#don't drivel drunk
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What is another word for drivel? | Drivel Synonyms - WordHippo Thesaurus
nonsense hogwash
twaddle balderdash
rubbish poppycock
garbage malarkey
baloney claptrap
blather bunk
piffle codswallop
bull rot
tosh bunkum
guff trash
hooey crock
hokum flapdoodle
moonshine bilge
humbug folly
boloney bosh
fiddlesticks applesauce
tommyrot gibberish
horsefeathers blither
crapola foolishness
blarney silliness
senselessness blah
stupidity malarky
slush fudge
hokeypokey jazz
muck nuts
flannel tripe
taradiddle trumpery
drool hoodoo
tarradiddle blatherskite
buncombe fiddle
beans falderal
eyewash cobblers
folderol nerts
punk phooey
wack waffle
#nonsense hogwashtwaddle balderdashrubbish poppycockgarbage malarkeybaloney claptrapblather bunkpiffle codswallopbull rottosh bunkum#don't drivel drunk#drunk drivel
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Thought for a moment in the 2010s that we were entering a new serious era (e.g. 1920s, 30s, 40s), but it seems that we're instead in an increasingly tacky era (50s, 60s, 70s). Like look at the change in YouTube. Well you all are textheads you don't do video, I know that. But like. In 2017 there was ContraPoints. Agree or disagree with her opinions, what she was doing was conceptually and aesthetically serious. Even her early, low-production-value stuff. She was talking about incels and other internet shit, but the internet is part of the real world, that's fine. In fact that's what gave me hope for another serious era, people were finally talking about internet stuff the way 1920s German intellectuals or whatever talked about the cultural trends of their day. Maybe because Contra has half a philosophy PhD and was explicitly influenced by those German intellectuals.
Another example from a totally disjoint cultural niche was Digi a.k.a. Trixie a.k.a. Ygg Studios or whatever they go by now. Drunk, smelly, and unkempt—yes. Or at least so went the persona. Talking seriously about anime—also yes. When they claimed they were the only good anime reviewer on the internet it made a lot of people mad. But they were right!
There were thinkers, we had thinkers. My generation, or roughly my generation, had thinkers. To be clear, when I include Contra here I'm not including all of her ilk, I'm not including the leftist-theory-regurgitators and so on. But Contra herself was a thinker! Digi was a thinker! We had thinkers.
But that era is over now, on YouTube at least. I go on there and it's all algorithmic drivel. I look for anime content and as I've explained it's all about #hype and #epic and how the new season of whatever #hits different and other empty meaningless bullshit. No analysis, no thought, fundementally unserious bullshit. Tacky! It's tacky! The the YouTube thumbnail O-face is fucking 70s-ass fake wood paneling tacky bullshit!
MrBeast. I've never seen a MrBeast video but I hate him for what he represents. I used to watch this channel called Wranglerstar, he made videos about different types of axes and forest fire fighting equipment and various other stuff. "Modern homesteading" I believe was the tagline. And it was always evident that he was a far-right guy but who gives a shit, his videos where good. Serious videos about interesting topics, that a fucking normal guy might watch. Well around 2020 he basically started flooding his channel with covid conspiracy bullshit and "the Chinese are going to attack us any day!" bullshit and other unserious crap. And I had to stop watching. How could I find any of that compelling? It's vapid nonsense.
And I don't know if it's a shift in the algorithm or people becoming more savvy to the algorithm or what, but all of YouTube is like this now. Vapid clickbait empty meaningless bullshit for another tacky commercialized bullshit era.
And you know, I felt like it might just be localized to YouTube for a while, but I started to look around, and it just feels like everything is like this. Backsliding to the tacky times. God I hate tackiness. I hate unseriousness. I'm having a little meltdown. At least SMW kaizo hacks are having a renaissance. People are doing serious shit in that space, serious shit that is also not anachronistic, you know, it's kept up with the modern world. It addresses modern concerns (fun to play hard Mario). But it's serious. People are serious. One of the few serious things happening in my orbit.
Even in science it feels like people aren't serious anymore. You know, standard Sabine Hossenfelder complaint about particle physics. But I don't really know enough about that to say. Get the vibe that biology is still serious these days.
To be clear, everything I'm saying here is pure vibes. I'm just saying shit. I'm just saying shit that I feel. But I'll be deeply disappointed if I have to live my youth in another tacky era, god damn it. Even the 80s seem like they were better than this.
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You Taste Like Stars
Summary: Natasha sneaks Steve off during a New Years Eve party at Avengers Tower.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff
Requested by @exhausted-electron
Tags: Pegging, femdom, cunnilingus, lingerie, oral sex (fem receiving), Steve being a himbo.
Author's Note: I'm not actually a big Marvel fan, I wrote this for a friend. If I get some stuff wrong, please don't be mean to me, Marvel fans.
————————————————————————— Natasha had been eyeing the clock on the wall for what felt like hours. She wasn’t sure how long one had to stay at a party before it was no longer considered rude to lead. The tall champagne glass in her hand was down to a few drops and in the time it took her to finish it, she hadn’t gotten less bored.
From the windows atop Avengers Tower, she could get a beautiful view of the city below. Billions of glittering, golden lights that made you feel like a god looking down on the heavens. No doubt the kind of feeling that a guy like Tony was going for.
Tony was hosting the event, a New Year's Eve charity gala featuring the city’s elite at the very top floor of the former Stark Tower. He’d invited the whole crew over and Natasha felt obligated to go, even though hanging out with a bunch of rich assholes wasn’t her idea of a fun evening.
Hence, she found herself on a Saturday, standing on the edges of a party of formerly dressed socialites laughing over overpriced booze. She turned her back to the main room and stared out into the cityscape. Her reflection in the window stared back at her. Her red hair was neatly curled at her shoulder, and a new dress for the event. Long black velvet, off-shoulder with a slit up the skirt, and pearl necklace and earring to top it off.
Empty glass in hand, she turned and her gaze trailed across the room. Tony was in the center of the room, life of the party as always, spreading his arms wide as he explained to some investors about some of Stark’s newest projects. His audience of rich pricks stood in rapt attention.
As for the others…Thor was pounding back drinks at the refreshments table while the server licked her eyes up and down his body. Bruce was already drunk and stumbling around and Clint was holding him up. Nick Fury was in the corner, speaking to three men in black suits who were clearly uninterested in champagne or chatting or watching Tony listen to the sound of his own voice.
And then, there was Steve.
Steve was standing with an unzipped glass of champagne in hand in front of two women who were clearly chatting him up. At least, clearly to Natasha. The two women stood close to Steve, asking him questions and touching him in small ways that were just subtle enough to be socially proper but communicated something flirtatious. They were smiling and giggling at Steve’s lackluster jokes.
Steve, of course, was oblivious. As far as his words and body language suggested, these two girls were just very friendly and very interested in his new tux. Natasha had been watching him on and off all evening. A part of her was amused by it. Poor Captain had no idea those girls were flirting with him because he was too sweet to think that such nice girls could have ulterior motives. But there was another part of her, one that curled darkly in her stomach, that she couldn’t quite explain or suppress with alcohol.
Finally, the two girls got tired of Steve’s unresponsiveness to their flirting tactics and they turned their attention to the circle surrounding Tony. Steve was left alone, looking slightly confused. Then, he turned and saw Natasha staring at him.
Natasha’s breath hitched and she averted her gaze. Steve sauntered over to him, a friendly smile on his handsome face.
“Never pegged you as the wallflower type, Miss Romanoff,” he said.
Natasha smirked and rolled her eyes.
“Not much else to do while Tony commands the room,” she said.
“Yeah, the guy’s not a sharer, is he?”
Steve stood by Natasha and crossed his arms as he watched Tony dazzle the crowd with more drivel about tech and numbers. Natasha pretended to watch but flicked her eyes over to Steve. She had to admit, he cleaned up nice. His blonde hair was neatly combed back and he was dressed in an impeccable black tuxedo.
“Think someone should remind Tony this is a charity benefit?” Steve asked. “And therefore, not everything is about him?”
“Sure,” Natasha said. “And then we can explain calculus to a fifth-grader.”
Steve chuckled, a pleasantly deep sound in his throat.
“He’s the only one of his us having any fun,” Natasha continued. “Well, except you at least.” She paused for a second before that feeling curled in her stomach again. “I saw those two girls talking to you.”
“Nancy and Barbara?” Steve said. “Oh yeah, they’re super nice. Nancy’s dad is one of Stark’s investors and Barbara is a sorority friend of hers.” Steve pulled at his sleeves. “They kept asking me about my new suit and where I bought it. They must be fashionistas or something because they kept touching my blazer. Tony got me this for tonight, so I told them I had no idea who the designer was.”
Oh, sweetheart, Natasha thought.
“Did they ask anything else from you?” she asked. “Like for your phone number?”
Steve gave Natasha a funny look.
“Why would they need my number?” he asked. He chuckled. “I mean, I’m not sure what a sorority house would want from me.”
Natasha stared at Steve for a full minute. Steve Rogers was never the…brightest member of the team. Maybe he was always like this, maybe it was that experiment back in the forties that took a few of his brain cells. Regardless, Natasha looked at that man in his puppy-dog blue eyes and was suddenly hit with the urge to kiss him.
“Nat?” he said. “You okay?”
Natasha realized she was staring and shook her head.
“Sorry,” she said. “Champagne.”
“I can take the glass for you,” Steve said. “I don’t like drinking much. Makes me feel dizzy.”
Natasha let Steve take the tall glass from her hand and take it to the refreshments table. The server took the glasses from him. Thor saw Steve’s untouched glass, plucked it from the server’s glass, and slammed the whole thing back.
Natasha watched Steve the whole time. Her face was hot and her lips still buzzed since that image of kissing him crossed her mind. Her eyes lingered on him as he stood with his back to her. Those broad shoulders fitted under the black coat, those muscle round under the sleeves, those pants fitting very well over his nicely shaped ass.
She always knew that Steve Rogers was attractive. Anyone with a working vision could see that. The man was a blonde, All-American Ken doll with the strength of a G.I. Joe. He was all sparkling white smiles and kind blue eyes and sweet as apple pie. To someone used to being cold and hardened like Natasha, he was like a warm sunbeam on a winter day.
And she felt hot just looking at him.
Steve returned to Natasha and as soon as he was standing close to her Natasha’s lips began to buzz again. She kept staring at his mouth while Steve, oblivious, kept talking.
“That poor waitress,” Steve said. “Thor is giving her hell over there. I guess that don’t have champagne in Asgard.” He chuckled. “Maybe he’s trying to see how much he can take until the bell drops.”
The bell drop. Natasha had completely forgotten about that. When the clock struck midnight, couples all over the world would be locking lips to welcome in the new year. The image in her head did nothing.
“Alright, everyone!” Tony called. “One minute until midnight, get your glasses ready!”
Everyone in the room moved to the wall with a giant gold clock on the wall. Even Thor paused his chugging to follow everyone. Bruce, Clint, and even Nick all joined the crowd for the New Year's countdown.
Steve took Natasha's arm and urged her towards the clock.
“C’mon, Nat!” he said. “Midnight time.”
Natasha followed Steve and the two of them stood at the back of the crowd. The bronze hands of the clock ticked towards midnight. The servers popped more bottles of champagne the the room filled with foamy fizz.
Ten seconds. The crowd began to count.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
Natasha flicked her eyes over to Steve. His smile was beaming and he chanted with the rest of the crowd.
“Seven! Six! Five!”
Her face flushed red and she bit down on her lips. She couldn’t. They were teammates. This could fuck up their friendship. This could be a point of no return.
“Four! Three! Two!”
But it was her only chance, and she was so done resiting.
“ONE!”
A burst of sound filled the world. The crowd cheered, more bottles popped, fireworks illuminated the sky outside the windows. And Natasha took Steve’s face in her hand and pulled his mouth to hers.
Steve made a startled, muffled sound as Natasha suddenly pressed her lips to his. His heart ricochet in his ribcage. Natasha’s mouth still tasted like champagne, cold and sparkling like a mouthful of stars. His eyes fluttered shut and he sunk into the kiss.
Time seemed to melt away into golden candle wax. The cheers, the fireworks, the popping bottle, and the sizzling champagne pour turned to a distant buzz. When their lips came apart, Steven and Natasha stared at each other. Steve was hot in the face and breathless. Natasha felt electric and her heart raced in her chest.
“Nat…” Steve said. “I…”
Natasha couldn’t stand it anymore. Fuck it.
She grabbed Steve by his tie and dragged him away from the crowd of attendees. There was a door in the far corner that led to a staff closet. Natasha pulled Steve inside and shut the door before anyone could see them.
“Natasha,” Steve said. “What’re you—”
Natasha shut him up by pressing her lips to his again. Steve immediately melted into her touch and let her push him up against the opposite wall. Her leg slipped through the slit in her dress and pinned between his legs on the door. Some valve had opened inside her and now every intimate thought Natasha ever had about Steve came out through her hands and mouth. Her hands groped him all over, tracing his muscular body under the fabric of his suit.
Natasha kissed Steve from his mouth down his jaw and along his muscular neck. Steve tipped his head back and released a shuddered sigh.
“Fuck…” he sighed. “Nat, please…”
His voice sent a hot flash through Natasha and the blood in her body surged. While she planted pink lipstick stains on his neck and face, she pulled his tie from his neck and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Nat…” Steve breathed. “What if they hear us?”
Natasha pressed a hand to Steve’s mouth. She leaned close to him and whispered between the spaces between her fingers.
“Then we better keep quiet,” she said.
Steve looked at her with those big blue eyes and didn’t resist as she moved her hand from his mouth to his head, grabbing a handful of that golden hair. Steve winced in pain as Natasha pulled him backward with her. She moved her back against the closet door, thumping against the wood in a way that no doubt anyone on the other side could hear.
Maybe Natasha didn’t want to stay quiet.
Maybe she wanted to hear everyone in Stark Tower fuck their precious captain’s skull in.
“On your knees,” Natasha said, her voice a breathless wisp.
Steve, ever the obedient soldier, dropped down to the floor. Natasha lifted the black velvet of her skirt and bunched it at her waist, while Steve pulled her underwear down her long, muscular legs. He let out a luscious sigh.
“God…” he said, drooling at the sight of her naked pussy. “You’re so incredible…”
Natasha threaded her fingers through Steve’s hair, tightening her grip.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. She moved his face between her thighs. “Show me.”
Steve kissed up Natasha’s inner thigh, making her shiver and her hair stand on end. Natasha moaned and tipped her head back against the door. Her eyes fluttered shut as Steve slipped his tongue between her folds.
“Fuck…” Natasha sighed. She gripped both hands in Steve’s hair. “Right there, baby…just like that…”
Steve smoothed his hands up her legs to grip the side of her thighs. She tasted divine, hot, and dripping wet down his throat. Steve had imagined Natasha fucking him so many times he lost count, but he never thought it would actually happen. They were teammates. There was too much at stake. But at that moment all he wanted to do was lick every drop of her.
Natasha jerked her hips and pulled Steve’s head harder against her. Her thighs spread to make room for his head and she moaned as he swirled his tongue right over her clit. She wasn’t sure how experienced Steve was, but his tongue was long and velvety and knew right where to taste her.
Steve grunted deep his his throat. He gripped his white-knuckled hands against her thighs as she fucked his face. He didn’t want anyone to hear them, to catch them, but the sound of Natasha’s pleasurable moans was music to his ears.
“Steve…” Natasha’s voice pitched. Her nails dug into his head. “Fuck…”
She was getting close. Steve could feel it in the way her thighs tightened around his head, the desperate tone of her voice, the exquisite pain her hands nailed in his head. He growled and began eating her like a starving man. He licked and sucked and didn’t let a single drop of her go to waste. Natasha arched her back against the door and tipped her face up to the ceiling.
“Steve,” she moaned. “Fuck…right there…just like that…keep going…”
Natasha’s body was shiny with sweat, a bead of perspiration dripping down the front of her dress. She was hot and glowing and didn’t care if the party could hear them because all she could think of was cumming on Steve Rogers’s tongue.
When she came, it was like a glass bottle shattered against a wall. She bucked her hips into his mouth, fucking his wide mouth until every hot drop was trickling down Steve’s throat. Her breaths came out in heavy pants and Steve grunted and moaned into her pussy.
Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Natasha’s body simmered to a stop. She was sweaty and warm and she pressed against the door to stay standing. She dropped her head down to Steve, who was looking up at her with the big blue eyes and his lips dripping with her cum.
Steve spoke first.
“Did…” he said. “Did that feel good?”
Natasha’s heart swelled in her chest and wanted to push him against the wall again and smother him in kisses. Instead, she put a hand on his cheek. Steve nuzzled into her touch like a puppy.
“Yeah,” she said. “You’re good at that, Rogers.”
A small smile bloomed on Steve’s face. Just then, someone knocked on the closet door and Natasha jumped at the sound.
“Steve? Nat?” Tony called from the other side of the door. “Everyone’s leaving. You two in there?”
Natasha and Steve looked at each other. Neither of them knew if they wanted the rest of the team to know about this, whatever this meant.
“Yeah,” Natasha said. “Steve’s feeling sick. Must have eaten something.”
“Yeah, I’m really sick,” Steve called.
Natasha gave him a look that said “Hush.”
“I’m helping him, don’t worry,” she said.
That must have satisfied Tony because his footsteps disappeared from the door. Natasha turned her gaze back down to Steve. He was still flustered and cum-wet, but her eyes focused on the bulge at the front of his pants. Outside the door, everyone was making their way towards the elevators to leave. Natasha didn’t have time to deal with Steve here.
So, she’d have to take him somewhere else.
“Meet me at the compound in an hour,” she said. “I’ll return the favor. Okay?”
Steve’s brain was soup. All he could do was look at Natasha in her beautiful face and say, “Yes, ma’am.”
Before Steve could ask any further questions, Natasha straightened her dress and hair, then disappeared out the closet door, leaving him alone with a humiliating boner and a face as red as apples.
~
Steve mets Natasha exactly where she told him. He arrived at the Avengers Compound an hour later. It was long past midnight but Steve was too restless to be tired. He’d been fighting the aching erection in his pants the whole ride over and the memory of Nastaha touching him did nothing to help.
Natasha was not the kind of woman to waste time. On the front door of the compound was a note written in Natasha’s scrawl: SECOND FLOOR. MASTER BEDROOM.
Steve made his way upstairs. When he reached the bedroom, he rapped his knuckles on the door.
“Natasha?” he said.
“It’s unlocked.”
Steve opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, only a single golden light from the lamp on the end table. But the light was just enough to catch the outline of Nastaha seated on the end of the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Her dress was gone, replaced with black lingerie complete with thigh-highs and garters.
Steve had often been called a “golden retriever” as a joke. But he was moments from collapsing to his hands and knees and barking like a dog.
Natasha's eyes assessed him up and down.
“I can’t fuck you with that suit on,” she said.
Steve composed himself long enough to respond.
“You did back at Stark Tower,” he said.
Natasha smirked and twirled her finger at him.
“Strip for me, soldier,” she said.
Steve’s face burned bright red and he wondered if Natasha could see his blush. He reached his hand up to his throat and slowly pulled his tie off. Then, he stripped his coat off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt, letting everything fall to the carpet at his feet.
Natasha watched him as he undressed. Captain American, a pinnacle of strength and power, was completely at her mercy. The power sent a rush through her like she could start glowing in the dark. She licked and bit her bottom lip as Steve stepped out of his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and let his trousers fall to his ankles.
Steve stood before her in the dim, golden light, completely naked down to his boxers. He looked like a statue come to life, the kind of striking beauty that was almost hard to believe in a human.
But Steve Rogers was very human. And therefore, he was entirely breakable.
Natasha rose from the bed and approached her. Steve stood still before her, watching her with an anticipating look in his eyes. He could practically feel her gaze on him, as physical as a wet tongue licking along his body.
Natasha placed her hands on Steve’s shoulders. She smoothed them up to his neck and then pulled him down into a kiss. Steve surrendered to her touch, moaning as she bit hard on his lip and caressed her hands along his body. His cock was aching in his boxers and he whimpered when Natasha brushed her hands against his boxers.
Steve froze as Natasha circled around him, trailing a hand along him, looking at him like she were a dealer appraising a work of art. She stood behind him and placed her chin on his shoulder.
“What’s this?” she whispered in his ear.
Steve gasped as Natasha's hand slithered down the front of his body and curled her fingers down his bulge. His body went stiff as a board and all of a sudden he couldn’t feel anything except Natasha’s hand on his bulge. She teased and played with his cock through the thin grey fabric on his boxers.
“I…urg…ahhh…” Steve couldn’t speak. Natasha pressed her body against his back and he thought he could cum from that alone.
“I did leave you hanging, didn’t I?” Natasha whispered, her sultry voice made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand. “I should fix it, shouldn’t I? After all…”
She moved her hand down under the seam of his underwear and Steve whimpered when he felt her fingers wrap around his cock.
“…this is mine, isn’t it?” she whispered in his ear.
Steve gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s yours.”
“What are you willing to do to get it?”
Steve was trembling. He worried his legs would buckle and he would collapse to the floor in a puddle of cum.
“Anything,” he whimpered. “Please…Nat…I need it so bad…I need you so bad…”
His words were enticing. Natasha watched him whimper and tremble as she stroked him slowly, agonizingly slow. She had an idea of what to do with him. Something she wanted to do with him ever since the first time she ever watched him bend over to pick something up. The first time she got a look at that muscular back of his.
But first, she needed him needy and desperate. She began stroking him a little faster, and his whimpers turned to little cries. Without an audience behind a door, Steve’s inhibitions melted away.
“You’ll let me do anything to you?” she said, so softly in his ear. “Anything to get you off?”
“Yes,” Steve moaned. “Yes, anything you want.”
“Would you let me ride you on this bed?”
“Yes.”
“Would you let me handcuff you to a chair and suck you off?”
“Yes.”
“Would you let me just stroke you here and make you lick the mess off the floor?”
“Yes.”
Steve’s hips were twitching into her hand. Any second now, he was going to cum between her fingers. Natasha decided to go for the kill.
“Would you let me fuck you from behind?” she asked.
Steve paused before answering. Either because he wasn’t sure or because he was too close to an orgasm to muster any words.
“Will you?” Natasha asked again, colder this time. She pulled her hand out from Steve’s boxers and he whimpered in agony.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, you can do whatever you want to me, use me, make your plaything, I don’t care just please Natasha….”
Steve was hard to the point of pain. The poor man was even tearing up a little. It was time to put him out of his misery. She brought her lips right to his ear.
“Then bend over for me,” she whispered.
She pressed a hand between Steve’s shoulder blade and bent him over the edge of the bed. Steve’s face hit the mattress and he moaned as Natasha smacked him on the ass.
“Lay still,” she said.
Natasha sauntered to the end table. She brought the supplies with her just in case. Inside the drawer, she pulled out a black leather harness with silver buckles and a thick blue dildo attached.
Steve turned his head in the bed to face Natasha. He watched her step into the harness and adjust the girthy cock at her crotch.
“Do you know what this is?” Natasha asked.
Steve stared at it for a moment and then shook his head.
“This goes inside you from behind,” Natasha explained, running a fingernail down her considerable length. “I’ll lube it up so it can slide in easily.”
“Does it hurt?”
Natasha shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Not if you use it right. The lube will help. Besides, you’ve endured worse.”
To Natasha’s surprise, Steve seemed disappointed. She snickered and walked closer to the bed. She grabbed his chin and made him look up at her.
“Or I can fuck you so hard that you squeal like a pig,” she said.
Steve looked at her with those shimmery blue eyes and nodded. With that affirmation, Natasha grabbed the bottle of lube and began lathering the dildo. Steve watched, drooling at the corner of his mouth while Natasha’s fingers slicked the cock wet.
Natasha walked behind Steve and grabbed the hem of the boxers. She dropped the whole thing to his ankles and then pumped some lube onto her hands. She ran her non-sticky hand down Steve’s back.
“Spread your legs,” she said. “Relax for him.”
Steve did as she said. He spread his legs apart, perking his rear up. Natasha slid a moist finger inside and Steve shuddered.
“Does that hurt?” Natasha asked.
It did, a little. But Steve loved it and he didn’t want Natasha to stop. He never thought pain could feel so good when it came from the right person.
“No,” he said. “Keep going.”
Natasha nodded and slid a second finger inside. She used her free hand to stroke Steve’s back.
“Open up for me, baby,” she said. “I can’t get it in if you don’t open up.”
Steve pressed his red face into the mattress. Once Natasha got him nice and open, she readied her shiny cock at his hole.
“Hold still for me,” she said. She pressed a hand down on his lower back. Her voice softened. “Trust me, Steve. This’ll feel good.”
With that, Natasha shoved herself inside Steve and immediately began swerving her hips. Steve let out a croak of pain and melted onto the bed.
“Nat…” he whimpered. “…fuck…”
The mattress springs sang beneath them as Natasha fucked him into the mattress. Natasha watched Steve whimper and writhe, his muscular back twisting and contorting, pushing his rear harder onto her cock.
“That’s it, Rogers,” Natasha purred. She smoothed her hand up his back before grabbing his hair. “Take all of it for me.”
Steve arched his back and moaned. Natasha started viciously pounding into his ass, thrusting her hips until Steve started crying out. His head filled with exquisite pain as he pulled him back by his hair.
“Natasha please,” he blubbered.
“Shut it,” Natasha hissed. She clasped a hand on his mouth and ducked him harder. “You don’t talk until I make you cum first.”
Steve whimpered against her hand. His tortured cock was burning red and he could feel Natasha fucking an orgasm into him.
“Look at you,” Natasha purred in his ear. “The sluttiest soldier in the U.S. army.”
Those words pushed him over the edge. Steve cried out and Natasha shushed him by shoving his face into the duvet. She fucked him harder and harder, Steve’s hips humping into the bed, until with a cry he finally spilled onto the mattress.
“Fuck...fuck…fuck..” Steve panted.
Natasha slowly pulled her cock out. She looked down at Steve as she stepped out of the harness. The poor boy was sweaty and trembling like a puppy. She traced her fingertips down his back.
“You okay, Steve?” she asked. All her sadistic bravado faded away and her voice cooed over him.
Steve rolled onto his back, grimacing leaving a sticky mess on the mattress when he came. He looked at Natasha, the way the light haloed her red hair, her eyes that made him feel so open and naked. He gently took Natasha by the wrist and pulled her down on top of him. She yelped, then giggled as she nuzzled into his neck.
“That was…” Steve struggled for words. “That was...
He couldn’t articulate how he felt. He felt like a different man. He felt like he wanted to bend over and let Natasha destroy him again and again. But he was too spent to say, so he held Natasha close and covered her in kisses.
Natasha grinned and held Steve’s face in her hands.
“You should probably clean the sheets,” she said. “Someone might come in tomorrow and see your mess.”
Steve smiled and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Yes, ma’am.”
#fanfic#marvel#romanogers#stevenat#steve rogers#natasha romanoff#captain america#black widow#my fics
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I'm a writer. I want everything to fit together. Chekov said you shouldn't mention the gun unless someone gets shot. But normal life is full of guns that never go off. You just sit there, watching them, waiting for the boom.
I think about that polaroid of me at the Golden Gate bridge, smiling next to three guys I used to love. I only ever speak to one of them anymore. The other two want me dead. It wasn't a gunshot, it was a creeping dread that cut between us. And I've never been good at writing a slow burn.
I think about every patch of grass I've laid down in drunk. I wish they fit together like puzzle pieces. My dad used to bring home strips of turf and lay them out over dead patches of grass. The new grass never quite melted into the old. I lay these drunken naps together like I'm expecting an order. Like I'm expecting a picture to form. And all I get is white noise, static, the TV turned to no station. Unpublishable drivel.
I think about the girl at my middle school who died. I looked for her, on the first day of eighth grade. I turned around in my assembly seat and searched the crowd. I didn't see her. I figured she must be sick.
She fell asleep in the bathtub and a candle burned down her house. The smoke in her lungs forced out the oxygen and she died without ever waking up. It's been thirteen years and I've never known where to put that memory. The memory of looking back at the crowd for her face, when she was dead in the ground. I don't think I'll ever know where to store it, what narrative it fits into. In a novel it would be a defining moment, a conquered terror or an ominous warning. But in my real life it's just a memory. Just something that sits on my heart and comes out whenever it sees fit.
And there's even harder, deeper, bloodier memories. Ones that I would write into a character like it was nothing, but that I shudder to remember myself. Things I ignore. Things I don't want in my story. Things that would make a good novel, but never a good life. They must sit silently, until I find a place for them in the plot.
Maybe one day the gun will go off and everything will make sense. Or maybe real life just means sitting by the fire, staring at the mantle, and wondering if that rifle is actually loaded.
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the course of true love (never did run smooth)
Pairing: Geto/Shoko, Gojo/Utahime Rating: M (eventually)
Summary: forcing two jujutsu sorcerers to live together is a dangerous game. Shoko and Utahime are just hoping to make it through the year - the last thing either expects is to fall in love
ao3 link
"I wish you could visit us in Kyoto more often, Shoko," Utahime sighs wistfully, appearing in the kitchen doorway with three bottles of wine in her arms, "This almost feels like one of our student-day get-togethers. Ah, what a time that was!"
Utahime's deep in her cups - she, Shoko, and Mei Mei have been drinking at her apartment since late morning, enjoying the rare day off together - and Shoko cannot help but chuckle when she meets Mei Mei's knowing gaze - Utahime's has always been an overly nostalgic drunk.
"I wish I could come out here more often, too," Shoko says, leaning languidly against the armrest of the couch, "But, thanks to Principal Yaga and certain idiots who seem to think that getting injured on a mission is a requirement, I barely get any days off without getting called back to school to treat someone."
"Just don't pick up the phone when you are not on the clock. The way I see it, if you aren't getting paid, it's not your problem," Mei Mei smiles, taking a drink of her wine, "Perhaps, realizing that they can't always rely on you will teach certain sorcerers to think twice before blindly rushing into a battle."
"I'm not sure there's anything that could get through their thick skulls," Shoko sighs, shifting in her seat to let Utahime settle down on the couch beside her.
"No one's immune to a lesson that's taught the hard way," Mei Mei tilts her head to the side, studying Shoko's face.
Shoko hums, considering Mei Mei's suggestion - perhaps, there's some merit to her words. Utahime shifts in her seat, distracting Shoko from her thoughts, and offers her wine. Though rather tipsy, Shoko doesn't refuse.
"Thank you," Shoko murmurs when Utahime generously fills her glass almost too full. Taking a long, slow sip to ensure it doesn't spill, she continues, "Still, despite all my grievances, I'm grateful at least that I'm only a doctor and not a teacher. With patients, once they are out of the clinic, they are off my hands, but with students, it seems there isn't a single moment when you don't have to worry for them. I don't know how you do it, Utahime."
"Working with students can be very rewarding. And there's never a dull day when you are teaching young sorcerers," Utahime smiles, slumping against the back of the couch, "Though, at times, it could be a little tiring."
"So, it seems you two are in desperate need of a vacation," Mei Mei chuckles, pouring more wine into her glass, "It could be fun to travel together this summer… I'm thinking somewhere warm, with a nice beach."
"I'd love to go to Bali or Malaysia," Utahime sighs dreamily before turning to Shoko, "But you just reminded me of something."
"Huh?" Shoko says, confused.
"When you mentioned the students, I thought of my conversation with principal Gakuganji just two days ago," Utahime explains, "Apparently, we most likely won't have any first-year students this term… Do you know if Tokyo's getting any first years?"
At Utahime's words, Shoko frowns, remembering the faculty meeting she'd been forced to attend a few weeks prior. She used to try to get out of the faculty meetings - after all, she didn't teach, so there was no reason for her to be there - but Principal Yaga always insisted that it was essential for everyone working at Jujutsu High to attend, which left Shoko with no choice but to comply begrudgingly.
Most of the time, these faculty meetings consisted of mind-numbing drivel that Shoko could easily tune out. Still, the one that Utahime's words brought to mind stood out against the rest - she'd never seen Principal Yaga quite as grim as when he'd told them that there would be no first-year students starting at the school come April.
"I thought we were the only ones not getting new students," Shoko places her wine glass on the low table in front of her, "I actually assumed that your school must be getting students since we aren't."
"Well, it's not certain quite yet," Utahime replies, crossing her arms before her, "Principal Gakuganji said they'll keep looking - but with the school year looming so near, I don't think they'll be able to find anyone."
"I suppose this shouldn't come as too much of a surprise," Shoko muses, "After all, the classes have been getting smaller for years - I can't remember the last time we had more than four students at the school at the same time."
"And I thought our grade was tiny since there were only two of us," Mei Mei laughs, brushing her hair out of her face as she leans back in her seat, "But, perhaps, instead, it was way too crowded."
Shoko chuckles, nodding - though there were only three people in her class, Gojo and Geto's antics often made it feel as though there were a dozen. And the only reason they've gotten away with those antics was because even as students, they were as powerful as at least a dozen fully-fledged sorcerers.
Though somewhat concerning, the revelation that neither Tokyo nor Kyoto schools are getting new students is not surprising to Shoko. After all, people who could see cursed spirits were exceedingly rare - and, among them, those with enough cursed energy and enough talent for using cursed techniques to become career jujutsu sorcerers were rarer still.
And, even among those with innate talent and abilities, only some were ready - or willing to take on - the burdens of a sorcerer's life. Looking back, Shoko sometimes wondered if she'd still choose this path if she knew then what she knows now.
"I just hope this will be a one-off year if they don't find anyone," Utahime says, distracting Shoko from her thoughts, "I'd really hate for this to become a…regular occurrence."
"Oh, trust me, it won't," Mei Mei chuckles, leaning against the armrest of the couch and resting her chin on her hand, "If the higher-ups notice the flow of new sorcerers running dry, they'll send Principal Gakuganji and Principal Yaga - and, perhaps, the rest of us too if we are ever so unfortunate - to scour the ends of the earth for new students. And that likely wouldn't even be the worst of it if they ever decide that there just aren't enough sorcerers around."
A shiver runs up Shoko's spine at the thought. Though the higher-ups and their decision were largely unpredictable, one thing was for certain - they could always be relied on to make an already bad situation worse.
"Let's not dwell on such dreadful scenarios," Shoko says decisively, "How about we discuss something less morbid?"
"Like that summer vacation you mentioned," Utahime chimes in.
"Very well," Mei Mei smiles. She gets up from her seat and walks over to the couch where Shoko and Utahime are sitting and gestures for them to make space for her, "I want to show you the hotel I stayed at last year when I went to Malaysia - I think you'll like it."
"Can't wait to lie on the beach all day and do absolutely nothing, "Utahime says, shifting over and letting Mei Mei sit between them. Shoko nods in agreement - perhaps, if she's in another country, too far to be called back to the school's clinic in the middle of the night, she'll finally be able to catch up on sleep.
Just as Mei Mei's about to pull up the pictures of the hotel, Shoko's phone rings. She doesn't want to pick up - after all, it's her well-deserved day off - but when she sees the caller's name, an all-too-familiar uneasy feeling uncoils in her chest.
"Who is it?" Utahime asks, frowning as Shoko gets up from the couch.
"It's Yaga," Shoko sighs, downing the remainder of her wine, "Which means one of those idiots has likely gotten into some sort of trouble… I'll be right back."
With that, Shoko heads over to the kitchen. Her phone doesn't stop ringing, not for a moment, and Shoko knows it must be something serious. Taking a deep breath to ward off the uneasy feeling welling in her chest, she picks up the call.
"Took you long enough to answer," Principal Yaga says instead of a greeting, "Are you in Tokyo now? Can you stop by the school?"
"I'm in Kyoto, so it will take at least a few hours before I can make it back," Shoko responds calmly, "Is someone injured?"
Principal Yaga doesn't respond, not for a long moment, and the silence that stretches between them does little to quell her unease.
"Are you with Utahime?" Principal Yaga asks suddenly.
The question catches Shoko off-guard - why does he need to know that? Worrying thoughts swirl in Shoko's head, but she chases them away. Perhaps, it's nothing too serious; maybe they are just getting sent on a mission together…
"Yes," Shoko says, "And Mei Mei's here too."
"I see… Has Principal Gakuganji contacted them yet?"
Why would he? Unless…
"Has someone died?" Shoko asks flatly, unable to stave off her unease any longer.
"What? No, no one's dead; why did you think that?" Principal Yaga replies, clearly frustrated, "I knew this would be easier to explain in person, but since you're in Kyoto, I suppose this will have to do. Can you put the phone on speaker so the others can hear?"
Shoko frowns, confused. If no one's injured or dead, why is he calling her on her day off? What could possibly be so urgent? And why do Utahime and Mei Mei need to listen in on the call?
"One moment," Shoko says, "They are in another room - I'll go there now."
Muting the microphone, she walks out into the living room. Mei Mei and Utahime are still sitting on the couch, scrolling through the pictures of different hotels, their focused expressions betraying just how seriously they take the selection process.
"Is everything alright?" Utahime looks up at Shoko, concerned.
"I'm not sure," Shoko replies, frowning, "The only thing I know is that no one's injured or dead, but whatever it is, it must concern all of us since Principal Yaga asked to include you two on the call…"
"There's only one way to find out," Mei Mei says, and Shoko nods. She approaches the couch, settles down, and, taking a deep breath, unmutes the phone.
"We are all here now," she says.
"Very well," Principal Yaga says after a brief pause, "I will be frank; I do not think there is a way to broach the subject delicately, so I'll get straight to the point. This morning, the higher-ups called for a meeting that Principal Gakuganji and I attended."
Shoko looks up from her phone, her gaze shifting between Utahime, who's hugging her knees close to her chest and nervously twirling the bracelets on her wrist, and Mei Mei, who's lazily leaning against the back of the couch, taking a long, slow sip of her wine.
"As you may know, no new students are enrolling in either Tokyo or Kyoto Jujustu High this year."
Shoko exchanges surprised glances with Utahime and Mei Mei. Is that what this is about? Mei Mei better not have jinxed it - the last thing Shoko wants is to travel to some god-forgotten village in search of potential new students for their school.
"The higher-ups have expressed their concerns regarding what this means for the jujutsu society… Especially since fewer and fewer sorcerers are born every year," Principal Yaga continues.
Mei Mei chuckles airly at these words, and Shoko can only scoff - it is hardly a surprise. Only a union of two sorcerers could guarantee a sorcerer offspring - but unions like that were exceedingly rare, and for a good reason. Jujutsu sorcerers lived hard, short lives that often ended in a horrifyingly macabre manner. Of the many willing to walk this difficult path, few were ready to entrust their hearts to someone else bound to this gruesome fate, and Shoko could not blame them.
For her part, Shoko much preferred dating outside the jujutsu sorcerer community. The secrecy required by their profession all but guaranteed that those relationships would not last, but it's not like Shoko was ever looking for something serious or long-term. She'd gladly do short, meaningless flings all her life if that meant she'd never get a heart-wrenching call in the middle of the night telling her that the person she loved the most had just been ground into a fine paste and smeared around the block by an unexpectedly present special grade curse.
"…And so a decision was made," Principal Yaga says, distracting Shoko from her thoughts, "To ensure the continuation and proliferation of the jujutsu sorcerer society, all unmarried jujutsu sorcerers are to find a match with whom they must form a union that shall last at least a year."
Shoko blinks slowly, wondering if the wine has finally gotten to her head and made her imagine things. To her chagrin, judging by Utahime and Mei Mei's expressions, it seems she heard Principal Yaga correctly.
"You can't be serious!" Utahime exclaims, a bright, angry blush rising high in her cheeks.
"I wish I was, even if this would make for a terrible joke," Yaga replies grimly.
"Huh, now that's something I didn't expect," Mei Mei chuckles darkly, "A puppy mill, but make it jujutsu sorcerers… Those old men really are some twisted creeps."
It is not common for Mei Mei to be this crass, but then again, this is no ordinary situation.
"Don't be rude," Principal Yaga says, but there is no force behind his words, only exhaustion, "And don't twist my words. No one is demanding that any of you have children within the year. The official order only requires that each unmarried sorcerer finds a match - and that they live with that match for at least a year. Of course, ideally, this arrangement will become permanent and will result in children. But, if in a year's time, you no longer wish to live with the person you picked, you are free to leave without suffering any repercussions."
"That hardly sounds any better," Shoko scoffs. There are few things she appreciates in life more than having her own space, and the thought of sharing her apartment with someone for an entire year makes her highly annoyed.
"Another important thing to mention," Principal Yaga says, ignoring Shoko's words, "You are free to pick whoever you want as your match. If they agree, you'll need to come to my or to Principal Gakuganji's office to register your union. There's only one restriction - if someone who is a higher grade sorcerer than you requests you as their match, you cannot decline."
Shoko almost laughs - as it turns out, being a grade one sorcerer was good, at least for something. At least no one could force her into a match.
"Those who have not registered their union by Friday, two weeks from now, will be entered into the lottery for a random draw," Principal Yaga concludes.
"I'd like to clarify - just so there are no misunderstandings," Mei Mei's voice is calm and businesslike, her face focused - however shocked she may have been at Yaga's announcement, she's clearly pulled herself together and was already making plans, "All this new order requires of us is to find someone to live with for the next year - is that right?"
"That's correct," Principal Yaga replies, "But the underlying expectations of the higher-ups are as I discussed. And, since this is an order, new living quarters will be provided to all the couples as well as some extra compensation. With the deadline looming so close, I imagine you have a lot to think about - and I have a few more phone calls to make. Just make sure you don't delay too long."
Silence falls upon the room as soon as the call disconnects. Shoko slumps against the armrest of the couch, resting her chin on the palm of her hands. Whoever cautioned people to be careful of what they wished for was right. As much as she didn't want to be called into work because some idiot got into an avoidable scuffle with a cursed spirit, that would have been much better than whatever just happened.
For the first time in weeks, Shoko almost regrets the promise she made to Utahime to try and quit smoking - the more she thinks of Principal Yaga's words, the more she yearns for a cigarette.
"I need a drink," she says, finally, trying to distract herself from the urge to smoke. Mei Mei nods, then picks up a bottle and pours her a full glass.
"I know we've long suspected it, but this seals it," Utahime's voice is full of anger, and the next thing Shoko knows, she's pacing the room, "Seems these old men have nothing better to do than to torment us. This order is an atrocity!"
"It's quite annoying," Mei Mie offers calmly, "But if you think about it, it's not that bad."
"Not that bad?" Utahime almost hisses.
"As you've heard, all the order really requires is to find someone you can tolerate living with for the next year - and, after that, both of you can be on your merry way. As long as you find someone who views this the same way you do, I'm sure it won't be too difficult to come to an understanding," Mei Mei drawls, taking a drink of her wine, "While the situation is far from ideal, I'm sure an acceptable arrangement is possible."
"Easier said than done," Shoko chuckles. Utahime and Mei Mei were, perhaps, the only people she could fathom sharing an apartment with for an entire year, but, much to her chagrin, that would not be allowed.
"Yes," Utahime agrees, "You are saying it like it's so easy to find someone "tolerable." Have you met most of our colleagues?"
"They aren't all that bad," Mei Mei laughs airily, leaning against the back of the couch, "You just need to know how to look."
Shoko looks at Mei Mei with curiosity, wondering if she has someone specific in mind, but she doesn't ask - the last glass of wine has finally gotten to her head, leaving her very tipsy and a little tired.
"Sure," Utahime scoffs, crossing her arms before her, "And then there's the lottery… Do you think there's any chance that one won't get paired up?"
"There are more male than female jujutsu sorcerers," Shoko says, placing her wine glass on the table, "So, as a woman, I'd say your chances of not getting assigned a match through the lottery are zero."
"Besides," Mei Mei interjects, "Why would you want to leave something like this up to chance? If you get a random match, it's far from guaranteed that the two of you will see eye to eye on what this order means… Which may cause very undesirable issues."
"This order really is a way to cause a short-term demographic problem in an attempt to solve a long-term one," Shoko chuckles darkly, "Given that none of us are exactly above murder. I'll give it a few months before everyone's at each other's throats - let's see what the higher-ups do then."
"All the more reason to pick someone you can tolerate," Mei Mei shrugs, "Getting rid of bodies can be quite cumbersome. Now then, shall we continue looking at the hotels? I liked the first one we saw, but I want to stay somewhere I haven't been before."
"You still want to go on a vacation?" Utahime asks, surprised.
"Of course," Mei Mei chuckles, "Now even more so - given everything we have to deal with, we absolutely deserve it."
Shoko hums appreciatively - she's always admired Mei Mei's eye-on-the-prize attitude. It seemed like nothing could ever sidetrack her from something she really wanted. And, given everything that has just transpired, she could really use a distraction.
"I suppose you are right. "After all, that would be the perfect excuse to get away from those thrice-cursed matches the higher-ups want to saddle us with," Utahime muses momentarily, then looks at Shoko, "Are you in?"
"Of course," Shoko nods. Principal Yaga's words are weighing heavy on her mind, but Shoko pushes them away and smiles, "At this point, I'll do anything that will let me catch up on sleep."
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actually you know what the more I think about that taika cameo in that shitty simpsons episode the more pissed I get. because taika and the simpsons could be so fucking good. like, early simpsons, and I mean early early, like s1-3, and taika waititi movies are like, in the same family. super early simpsons have this sort of slowness to it, this reality, this mundanity. the family struggles financially compared to the inexplicably financially comfortable simpsons of today. there's a lot more focus on childhood stories. "lisa's substitute" could be a taika waititi movie. so could "moaning lisa." "three men and a comic book," even.
and lisa? lisa would be the ideal taika protagonist. not the pop-culture-worshipping holier-than-thou-ing, zombified little-miss-know-it-all of the HD era, the real lisa simpson. this 8 year old girl who's sensitive and smart, but still a child. her father's a drunk and her mother, a kind, beautiful soul, and brilliant painter, had all her hopes and dreams crushed and remolded into homemaking and child-raising.
give! me! a! simpsons! episode! where! lisa has to come to terms with the real world at the tender age of 8!!!!
I mean like, I understand that they probably can't just let taika guest write an episode of the simpsons. or direct. directing an animated project is going to be super different from directing a life-action one anyways, who knows if he'd want to.
but the simpsons has done clever and thoughtful homages before, even recently with "barthood" (released 2015, fuck that's 9 years ago). they could've done an homage. they could've parodied his style. they could've made something thoughtful. homer and lisa stories have been some of the most touching stories on the show. or, they could've just focused on the kids and done a bart and lisa story.
but they didn't do any of that. they didn't write anything thoughtful, or creative, or even good. they wrote drivel, and racist drivel at that, with two jokes around the asian-caricature character kumiko that were genuinely painful to sit through (and this show has a history of being racist towards asian characters).
they wrote taika as a hyperactive egomaniac with no attention span and gave him 0 direction. his performance in this episode is undoubtably the worst acting performance I've ever seen from him. and like, you know, not all actors are cut out to voice act, but I don't think that's the problem here. I think the problem here is that taika read a shitty script, and it was season 35 of the simpsons so who gives a flying fuck, and he read the lines because this was a paycheck. why bother giving this project effort if nobody else was putting any effort into it either? why bother giving this project effort when they write you as the worst version of yourself, a persona that probably gives you a sense of comfort and control when you're choosing to do it, but probably doesn't feel that great when writers who don't know or care about you write it for you.
and, to be clear, I don't mind that he's the villain of the episode, or even that he wasn't written exactly as himself. like, of course it should be a persona of him on the simpsons. all celebs get a simpsons persona when they guest star as themselves. I think I just hate the fact that it's pushing a narrative that he's a shitty guy that's similar enough to his real life persona at a time where people are violently attacking him for no damn good reason. and the fact that it's poorly written with no love or care for anything. not taika, not the simpsons, not tv, not art, not anything.
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not trying to hurt ur feelings bc idc abt u man i just think u shouldnt be giving money to people supporting a genocide
Like I said, ur not hurting me at all.
BUT also I'm just enough drunk tonight to be a whole assed bitch bcuz ur bothering with my random assed Tumblr that I came back to so I could cry about a show that's been off the air for 4 years; when what u should be doing is investing ur time in grilling politicians and other people in power about what the fuck THEY'RE doing to stop this horrendous genocide.
So, in closing, cause I will not be answering any other drivel u send me bcuz ur ruining my buzz. How about don't be concerned about where my money "supposedly" goes & worry about how u can offer assistance to not only Palestine but yr own immediate community. Bcuz again, I know what I've done and will continue to do without the sole purpose of seeking the favor of Tumblr anons.
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Overheard Rejection Line in the Local Tavern, Or That's a Million Koin Insult if I Ever Heard One
Context: I'm a barmaid in a popular tavern near the Palace. We get all kinds in here, royals to rogues. Sometimes, connections happen. But sometimes, rejection stings worse than a bitch slap from Queen Sheeva.
It's late at night, not late enough that we stop serving drinks, but the kitchen is shut down. There's a few people at the bar, including a couple (in his mind, anyway), of upper class types. The man thinks himself some kind of prince, judging by all the gold jewelry and purple silk. Must be Edenian, they're the only people who manage to look like high-class pole dancers just to get drunk. The woman, though... while wealthy, she's also got enough class not to flaunt it. Her clothes are at least covering enough to be decent, well tailored, and good quality. Yeah... the Purple Would-Be Prince isn't going to charm her, she's already shooting daggers at him with her eyes alone. He won't concede defeat, yet. But... she's not amused. A good barmaid would intervene. A sensible barmaid would flag down someone to back her up beforehand. Before I can do even that, the woman has Prince Nothing pinned to the bar, dagger in hand.
"Listen to me, you deluded refugee from a gentleman's brothel. You. Are. Not. My. Type. I've seen more fashion sense in actual exotic dancers, your personality is more repulsive than a decaying, fetid pile of manure left in a swamp, and I would sooner spend an evening as Baraka's entrée than one more moment listening to your self important, insane drivel. If you do not leave me alone, I swear to Frigga I'm going to cut out your vocal chords and your pathetic excuse for manhood, and nail both of them to the front door of the tavern. Now. Get. The. Hells. Away. From. Me. Now!" She lets him loose, and... he leaves. He brushes by me in his hurry to exit. I approach her to see if she's all right.
"Terribly sorry you had to hear that. My mother tried to raise me to be a proper lady, but my father raised me to be a shieldmaid."
"No apology needed, Miss. It was a pleasure to hear a million koin insult like that."
"You don't care for him either." It was a statement, not a question. And 100% spot on. I didn't like him. He seemed... dodgy.
"Not really. Comes here often, pesters every single woman here like he's Argus's gift to the women of Outworld. I think he's a pretentious twat."
"Good girl. You're a good judge of people. Here's a little bonus for your trouble." She slips me a decent sized pouch, clinking of koin. It's heavy, must be an entire year's wages in there. I hide it in my pocket before my greedy boss sees it.
"Thank you, Miss?" I wait for a name.
"Sigyn, just Sigyn. I quite like you, young lady. I'll be back to check in. It can be a rough world for women, best we stick together."
"You're a wise woman, Sigyn. I look forward to seeing you. And thank you for your gift." I pause a moment. "Wait... Sigyn? Wife of Loki, Sigyn? Goddess of Truth Sigyn?"
"Oh dear. Did I make it so obvious?"
"You're the Goddess of Truth. No mortal can lie to you, right? Well, that jerk slunk out of here looking like he got hit hard with the unfiltered truth. Best part of my week right there."
"It's nice to know that wasn't just enjoyable for me. I think I've had enough of that kind of fun for one night. I'll stop in tomorrow for lunch. Until then, let me know if he comes back. He's a menace to all women."
"I will, and thank you again. Not often I hear a million koin insult, let alone get paid for it. Goodnight, Sigyn." The goddess leaves, we close up. Gotta love living here, you meet all kinds.
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Adulthood is weird.
me: Alright I called my attorneys and apparently the process of getting my medication covered is almost done, meaning that it's time to start looking into a potential lawsuit against my insurance company and, more importantly, getting my nonprofit back on track and incorporated . . .
also me: *is drunk on an exercise bike* FEEL NO SHAY 'BOUT SHAPE, WHETHER CHAIN THEIR PHRASE, EVEN MUTHA WILL SHOW YOU 'NUTHA WAY, SO POOCHUR GRASSES ON NUTHING WHEEL BE WONG . . .
#adulthood#adulting#actuallyadult#actually adult#kinda#berserk#berserk 97#berserk opening theme#berserk '97#berserk opening#alcohol#drinking#drunk#impressively i wasn't drunk when i wrote this#but in all seriousness i do drink on my exercise bike while watching berserk#d4 drivel#also you don't need to be rich to start a nonprofit#i sure as hell am not
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Memoire of a Cenobite (Hellraiser fan fiction)
I write this as I hear him coming. Hear the music of the box. The tolling of the bell. I write this knowing my escape was temporary, and that my torment would return. That it would return in the form of my master, the man with nails in his head. I write this not because I fear the pain, the horror, but because I need to let the one I left behind know that I know where I'm going and, if fate is kind, that they'll never see me on the other side.
Once, long ago, I was a novelist. Not a good one by any stretch. What I wrote was the drivel mockingly called "romance novels", though pornography in textual form is far more accurate. It was a niche I did well in, if only because quality was something the readers didn't focus on. Did I enjoy it? Writing scenarios I could never find myself in? Maybe. Some more primal, instinct based part of me might have felt it was living vicariously through my stories. However, I usually didn't care much for the words and actions I penned. They were clumsy and often not quite right, though my editor frequently told me it was fine.
Ugh, my editor. They were the epitome of sleazy, greasy, and disgustingly offensive. They looked and acted like they were more at home on a porn set than at a computer. They also didn't seem to understand when I got bored of writing the same actions over and over. I mean, while you can change the situations and actors, there's really only so many ways to describe the acts themselves. My editor was also a bigot. When I explained this to them, their solution was to send me to India for research. Apparently they assumed that I'd be "inspired" by the "land of the Kama Sutra". I hated my editor, but I couldn't turn down the money I made from my books. I also figured the vacation would do me some good. Suffice to say, it was the worst thing of my life.
I wandered around and visited the usual tourist locations for the first few days, tried the local food, checked out the local customs. Then my editor got impatient. They found out about a shop that held more... esoteric goods and told me they'd leave me there if I didn't go. They must have talked to the owner before I came in because they took me straight to the back and asked a single question.
"What's your pleasure?"
I explained I was a writer and I was only there because my editor wanted me to be more "creative". They just smiled at me and took a small, innocuous, wooden box off a shelf and handed it to me. When I asked what it was, they simply told me it was a puzzle box that, when opened, "would show me sights like I have never seen". I also purchased a book with lewd pictures to ensure my editor was satisfied. However, the owner only charged me for the book. They refused payment for the box.
Upon returning home, I proceeded to put the box on my bookshelf for display, forgot about it, and went to work on my book. The pictures from the book I purchased provided something to keep my novels from getting more stale then they already were and that kept me busy for a few months. Eventually though, writers block struck again and I was lost. I need to pay my bills and my books only sold so well.
It was during this time, after drinking more than a few shots of bourbon, that my gaze wandered over to my bookshelf. I glanced at the various, idiotic, titles on the garbage I wrote and got angry. Here o was, drunk and hating my own work and couldn't even finish the next few pages of junk on my desk. I was about to throw my bottle at the shelves when my gaze found the box.
"It would show me sights like I've never seen", the owner said. Maybe it contained drugs, or some particularly offensive picture. My curiosity got the better of me. I set my bottle down and took the box in my hands. At first, it was almost featureless. It was only as I looked closer that I saw the faint lines indicating that it was more than a block of wood. I don't know how long I tested edges and put pressure on the faces. It must have been hours because the sun had already rose again and my stomach was growling when I shifted the first panel.
It's strange. I never had the patience for things like this. Even the Rubik's cube I got for my birthday one year I ended up breaking before throwing it out. This though, I couldn't pull myself away to sleep or eat. As I moved more panels and found more parts to shift, I began to hear music. As I got closer to solving it, I thought I heard a bell ringing, though the nearest church was hours away.
Finally, as the last pieces lay before me, the box completely disassembled, I felt elation which was soon mixed with dread as the lights in my office went out and I became fully aware of the bell, and the figure before me.
#wip#work in progress#Hellraiser#pinhead#Cenobite#horror#lament configuration#fan fiction#fanfiction#fanfic#autistic writer#adhd writer
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Hexer Jaskier: How can you even play this drivel! Have you no respect for poetry!
Netflix Jaskier: It is rapidly becoming apparent why you never have any money! People enjoy these songs!
HJaskier: Money brings bad luck which is why I never have any and I've done just fine!
NJaskier: It certainly looks like it.
Game Geralt: Okay! Who wants to play Gwent! Jaskier? *attempt at a seductive look*
Hexer Jaskier: Why don't i look at those blisters Jaskier? Since your not used to walking.
Jaskiers: *Glare at each other*
NJaskier: I would Love to Geralt! I'd hate to keep a man with a... Deck in his pants waiting.
Dandelion: *attempting not to gag* So are you just going to sit over here in the dark and brood all night my friend?
Netflix Geralt: We're not friends. The first time we met you yelled at me for an hour.
Dandelion: Yes. Sometimes you need to get your head out of your ass. And i don't see Nenneke around so the task fell to me.
NGeralt: ....
Dandelion: Now i know you think i just came over here to annoy you, which to be fair is one reason, or to get away from *waves hand back at the group* That.
NJaskier and GGeralt: *audibly making out*
Dandelion: Slut.
NGeralt: *smirks*
Dandelion: To be clear that was directed at my Geralt. But it probably applies to your Jaskier as well.
NGeralt: *Obliging head nod*
Dandelion: And I recognize your angry at him and that he's not your 'friend' but he said something and I wanted to make sure I understood. He said you blamed him for the child of surprise.
NGeralt: I wouldn't have even been at that banquet if not for him.
Dandelion: Hm. That's odd, because neither I nor the other Jaskier was at that banquet. Its funny, of all the Geralt's your the most in your bards debt.
NGeralt: I'm not fucking in his debt!
Dandelion: I brought my Geralt a lifetime of troubles with little to no reward and yet he still calls me friend. Your Jaskier has, in some way, given you the best part of your life but your not his. I wonder what that says about us.
Dandelion: If you don't believe me you can ask any of them and they'll tell you. *stands up clapping Geralt on the shoulder* Make sure you give her plenty of piggyback rides.
NGeralt: Why do you even care? I'm not even your fucking Geralt.
Dandelion: Because you will always be my friend. No matter the world or the choices you make or the terrible things you do or do not say. You will always be my friend.
NGeralt: ...
Dandelion: Come on. Let's go get so drunk on my Geralt's hoard of alcohol we can't hear them making out.
NGeralt: *Goes with him*
#geralt#jaskier#dandelion#the hexer#geraskier#into the witcherverse#i really want a witcherverse where its more than a way to get them all together#or it is but it gets them together by working out the issues that hold each iteration back#Hexer Geralt learning he Can Love and he can love his bard#his arc ends with them saying 'I love you'#Netflix Geralt realizing that he needs to get his child of surprise and that Jaskier is his friend#and maybe one day they'll be together#and Game Geralt realizing that for all his many many romances#He was Glad Dandelion was waiting for him at Covid blonco#And maybe the person he wanted to say I love you to was him all along#I don't have the words for it dandelion. I'm sorry.#Why don't you just choose one of them Geralt? Yennefer or Triss. Why do you always try for both. You Know better#Because then i still get to come home to you
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Love Nikki Dress-Up Queens New Event Is A Boring Visual Novel?! What The Fuck?!
Love Nikki Dress-up Queen has really lost it.
Its a avatar game were you Dress-up and have fashion faceoffs instead of fight.
Guess what isn't in the latest event.
Fashion Fights! That's right. In all that tedious, overlong, obscure mess. There is not one fashion fight.
I don't get what the bouncing fuck this event is supposed to be.
Its one long, horriblely written, mess, of a bad visual novel.
The writing drags on like they tied weights to a very drunk elephant in plate armour, on the bottom of the sea, in a vortex, then tried to lure it on with something it hates, while something it loves is behind it.
They're sooooo proud of this fucking farce, too.
They're like, look, big things here.
And there is a blatantly obvious part that is entirely real money. Entirely real money items get suits.
They have you pick a element associated with war?
I picked fire. Because I always do. And in the vague hope it would offer a chance to kill everyone.
And made a sprite. Yay?
And there's some stupid drivel about enemy forces converging on a child Empress about to do a ritual.
I don't give a fuck. About any of them. I could not care less on weaponised levels.
Burn them all! Nuke them! I don't fucking care! Just get them off my fucking game already! Permanently!
They're all the biggest load of tedious bores ever.
I know the fashion fights would be potentially boring as fuck. Cloud is the most boring of all the empires. And has the absolute worst NPCs. All pretentious bores.
But even fucking cloud fashion fights would be better than this!
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING LOVE NIKKI DRESSUP QUEEN?! HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY FUCKING INSANE!?
You are a fucking avatar game! Act like it!
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~*~If you know about the sock and The Package,
If checking your inbox made you smile,
If you remember the Listian Ballroom,
And visitations from Jareth were your styyyyyle...~*~
"What, exactly, do you think you are doing?" a velvet voice purred menacingly in my ear.
"Whatever do you mean, J?" I responded with as much innocence as I could muster.
"You know exactly what I mean, you unruly creature!" His eyes shone with pain. "You haven't called on me in years, and now I find you writing this...drivel? What is the meaning of this?!?"
All at once my light-hearted mood dropped lower than an oubliette.
"I called, J. You didn't answer me. The List was gone, the Archives were archived, and you never came. I thought...I thought I had imagined everything."
His posture softened slightly, as I stood from my desk and turned to face him. "You left me, J. I needed you, all of you, and you left me." As my eyes prickled with tears, he held out an arm in a welcoming gesture. I threw myself into him, suddenly sobbing. He gently stroked my head, murmering soothing sounds.
"Oh, my pet. It couldn't be helped. Our worlds changed, but I never truly left you. Just look at the Labyrinth that you've navigated to become who you are now - who do you think helped you stay so strong?" He gently pushed me back, wiped the tears from my face, and continued, "I was always with you, my pet."
I took a deep breath to steady myself, immediately missing the faint smell of peaches that always clung to his garments. He smoothed his shirt and drew himself back up to his full height.
"Now, however, we must discuss this...travesty that you seem to be concocting. What are these...lines?" He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "It doesn't seem to be very worshipful of your King. And there's no glitter! Besides, it mentions that awful sock business, and that - well, we all know that was just a peach dream!" The last was said with an almost hopeful air, as though to convince himself as well.
I stifled a giggle. "Sure, J. Just a dream." I sat heavily back down at my desk. "I don't know, J. Inspiration struck. Don't worry, I don't think that one will go very far - VeggieTales and Labyrinth probably wouldn't mix well anyway. I don't want to know what your goblins would do with Larry the Cucumber - although, if they found him in a pouch..." I trailed off thoughtfully. Jareth cut in before I could finish following that particular plot-bunny.
"Excellent! I would hate to need to take drastic action. Your - what do you call it, a copulator? - may be new, but I'm sure it would fare just as badly in the Bog of Stench!"
"It's called a computer, J. And do you remember what happened the last time you threatened my computer?"
His already porcelain skin blanched, uncharacteristic horror on his face. "No! That abomination was lost forever! I refuse to have those - people - in my realm ever again! Diana almost destroyed the place, Banes knocked up half of the faeries, and that simpering dishtowel of a woman, what was her name? Jane? She brought this bizarre new religion to the City and now my goblins think that my wine collection is the blood of their Savior! They're even more drunk and unruly, and I have to give them something called 'Christmas' off!"
"Oh, J. My sweet, dear, illustrious King - while I have lost that particular story, just imagine what new material I have to work with!" I widen my eyes in attempt to convey innocence.
"Why, I could send anyone to visit you! It may always be sunny in Philadelphia, but I'm sure the gang would love to meet the Fireys. Or maybe you're in need of a new spy. I have the perfect man for the job - Archer always *says* he's the best spy ever!" I felt an evil grin appear on my face, almost on its own. Jareth licked his lips and shifted his weight a little, before gathering himself back into what he obviously thought was an intimidating stance. He stepped closer, towering over my chair, reaching a single finger down to stroke my cheek softly.
"Ah, my pet, how I have missed you. But do remember that I am your King. You write at MY pleasure! If you dare to bring upheaval into my realm again, if you choose this path instead of giving me the proper adoration that I am due - you will reap the consequences of your actions!" And then he was gone, as suddenly as he had appeared, albeit with a bit more huff than menace. As I surveyed the light dusting of glitter that now covered the room, I smiled softly to myself.
"I missed you too, J."
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Yep there is plenty of info on vaccines. Displaying their efficacy. Displaying their safety. These are not things you can just "draw your own conclusions on". If you "disagree" with the science and efficacy of vaccines, you're just wrong. This isn't something that falls into 'all opinions are equal'. Saying vaccines are harmful, that they don't work, that they're poison, that they cause autism, or my personal favorite, that the government is trying to put a microchip in you so they can track you (newsflash to those particular idiots, if you own and carry a cellphone, you already have a tracking device in your pocket) you are just factually incorrect. THERE IS NO GREY AREA ON THIS.
By refusing vaccines, INCLUDING the covid vax, you are literally, not figuratively, not metaphorically, not hypothetically, *literally* killing people. You could walk past an immunocompromised person on the street and pass them something their bodies can't defend against and THEY WILL DIE.
If there is no medically sound reason for you to refuse vaccinations, you should not be allowed to refuse them. It's like driving drunk or running stoplights. Sure you may not care about your own life. But you still aren't allowed to do those things because you could kill somebody. You will be ticketed or even arrested and potentially even face the penalty of losing your privilege to drive a motor vehicle. Are you going to tell me that "there is enough evidence on drunk driving that people can draw their own conclusions" and say it's perfectly A-Okay for people to drive drunk without discretion or consequences just because they WANT to???? Like? If you are seriously doing this just to play devil's advocate and "add discourse" as you say, just don't. You are wasting my time. If you actually believe what you're saying then... You are, simply put, wrong. And honestly? I believe in fines, tickets, penalties, arrests, and jail time for people who refuse vaccinations, just like I believe in doing so for drunk/reckless driving, (and I say this as a former street racer, who does in fact drive recklessly from time to time and has gotten tickets for it; I deserved those tickets, they were justified, and I shouldn't have done what I did) or assault (and there is a reason that spitting on someone is considered assault in many places). I believe that refusing to vaccinate your children constitutes neglect and endangerment, but I believe in a degree of grey area before actually dumping children into a heartless and unforgiving system. I do believe in no-fly lists for unvaccinated individuals. I do NOT actually believe in tracking devices and alarms, but here's the thing, clearly these societal menaces can't be bothered to even wear simple masks to protect their neighbors, let alone respect other restrictions placed on them (anybody watch the news every time some MINOR holiday comes up, about the crowds of people flocking to parties and gatherings, despite various ordinances). They make and sell FAKE VACCINATION CARDS. They cannot be trusted to do the right thing. They are selfish and juvenile. They are malicious even. Don't even get me started on the vaccinations cause Autism bullshit; as an Autistic person, that is so grossly offense I can't even mount a robust argument to it, because it makes me so mad.
RE: cheetoh hitler comment: dude literally supports nazis, racists/white supremacists, and ACTUAL fascists, but go off, I guess? I never claimed that you personally supported him, nor do I care about you and your drivel enough to find out, because you don't actually matter; given that you defend him in an indirect way, leads me to believe you might, but I don't care. The amount of overlap between Trumptards and antivaxxers/antimaskers is astounding, albeit unsurprising, especially given the IQ range of his supporters being statistically lower than average. Hence why I directed the comments about them at a general "they/them". Split hairs tho, it's charming. I'm glad you're pro vaccine, and have everything ELSE. But by not getting the covid vax, you are STILL putting people at risk. "I'm not pro-murder, but I still think a *little* murder is fine." Yikes.
RE: letting people make their own decisions for their health: that's fine, I'm all for that. You wanna choose to sit at home and suffer with a headcold rather than take some tussin, that's your call. Refuse to take vitamins for a nutritional deficiency? Sure. Eat fast food and lay on the couch all day? Be my guest. You want to get shitfaced at a party and puke your guts up in your friend's kitchen at 2am, you do you booboo, so long as you don't get on the road while still intoxicated. Spread an infectious disease to the immunocompromised woman that has been like a mom to me, because you think whatever vaccine is going to poison you, despite the heaps and mounds of research showing that thimerosal is harmless, or because you think the gubbamint is trying to microchip you, that is not fucking ok. It never will be. At that point, you are not "making decisions about your own health." You are making decisions about the health of me and mine, and countless others who do not have the option to get vaccinated. You do not get to do that. And again, since these people can't be trusted to look out for their fellow man, that choice should be taken from them. Wanna drive drunk? Lose your license.
Also, Re: calling me mini hitler: I'm fucking Jewish you shitstain cuntrag dumpster fire. My maternal great grandmother was a holocaust survivor. Fuck. You. Fuck you, you useless asshat, for ever comparing causing active harm and suffering some consequences for it, to the literal annihilation of millions of people who had no choice or say in the matter. There is no parallel argument for it. People can't choose how they were born, whether that is skin color, ethnicity, disability, gender, sexuality, whatever. People CHOOSE not to get vaccinated for, frankly, spurious reasons. And there need to be fucking consequences for it.
I'm signing off here because you are clearly a waste of oxygen, as well as my time. Feel free to catch covid, you plague rat. Hope your local hospital is too full to provide you care, since you clearly don't believe the safety of other people is important. It's not up to you, tumblr user, to put me and mine at risk because of your ignorance and refusal to believe in actual science. ✌
my most controversial opinion that i will not budge on is that there should be no such thing as a religious exemption from vaccinations
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"Don't watch it even if you pirate it, just watch a drunk youtuber review it"
Like drunk youtube reviewers are never a cocktail of offensive drivel word vomit as well as nonsensical ramblings.
Like Amazon would get literally anything from people mass-pirating it.
Like we're all actually 5 years old and completely incapable of forming our own opinions if they're not forcefed to us first via the internet's most annoying review strategy.
So has anyone ripping into the Rings of Power actually watched the first two episodes or are we relying entirely on racist and misogynistic Tolkien bros (the bane of my existence tbh) as well as book purists and now movie purists added with distinct flavor of "Amazon Bad" to form our opinions?
Because I'm not actually seeing any critisms outside of those things tbh.
#am I just an old enough fan to remember when people were furious about the original trilogy#and now people are saying 'it doesn't hold a candle to the PJ trilogy'#well yeah bc it's not trying to be that?#listen historically tolkien adapted to the screen has been various levels of janky#they are each endearing in their own way but absolutely products of their time#and let's not forget that pj's original vision for the trilogy was for fucking NIC CAGE to play Aragorn#let's face it the trilogy was good by accident and most of the critisms of it have been forgotten due to nostalgia#these are my favorite films but I said what I said
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I (also) have alcoholism in a lot of a my family and I think it bears pointing out that all of the people claiming that the "intervention" scene was excusable/okay/good/whatever don't seem to acknowledge that Nesta was not an alcoholic.
She was not an addict. We do not have the textual evidence that she experienced any kind of withdrawal (and fun fact, of all the addictions in the world, alcohol withdrawal is the only one that can actually kill you [heart stops]), that she was desperate for or even thought about turning to alcohol after the "intervention", (maybe one scene where she thinks to herself "wish I had a drink" and like yeah, I, too, wish I had been blackout for this entire drivel of a book), and then at Solstice I think, thinks to herself, "she didn't even want a drink."
Ok great but that's not alcoholism? It's also implied but never explained (all of S/JM in a nutshell) that she mostly went to taverns for the music? Which also helped her cope?
The I/C smelled alcohol on her and saw her get drunk around them (the barge scene we never see, and again, surrounded by triggers, I could see her turning to drink since her other coping strategies [music, sex] weren't available) didn't try to communicate with her, and then got sick of her (?? They weren't around her though so I don't really get how a bar tab was the 'last straw' for 2 insanely wealthy people - whose lives Nesta also saved???) And "fixed" the situation by imprisoning her with the friend they wanted to get laid.
It's astonishingly awful and I will never understand how people can defend it nor the author. I simply will not.
And in conclusion I think it's yet another example of S/JM piling on the angst and trauma and realizing later she couldn't possibly resolve all of it nor write it well so it just- disappears.
Something that always annoys me is when people try to invalidate opinions on Nesta’s treatment because “we just don’t understand what it’s like to have a family member suffer from addiction”
Because I have several family members who have addictions yet I still disagree with the way they treated Nesta.
Do I get frustrated? Does is make me sad for them? Do I wish they would get help? All yes, but none of that gives me a reason to patronize a grown adult and treat them like a misbehaving child. None of that gives me a reason to invalidate their truama.
Have I had conversations where I tried convincing that person to get help? Have I volunteered to actively participate in their process? Did they not accept because they don’t want to change? All yes. But I didn’t throw a tantrum about it.
If dealing with people with these issues takes a unhealthy toll on you, you are completely in the right for distancing yourself so you can be in a better place but if that person won’t adjust so your comfortable, you can’t force them too.
And in real life, this controlling domineering way of trying to help, without caring about the feelings or wishes of the actual person, only ever pushes people further away.
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