs met she was able to bring up her food without shoving her fingers down her throat. When nothing but foam came up and her eyes stung from tears she rose to clean up.

"Y/n, you have two second before I kick in the door," Jason warned. Well shit.

9-24-24

[ninyard]

some hc about Aaron & Matt's friendship 🥹

i feel like when Aaron found out that Andrew drugged Matt for his sake he might've spoken to Matt, maybe to apologise, maybe not, but just to say something.

imagine feeling like your brother doesn't give a shit about you, thinking that you're not even on his radar of people worth caring about, and then you find out that he did that? that he did what he did to you, but so much worse, to someone you hardly even know? and not only that, but he did it for you?

picture Matt, in Abby's place, sick and pale, sleeping most of the time when he's not a crying, sweating mess. he apologises to Abby constantly, sorry for how he looks, how he smells, how violently ill he is because of Andrew. tensions are high everywhere, people are disappointed and angry, and nobody knows how to treat the situation. are we angry at Andrew? are we angry at Matt, for taking the drugs in the first place? are we disappointed that this even happened at all?

and Aaron knocks on the door, a shy and hesitant rap of his knuckles on wood, and when he steps in the room, it takes Matt a second to realise it's Aaron, not Andrew. he doesn't even know the twins well enough yet to tell the difference, but Aaron's wearing something that shows he's not wearing the arm bands. so he knows it's Aaron.

"you don't have to be here," Matt croaks, his voice hoarse from disuse, raw from the acid of his stomach that has stayed mostly empty over the last few days. "sign a get well soon card like the rest of them."

"you look rough." Aaron says, an observation that gets a weak laugh from Matt. "how do you feel?"

"about as good as you can imagine," Matt shuffles up in the bed, and covers his mouth to try and stop a wave of nausea that hits him as he moves. Aaron looks away, seeing himself in the bed, knowing how this feels. "let's skip this part, man. i'm too tired. what do you want?"

maybe Aaron can't say it, he doesn't know the right words, maybe he doesn't even know for certain that Andrew did it for him at all. but he knows, of course he does. why else would he? Aaron looks at him, he looks at the circles around his eyes, the sweat on his forehead, and the for-now empty puke bowl on the bedside table.

Aaron wasn't even sure why he came in the first place. Abby stopped him outside, just barely knowing his history with drugs, and told him that Matt was not a pretty sight - it was hard to see, hard to look at. she told him not to go in, to leave it another day or two, or even until Matt could bare to stand up to leave her apartment. does Matt know? was he told? is he going to hate Aaron now, more than he already does, if he tells him why he thinks Andrew has put him in this position? will Matt even believe him if he tells him that he gets it? is it even worth the breath it'd take to say i'm sorry?

maybe Aaron thinks about opting for something else - some support in the way of an i get it, or an it's going to be okay, while knowing that's the last thing he would've wanted to hear in Matt's position. Aaron knows he would've told anyone that offered their shitty, meaningless words of support to him in that position to fuck off and mind their own business, but instead Matt sits there, and he waits, and he listens.

"Andrew didn't do it to kill you," he says, not even the words that he meant to say at all. "he doesn't care about you enough to bother."

"i know." Matt says, and Aaron looks at him like he's not sure how he can be so certain. "but he didn't do it for himself, either, did he?"

does sorry even feel like enough? would Aaron's empathy and understanding be meaningful at all, as Matt lay there, his energy sapped and his brain not working as it should?

i think regardless of how that conversation goes, or where it happens, or how it happens, Matt and Aaron have some sort of understanding between them - Matt is angry that Andrew did this for Aaron, that it was Aaron's fault, in a way, that this happened to him, but he knows it wasn't Aaron's choice. he sees that guilty look in his eyes as he walks into that room, and knows that Aaron had nothing to do with what happened that night. Aaron knows that Matt doesn't blame him, and he gets it - maybe. maybe Matt sees how sick Aaron looks as he looks back at him, how his mouth is downturned in an uncomfortable frown that he poorly tries to hide. maybe if Aaron did apologise, on his own behalf, on Andrew's behalf, maybe Matt wouldn't even accept it anyway. because he knows what temptation can do, he knows what seeing an addict does to an addict. he knows why Andrew did it, if anything else, and he knows why Aaron needed him clean.

i don't know where this is going, really, but i just wonder if they ever spoke about it - if Aaron ever approached Matt in those early days, if they ever understood each other in such a way that knows why they both lay or stood in the positions that they did. just a thought.

[teddyeyeseddie]

The Cherrywood Motel

The Man With the Axe

rockstar!Eddie x housekeeper!reader

masterlist

(a/n: lots going on here, I am so sorry. do we hate eddie or do we hate eddie?:( )

warnings: angst, eddie is a player, drugs, alcohol, a sexual encounter, general rockstar lifestyle

tags: @yunnie-f1 @nope-thanks @meganwinchester -@daisyridleyyyy @ostricx - @aysheashea @emilyshortcake @ostricx@bebe07011 @miss-celestial-being @bblunuh @dandelionnfluff  @bibieddiesgf @erisdogwood @emxxblog @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

now playing:

Days passed with little sign of Eddie. He locked himself away and barely peaked his head out of the room, only doing so for the odd pizza delivery. If he was honest with himself, he was wallowing. 

He wasn't used to having to chase, most women simply falling in his lap at the snap of his fingers. He wasn’t used to having  to prove himself to be worthy. But, to be fair all the women he had in his bed were gone by the next day, the night long forgotten as well as their names. 

He knew you weren’t like that, he knew he had his work cut out for him. The drugs, money and fame didn’t impress you the way it impressed people from LA, desperate for any taste of Eddie’s lifestyle. He was always happy to oblige, gifting friends goodie bags of drugs at his parties and even going as far to have a dealer on hand at any and all times when he was back home. 

He lived for a party, lived to be in the fast lane. He rode it without his seatbelt on, not fearing the inevitable crash and burn that would launch him into a life of loneliness. 

So, that's where he has spent his last few days. He was either coked out, high on pills or smoking weed. Not to mention the excessive drinking that came with the pity party he was throwing himself, fueled by self loathing. 

He picks up the rolled bill from the end table, running it through his line as he makes sure to pick up all the remnants with the now crumpled hundred. He groans and throws his head back once he is done, smiling widely when he catches a glance of himself in the mirror, trying to create the face of someone who is actually happy. 

He walks towards the mirror, studying his face as he gets closer. He winces when he notices the bags that have formed under his eyes. There is dried puke in his hair from the endless cycle of drinking and hangovers. Hair of the dog, he would tell himself. 

He doesn’t recognize who he is, the bright eyed young rock star now aged by endless nights of partying. Sure, he was still as handsome as ever but the festivities he took part in took a toll on his body. 

He decides a shower would do him good. He backs away from the bathroom mirror, turning towards the shower in order to turn it on. He lets it warm up for a minute before stepping out of his pajama pants and boxers. He jumps in, letting the water soothe the ache that has settled low in his bones. 

He gets out of the shower when he hears commotion coming from outside. He turns off the water, grabbing a towel before quickly drying himself off and slipping back into his pajama pants sans boxers. 

He was in a rush to see who was causing all the ruckus, his hair was still dripping wet, droplets of water painting the expanse of his chest and back. 

He's shocked to see you standing there, tears in your eyes as a man screams at you. 

“I don't care what happened, you are going to buy me a new suit out of your little paycheck and I’m not taking no for an answer,” a man with silver hair screams, he is towering over you, veins popping out in his neck as he becomes more and more irate. 

“Hey, hey, hey big man, no need to yell at the girl,” 

“She poured bleach all over my suit,”

“Sir, you ran right into me, I tried getting out of the way,”

“I do not want to hear it, I’ll leave my information at the front desk. I expect a replacement by the time I finish my stay,” the man bites, turning towards Eddie who is now towering over him. 

“Think you shoulda kept your head up champ,” Eddie retorts, a smirk playing on his face as he crosses his arms over his bare chest, the cool October breeze causing his hair to stand on end.

“Who are you and why are you even inserting yourself into this?” The man squares his shoulders, looking Eddie up and down. 

“Kinda concerns me, you’re raggin’ on my sweets,” Eddie shoves the guy with each word, backing him up against a motel room door. He grabs a fistfull of the man’s shirt, his other hand coming to grab his jaw and force him to look at him. 

“You’re gonna go about your business now aren’t you?” Eddie’s hand now moves from his jaw to his throat, successfully pinning him against the door. 

“Hey! What’s all this?” A man shouts from behind Eddie. He curses to himself when he turns around, a policeman coming over to see what the problem was between the two men. 

Eddie ends up in the back of a patrol car, no boxers on and no one to call.

His eyes plead with yours as the cruiser drives away, silently begging you to help him.

You push into the precinct 2 hours later, having to finish your shift before you could go and pick up Eddie. You’d drained your savings knowing it would probably cost a pretty penny to bail him out. You stroll up to the counter, asking for Eddie as you pick at the torn edge of the envelope you’d stuffed the money in. 

“Hey sweets, knew you’d come for me,” a voice comes from behind you. You turn to see Eddie waiting for you, a tight t-shirt now adorning his formerly bare torso. 

“Like my new digs? Apparently I’m the best junior officer around!” he chuckles and points at the writing on the chest of the shirt.

You hold your tongue when you walk towards him, simply walking past him and out the door. He follows, your silence making his skin crawl. He quietly gets into the passenger seat of your car, his hands resting in his lap as he stays silent. 

“You know I could have handled it, Eddie,” you finally break the silence after a few minutes. 

“You don’t know what he would have done,”

“Nothing if I would have just bought the guy a new suit! He ran into me sure but I should have had a cap on the bottle,” 

“No! He was being a cocksucker and deserved a little roughing up,”

“You were drunk and high Eddie, I don't think you should be the one to decide who needs to be “roughed up” ,” you’re borderline in tears, the idea that Eddie came to your rescue making you feel so many emotions. 

“I’m not gonna’ sit there and watch someone rag on you. You of all people,”

“I am not yours to protect, Eddie,” you say, your voice now softer, some of the anger leaving your body as you continue to drive. 

Eddie looks over and sees the tears running down your cheeks, the moonlight causing them to glisten as they fall. Eddie thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even with a red face and a runny nose he still wants to lean across the center console and kiss your tears away.

“M’ sorry,” you simply shake your head, not trusting you voice. 

You pull into the motel moments later, parking in between yours and Eddie’s room.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you say to him once you are out of the car. 

“Sweets wait,” his hand grabs your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as he tries to rein you in. 

“Just leave me alone, Eddie,” you shrug your arm away from him, retreating to your room and leaving him in the cold. 

That night, Eddie wallows some more. He punches the wall after a few drinks,  knuckles now swollen as he tries to roll a joint. He indulges in anything and everything before walking outside and to the bar across the street. 

He enters rather smoothly despite the plethora of drugs he is on, settling into a chair as he flags down the bartender. He orders a rum and coke, turning towards the dance floor to find his pick of the night. He spots a brown haired woman, dressed in a tight red dress and black heels. Eddie decides she’ll do.

Eddie turns on his flirting, bringing the woman a beverage before slipping his room number in the valley of her breasts before whispering a soft, “You know where to find me,” 

She comes like a bee to honey, only waiting a few minutes to exit the bar and head over to Eddie’s room.

It’s hot, heavy and dirty. 

She is loud, her moans echoing off the walls and making their way over to your room. You throw a pillow over your face, trying to do anything to drown out the god-awful moans and the pounding in your brain. You toss and turn while you have to listen to Eddie break your heart one more time. 

While you sit there fighting back tears, you realize that you have no place to be upset. You aren’t interested in him. He was some rock star that would probably ruin your life with drugs and parties, he wasn’t the man you were meant to be with. But here you are, heart broken and on the verge of sobbing as you listen to Eddie praise the girl between his legs.

“Feel good, sweets?” the nickname rattles in your brain, the tears coming back as he chants her name over and over and over. 

Finally they're done, the room now silent as you listen to soft rustling on the other side of the wall. You wait for a minute, waiting for the sound of Eddie’s door opening and closing, signifying that she’s gone. It never comes. 

The next morning, you’re up early. The clock reads 6am as you make your way outside and towards your car after getting dressed for the day. You duck into your car as soon as the door to Eddie’s room opens, a woman in a red dress emerging with heels in her hand. Your heart sinks when you see her try to lean up and kiss Eddie. He simply turns his head allowing the kiss to fall upon his cheek instead. 

Eddie woke that morning with a jump, forgetting much of last night and the name of the woman in his bed. He nudges her awake, telling her she has to go so he can make it to a meeting. 

“Do  you have something I can borrow? I’d like to see you again,” She purrs as she snakes her arm up his bare chest, attempting to push him back on the bed for another round. 

Eddie shakes his head, pushing her hand away before getting up from his place on the bed and handing her the dress from last night. 

“Need ya to get out soon,” he throws the dress in her direction before turning to head to the bathroom. He splashes water on his face, rubbing at his nose to release some of the dry skin that has accumulated there. He dries off his face before returning to the bedroom, the woman now dressed. 

“I uh- called a taxi. It will be here soon,” she says. Eddie simply nods before fishing in his wallet for money to cover her fare.

“S’ only fair if I’m kicking you out this early,” she politely takes the money and heads for the door. 

That’s when Eddie spots you, watching in the front seat of your car. He turns her head and directs her kiss to his cheek, waving her goodbye before ducking back into the room to avoid you. He couldn’t look you in the eye, not after that. He knew he fucked up bad this time. The first two being minor bumps in the road in his eyes, but this one took the whole fuckin’ cake. 

You stay away from the motel all that day, deciding to go and hang out with Christa. 

“So he’s gotten high at dinner, threatened a man  and had you pick him up from the police precinct, and now he’s fucking random girls? I thought this man was into you not into trying to ruin your life,” Christa says over a glass of wine.

“That’s the thing, I don't know why I care so much. Like he is so bad for me in every way, Christa,” you throw your hands up in the air, a groan escaping your lips as well. 

“Just ignore him, he’s just trying to find a little plaything to keep him busy in this little town,” You leave the Eddie talk at that for the night, the conversation naturally flowing to other things that didn't make you upset. 

You return back to the motel around 10 that night, pulling into the parking lot to find all the spots by your room were taken. Groaning, you turn your car around and go to the other end of the parking lot, finally finding one. You park your car and make your way to your room, the heavy sound of music flowing from Eddie’s room and into the open air of the night.

You push your way into your room, immediately falling into bed. You kick off your shoes and strip down to your t shirt before attempting to fall asleep. 

With the music and chatter that is coming from Eddie’s room, you toss and turn for a few minutes before deciding enough was enough. You’ve lost enough sleep over this man and it ended tonight. You pull on your sweatpants, throwing open your door and trudging past a few people who were seeking refuge in the form of cigs and silence. 

You push into Eddie’s room, seeking him out when a girl approaches you. 

“Where’s Eddie?” you question, she simply shrugs and smacks her gum as she looks down at you.

“Dunno, but if you find him, tell him we're out of blow,” you roll your eyes, scanning the room to find no trace of Eddie. You notice a line is forming at the bathroom, the person at the door banging on the it as he yells for the person inside to “hurry the fuck up,” 

You make your way over to the bathroom, cutting in front of the man before you knock on the door. 

“Eddie?” you shout, “Get out here!” 

Eddie appears moments later, denim vest on with no shirt. He’s sweaty and flushed, mind foggy as he looks down at you. 

“Heya sweets, long time no see,” he sings, hand coming to caress your cheek. You’re quick to bat it away, staring up at him with a scowl on your face. 

“Eddie it is 10 o’clock at night, why on earth is your room full of people who look like they’re about to go to a honky tonk,”

“They’re my friends, see this is hic- Marc,” he shouts, pointing at the man who had been pounding on the door moments earlier. 

“It’s Matt,”

“Matt, Marc. Who cares,” Eddie laughs as he walks away, he heads towards his end table, groaning when he sees they have run out of coke. 

“Eddie, listen to me. These people can’t be here,”

“Again, sweets. Who cares!” 

“I do!” you yell at him, hands on our hips as you try to look at least a little bit intimidating. 

“S’ cute when you do that,” he points to your hips, smiling widely as he looks back up at you. 

The two of you argue back and forth for a while, Eddie inevitably snapping at you in his drunken haze. 

“Goodness sweets jus’ get out of here! ” he shoos you away, a man approaching him with a half smoked joint, Eddie indulging as you turn away from him and retreat back to your room. 

You sit on the edge of your bed for two whole hours, listening to the beat of the music pulse through your room. You’re about to lay down when a soft knock interrupts the flow of music. 

You open your door, surprised to see a barely standing Eddie at your doorstep. 

“Sweets, my darling. Can you help me out?”

[psych0-str1ngs]

Nikki Sixx x reader- Savior (angst)

Authors Note: I wanted to write for Nikki again, so we're writing a nikki angst. Enjoy and remember that my ask box is open for requests! <3 ;) Also this obviously isn't going to be the exact story of the '87 overdose, but it's kinda close.

Warnings: Cussing, hard drugs, crying, over all sadness, with fluff at the end. If these things trigger you, please don't read it :)

It was late one night, you were with one of your best friends, and crush, Nikki, along with Steve adler, Slash and his girlfriend. You were all drunk, and high. You were sitting on the couch laughing with Slash's girlfriend, While Nikki and Steve were on the floor doing coke. Slash was passed out on another couch.

You zoned out, watching Nikki's face move and contort. You hated to admit it, but Nikki looked totally hot doing coke, even though you knew it was bad. Nikki looked at you and smiled. You blushed and looked back at Slash's girlfriend.

"Hey guys, I'm gonna go outside for a smoke, I'll be back," I got upp off of the couch and stumbled out of the hotel door.

What you didn't know was that, having a smoke in that moment was a horrible idea, the worst ever. You would go on to regret ever leaving that hotel room. Unaware, you continued through the hotel lobby, and on to the cold night. You looked at the sky, immediately the moon reminded you of Nikki.

You often stared up at the sky, imagining living in one of those distant galaxies, with Nikki. He was had such an alien-istic outlook on life, you had never someone who had such wild opinions, but that's what made him interesting. As teens, you and Nikki would sit for hours outside, talking about life, and the moral out codes of being a rockstar, or what you wanted to do with your life. Beyond the musical aspect of life you both shared, you were much alike, sharing many qualities, but also none at all.

You had once again zoned out, the smoke from your cigarette wisting away along with your conscious. You heard sirens, not thinking a thought of it. You looked across the street at the corner store, deciding to grab some more beers. You quickly ran across the street pulling out your wallet. Lines and lines of beers were stacked up on the back wall. You took your pick and payed for it. Walking out the store and seeing an ambulance, as well as seeing Nikki.

You dropped the beer and ran into the street, not even looking if there were any cars. You ran up to Steve, who was standing with his hands on his head.

"What the hell happened?" You yelled. ""What the hell happened?" You yelled.

"He overdosed on heroin." Steve said, sounding extremely scared.

"YOU LET HIM DO FUCKING HEROIN?" I screamed at him, throwing my hands up in the air.

Any last bit of my high was gone, I was completely sobered up. Tears threatened to spill as looked behind me at the white sheet on the gurney. They pulled him into the ambulance.

"Will anyone be coming with him?" The paramedic asked quickly.

"Take my car," I threw my keys at Steve.

I jumped in the the back of the ambulance. The doors closing behind me. I looked at Nikki, who's face was completely relaxed. You sat next to him, the paramedics stood next to the wall of medical things. They were trying everything, shocking him, CPR, anything they though would work. You grabbed his cold hand, and held it in yours. The paramedics yelled at each other. I sat silently.

"Nikki I love you," I whispered. "You can't leave me now."

I knew he didn't hear me, I didn't care. He was far off in a coma, his body threatening cardiac arrest. I moved my hands to my lap, still staring at his face. It was flushed, and almost lifeless. You felt sick, like you were going to puke. The paramedics grabbed the large gurney, and pulled him out of the large truck.

"Stay in the lobby ma'am," The male paramedic said, holding his hand out to help me down.

I quickly walked behind them into the long hospital hallways before I watched them wheel his body away, I trembled, my legs felt like Jello. I walked to a seat, sitting there quietly. The thought of him shooting up replayed through my brain, a deafening ringing was in my ears, but there was no sound. It was an empty waiting room, despite it being a Friday night.

---

You were overwhelmed and anxious, as anyone would be. Sitting in the waiting room, you felt as though your eyes were as dry as a desert, your throat was stinging, as though you had just been screaming for hours on end. You felt a tap on your shoulder, it was Nikki. You looked over, his face staring straight at yours. You screeched before getting up and stumbling back away from him. He had maggots, and other bugs crawling through holes on his lifeless face. Parts of flesh were missing from his body, he looked like he had been dead for years. You stumbled back into another person, turning around, and screaming again, your eyes veered at Nikki, who was standing in front of you. You looked around, all of the seats had been filled with the image of Nikki's cold lifeless body. You ran down the hall in terror, before stopping at a cross way.

He was every where, suddenly, a young Nikki was in front of you. Staring you down like a hawk. His tiny hands wrapped around your throat, screeching at you.

"why did you let this happen to me?!?!?!"

You couldn't breath, not a single bit

---

The tap on your shoulder had woken you up, it was a doctor.

"Are you with the man who had overdosed?" She asked politely.

I looked around confused, I was sitting in the same seat I was before, but this time, the seats around you were filled up with different people, all kinds.

"Y-yes," I stuttered. "Oh god, is he okay?"

"Do you want to see him?" She asked, her hand on my shoulder.

"Yes please," I got up and she walked me to the room he was in.

I looked at him and immediately ran up to him, his eyes looked at me, smiling. I wrapped my arms around him gently, as he was probably feeling horrible. The doctor walked out, shutting the door.

"Nikki you're a fucking idiot!" I said, looking at him. "If you do heroin ever fucking again, I'll kill you myself you fucker."

He laughed before coughing a bit.

"It'll take more than that to kill me, babe," He smiled, still looking a bit pale.

Your hand caressed his face.

"God I'm so happy you're alive." I hugged him again.

"Yeah yeah," His arm slightly raised, he groaned from pain.

"Don't you dare move until they tell you you can," I look at him."

He rebelled, grabbing my hand, and looking me in the eyes, i blushed slightly.

"I heard what you said." He said quietly.

"Oh?" I looked down embarrassed. "I didn't think you would, uhm, I thought you were gone.."

"I love you too, Y/n," He smiled. "Always have, and always will."

"I think you need some sleep hun," I laughed, chopping up what he had said to him just being disoriented.

"I mean it." He tugged your hand lightly. "I love you"

My breath caught in my throat. I leaned down and kissed him, my lips fit perfectly against his. He kissed back immediately. I pulled up a chair after kissing him and sat down, and after 1 million years, Steve, slash and his girlfriend all show up. They walked in, thanking god that Nikki was alive. Steve started to profusely apologize, Nikki told him it was okay, and that he wasn't mad. I was just happy he was okay, and that I finally had him.

And I could finally take care of him the way he deserved to be.

[boncottontail]

Honestly, even though I fucking hate Doied and would definitely punt him to the sun, I think his backstory is tragic.

All we know currently about Doied is that he works for the Federation and hates Q!Roier with a passion (to the extent of him drugging and torturing him). Since we had no idea that he was a real person (and not just one of Roier’s silly alter egos) before the tapes, I assume that he’s spent his entire life locked away in the Federation offices, while his twin (?) is living the life he’s always dreamed of, full freedom to do anything he desires, away from the clutches of Cucurucho.

SO. I have two theories as to who Doied is and his connection to Q!Roier.

Theory One: Doied is a Q!Roier prototype.

Clinging on to the theory that Q!Roier is a federation experiment (like Q!Jaiden and Q!Baghera), I think that Doied could have been the result of their first trial to create Q!Roier. He came out an unrivaled genius but didn’t look the way he wanted to. But the Federation thought they could use his smarts so they assigned him to work in their offices. Later, they tried again, and came up with Q!Roier. Perfection.

Theory Two: Doied and Q!Roier are twins.

Maybe the Federation ended up making two experimental children at once, splitting the brains (Doied) and the brawn (Q!Roier) between both of them. But even though Doied was a genius who could pull off anything, Q!Roier ended up being the more “stable” of the twins. Favored by the Federation because he was the “perfect” result of their islander experiment, he was sent off to live on the island, while Doied was left locked away underground.

No matter which theory is closer to the truth, the real question is: What is Doied’s motivation? Easy, it’s none other than Jealousy.

Because Doied was smart. He was a genius scientist who invented a majority of the Federation’s machinery for their projects and experiments. Without him, he was sure that the Federation wouldn’t have succeeded as much as it did—but how come Q!Roier, armed only with his kindness and strength, gets to live a free life? Why does he get to have a family, while Doied only had faceless Fed workers and a psycho bear boss to keep him company? It was unfair. It was UNFAIR.

When Cucurucho showed up to Doied’s office, while pulling Q!Roier with a rope tied around his neck, Doied took his chance for revenge. He drugs him. Blindfolds him. Tortures him until he’s puking all over himself, then crushes his communicator to completely cut him off from his precious family and friends and children.

Then, under Cucurucho’s command, he puts Q!Roier’s body into a rat, just because he fucking can.

One day, a strange man named Hombre Misterioso shows up. He tells Doied to switch bodies with Q!Roier. Doied realizes that doing so not only meant stealing his body but his life, too. The life he’s always wanted outside the Federation’s white walls. The life under the sun, the life away from toxic command, the life of freedom.

Now in Q!Roier’s body, Doied experiences life. He experiences adventure and danger. He experiences friendship and unconditional love. He experiences the care of a loving husband.

And maybe Doied might end up getting a little attached to his cute egg children. Maybe Doied will end up taking a bit of a liking to his twin’s husband—but Q!Cellbit is a smart guy. He knows his husband from the inside out. There’s a chance that he already noticed how oddly different “Q Roier” is. The signs were there in the most recent stream. The lack of “guapito” and the hug only directed at the eggs…

Doied experiences love for the first time, then it gets ripped right off his hands. A tragic end for a tragic character.

[fizziepopangel]

Got any Octavia headcanons? Just in general 🦉🌠

Now, I don't have a ton since Octavia isn't one of my favorite characters and doesn't have a ton of screentime, but I did have a few, so ask and you shall receive!

“This place REEKS of corporate shame.”

(Octavia headcanons I think are pretty accurate)

Octavia is super active on Sinstagram, but unlike most girls her age, she mostly posts photography and sometimes she tries silly trends or makeup looks with her dad.

Despite her original anger at her father’s affair, Octavia grows to love Blitz as if he were a second dad.

Via practices magic often with tutors or in school, but she prefers learning with her dad because she enjoys the bonding time it gives them. When her parents split up, one of the hardest things for her was having her studies with her dad cut in half.

Her favorite snack is roasted marshmallows (sometimes smores). She often just gets a bag of marshmallows and sits in her room, using her pyrokinesis to roast them while she watches horror movies in bed.

While she is asexual, Octavia is biromantic. Stolas and Loona are the only two people who she's felt comfortable enough to come out to.

She loves to read, mostly thrillers and mystery novels. She plans to have enough books to rival her father's plant collection.

After her trip to the human world in “Seeing Stars”, Loona and Octavia made it a point to have coffee at least once a month. While the two usually have coffee and walk around Stylish Occult and other hell stores similar to it, they use the time to vent about their fathers, school/work, unbeknownst to their fathers, the girls sometimes sneak to earth to take in the sights there.

Loona is the first person she tried drugs or alcohol with. Via really wanted to try something rebellious so Loona supervised her while smoked a little weed and took a few shots.... then spent the rest of the night holding her hair while she puked and trying to bring down the paranoia levels. They both agreed Stolas and Blitz never needed to know that happened.

Stella is afraid of reptiles…. Unbeknownst to her, Stolas has let their daughter keep a pet snake that she found in his garden. Via has had this snake for almost 4 years without her mother's knowledge and it's name is Starlight.

Octavia still hasn’t mastered transforming into her full demon form, but she is more interested in learning to transform into her human form since she’s seen both of her parents and Loona do it before and she thinks they all look quite pretty in their human forms… Since she struggles with finding anything attractive about herself now, she wonders if she’ll be as pretty as them.

Octavia is extremely musically inclined and despite her mother hating it, Via taught herself to play the drums.

Via visits her father in the hospital every day. He makes her promise to take care of his plants and she actually ends up really enjoying tending to the garden, she even talks to the plants and plays music for them to try to cheer them up since, much like her, they're also feeling a bit lost without Stolas at home.

After taking up journaling, she took up writing poetry and she sometimes performs it at open mic nights. She’s never told anyone, but she really enjoys it and despite her demeanor, she’s found that her mental health has improved tremendously since she started writing.

Collects interesting/weird taxidermy and gives each one a unique and personality.

Up until her first appearance in Helluva Boss, Octavia actually did the most to earn her mother’s affection. She stopped in hopes that the drastic change in behavior would catch her mother’s attention… When it didn’t, she slowly started learning who she was apart from her parents and came up with her current personality and aesthetic.

Loves spice. Like could care less about cookies or cupcakes most of the time but wants to eat the hottest pepper she can find like a tic tac.

Very much the type who wants to advocate for those who are struggling. Since she can’t do much to make hell better, once she’s old enough and learns to shift into her human form, she totally comes to the human realm to help with protests for causes she believes in.

Speaks in nothing but song lyrics sometimes. No reason, just does it.

[thevestigeofvanillaan]

What's Your Name?

kai anderson x female reader part 1.

content: slight smut at the beginning, unprotected sex, pregnancy, no relationship, swearing, second person.

"Ugh!" You moan as this random sexy long blue haired man bounces you up and down in a standing fuck in the gym showers.

The two of you were bound to be seen, but hadn't cared. You were having vicious sex in the men's locker room at your gym with some random guy you'd probably never see again. What's so harmful in that?

Coming down from your highs with heavy breaths and he puts you down, you gathering your clothing and quickly putting it on. But you look back to the man who still stands in the shower, looking down at the mess on the floor from our many rounds.

He looks at you with a confused expression. "Hey, I'll clean this. You just go 'fore you get banned from this place for bein' in here."

"Thanks." Was the last thing you'd said to him.

The next two weeks and you'd basically forgotten about it all. Getting back to working at the bakery and your regular gym schedule, where you'd see that man and that'd be the only reminder of what the two of you had done.

Impeccable urges to do it again, the constant crave for him was getting worse and worse and you didn't know why.

Stomach pains started after about two and a half weeks. Disturbing stomach pains, that felt vulgar and made you have to puke.

Corner store, or the drug store, was your hope to find out what was wrong. Not only did you pick up a drug test but a pregnancy test too.

Paying for them wasn't going to happen. They were ten dollars a piece, nevermind the embarrassment of walking up there with both those tests. You'd look like a lunatic.

But, theft was easy for you, you'd always been good at it since your first time stealing chapstick when you were only five. It was something you were good at.

That, and black mailing people into buying you drugs when you were too young to buy them yourself.

Eleven, is how old you were the first time you'd asked a man outside of the drug store to buy you cigarettes.

"My papa's dyin' at home, he couldn't come himself. Please sir, just a pack?"

"Why isn't your mom gettin' em?" He'd ask.

"My mom is dead, sir. If my dad dies a slow painful death with no cigarettes, I'll hold you accountable, sir. Reasonable for my lonesomeness when I get put into the system with no parents left."

Mom and you were close, in fact. Your mother was not dead, and your dad was not sick. You just wanted cigarettes.

You were never a good kid, and you never wanted to be.

Leaving that store with the tests in your purse made you feel alive again. Like your younger self. Hating your younger self was easy until you felt that ecstasy she had felt, once again. You'd almost forgot what that felt like.

When the pregnancy test came out positive, you didn't know what to do. Along the fact that the only positive on your drug test was nicotine.

"Fuck!" You scream out and put your hands on your knees that are raised to your chest as you sit on your bed, beginning to cry.

Not knowing this man turned to having his child growing inside of you at the very moment.

"What do I do.." Thoughts did nothing to soothe your worries.

Your stomach was turning, and you had to vomit. You run to the bathroom and do so before looking at yourself in the mirror, touching your stomach.

"Fuck! You idiot!" You'd scream at yourself in the mirror and slam your hands on the sink in your bathroom.

..

The next day, you went to the gym. "Hey, where's that man? The one with the blue hair." You ask his trainer.

"He shouldn't be here for another twenty minutes ma'am. Why?" He responds.

Sighing and rubbing your temples, "I need to talk to him. In private so when he gets here can you please tell him to go to the locker room.?"

He nods with a concerned expression on his face and you walk off to the men's locker room, sitting on some bench. You stare at the positive test and your hands start to shake. You couldn't believe this was happening.

I mean, you hadn't even known the guy's name.

20 minutes felt like 20 hours while waiting for him to get there.

"What? You want round two or somethin'?" The man says with that smug expression. "If you are, I'm all for it, baby."

"What's your name?" You ask, standing up when he gets close enough to feel his hot breath hit your face.

His face morphs to be emotionless. "Kai. And you are..?"

"Y/n. Kai, we need to talk."

"About what?" Kai asks, placing his hands on his hips with a confused expression.

Taking the test out of your back pocket and handing it to him.

The silence as he holds it and stares at it is killing you.

"You're not doin' so much talkin' for someone who 'needs to talk to me'." He sighs and holds the test up to your face. "What's this mean, mama?"

Hands shaking, and you sit down, leading him to bring himself down to one knee to bring himself eye level with you.

Nothing to say came to mind. His calmness stunned you.

"Here's my full name, and my number. Please, call me so we can arrange a doctor's appointment." You hand Kai a piece of paper that says said information on it.

Watching him lick his lips as he looks at you, then he stands up.

Kai stares for a moment, before turning around and walking away without a word.

That was honestly less painful than you thought it'd be.

But, again, you didn't know who Kai even was. You just had his kid growing in you without having any idea what you're going to do.

[queer-whatchamacallit]

Rewarmed

Summary: After deeply fucking up his shoulder in a wrestling match, Carmy is only dragged back to life when Mikey decides 4 AM is a great time for some baking.

Prompt: The very seasonal prompt, a meal containing pumpkins or apples

Main Characters: Carmy Berzatto, Mikey Berzatto, and Richie Jerimovich

Rating: Teen and up

Author’s Note: 2,756 words, content warnings: semi graphic injury description, lots of drug mentions, Donna pulling a big bad Donna moment, vomiting. Enjoy!!

He hates how much he remembers.

The earth-shattering pop. The fucker without a thought in his head is still struggling to roll him over in a half-nelson, and all Carmy can think is ‘off off off OFF.’ His shoulder caught and crushed beneath both their weight.

Screaming, “FUCK,” into the mat until his lungs shrivel.

The half-nelson jagoff crouching down beside him with his brows knitted up. Him backing away and Mikey and Richie and Coach Chen taking their place. Something, everything, is too loud, but he can’t tell any one sound from another. Thinking pain must taste like acid before coughing up Gatorade and pepto onto the knees of Coach’s track pants.

The random desperate sounds choking up his throat turn into, “Sorry sorry sorry.”

He’s told to keep his shoulder steady, but he can’t stop squirming and writhing. Being carried off the mat even though his legs work fine. Getting strapped down in the ambulance and wanting to puke or scream again the whole way to the hospital.

-

After they insert the cannula into the back of his hand, he doesn’t remember much of that day. Later, he became more aware of the surgery and the proceeding couple hours spent knocked out. All he knew then was that his shoulder didn’t really hurt anymore, the room was spinning, and Ma was pissed.

He can still place her pacing back and forth by the foot of his bed and yelling at Mikey about how it happened on his watch. Any panic he might have felt was smoothed over. He wanted to care. He felt like he should have, but everything got lost in the soft tilt of the horizon.

Hours later, he was wheeled out to the car, and Ma didn’t take her arms off him from the moment he tried to stand up to when he was safely in the back seat. Richie drove, Mikey took shotgun, and Ma sat next to Carmy, long acrylic nails running over his greasy hair.

He thinks he slept on the way home because he remembers trying to claw his way out of the ring and the white hot floodlights until a massive hulking beast rips at his limbs, tearing muscle, dismantling joints.

His mother’s hands cupping his face feel like they’re burning. Phantom pain and pressure still have a hold on him. The subtle smell of wine makes his stomach churn a little worse.

“Hey, Carmen, look at me. You’re just fine. Look at me.”

“No, no, no it’s- it’s-” he begs.

“Carmen, Angel, c’mon, you’re fine. Just focus on me. Listen to my voice.”

“Ma, ease off him. Let him breathe.”

“I’m trying to stop him from freaking-”

The hand that isn’t bound up in a sling pushes roughly at her arms. Before she can hit back, he cowers into the car door, falling back on something more instinctual when he wraps his usable arm around himself to shield his weak underbelly.

“Carmen! The fuck was that? I’m trying to talk to you,” she growls.

He doesn’t know if he wants to puke or bawl his fucking eyes out.

“DeDe,” Richie mumbles, hopelessly lost.

“Ma, Ma. Just give him a second.”

“He just fucking hit me, and now, he’s going to make himself sick! He needs to breathe.”

“You’re not fuckin helping!” Mikey raises an octave for fear of raising his voice in Carm’s ear.

“No, he’s fine. He’s going to be fucking fine. I got him.”

Fuck, something’s happening, something’s wrong, there’s so much fucking pressure in his head.

“Ma, back the fuck off,” Mikey insists.

He doesn’t feel good.

“Don’t fucking tell-”

He heaves hard, and stomach acid paints the back corner of the passenger seat then his lap. The croak of a wounded animal is punched out of him as acid clings to his chin. His eyes and sinuses sting. Everything’s shaking. There’s so much sound over him. Things are moving, but his eyes are squeezed shut.

He only really becomes aware of things again several minutes later when he’s sitting thoughtlessly in the parking lot of an Aldi with his hair pressed up against the back of Mikey’s decades old pickup truck. Everything before that is a horrific, overwhelming haze.

Just getting him out of the car took less of a fight than trying to wrangle him over to the opposite seat. The second they got him steady, though, he melted in their arms and curled up on asphalt. After a couple minutes of near-silence with Richie sat beside him, the frenzied panic drained out.

“Doing alright, kid?”

He hums affirmatively.

“Not that bad of a trip, right?”

“I mean…” he slurs, “I puked my fuckin guts ups-so don’t know.”

“Yknow, I’ll be fuckin flabbergasted if you remember anything after the ambulance. They have you on the fucking strong shit.”

“Fuckin,” he parrots before following, “Feel-feels strong.”

“Yeah,” Richie hums and tussles his hair.

About a half hour later, Mikey and Ma come back out of the Aldi before they and Richie scrub down the mess to the best of their ability. Mikey more or less hauls Carmy back into the seat, and he’s nodding off by the time they’re out of the parking lot.

-

It’s been a short three days. He’s barely gotten out of the armchair and his nest of pillows. Painkillers, antiemetics, and the Food Network keep him in an absent daze on the rare moment he’s actually awake. His diet consists mostly of soups and Italian ice when he’s less encouraged, more forced to push back against his lack of appetite. As is, he could rot into nothing and be none the wiser.

He barely even notices when his Ma gives him 1 pill instead of 2. That’s until it’s about 4 in the morning and he’s woken up by the steady ache seeping through him. He’s sure he’d be able to set the pain aside on any normal day, but as is, he’s much less able to tie down his discomfort. Despite the urge to lay back down and never get up, he decides he’s going to drag himself upstairs to his Ma’s room.

“Yo, Cousin?”

Carmy doesn’t stop his pursuit.

“Bear, hey, what do you need upstairs?” Mikey asks from the couch.

He huffs a short sigh and turns back to look at them.

“Hurts. Gonna ask Ma for the next- the next uhh dose.”

“Not for another couple hours.”

“I’m not fuckin… It hurts.”

“Well, if you’re not then you can make it a couple hours.”

Carmy stays put, trying to think of something that could make them understand.

“Come on, let’s fuckin do something-”

“No, Mike.”

“No, let’s fuckin go,” he takes the arm of a clearly stoned and drowsy Richie over his shoulder, “You’ve been a damn lump. You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna make pumpkin pie. Ma bought shit for it the other day. If she throws a shit fit, we can just replace it.”

“Fuck off.”

Richie counters, “You fuck off.”

“That’s right, come on. We’re going all the way to the kitchen. Fuckin marathon for you, kid.”

“It’s late,” Carmy argues as they almost disappear down the hall.

“Like you’re losing sleep. Let’s roll,” Mikey calls, knowing nothing could wake their Ma after downing almost a full bottle of wine.

He’d say fuck everything and collapse back into his chair, but never in his life had he resisted the urge to follow Mikey.

“Alright, Cousin, Cousin,” he takes Richie’s face in his hands with zero air of sobriety, “we’re getting so fuckin serious. Head in the fuckin game, shithead.”

“What fuckin game? I can guarantee you this shit is not gonna be servable.”

Carmy watches, pressed up against the doorway and fiddling with the sling.

“Maybe you couldn’t. Both of you, quit fuckin around. Grab the-the shit. I already got the tin and the canned pumpkin.”

“Recipe, Cousin.”

“It’s all up here,” Mikey says like to question that would be a scathing insult, “Carm, cinnamon, brown sugar, salt, and the-the other fucker… nutmeg.”

Carmy gives a mock solute before rifling around the cabinets.

“Cousin, eggs, heavy cream, mascarpone-”

“Christ, you said that like such a fuckin Italian. a-mascarponnée,” he mimics.

“The fuck do you think I am?” Mikey tries and fails to jab a hand into his side before taking his fingers together in stereotypical Italian fashion, “We need-a the mascarpone for-a the pumpkin pie. Or I’ll-a fuckin rock-a your ass. And now, I have no fuckin clue what was after that, thanks Cousin.”

“No problem.”

“Alright, mixing bowl. Let’s fuckin go. What’s that song? What the fuck goes in the coconut?”

“The fuck are you on about now?” Richie wonders.

“The fuckin,” he snaps in Carmy direction, “That song that Lee wouldn’t shut the fuck up about on that trip. Put the shit the coconut.”

“Christ, I don’t fuckin know,” Carmy admits, individually moving the cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt to the right counter. “What else is there?”

“The, cinnamon… brown sugar,” he says with a soft pat on Carm’s back, “But Christ, you guys are no fuckin help.”

“We got all your shit!” Richie counters.

“Not all the shit. And, and now, it’s your turns to stand there and do fuckall. Shit uh, Carm. Oven, 425.”

“Got it.”

“But yeah, you two shitheads are clearly too fuckin loaded to crack eggs.”

“Like you aren’t,” Richie says, rifling through the pantry before taking out a pack of cheezits.

“Maybe, but I have playing sober down to an art. Just fuckin watch.”

Mikey starts cracking eggs like both of them have seen him do a million times.

“Cuz, I don’t think that’s nearly as impressive as you think it is.”

“Fuck off. You’re the only fucker in the world that’s more of a little shit after a joint. Well, no. I met this one chick once that after we took a couple hits, she started going on and on about how easily she could kick my ass. Like spouting non stop for a couple minutes straight.”

“That’s fuckin hot though. When a chick could kick your ass,” Richie explains. “That’s fuckin-”

“Cuz, it’s not though. Like maybe you have less options-”

“Uncalled for, Jesus fuck.”

“When was the last time you beat me in an arm wrestle?” He offers up the bowl of halfway whisked eggs, “Tag in.”

Richie takes the bowl and sets down his cheezits.

“On it. And point taken, fuckhead. Half-pint, what do you think?”

“I’m not a fuckin half-pint,” Carmy grumbles, weight slumped against the fridge.

“Okay, but what’s your stance?”

“I don’t know.”

“You got folded into a fuckin pretzel by that one Rockford girl. Was it hot or not?” Mikey interrogates.

“Uhh definitely not at the time.”

“That’s all I needed to hear, Cousin. The kid gets it.”

Carmy hummed and didn’t bother to say anything more. He fully considers pressing his fucked up shoulder against the warmth of the oven, but he may never have the resolve to stand back up.

Mikey decides, “Alright, measuring cups. Every fuckin thing needs measuring cups. Oh yeah, but that chick was a little shit because she clearly, fuckin blatantly could not kick my ass. 5 foot and scrawny.”

Richie bursts out laughing and Carmy can’t help but breathe out a huff through a grin.

Mikey reminds, “This pie is gonna be the shit. You fuckers aren’t ready for this.”

“We barely did the first thing.”

“And the future is looking fuckin gleaming. Cousin, brown sugar.”

“Sir, yessir.”

“Alright, Carm, stop being a fuckin sourpuss and get your ass over here.”

“What? What do you want?” He mutters with his brows knitted up in a wince and approaches anyway.

“C’mon, come here.”

He slowly, gently wraps an arm around Carm and pulls him into his side.

“That it?”

“Yeah, that’s it, buddy.”

Carmy stays. Between Richie and half of Mike, they manage to add and mix ingredients into something resembling a passable pie filling. While Richie precariously holds the bowl up, Carmy scrapes it into the pie crust with little error.

Richie places it carefully in the oven, and Mikey asks, “Want to pass out while he deals with that?”

“Hell yeah,” he breathes like that’s the most enticing thought imaginable.

Mikey takes some of his pillows to prop him up on the couch, and once given the go ahead, Carm goes somewhat boneless with his legs strewn in Mikey’s lap.

“Comfortable?” Mikey grins.

“Uh huh.”

“Any plans of getting up in this lifetime?”

“Uh uh.”

“Want me to wake you up when the pie’s ready?”

He hums indecisively.

“I’ve been hiding the whipped cream, so you fuckin animals won’t have finished it already.”

“Where is it?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?”

“Cause I’m such a fuckin mess right now. That’s really the best medicine.”

“That’s why you’ll get to have whipped cream on the pie, shithead, so do you want me to wake you up or not?”

“Fine. Heartless bitch,” he says with no bite.

“Alright, get some damn sleep. You’re slurring.”

“Shut up then.”

“You shut up then.”

Carmy flipped him off, but Mikey just mimicked the gesture and fist bumped him with it.

-

“Uhh what? What’s it?” Carmy hums groggily.

“Pie for breakfast. Up and at em, kid.”

“Oh mhmm.”

With minimal assistance from Richie who stands cautiously by the arm of the couch, Carmy manages to get himself upright. The three of them make their way into the kitchen, reveling in the beginning of the sunrise easing into the sky.

“There’s just nothing like that, yknow,” Richie explains, tracing his eyes over that orangey strip over the trees.

“Well, I know a couple things, but I’ll let you have this one. Life’s simple pleasures and all that.”

Mikey starts slicing through the pie.

“Hold on, let me try it first. See if it secretly turned out like shit.”

Richie dips his finger into the warm filling and pops it in his mouth.

“Mmm we’re geniuses,” he decides, “Imagine our power if we weren’t baked. And if it wasn’t 5 in the morning after an all nighter or two.”

“Exactly, that’s what I’ve been saying this whole damn time!”

“Mike,” Carmy murmurs.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“Whipped cream. C’mon, please.”

“You’ve been holding out on us this whole fuckin time?” Richie bursts out.

“For your own good!”

He digs into one of the lower cabinets behind the tea kettle no one has touched in years if not decades and pulls out a can of Reddi whip.

Richie all but lunges toward him, preparing for a death match, before Mikey presses it to Carmy’s chest and tackles him back. Carmy takes a mouthful of the whipped cream and watches Mikey wrestle Richie through the cramped kitchen.

“Carm, Cousin, hand it over before I kill this fucker.”

“You think you could kill me? I’d… It’s lime. Lime in the fuckin coconut!”

“Alright, congrats, Cousin. Only took you a couple hours.”

“But Cousin,” he explains sagely, “put the lime in the coconut, mix it all together. Put the lime in the coconut, makes you feel better.”

“Sure it will,” Richie responds condescendingly.

Carm offers, “Yo Cousin, catch?”

“Alright, matae, fucko, he got his turn.”

“One mouthful or I’m punching you in the gut.”

“Deal.”

Carmy tosses it to Richie who takes a generous portion.

“Alright, plates coming out. Make way, jagoff.”

He takes a butter knife and starts maneuvering slices one by one onto the plates.

“Hand it over,” he says as he more or less turns the last slice onto its bottom.

Richie begrudgingly tosses it to him.

“Who’s who?” Carmy asks, slowly closing in from his safe corner away from the action.

“Free for all,” Mikey decides.

“Works for me,” Richie decides, taking the first finished plate.

“Fuckin vultures, both of you.”

“Stop making such good shit,” Carmy advises as he takes his and carefully sits down on the floor in front of the oven.

Richie follows suit and Mikey soon does the same. The heat seeps into his shoulder, loosens whatever has felt so tight. It makes him want to fall asleep then and there, but the pumpkin pie tastes the same as it did when he was 5 and bouncing off the walls in anticipation of getting to be SpiderMan for Halloween. He clings to consciousness, listening to Mikey and Richie laugh back and forth and feeling like the ache in his shoulder might not be the end of him. If he can still feel like this, maybe that’s enough.

[kiankiwi]

(home) As the medicine's resetting his system, so to speak, it makes E virtually incontinent for a little while; he absolutely hates being dependent on diapers during that time and gets super embarrassed if he has an accident and needs changing while we're visiting.

We realize rubbing his belly (especially when it hurts) helps as we change him and as he cries from embarrassment we comfort him that way. But sometimes the medicines are so strong they even make him vomit just to get everything out of his system faster.

I feel like they'd give us a week long overnight pass because of course he needs his wife to take care of him (or at least having us there helps a ton) while he's sick and we basically spend that week in the bathroom as his body voids the drugs and absolutely anything else. And of course the staff are ready with IV's to keep him hydrated.

If he's big while puking, he often makes a few jokes like "wow, it's like you're supporting me through morning sickness god I'm gross"

[gardensof-babylon]

I hate my dad.

Why is he so cruel, absolutely cruel, evil, to my mom? Where does his empathy go, or does he not have any? Does he just pretend to be a human being and is really just a narcissistic sociopath?

Why does he do that to her?

And why does he pick me as his favorite? What on Gods earth did I do wrong to earn his love? What must I change to be a thorn in his eye? What must I do to make him okay to live with?

I don’t wanna be devil‘s apprentice, I never even applied for the job. Not surprising - the narcissist with a sociopathic side takes a liking to his borderline daughter. Big shocker.

Listening to her tell me about how you drank, disappeared for nights, almost died on your own puke, she was scared you would die from falling out the balcony, or drown in the shower - and breaking dishes in front of your two little kids.

I didn’t even remember, but now I know I was right - it was worse than from the years where I actually remember some stuff. I forgot most, because it was probably too heavy shit.

You are a scary person. And I don’t like you. When I was little I promised myself I would never be with someone like you, someone with a drug or alcohol problem, someone who cares so little, and I try so hard to make that promise. To keep it. You are so horrible. You deserve none of the grace we give you. None of the grace I’ve ever given you. Bad people deserve love, but you don’t. Not with how you act. You’re just an objectively bad person, who hurts the people you “love” for a sense of enjoyment. For your ego. Because lord know you got a huge one.

Sometimes I hope you die, because that would make things easier. And maybe I’ll go to hell for thinking that. But at the same time you’re my dad, and I love you and I would be crushed. But still.

I don’t know you, I don’t wanna know you.

I don’t wanna share blood

[3knecrotic]

God I wish I made friends that would drug me before I ever met my wife I want to feel nothing and everything so bad I miss it I hate being sober I hate having a tolerance I wanna be able to toke something and wonder if I'm gonna wake up or not, i want to pop something and feel so fizzed out and sedated i can't be lethargic god fucking damn it i want to burn my nostrils just to feel okay again I hate this ivhate this I hate thus I wish I was in that stupid bathroom again I wish they fucking found me leaned against the bathroom wall on the floor besided a toilet of unflushed puke and a cigarette but God fucking damn it that stupid boy should've killed me hy was right I'm stupid and hurtful and inconsiderate and selfish and useless and I wish I either bled out making those cuts in my leg or overdosed on the amount I took the night I did but God knows my life ended as soon as hy entered the picture hy got to be the one to show me how fucking shit I am and then hy and she got to show me, then them, then Them. And so on and so fucking forth, my ticket to hell is that broken friendship and God damn it I wish no one was downstairs I need dxm I need benadryl weed alcohol benzos I DONT CARE ANYMORE I DONT WANT TO BE FICKING SOBER I WANT TO GE FUCKING DEAD ALREADT HAHAHAHAHAHAHA anyways.

[dankusner]

WE’LL ALWAYS HATE PARIS

There's nobody in the world like me. I think every decade has an iconic blonde -- like Marilyn Monroe or Princess Diana -- and right now, I'm that icon.”

-- Paris Hilton

"I hate reading! Someone tell me what's on this menu!"

-- Paris Hilton

We'll always hate Paris.

If Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana were "candles in the wind," and Anna Nicole Smith was a bonfire in a hailstorm, Paris Hilton, for all her frailness and vulnerability, is a huge, flaming meteor that can penetrate the Earth's atmosphere, bypass all weather completely and destroy millions of lives wherever she happens to feel like plummeting.

Paris has been one of our most arresting national disasters.

She's too rich, skinny, blond, nude, slutty, drunk, spoiled and famous.

She ignores the law and openly flouts our social mores, as if they don't apply to her.

Proximity to Ms. Hilton is a proven health hazard: She blows all the clothing, morals, inhibitions and self-control of her victims sideways, leaving them emaciated, dehydrated, broke, disoriented and immune to even the most powerful panty-biotics.

Paris has managed to hold herself together comparatively well during severe marathons of hard partying -- at least compared with the rest of her friends.

While Paris tiptoed around looking vacuous but relatively docile, La Lohan, Britney Spears, Brandon "Greasy Bear" Davis, Nicole Richie et al. sunk into binge-puking, Mercedes-totaling, infantile oblivions, involving willful and sustained refusal of all food but Vicodin, stints in inpatient rehabilitation facilities that cost $45,000 a week, and unsightly public meltdowns, leading to the consumption of more big bowls of cocaine and opiate painkillers and more trips to rehab (rehab being the new day care for shrieking Hollywood narcissists who can afford never to develop their own maturity, self-control or respect for other human beings).

While Paris is constantly derided for being stupid and whorish, she is, in fact, a post-Warholian pop genius of media manipulation: an extraordinarily talented infamy artist.

In an information-saturated age, no publicity is good publicity, but there is enormous money to be made in disgrace.

Fame is made of quantity of attention, not quality.

More attention (positive or negative) means … you win, even if you're incarcerated.

Today's outrage centers on La Hilton's release from prison, for the "medical condition" of galloping emotional feebleness brought on by advanced, drug-resistant wealth.

The release was a tragic P.R. decision.

As of the posting of this article, the ball, ridiculously, is still in the air.

The sheriff's office is being held in contempt, and our general contempt for Paris is being held in check until some responsible grown-up is able to resolve this absurd morality farce.

She might have used this 23-day opportunity in the clink to become a black Muslim and great spiritual leader.

Or write "Mein Kampf II: Bones for Blondie."

Or have a scorching lesbian affair with a fellow inmate, captured on a guard's cellphone ("The Banlieue Is Burning: One Night Just Outside of Paris").

She could have done crafts that would have sold for bajillions on eBay -- God's eyes, potholders.

The missed merchandising opportunities alone are heartbreaking: Think of how much bank Martha Stewart made off of her Hard-Time Poncho pattern.

Cries of foul "Celebrity Justice" are ruling this news cycle.

Objections poured in from the sheriff's deputies union, Al "Morally Outraged Again" Sharpton, and attention-seeking Los Angeles city attorneys like Rocky Delgadillo.

"What transpired here is outrageous," L.A. county supervisor Don Knabe whined to the Associated Press.

Knabe said he received more than 400 angry e-mails and hundreds of phone calls from all over the country … apparently from pathetic, boring, homely, forgettable, attention-starved losers with tragically uninteresting lives and nothing better to do than attempt to elevate their own labile self-esteem and moral superiority by vengefully pissing on Paris Hilton.

While much of America was getting its panties in a fist-size knot over Paris' lack of panties, there were plenty of other things we might have paid attention to.

Lookie! The Iraq war! Presto!

The "ongoing investigations" of atrocious, illegal acts committed at the highest levels of government!

Instead, we are engaging in our new favorite dysfunctional love-hate relationship: Public stoning of the celebrity hooker.

When a starlet is enhanced by too many cocktails and breezy sexual sophistication, it makes her a target, because we get to regard her as indecent.

Nothing shows so well how unkind we are, as a society, than the way we report on our fallen women.

Even the cool kids get in on it.

At the MTV movie awards, Sarah Silverman remarked that the prison wanted Paris to feel more at home, so it "painted the bars to look like penises … I'm afraid she's going to break her teeth on them."

David Letterman hurled his rock: "You know what [Paris' surveillance anklet] means for me? A lot of nasty scratches on my back."

The prevailing cultural trope of "Kill the slut" has claimed quite a few bodies over the years: Marilyn Monroe. Princess Diana. Anna Nicole Smith.

Linsday and Paris?

Run for your lives.

Before the DUI, Paris was being talked about because she liked urinating in hotel lobbies and taxicabs and restaurant booths.

This "outrageous" behavior didn't exactly make her go broke.

Paris Hilton charges $200,000 to show up at a party for 20 minutes.

This works out to $10,000 a minute to spend time with a woman whom you can't even sit with on the good sofa.

(Just to give this price tag some sense of proportion, in 2004 the average per capita annual income in Iraq was $422. So it would take the average Iraqi over 20 years to earn one minute with Paris Hilton, or around 24 Iraqis one year to divide and share that one minute with Paris between them -- which would just be a complete waste of money unless they could use that one minute to swallow all her jewelry and handbag and shoes.)

Paris has come to embody the angst of our increasing sense of powerlessness -- she's the blonde whom we punish, because we understand her crimes.

We don't really understand all the crimes of the administration -- congressional bribes, organized mass deceit via domestic propaganda, policy fixing, violations of privacy and human rights.

Those are too legally complicated. While we were busy ogling Lindsay's drug binges, Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction" and Britney's shaved head, our leaders larded us with misinformation, illegally invaded another country, murdered we-don't-even-have-any-idea-how-many innocent civilians (not to mention independent journalists), stole a nation's oil, tortured enemy prisoners, quietly bankrupted our economy and our international moral standing in service to the short con of military Keynesianism, effectively built Dick Cheney his own private Praetorian Guard, and ushered in the most serious threat to American freedom in our history: the very real threat of despotism.

God, that is depressing.

Hooker!

Where's the hooker?

"If you put Paris in jail, you feel like you haven't been screwed by the Man," said a friend of mine. "If Paris goes to jail, there is still a middle class. There's still an illusion of hope. We're not the Philippines, yet. There's still some kind of justice, and we're not all just fucked."

You can kick the blonde all you want, but kicking the wrong ass, while momentarily satisfying, really won't make life better.

[smigglesisback]

1/3.

Im angry. So angry at men. Maybe because I’ve been having dreams lately of my past abusers in detail. I hate them, I hate me at that time, I hate the situation I walked into many times as a 13-24 year old girl, I hate the sound of their voices, I hate the way they walk, the way they force their bodies and ideas on me. It’s fucking disgusting. I didn’t have a single pleasurable or consensual act of sex until I was in a long term relationship at 21. And even he got me fucked up on xanax and stoned out of my mind and video taped himself having sex with me while I was blacked out. I only saw the video a year later a realized what happened, realized what someone you have a child with, love, protect, and care for could do to you in your most vulnerable state. It’s a feeling you can’t describe, watching someone you trust violate you, watching my limp body being pushed around some blankets I wrap my 2 year old son in at night. I puked when I saw it.

That’s just towards the end of my abusive relationships. There are many more men that I dream about and cry about and hope to set on fire one day. Here’s what it’s like to really be a girl/woman of indigenous and Hispanic decent in a white mans world.

I realized being a woman was different from being a man when I was 5 years old, it’s my earliest memory. My much older brother was painting the porch outside in the summer and had his shirt off and I was hot too so I took my shirt off. My father immediately told me it was a bad thing to do that around any boy or man and to never do it again. I remember feeling like I was bad, like I was different, and more venerable. I was interested in boys and girls in my pre teens and everything was pretty innocent for me until I lost my virginity to a boy named “Robert”. He was the tallest boy in middle school and played football and everyone loved him. He tried hard for a while and I eventually agreed to meet him at his friend coles house. I brought 2 friends with me because I was afraid to sneak out in the middle of the night alone for the first time ever. We got to his house and he took my virginity on his friends moms bedroom floor. I don’t remember much after that or even how I made it home, I just remember it didn’t feel good and it didn’t make me feel any different or better. The next week he stopped talking to me and on my desk in my 7th grade science class was carved “Brenna has big tits and a hairy vagina” I felt fucking worthless, shamed, and violated all in one stroke of a pen. He told all his friends what my body looked like and how easy it was to fuck me. What a first huh? I moved away from that tiny Colorado town to a big Colorado town. I went to a military high school, I was a freshman and terrified. I was targeted by many older boys in that school. I was drugged and raped by 2 seniors my first 6 months in that school. They were nerds in my circle of friends and I never thought they would rape me or make me play a drinking game with them. I had never drank before and they had me take 3 shots back to back of jack daniels. I remember the room spinning, the green couch, the grey window well with no light peeking through, I remember the cold bathroom floor, I remember my colored hair extensions being ripped out of my head and scattered on the dirty rug, I remember being sore, being scared. I remember “joe” and his friend from a different high school fighting over who gets to be in my pussy, the only clear image I have is him pushing the other one aside and saying”move the fuck over, it’s my turn” joe took me home on the back pegs of his bike and I climbed in my window. It was Sunday morning now and I only know that because my mother came to get me for church and I told her I couldn’t go because I was sick and she watched me run to the bathroom and puke everywhere until I passed out. That was my first time being raped, I was 14 years old. But that wasn’t the last time I’d be raped that year. In the school I was in you could continue to take classes there until you are 21 years old. I’m going to call him “John.” He was in my circle of misfit friends, I was a weird goth girl and he was a much older man who could buy me cigarettes and had a car. I went to a house party with my girlfriends and “John” was there, he waited until the party died down and told me to come drink with him, but I didn’t drink anymore because of my last experience with alcohol so he got me stoned instead. We were sitting on the couch alone in the living room and he put his arm around my shoulder, then moved it to where his hand was around my neck, he then pulled his penis out and pushed my head towards it. I didn’t want to upset him, he was drunk and I was high so I did what he wanted and then walked out of the house and walked the mile and a half at 4am by myself back home until I crawled in bed and cried until I fell asleep. This was possibly the worst year off my life every day freshman year I walked past my abusers in the hall, EVERY. DAY. The only respite I had was that they didn’t tell anyone what happened because they knew it was wrong. Joe and John never spoke to me again. After that I was a mess, I was sneaking out all the time, running away from home, trying to escape the reality of my life. My home life was difficult at best.

[triggeringtommy]

im rly struggling with having a broken phone and I’m rly struggling with weed and getting high is makinnn me puke but i haven’t rly stopped smokin yet bc if I’m just self destructive and stupid and wanna stay sick Idfk I rly wanna get better but i also rly don’t wanna stop getting High ever . Period . I don’t wanna stop smoking weed bc it’s all I can do I can’t drink I don’t use drugs anymore even if i want to i would never bc i have so much i care abt now …. so i have to stop smoking weed like right now today rn rn fr fr I hate it already