#i actually have like. free time. i can Do Shit now

[crookedteethed]

ᥫ᭡. that time you got period blood in rafe's bed.

warnings: nothing but fluff and that time of the month shenanigans

a/n: brain wouldn't shut up tonight, so here's some soft rafe cameron for you girlies. 🤍

You wake up to that familiar cramping sensation and immediately know.

Your eyes snap open in horror, taking in the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets beneath you – Rafe's sheets. Rafe's very white, very expensive sheets that now have a very obvious stain.

"Shit," you whisper, mortification flooding your system as you try to quietly extract yourself from his arms without waking him.

"Mmm, where are you going." His sleep-rough voice catches you mid-escape attempt. Before you can stop him, he's pulling you back against his chest, nuzzling into your neck.

"Rafe, no – I need to—" But it's too late. You feel the exact moment he realizes, his body stilling behind you.

"I'm so sorry," you start rambling, trying to wiggle free. "I know how expensive these sheets are. I'll replace them, I swear—"

"Hey." His voice has that edge to it, the one that means you're being ridiculous. "Look at me."

You shake your head, face burning. "I ruined your sheets."

"Baby girl." There's amusement in his voice now. "You really think I give a fuck about some sheets?" His lips find your temple. "You hurting?"

The gentle question beneath his usual rough exterior makes your chest tight. You nod slightly.

"Alright, here's what's happening." It's his business voice, the one that means no arguments. "You're gonna take a hot shower, steal whatever you want from my closet, and I'm grabbing you some aspirin." He pauses. "And those chocolate strawberries in the fridge? Yeah, those weren't for tomorrow's country club bullshit."

You look up at him, surprised. "You knew?"

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Princess, you really think I don't have your cycle tracked? Who do you think keeps restocking the tampons under my sink?"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he'd be smug about being thoughtful. Your heart then does that stupid flutter thing it always does when he shows he actually pays attention.

Later, curled up on his ridiculously expensive couch, wearing his softest hoodie, you watch him navigate your heating pad with intense focus. The chocolate strawberries are perfect, and every time a cramp hits, his hand finds your lower back like it's instinct.

"Better?" he murmurs against your hair.

"Mmm." You sink further into him. "Still sorry about the sheets though."

He snorts. "Baby, I could buy new sheets every day for the next decade and not dent my wallet." His arms tighten possessively. "Now shut up about the sheets and eat your chocolate."

You turn to look at him, this man who tracks your period in his phone but would probably murder anyone who knew about it. This version of Rafe Cameron – the one who handles period stains and midnight cramps with the same intensity he handles everything else – is just for you.

"I love you," you whisper.

"Yeah?" That signature smirk plays at his lips. "Prove it by stopping this guilt shit about my sheets."

But his kiss is gentle, and when another cramp hits, his hands are already there, steady and sure.

What Figure Eight would never believe: how the infamous Rafe Cameron keeps tampons in his bathroom and period tracking apps on his phone.

But that's okay – let them have their trust fund tyrant. This softer version is yours alone.

[bialbovi]

I know I don't need a label to live but god do I feel miserable sometimes (paradoxically from the label and the unknown)

I am genuinely happy for my friends and their love but it is such a maze for me and maybe that's how it's supposed to feel

I've confused a friendship with what my ex friend considered "romantic" and I regretted it when I agreed to date, all this was resolved later because I confessed our feelings vary a lot

Thing is I do not feel miserable because I do not have a partner right now, absolutely not, I feel so happy because I get free time for myself and for my friends and other stuff and hobbies

I don't even want to date right now or anytime soon. And I still hang out with my friends and I am satisfied. Socially, I mean. But in the future I would love for it to work out with a future friend

I feel miserable because I am afraid that this label is going to fit way too well and I wish I was wrong. I wish I'll discover that I'm an aromantic who can feel romantic attraction just a little. for just like one person. it's scary because I don't know how it's supposed to feel

maybe I'm just an aromantic asshole who has suuuuuper unrealistic expectations, that could be the case as well

but... when would it ever stop me? I am well aware that we are all imperfect works in progress and I really want to think people are comfortable with me, or well most of them. I try to approach most people I meet, because gods I love meeting people and getting to know them, and if we establish trust we can talk about more complicated stuff and I am like down to. Because I cannot handle smalltalk constantly, we need to throw in some deeper thoughts and- and

I don't know

It just feels funny because out of all people why am I, the one who is (100%, I am so fucking sensitive) very sensitive and emotional and overthinking and overanalyzing and you know. It's funny that I'm the one who just doesn't get romantic attraction and if it happened to me like right now I'd be scared shitless. Because I don't want the chemistry of my brain to decide what I feel randomly. Like I know love from the first sight is most likely an overblown thing but also people somehow get magnetized and they just stick to each other and then just something happens. Maybe I just love everyone??? Maybe my problem is I want to have a relationship somewhere in the future but this someone has to be a friend first, but that's like the bare minimum?? That's how normal people would build a relationship, would they not?? (I mean you can date even if you know each other for a week but hey. trust issues)

It's also funny because I actually love fandom shipping, oh I love pairings so much, I love putting my own characters into relationships and I love it when some pairing clicks with my preferences. but like hell I don't even know what they are feeling and I am probably dooming the romance a little too much but I like poetic shit. I just wish. I experienced a fraction of this. but not right now because I'd be uncomfortable. I want to dissect my brain. We could argue that "Hey Albo you probably write them through the lens of friends with benefits" DING DING DING WRONG. well not entirely because it feels like how I view relationships in general is friends. with benefits. but not entirely but like??? this shit is so complicated. none of my ocs are officially friends with benefits lmao they and my favourits characters have "proper" relationships. Maybe the reason why I like pairings is my creative attempt to tap into something I have not experienced. and ofc these relationships are not perfect but that's what I love about characters and people and------

Maybe that means I am not a lost cause entirely? But like... I understand the deeper connection between people but I have not felt it if it makes sense. I can't come up with a metaphor you get me

But I cannot see myself in a relationship. And I really want to.

And I am well aware that relationships do not have to fit a structure or be stereotypical, it can be anything

But also..thinking about relationships still makes me want to prioritize my autonomy and it feels like a relationship takes so much of your time, and some type of force keeps people together for decades, even living together. "duh Albo that's what you do in a relationship, usually". I know! And I still dedicate time to my friends but it feels like getting into a relationship would be very restricting.... or maybe I am hoping for the only ideal unrealistic option again..... sigh

Even though I could keep living as I do now, for some reason I am afraid my friends are going to eventually prioritize their significant others. we should not go there right now

I just don't want to stay alone forever.

I know there are demisexuals but that's not my case entirely

and yes even though I think I still have the label bisexual somewhere every single time pride month arrives I put the green stripes on my accounts because well it stays consistent for now

and I am in my early 20's oops

what is wrong with me (rhetorical)

Aromantics who want a relationship are Valid

Aromantics who DON'T want a relationship are a Valid

Aromantics who hope to feel romantic attraction are Valid

Aromantics who feel a LITTLE romantic attraction are Valid

Aromantics who are romance repulsed are Valid.

Aromantics that enjoy sex are Valid

Aromantics who "Sleep around" are Valid

Aromantics who want kids are Valid

Aroaces are Valid

Allosexual Aromantics are Valid

Queer Aromantics are Valid

Hetro Aromantics are Valid

AROMANTICS ARE FUCKING VALID

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

Buck's at the grocery store buying his umpteenth bag of flour when he sees a very familiar silhouette waiting in line at the cash.

Tommy.

Three months apart and now they finally run into each other?

At two am at the closest twenty-four grocery store Buck could find? When he's dressed in a pair of holey sweatpants and a stained hoodie with dirty hair and a face full of scruff? No cart! Just him and his twenty-pound bag of flour that he's cradling to his chest like a powdery security blanket?

Amazing.

Awesome.

Fucking perfect.

Exactly how he's pictured it.

As Buck gets closer though, his eyes narrow at the sight before him.

Not at all like he's pictured it.

Tommy's shoulders curl inward as he hunches over his cart, head low. His threadbare shorts hang off of him in a way they never would have three months and one day earlier. His feet are shoved into his shoes without socks.

Tommy hates going without socks.

His curls have grown long and messy, lying limp against his scalp.

Buck carefully sidles up beside him, not quite in his field of vision yet, frowning at how pale Tommy's skin is. Practically grey.

He looks like shit.

For one whole moment, Buck wishes he could feel some kind of vindication—gloat, maybe—but he doesn't have the energy.

Or the heart for it.

And one glance into Tommy's cart has him refocused on being incandescently enraged over the bullshit currently sitting in there.

"What the hell, Tommy?" Buck bursts out, making the man jump and whirl around.

"Ev—Buck, what? What are you doing here? What's—what's happening right now?" Tommy stares at him, wide and unblinking, like he's afraid to take his eyes off him.

"What's happening is I'm saving you from this cartload of crap," Buck says, elbowing his way past him to gain possession of the cart.

He shifts the bag of flour to one arm and uses his free hand to pull out the package of bakery donuts that somehow manage to look cracked and soggy all at the same time.

Then the box of cookies that he knows for a fact taste like they're one step away from cardboard.

Then the cake that says 'Happy Birthday, Leo!' and has a seventy-five percent off sticker on it. He side-eyes Tommy for that one.

Tommy makes a face right back.

Buck keeps going, pulling out the lemon loaf that doesn't actually look too bad, but whatever—his is better.

Everything of Buck's is better than this crap.

...Tommy just doesn't know that yet.

"Just stop! For one second." Tommy reaches out to grab Buck's wrist before he can grab the package of—gross—bran muffins. He takes a deep breath before he finally meets Buck's eyes.

"What is this?" he asks again quietly.

"Me, actually stopping you from making a mistake this time," Buck says, yanking his wrist back with a scowl. He falters for a second when his own words register in his brain, but he shakes it off and grabs the muffins out of the cart, dumping them beside the cookies. "This stuff is all terrible. You deserve better, Tommy."

"It's what they have," Tommy said tiredly.

"Yeah, well, I have better stuff at my place." Buck sets his flour down in front of the unimpressed-looking cashier. "Sorry about that," he says, digging out his wallet. "We'll just take this. And these."

"Oh, I'm allowed to keep the oranges?" Tommy rolls his eyes as Buck grabs the bag out of the cart and places them alongside his flour.

"For now," Buck snips back.

Maybe he'll make an orange loaf.

Right after he convinces Tommy to come back to his place and he feeds him edible baked goods and—and maybe they talk and...

Yeah.

This isn't a half bad plan.

He can work with this.

"Just the flour and the oranges," he says to the cashier, pulling his card free as he flashes a grin at Tommy. Feeling it spread wider when the corners of Tommy's mouth twitch reluctantly in return.

He can work with this.

[toaarcan]

I'm not wading into CR God Discourse this week, shit seems especially angry this time around and I've made my thoughts on that pretty clear already (no, the needle hasn't moved any). But man... I do not vibe with Predathos as an individual at all.

Like, the fights themselves were fantastic. Possessed Imogen was great, Imogen's escape leading to it turning into a more monstrous form was great, its evolution into an N64 "Head and Hands" monster for Phase 2 was great, and the fight in E120 was immaculate, I had so much fun watching it.

But man does Predathos itself, as an entity, disappoint.

Like, we have this eldritch monster from beyond all living memory, that's been imprisoned for thousands of years. It's been trying to find a way out ever since then. But all it does once it does get out is roar and attack things. Its characterisation can be summed up with "Hungy."

The campaign's earlier episodes present it as a terrible, horrifying thing, that the gods and primordials united to imprison. Its presence created the Ruidians, not by artifice but because being in its presence heavily mutated everything on the moon. They used to be regular Exandrian mortals and now they're not! And when Ludinus first made contact with it, it destroyed and permanently blighted an entire city. But apparently now it's no danger at all to anyone else. The Primordials were just doing the gods a favour by imprisoning it, I guess.

And the way it's been presented in these last two episodes is just inconsistent between story and gameplay. "It doesn't see mortals, it only sees the gods" but it has no issues having a full two-phase boss battle with a group of mortals, where it makes strategic and deliberate moves against them. "The Ruiner flees at the mere sight of it within Imogen, and the gods and all their celestial creations are helpless against it" but Braius can smite it and the Matron's boons can turn the tide and the Arch Heart's bottled Meteor Swarm is used to kill it.

Gameplay!Predathos can see mortals well enough to fight them, and has no trouble eating them. Lore!Predathos can't see them at all, and only wants to eat the gods. Gameplay!Predathos can be blasted with divine power and divine weapons and divine magic and it will be beaten. Lore!Predathos is totally immune to divine anything.

Predathos doesn't feel like a coherent character design for a game, it feels like a plot device designed to result in the exact end-stage scenario of E120. The gods can't fight it, so they and their followers have to do whatever BH says, because the alternative is them dying anyway. It has no desire to eat mortals so that there's no negative consequences to releasing it, just ignore Molaesmyr and how dramatically it's mutated the Ruidians (reshaping pre-existing life is only bad if the gods do it I guess). But none of this factors into the actual fight with it, where it has no problems seeing and eating mortals, and it can't no-sell divine power. And the fight was fun as hell, but Predathos' mechanics as an RPG Final Boss Monster do not reflect Predathos' in-lore role as the consequence-free invincible deicide machine.

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART FOUR

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: after facing an intense altercation, it leads you to another one of sae-byeok’s interrogation.

wc. 1.8k

warnings: homophobia, acts of violence, smoking, angst

(nowhere girl masterlist)

The sun was right above your head, scorching it. The brightness of the sun blinds your vision as you make your way to the dining hall. Although everyone around you couldn’t stop talking about how hot the weather is today, your mind couldn’t stop thinking about your brief encounter with Sae-byeok two nights ago.

You kept replaying your time with her at the convenience store. It was an uneventful experience funnily enough; you two sat down in front of the store window quietly eating your food. It seems like there is nothing to analyze about this exchange, but to you, you liked it because of the sheer tranquility. No talking which meant no bickering, you both just sat down sharing the serenity that comes with midnight. You haven’t felt that much peace this past month. A part of you hopes to get that feeling again soon.

Just as you turn a corner into the alleyway you feel yourself bump into a person twice your size.

“Sorry.” you quickly apologize to whoever you collided into and try to usher around them only for them to block you with their body. Eyebrows furrowed, you peer up to see who’s preventing you from walking away.

The guy who is blocking you is tall and buff, freshly buzzed cut, tattoos littering around both his forearms and a cigarette between his teeth.

“You’re Yoon’s friend, right?” he asks, his voice exuding mockery. Two of his friends appear behind him like a couple of bodyguards. You scowl but your mouth refuses to open to talk.

“Yoon told me she let you sleep over at her dorm because—I don’t know you got kicked out of the house or something? Do you mind telling me and my friends why that is, hm?”

“You know the answer to that. Don’t mock me.” you whisper, voice trembling. Your little act of bravery isn’t working.

“Don’t talk to me like that, you fucking pervert.” he sneers. “You came up with that bullshit excuse of getting thrown out by your parent’s house so you can watch Yoon and her roommates change.”

“What?” you gape.

“That’s the problem with people like you…Well, I can’t in good conscience let you go around harassing women for your sick pleasure. Can’t I?” he looks at his friends who grunt in approval.

“Fuck you I never did any of that shit!”

You try walking backwards to escape the situation only to have the guy grip on your arm and squeezing it tightly. The grip he had on you was so tight you were beginning to feel afraid that he might actually rip your arm off of your body. Tears brim from the corner of your eyes and you begin to cry out for help.

“Stop acting so innocent now. You know what you did—and we are the only ones who can fight this injustice your inflicting upon people.”

“Let me go!” you cry, basically plead. “I never did anything you said. P—Please.”

Everything around you suddenly turned white and when you got your field of vision back to normal suddenly you were on the floor. Realization quickly crept up—you just got punched by the main guy, hard. As his friends roar with laughter, he uses one hand to pull you back up by your collar.

“I don’t like liars.” he tuts and with his free hand he grabs the cigarette between his teeth. “I don’t have anywhere to light off this cigarette.”

“Really?” one of his friends speak up, faking an act of innocence. “You got something right here.” he points at you.

They all begin to laugh again while you’re still squirming and hyperventilating. Your vision becomes blurry as you whip your head around hoping that a bystander notices you are in danger and come to rescue you but you see no one. The only thing you can do is think quickly or this situation will turn out even uglier.

You take a deep breath and look in the direction of the three guys, past their shoulders. “Officer right over here!” you shout to no one in the distance.

The guys all whip their heads behind them in fright, thinking they just got caught. That’s when you use your free hand to snatch the cigarette from the main guy and press the burning end of the cigarette on the hand that’s gripping yours. Instead of letting go though, the guy yelps and trips on air causing you both to collapse. You quickly spit in his face, making him flinch back and shout curses at you. He was cursing so loudly that his own spit struck your face.

You manage to wiggle your way out of his grasp. As you crawl away from him, you grab the pack of cigarettes that fell from his pockets then absolutely book it.

Run, run, run is all your mind is thinking. Run, run, run and don’t look back for a second.

✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

Sae-byeok thought it was nice of her to spend her only free time to walk to the convenience store with you the other night. After that quiet excursion, she expected you to start coming back to the apartment at a reasonable time.

But no one, not Sae-byeok, not Cheol, or even Ji-yeong has seen nor heard from you today.

Before Ji-yeong pointed fingers at Sae-byeok again she hurriedly explained that she actually settled things down with you, which was a half-lie half-truth situation. Of course, she didn’t buy it. In order to prove herself, Sae-byeok joined Ji-yeong who sat outside the apartment to wait for you. But it was almost one in the morning and Ji-yeong had work in the morning so she dialed your phone one last time, if you didn’t answer she’d go back to the apartment and report you as missing the next night. However, Sae-byeok decided to wait a little longer seeing as she doesn’t have to do anything but drop off Cheol at school tomorrow.

Thirty minutes later, Sae-byeok watches a shadowy figure walk in the direction of the apartment building. She holds her breath, anticipating it was you. When the person got closer she saw the familiar portfolio tote and laptop, that’s when she knew.

Sae-byeok’s face morphs into confusion when notices how you were stumbling, like it was hard for you to walk.

“Are you alright?” she asks. You just kept trudging until you made it to the staircases where you inevitably sat down. Slowly, Sae-byeok makes her way towards you. Something was off she could sense it.

“Yeah.” you say barley above whisper. But she isn’t buying it. She sits beside you, trying to look at your face but you look the other way before she can notice something. “What’re you doing?”

“Are you sick or something?”

“No, it’s just—hey!”

Sae-byeok pushes strands of hair back and caught the purple shiner imprinted on your cheek. You gasp and clumsily cover yourself again.

“Shit.” she says breathily. “What happened?”

You hug your chest and stare down at your knees in shame. Sae-byeok of all people shouldn’t have seen you like this. Now there’s no way around this.

“Some guys from my school cornered me in the alleyway.” you reply weakly.

“Why?”

“Long story.”

Sae-byeok doesn’t pry any further. You didn’t tell her some bullshit excuse like slipping and hitting a table. You actually sounded…truthful?

Besides, she can sense you’re still in pain and talking about the reason why you’re in pain isn’t going to help you. So, she rises to sprint back to the apartment. You wonder if she’ll come back with Ji-yeong so they can get an answer out of you. Instead, she comes back with an ice pack, two pain killers pills, and a bottle of water and quietly passes it off to you.

“Thanks.” you mumble and swallow the pain killers while pressing the ice pack on your cheek, wincing. You both sit in silence like this for a minute, that’s when you start to feel your chest grow heavy. “…Is the bruise that bad?”

Your vulnerability and pleading made Sae-byeok’s heart sink. She won’t admit it—but something about how fragile you sounded reminded her of a younger Sae-byeok, back when she first came to South Korea.

“Yeah.”

Sae-byeok doesn’t approve of your attire. Only because even though it’s spring time, the night breeze is still cool enough to make someone shiver. You were currently wearing a green frilly skirt that sat above your knees paired with an oversized graphic shirt. The scrape on your knee was still dry with blood, you kept looking at it and tried pulling your skirt to cover it, it was obvious you weren’t comfortable.

“Where are you going?” Sae-byeok asks when you got back up and started walking away.

“I don’t wish to bother you so I’ll just be at the twenty four hour cafe that’s a few blocks away.”

Sae-byeok doesn’t get you. She feels like she’s about to go mad.

“Hey, what’s your deal?” Sae-byeok asks. You pause walking and spin on your heels to look at her. “Could you quit being reckless?”

You don’t understand her. Sae-byeok isn’t obligated to look after you. You actually feel quite bad for making her stay up this late.

“I’m not—I don’t think I am.” you murmur and lower the ice pack cooling your bruised cheek.

“You are.” she says bluntly. “You’ve been acting suspicious from the start, you keep running away and now all of a sudden you came with bruises and now that I’ve seen them you try to run away again?”

That’s the most you heard her speak. You don’t know if you should feel honored or embarrassed.

Sae-byeok stands up, her guards are up you just know it. Her posture straightens and her dark sharp eyes bore right into your skull like she’s trying to get into your head. Your breath hitches so you take a few steps backwards.

“I’m trying not to disturb you more than I already have these past few days. I feel like I’m breaking everything I touch so...” you trail off. Sae-byeok remains immovable.

Apart from the suspicious bruising littering your body, it hits Sae-byeok that she has nothing on you. She can’t risk living dangerously anymore now that she has Cheol under her care, but could you really threaten their way of living?

“You’re limping.”

“I should be fine these are my comfiest sneakers.” you say. “I’ll be back in an hour. I promise.”

Sae-byeok rolls her eyes. “I have to come with you now.” she says like it is the most obvious option. “Or Ji-yeong will blame me again.”

You have a feeling that she’s hard headed when it comes to decision making. So silently, you let her trail behind you as you make your ways towards the cafe in the brisk of midnight.

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6

[silent-hill-2-official]

Apologies for necro-posting, but I looked through the notes and while people have given you some pros and cons, no one actually walked you through getting it up and running, and I might as well give my best shot at helping someone evacuate from windows 11, so here is the Jack Joy's Explanation and Guide to Linux. Chapter 0: The Pitch for the Penguin.

Linux is all about freedom. While Windows and MacOS are Walled Gardens that are slowly stripping away control from their users and extracting more and more from you, the person who is using a non-linux OS, Linux does not do that shit. Free and Open Source Software is the name of the game in Linux, as that is what is mostly being developed in that space by an army of volunteers passionate about keeping the PC personal. That comes with some caveats though. A lot of the software you use is proprietary, and while some of that is still available on Linux, most of it is not. Some you'll expect. Some you wouldn't think is even proprietary and will surprise you when you lose access to it. The Linux community has done it's best to provide solutions for a lot of these, and you will find that a lot of what you want to use has some alternative in linux, but some things will just be fucked. You trade convenience for control.

Chapter 0.5: When you are a King very few choices are simple

If the Pitch convinced you, then congrats, you now have one of the hardest decisions to make as a Linux User. What Distribution of Linux are we using? Distributions (or Distro's for short) are all different OS' who run on the Linux Kernel, the thing that gives your machine thought and makes it possible to run the hit video game Team Fortress 2 (2007). There are a lot of distributions of linux, all of which do weird things with it, but my personal Picks are as follows.

Linux Mint

Linux Mint is the gold standard for stupid simple linux distro. It just works*, it comes with a DE(desktop Enviroment) that is reminiscent of windows 7 so adjustment should be minimal and overall, is very uncomplicated. Is a bit bland tho. *(things still break sometimes).

Ubuntu

Ubuntu meanwhile you probably already heard of. Think of it as the MacOS of Linux. It has the most company support, it's DE called GNOME is very MacOS like in it's design language, incredibly stable, but also very poor in customization. If something says tested on linux, a lot of the time, it means tested on Ubuntu.

EndeavourOS

EndeavourOS is my linux distribution of choice. It's based off of Arch Linux, which is what powers the Steamdeck with SteamOS, and as such has a lot of nifty Arch linux niceties, like the Arch User Repository, and KDE Plasma as it's DE. It tries to combine being user friendly while letting you tinker with everything, it is on the cutting edge of linux, but that also means that stuff CAN break more often.

These are just my picks. Some other notable beginner friendly Linux Distros that might pique your interest could be Pop_Os, Manjaro, Elementary OS and probably a bunch of others that I forgot or don't even know exist until someone will complain at me for forgetting after writing this guide. Choice my friend. You have a lot of it, and so think about what you want from your PC and go with the distro that seems to be best suited for your usecase, whether it be as a game machine or to just use firefox and libreoffice.

Chapter 1: Performing OS Replacement Therapy on your PC

So, you know what Linux Distro you are gonna use, you know you are ready to do this, so how are we doing this? Pretty simple in all honesty. We only need:

A Flash drive (USB preferred, SD or micro SD card readers can get FUNKY)

Balena Etcher

The ISO of the flavor of Linux you want to use

Some knowledge of how to navigate your computers BIOS

And preferably a secondary boot device (IE, a second SSD in your PC)

Plug your USB into your PC, and with Balena Etcher flash your ISO onto it. If you got another USB to spare, it is a good idea to flash an image of Windows 7 onto it. Think of that second USB stick as a "In Case of Emergency, Break Glass" type of safety precaution. We don't wanna have to use it, but it's good to have just in case. Reboot your PC with your Linux flashed USB stick in, and get into your BIOS. There you are going to pull that USB stick up the boot loader until it goes before windows. If that is somehow not an option, you might have to fuck around with your PC as there might be some secure boot shennanigans going on. Consult DuckDuckGo about your specific Computer, someone already figured it out if there is a hiccup. If you were able to pull up your USB up the boot order, exit the BIOS and hopefully things should be happening. To confirm look at the screen and if it does something new (and potentially scary looking) instead of the normal windows boot sequence, it is probably doing good. After a while you should be spat back out into a "Live Enviroment" version of your OS. This version of the OS exists only for this boot, and is pulled from your USB stick. There should be an installer inside of that live enviroment version of your OS, after which it is mostly smooth sailing. Follow the Installer, but pay REAL GOOD ATTENTION to what it is sayin when it asks you where it wants to be installed, as it will create a partition somewhere on your PC. If you have a PC with an SSD that isn't being used by windows, I recommend giving it that as you'll just be able to give that entire drive to Linux without problem. If you don't have an extra SSD, you will have to cleave a chunk from the one drive you have from windows. You can just give it 50% of the drive if you want to be conservative and still retain the ability to go back to windows. But should you feel particularly pissed/want to make sure you have no escape back to windows without having to reinstall it via that second USB stick, then torch the damn thing. Once the Installer is done it will either ask you to reboot your PC or just do it itself. After which point if everything went right, you will complete your first boot of Linux and end up in the actual version of the OS you installed. If you made it there, congratulations, and welcome to Linux. You might want to update the first time you boot, but after that, feel free to poke around to see what you have installed. Get Acquainted with your new Desktop, use some of the artisanal software that is FOS, if you are feeling spicey, run some commands in the terminal (as long as you know what they do. please do not run sudo rm -rf / because you saw it on a funny linux meme, that will uninstall your entire OS.) I hope this Guide has been helpful ^w^.

Hey. Gonna gamble here. Can someone explain to me the pros and cons of Linux as a whole and tell me maybe -possibly- how one might go about getting something set up

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter nine

chapter nine

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: things take a turn for the worse.

Please read the warnings as some new important ones have been added. NOTE: this is the last time that the SA tag will be used in this story. However, the events of this chapter are important. If you decide to skip this chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll fill you in. Or message if you want specifics about the tags to decide if you want to read it.

chapter warnings: non-con, dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, sexual assault (NOT by joel, NOT described, just implied and alluded to), p in v, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were wrong about Mike. About his lack of retaliation.

You were so, so wrong. 

That much is clear when you wake up.

The first sign that things aren’t quite right is that you never did get around to going to sleep last night. 

The second is that you may be buried, or something. You can’t quite move your limbs beyond wiggling your fingers and toes. And you can’t see shit. 

The third sign is that you can’t smell Joel. Not beyond what’s soaked into your skin and sweater. No, he’s very much not here. Or anywhere nearby, if the rapidly tightening feeling in your chest is any indication. 

It’s panic you can’t shake off, you know, since you can’t fucking move. 

The fluorescent overhead buzzes to life. 

“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice blows in from across the room and sinks in your gut like it’s sleeping with the fishes. 

You really, truly are in some deep shit. 

You’ve been kidnapped from your kidnappers. Honestly, what did you do in a past life to deserve this? 

He’s right about one thing. The confidence you clung to in the early days has been picked at like carrion. You’re scared. 

“I didn’t–I’m–” but something is wrong, so very, very wrong. You’re bubbling out gibberish and spit. It’s just sounds, dribbling from sloppy lips. 

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. It ain’t gonna wear off for a while, so best just sit quietly like a good bitch.”

You’re not sure if it's the panic or whatever he’s drugged you with, but your throat is cinched, and your cheeks sting from the uncontrollable stream of tears. 

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray. 

Shit. They were actual brothers. Not that it mattered; what was done was done, but you had really miscalculated this. 

His hand is on your shoulder. It’s better than where you thought he was reaching, and yet, still horrible. It’s not like you haven’t had to deal with handsy or aggressive men. It’s just… usually, you can move. Fight. Run. 

His hand is nothing like Joel’s. His fingers are short, his nails broken and edged with grime. There are scars and dry skin, like Joel, but it’s nothing like his rough grip. There’s no nick above the webbing of his thumb, no calluses on the plump pads of his fingers to remind you that you’re alive. 

Mike brushes his thumb over Joel’s bite, the thin newborn skin taut and jagged. You make a sound. You don’t hear it, not with the way your heart is beating in your eardrums, not the way every note scrapes your throat, but you grate out a sound that might have been a hiss. 

Or a growl.

His hand connects with your cheek, which does not help the dizziness stuffed between your ears.

 

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit. 

He must know he’s on a dwindling timetable. Inevitably, by dawn, the others will return to the base with Joel in tow. Inevitably, by dawn, they’ll know. 

As if he can tell you’ve dug up a fragment of hope, he leers, taking a swig from a bottle of dirty brown liquor. “You think Jim’s gonna waste resources on finding you?” he murmurs, grimy fingers stroking your cheek. 

And just like that, with a sharp breath, you lose that hope. Because he’s right, he’s undeniably right. Jim never misses a chance to bitch about the drain you are. They don’t need you, not really. Neither does Joel, not really. 

It’s easy, after the hours that have passed, to give in to the overwhelming dread. His hand wanders as it settles in, and you twitch away from his touch.

“Guess it’s wearin’ off,” Mike muses, taking another drink. “Can’t have you puttin’ up a fight now.” His bottle clinks against the file cabinet he sets it upon as he squats to dig through a duffel bag. 

There’s nothing you can do when he ties you down. There’s nothing you can do as he grips your cheeks hard, his thumb digging into your jaw until your mouth opens. You try not to swallow the liquor he pours in, only to aspirate it instead, wheezing and sputtering to little effect. 

“Jesus. Can’t even handle a little booze,” he sneers. “Too bad. Can’t have you gettin’ too feisty, huh?” He forces more down your throat, and it burns. 

He keeps squeezing your face, peering down at your mouth. “Reckon I should teach you a lesson about biting,” he said, tapping the bottle lightly against your front teeth. A whimper of fear slips free, and he grins crookedly. 

“Yeah, you don’t like that, huh? My brother didn’t much like gettin’ bit, either.” 

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers. 

You can feel your body twitch, trying its very hardest. The lingering drugs and booze make your head spin and throb. Mike faded in and out of view, but made his presence very clear as he pried your jaw back open. 

He tapped each tooth with the pliers, hemming and hawing about where to start. Garbled sounds are all the protest you can muster, trying to shake your head loose of his grasp as he selects an incisor. 

The first two attempts fail, the pliers slipping free, battering you in the process. The third try, though, clamps on just right. He clumsily tugs, to no avail, before wiggling and twisting the tooth. Reluctantly, your body parts ways with it as he increases the force, plucking the loosened tooth from the gum. 

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

—

It’s not the fight that wakes you. Not the gunshots, not the snarling. Everything has died down by the time you come around.

Well, not everything. Based on the sounds, you’d hazard a guess that Mike is still at least a little alive. When you look up, you’re thrilled to find out you can, that the paralysis has waned. 

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell. 

For a moment, Joel meets your eyes, and you are the wolf, nearly. You can feel the way it burns through your veins. 

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast. 

There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place. 

The Wolf that is Joel, that is your alpha, that is your savior, stands on his hind legs with those unsettling inverse ankle-knee-freaky bits bent. But even crouching, he fills the room. He’s a blur, like the first time you saw him, an ink blot in the center of your vision. A wormhole absorbing all the light. What little is left reflects off his shiny body. It takes you a moment to realize his fur (or his body hair, as he insists) is soaked in blood. 

It clings to the plaque on his teeth. His hands are steeped in it, some already hardening or coagulating under the stretch of his claws. He stalks over to you, and you do not flinch from him. His claws rend the rope as if it were no more than spaghetti. You tremble uncontrollably as he helps you sit up, most of your faculties back under your control. His blood-soaked, massive paws cradle your cheeks, pulling back abruptly when you whimper. 

A growl rumbles from his chest, and he throws his head back and howls. It brings footsteps in your direction as he gathers you into his arms. You’ve never felt smaller than you do now, and it’s not just the bulk and heft of his body. He cradles you with a delicacy unbefitting his sharp, deadly nature, but it’s all the more Joel to you than the brutality you witnessed. 

The raiders filter in, just a few of them, more to control him than assist, but they reclaim Mike’s stolen supplies and pay you no mind. At least until Cheryl comes in. 

“Alive after all, huh?” she says, approaching far closer than you think she should dare. But she wiggles the remote to the shock collar as she nears, peering at you. “Still want her, pet?” she asks Joel. “She’s all used up.”

He bares his teeth and snarls, and she shrugs. “It was just an option,” she says, hand dropping from the pistol on her belt. 

You feel sick from the second brush with death in as many hours. Or maybe it’s from the bootleg booze and blood that’s been dripping down your throat. 

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home. 

No. Not home. You can’t let yourself accept that. But it’s been almost a year, now. Almost a year since they plucked you from that FEDRA truck and brought you to hell. 

It’s not the cell that’s home, though. It’s him. 

—

You look up at the wolf once you’re locked in, the relief of your familiar prison bubbling up like bile. The others go back to their day, the incident no more than a blip of inconvenience. Silence lingers, both of you waiting, waiting, waiting to hear the heavy thunk of the cellar’s deadbolt. 

As soon as it sounds, you break.

“You found me,” you gasp, trailing into a whimper. “You found me, you found me.” Your voice is grating, leaking from your cracked and dry throat. It hurts to talk, your jaw throbs, and you struggle around the swelling, but you can’t stem the leak.

He grips your biceps with both paws, and rolls back the shift enough to speak. “I found you,” he says firmly, letting you feel his sturdy hold on you, keeping you there and present. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t respond, still shaking and swaying a little on the spot. “You found me,” you echo, raw and dredged up from the hollow of your lungs. 

“Hey,” he growls without aggression. “ Listen to me. ” He doesn’t mean to do it. His voice drops a register, an even lower rumble than usual, and your attention snaps up to him. 

He winces. There’ll be time to apologize later, though. “I’ve got you,” he repeats steadily. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you echo in a whisper. 

“I will always find you,” he promises, eyes gone dark. “Always, little omega. You’re mine, and there’s nowhere on this godforsaken earth that they can hide you from me.” 

In any other context, it would frighten you. It should, by all means, frighten you a little. Instead, you kiss him.

It’s a mistake that sends you pulling back, gasping in pain, and all the ferocity on his face falls.

“Let me see,” he coaxes gently, cradling your jaw. He’s careful as he presses your lip to the side to get a good look. “ Jesus, ” he whispers.

You can see the guilt building up, layers upon layers from all his life. You won’t let this, won’t let you be another. “Joel—”

But he’s not having it. He bristles and narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop tryin’ to run your mouth? You’re making it bleed.” His eyes dart over your face, stopping back on your missing tooth each time before sighing, shoulders slumping. 

“C’mon,” he grumbles, leaving no room for argument by simply picking you up and carrying you over to the bed. He settles with you straddling his lap, wincing. He looks down for only a moment. “I’ll take care of that next. Sit still ‘n be good.” 

It turns out not to be a hard order to follow. He sets about to lick your wounds, starting with your mouth. He doesn’t mean for it to turn into anything, he really doesn’t, but he’s licking inside your mouth. As his spit mixes with yours, as he laves his tongue oh-so-gently over and over, the familiar tingling starts to set in. It numbs the pain, not entirely, but the relief is enough to make you sigh softly against his mouth.

He can’t entirely be blamed as it turns into lazy kisses, tongues brushing comfort over one another, each press of lips like a mantra. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not sure who’s reassuring who. 

It’s not going to fix it. There’s not a magical makeout session that can restore your tooth or even heal the socket. Not that quickly, anyway. But it eases the pain, and so does the way his warm hands hold you like you’re something precious. The way he groans into the kiss, the way he can’t stop reaching for every bit of you, checking meticulously to make sure nothing else was taken from you. 

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

He settles you down on the mattress, settles himself into the wolf, and he licks every inch of you. His long, hot tongue is just rough enough to make you feel clean. There’s no way even a cell of Mike’s skin is left behind on yours. Joel eats it all up like he did the man himself. It leaves your whole body tingling, your heart pounding in your ears, your cunt gushing by the time he sheaths himself in you. 

There’s no room left for anyone else. There’s no room for anything but you and Joel in the darkness. 

It’s too late before either of you realize he’s triggered his own rut. Your body responds beautifully, burning under his touch, following your alpha into blissful oblivion. He fusses relentlessly, worried despite his own distress and desire, not wanting you to feel trapped or forced. Not again. Never again. 

It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can keep, but both know he’ll die trying. 

It isn’t as long as your first heat, but it’s all the more intense. Your little room fills with sweat, pants and groans replacing any need for words. And it’s exactly what you need—no thoughts, no memories, no dealing with what you’ve suffered. Just Joel, just… love? No, that can’t be right. Just lust. 

His cock is insistent, pressing into you, filling the gaps he’d left behind. He doesn’t bother turning back to the man, doesn’t bother trying to pretend he’s anything but a mindless creature right now. And still, he’s so gentle. More gentle than he’s ever been. 

You didn’t have time to build a nest, but that’s okay. He doesn’t ever move from his place over your body, cocooning you, blocking everything else from sight. There’s just Joel. You’re warm and cozy and safe. 

You almost forget that you’re locked up at all. He keeps you on such a high with his deft fingers, mouth, and cock that you can’t even fathom a time when he might have to part from you. The lock of your cunt around his knot is your echo of his promise. Never again. 

—

“How much of this is even real?” you whisper in the fading light of your heat. Your hand is lazily raised, blocking out the fluorescents, but he catches it with his own, his thick fingers making room for themselves between yours. Locking you together in another way, keeping you close. 

“Couldn’t tell ya,” he says quietly, gruff voice even coarser in the way he holds back, keeping it soft in your ear. “Probably nothin’. But it’s there anyway.”

He was sure as shit right about that. This burning in your chest, the way your heart picked up as he wove your fingers together and tugged your hands down, using both your arms to hold you to his chest, your unified fist in the center. It’s not real, not really. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. There’s nothing for this heavy feeling to rest upon, no foundation for the feelings that should not be there. 

And yet.

The conversation is veering uncomfortably personal, of which you only have yourself to blame, but you run from it anyway. “You ever see Dawn of the Wolf? ” you ask, pushing for something unserious, something that’ll have him rolling his eyes and putting up a fuss about the W Word. 

That’s not what happens, though.

His breath catches for a second before rolling out in a soft sigh, his warm breath ruffling the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious. 

“My daughter loved that shit,” he says. 

You can’t help the way your body stiffens. You want to roll over and look at him, to parse his pursed lips and warm eyes. He doesn’t let you, though, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers pressing a little more insistently in the divots between your knuckles until you settle. 

“Watched the damn movies, read the damn books, had the damn poster on her wall,” he says, something careful in his words. Like he’s trying to give this to you without giving anything up for himself. These memories he’s clutched in the recesses of his ventricles—they can’t be extracted without damaging the last soft tissue he could spare to wrap them in. 

“So, who’s team were you on?” you tease instead. 

“I didn’t give a shit,” he dismisses. A beat passes. “Why would she even have considered the wimpy blond vampire kid?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, nodding sagely. “You think the obvious choice was the tall, hairy, brooding wolf-man. I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” he grouses immediately. “It was all stupid, anyway. None of ‘em could stop whining.” 

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil. 

“Never did get to see the sequel,” you say after a moment, trying to regain some sense in your brain.

He snorts. “Didn’t miss anything. I thought it couldn’t be worse than the first one but it was the stupidest two hours of my life.” 

“I can’t believe you saw Dawn of the Wolf 2, and I didn’t,” you say. A beat passes. “Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening. 

“Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent. The oaky notes are easier to parse, now, much more complex. Hints of spices are there, sometimes. 

You’re getting too familiar. So much so that when the chamomile blossom of his grief leaks through, your grip on him tightens just a little, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to the thick thatch of hair beneath your cheek. 

It isn’t real, but how can it not be? How can something this intense not be real? No, it’s different. This isn’t real versus fake like something photoshopped, something on a green screen. 

This is more than that. The dotted lines that make up constellations aren’t real, but it doesn’t change the way those stars are bound together to make something unique, something breathtaking.

“I get it now,” he murmurs, breaking your existential reverie. 

“Get what?” you say, nose wrinkling.

He bumps his nose against yours, nudging at you in a way you know would involve a playful nip if he was his other self. “Why he didn’t just eat her,” he says.

You reward him with a bark of a laugh. “You’re still thinking about Dawn?” 

This time he does nip at you, catching your ear gently with very human teeth. “S’your fault,” he grumbles, and you feel it rumble through his chest. 

And yours. 

No, wait, that was your stomach. You’re suddenly starving, and with that revelation comes another, much worse one. You sit up so quickly that Joel follows suit, eyebrows raised. 

“What’s the matter?” He barks. 

“It’s the food,” you whisper. “That’s why they don’t let you share. That’s how Mike got me. It’s in the fucking food.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw. “Explain,” he growls.

“I think they’re drugging us,” you finally tell him. It’s been a haunting tug in the back of your brain, one you didn’t really want to admit to. There’s been a matching tug in your gut, the feeling of something not sitting quite right, but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

It had been twenty years since you had something like cough syrup, anyway. But that’s the feeling. The fuzzy spot between your eyes where the ground seems to swoop up, the way you move through the day underwater. 

“Fuck,” Joel whispers. But he can’t deny it makes sense. It makes too much goddamn sense. He’s been too fucking compliant, too fucked to care. He thought it was apathy borne of everything he’s been through. 

But goddamnit. He knows. He just knows you’re right.

[renzireads]

One drink and straight to bed, he vowed to himself.

“A water?” The barman scoffed. “The poor man’s choice, I see.”

Wally chuckled. “The choice of a man who just got here from a trip longer than you can imagine. D’ya got any rooms free up in this place or?”

The barman’s face softened, and he laughed as he went to grab a glass of water. Returning, he leaned in as he handed Wally his drinks. “We do, but tell me, have you ever been here before?”

A blush rose up his cheeks as Wally shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is,” he laughed awkwardly. He suddenly felt very looked at.

“Curious.” The man pulled back, then nodded to himself. “Gotham usually doesn’t show herself to people who haven’t been here before, well, unless she has plans for you. Or so they say.”

“Gotham?” Wally blurted out, eyes widened in shock. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.” He laughed, not because he was happy, but he couldn’t help himself from laughing at his own stupidity. Of course, with all the weirdness going on around here, how didn’t he realize this sooner?

He did it. He found the no-man’s-land that was particularly starting to look like an any-man’s-land to him. The place he had been looking for all along.

“You know, there’s some rumors about-” The bartender started, then stopped dead in his sentence and looked up behind Wally. Right then, Wally felt two, strong hands clasp onto his shoulders.

“You’re in my seat.” A deep, bouldering voice said, the two goons behind him snickering loudly.

Wally looked around him and noticed the two chairs besides him had indeed come up empty. Still, he shrugged and tipped his drink back. “And I was having a really good conversation.” He shot back, not getting off the chair. “Please, do continue.”

He heard a couple “Ooh”’s and “Shit”’s and snickers behind him as the saloon fell silent. All eyes fell on him, or well, them, as Wally shrugged the hands off his shoulders and leaned forward.

“Funny, kid.” The man all but growled. The bottle in his hand -some dirt cheap brand of beer, Wally guessed- came into his view as Wally skillfully -although accidentally- dodged the bottle when he turned the bar chair around. The glass made a painful shattering noise as it came into contact with the edge of the bar, sending shards everywhere.

His attacker staggered back, the intoxication visible in how he tripped rather gracefully against one of his back-up buddies. Immediately, everyone at the bar shot up from their seats and started screaming. Some people saw this as the perfect time to throw some punches around, and Wally winced as he heard the rough sound of a cracking bone right next to him.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, the way this bar fight came to be, but now everyone was in on it. Everyone, except for Wally. Shit, had he really just started this? He frantically looked around, hoping to spot a way out of this mess he had so swiftly created. Hells, he hadn’t even been here for over ten minutes and he already-

A hand slipped around his wrist, and the strong grip pulled him out of his thoughts as fast as he was pulled out of the saloon. When the cold night’s air pushed his hair out of his eyes, his mind cleared. Loud screams and thuds against the walls and floors, although a bit more muted now, made him look at one of the windows.

What just happened?

“You’re really quite something, y’know?” An amused, cocky voice startled him fully away from whatever was happening inside the saloon now, and he traced his eyes to the figure in front of him.

[lazysoulwriter]

Higher than ever. - Paul Mescal. +18! MDI.

okay thats.... if ur a minor, trust me, read this in another time of your life. feel free to ask me anything!

words: something like 1.3k

╭── ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ──╮

The sun was shining through your curtains, making you wake up from a hot dream with... Your best friend Paul? What the fuck? Your thoughts were confused but your panties are soaked. WHAT THE FUCK? 

Okay... He's hot. You can't help it but your mind leads you to him. To his body. To all the time you guys spend together. The way the touches you, hugs you and do ANYTHING for you. But... You were just friends. That thoughts have to get out of your head. 

You check your phone just to see a message from him. 

"heyo! u up?" 

"yeah yeah" 

"great. coming in 20. gonna bring some breakfast and a FCKNG nice weed that I found"  

You don't even have to answer. He's always like that, coming to your apartment with just a little warning. Never asking. — he doesn't have to, actually. 

You get up and go to the bathroom to push away those dreams, take a fast bath and get ready for the day with comfy clothes – a gym shorts and a white tank top. IT WAS A HOT DAY OKAY. 

You heard him at the door, calling your name instead of ringing the fucking doorbell. 

"Mr Paul Mescal, welcome..." You joke, giving space for him to come in.  

"Hello baby," he places a kiss in your cheek. Always been like that. "All dressed up for me?" He chuckles. 

"Fuck you."  

You guys sit on your couch, and started eating the waffles he brought. You could feel something different in the air.  

"Something happened?" You asked taking a sip from his cup of coffee. 

"No, not actually... Why?" He frowns his eyebrows looking at you.  

"Don't know... You seem... weird." 

"So do you!" He shrugs with a little smile on his face. Looks like HE KNOWS. 

You try to ignore that and keep talking to each other. He takes the things you ate to your kitchen, and come back to you smiling like a child. 

"Oooh you can’t believe what we're gonna smoke right know" He says taking his things out of his pocket. "Can I roll a blunt right now?" 

"Sure! Let's see this shit. 

When he was rolling, you started noticing so much his hands. The way his fingers were doing everything just right... You feel something weird. Again. But when he licks to close it, you felt your core ache. He looked at you immediately, like he fucking knew. "What?"  

"N-Nothing..." You tried to laugh.  

He just shrugged again and light up the blunt. He takes a deep drag and give it to you, that does the same.  

"Okay, okay... that's a good one." 

"I TOLD YOU!" He laughs and bite his lip unconsciously, but it makes you keep reminding of the fucking dream. literally fucking.  

At the end of it, you were both high and laughing at the silliest things you could imagine. His eyes were a little red and he looks so relaxed. He was wearing one of those fucking shorts, showing off his fucking legs.  

"Paul..." you started in a middle of a laugh. "You look really hot in that shorts, you know?"  

He blushes a little, but smile at you. "So do you..." his eyes were on your legs right now. "You look so hot, actually..." he licks his lips and smiles. 

After some minutes of silence, you both knew what's going on and don't even have to verbalize it.  

When you notice, you were on his lap, kissing him desperately. "Hey, hey, hey..." He breaks the kiss to look at you. "Are you okay with this?" 

"Yes, Paul, stop!" You tried to kiss him again, but he won't let you, making you whimper.  

"No... is like..." he stops, trying to find the right words but seems to give up. "I've wanted to fuck you so bad for so long, that if we started, I won't stop."  

Instead of answering him, you just kiss him again, slowly and passionate. You grind on his already hard cock, making both of you moan in each other's mouth. He squeezes your butt just the way you dreamed last night, making you giggle.  

"Are you really laughing? You're such a slut, huh?"  

He takes your right breast on his hand, massaging and then picking your nipple. All in a slow pace, making you crazy. When he's about to do the same with the other, you stood up and look at him. He looks a fucking hot mess. His hard cock against his shorts, his hair... my goodness. Before he can protest, you take off your shirt, showing your pierced nipples that he knew, but never saw. He smirked at the vision, taking one hand to his dick. Looking at you with so much desire in his eyes. You take his shirt off, giving you the perfect vision of that man. He was still giving his dick some strokes before you kneeled in front of him.  

You take his hand away, to replace with yours. He hissed at the sensation. You look at him, with a pure innocent look, receiving a smirk back.  

He opens his legs a little more, giving you more access to him. You caressed his tights and slowly goes to his shorts. "Can you take it a little down for me?" You asked, and he immediately puts his shorts and underwear away, you don't even see where it goes. You never thought he was little, but never thought it was THAT big. You bite your lip while stroking his dick. When you put the tip in your mouth, you could already hear him moaning and taking your hair into his hands. It was so sexy hearing him like this, with his dick in your mouth.  

You could feel your pants soaked with this and you can't help but start massaging your pussy for some friction. You both were already a mess and it was just starting.  

"Get up," he commands with a firmly voice. "Now."  

You obey him, getting up just to be putting on the couch, ass up for him. He slaps your butt so hard you know it was leaving marks for a week. But you don't fucking care. You are a mess in moans when he started to massaging your pussy, that was soaked and ready for a dick like never before. "Can I?" he asks, with his tip on your entrance.  

"Of course, just fuck me already!" 

With those words, the next thing you hear was another slap before his long and thick dick fills you. You both let out a loud moan, it was like heaven. He started slow, but intense. Making you go crazy. You were in a position that you can't see his face, but you exactly how it is. And knowing that is Paul inside of you, after all those years, makes everything better. 

His movements started to get fast, and you feel his strong arms around your waist. The sounds are so erotic. The sound of your wet pussy on his dripping dick, his moans, your moans, everything. 

"Paul... Yes... Like th-OH," You feel your orgasm so close that you can even see anything anymore. "I'm cumming..." You whispered in your breath.  

"I can feel that... That's... Wow.." His pace started to get sloopier, and he turns you around, so you can see each other.  

He still pounding into you, looking right into your eyes. "I'm gonna cum, baby." He said and takes his dick to your stomach, spreading his juice all over your stomach and breasts. 

Before you say anything, he takes you up and take you both to your bedroom, going to your closet and getting a towel to clean you up. Such a gentleman. 

And just then, he lay down your side, still breathing hard.  

He looks at you and smile, taking you to lay down on his chest. 

"Just so you know..." He started. "I've been in love with you since we're teenagers." 

"Yeah... Me too." You said laughing. 

And with some caresses, you both sleep after the sex of your lives. 

[jukashi]

"What, you think Sonic's a cop?" is a pretty good succinct way to sum up the question of Sonic's morality and responsibility, I think. See, Sonic has always been kind of an asshole. This is a guy who, way back when, only made friends with Tails because Tails figured out how to kinda keep up with him. I know it wasn't intentional, but since most media even now goes with it, it kinda says something that Sonic didn't have any friends before that, either, and most of his friends in the games can also Go reasonably Fast.

So, right down, deep at the core of his character, Sonic Likes His Freedom. I think that's the thing that, if you changed it, he wouldn't be Sonic. All his values are extensions of that - he helps people because he likes them to have their freedom, too. Like, he literally breaks animals free from robots when he defeats them? That's a distinct element of Sonic's games specifically, that's a statement, right there. Eggman represents absolute subjugation under one man's will and whims, an as such he and Sonic are like, ontologically enemies, narratively.

So, Sonic's morality and motivations are based mostly on being a freedom maximizer. The consequence of this is that he doesn't take responsibility for jack shit. He saves you from being killed or subjugated but then that's it, buddy, you're on your own. He's not a leader, he's not making any commitments. Do you think he has some duty to you? An obligation? Sounds like not-freedom to me, pal. You think Sonic wants to become the police?

You think Sonic's a cop?

So, when they want to give Sonic some conflict that actually makes him feel conflicted, and it's not some smaller scale thing like two friends falling out or something like that, then it's pretty much got to be about freedom vs. freedom. By sparing his enemies, Sonic is making a bet - risking long-term chance of great loss of freedom, if the threat returns and succeeds next time, or ensuring minimal risk but definitely reducing someone's freedom right now? Do you take the idealistic hopeful route or the cynical sensible one?

Do you take the higher, faster, riskier route through the level, or the lower, slower, certain one? What do you think?

But the idealistic, hopeful route is also the self-centered one. He wants to take the gamble that he can get the theoretical best option. That risk is being taken with other people's lives.

This isn't a terribly new idea. How many idealistic hero characters go "no I refuse the dilemma I will take the long shot to save everyone!"? But it's not so common to actually interrogate its drawbacks properly, inside a story that's overall generally aligned with that sentiment, so I appreciate it. I think part of the reason they can do that, with Sonic, is because he's been established as kind of an asshole. Other idealistic heroes, drawing attention to that would kind of break things down - if they really took it in, then most idealistic characters would actually have to go with the sensible option or come off as assholes. With Sonic, he already is one, so they can put it in front of him, really rotate it in everyone's view, and still have the reasonable possibility that Sonic can just say 'yeah well I'm still gonna do it my own way'.

That or it's just that Sonic is a long-running media franchise, and someone would have had to run into this idea for story material sooner or later.

There's definitely been more Sonic stuff in recent years that's shown him from an outside perspective, and consistently the conclusion seems to be "hey. this guy's kind of an asshole"

like. bro just doesn't care

sonic there are tears in her eyes you can't be acting like this

[tododeku-or-bust]

https://www.tumblr.com/tododeku-or-bust/744837858426339328/yes-nonblack-people-can-reblog-id-appreciate

i apologise if i come off as rude and i know it’s not black fans’ responsibility to educate white fans. but as a white fan, what do you think white fans can do to fight racism in fandom spaces? because even when i stumble upon something that reads to me as racist, i don’t know if it’s my wrong interpretation as a white person and if i should say something or be quiet. /gen

I have a reblog in that post that answers this question, but that post is now at least 150k strong with only half really getting the point and I'm not scrolling that long so 😅 I'll just say it again.

(the post was about BLACK PEOPLE. So I'm going to discuss antiblackness, bc that's who I was talking to)

1. Actually share community with Black people!

Half the reason people "don't see" antiblackness when it's happening is because you're not around any Black people in your fandoms to begin with. So when you see what is inevitably racism, you probably dismiss it as "drama" because that's what the racists (!) around you are framing it as. If you actually saw the responses from the party being wronged, you'd learn what to look out for when it happened. And even if you weren't confident, someone that IS confident could use the support- bc they're gonna be far meaner to that Black fan than they'll ever be to you! But ofc you don't see racism when there are conveniently no Black people around you to point it out. Bc trust, there is no fandom space- no space period- free of it. So... Try listening to the Black people that ARE in your spaces! Support their voices, so that you can start fighting that fight on your own!

2. Think about how much antiblackness you let slide, and try to be active about not doing so!

One of the hardest things for me to swallow is not usually the OG racist poster, but the thousands of people who usually agree with them, and then the tens of thousands of others who might not agree, but continue to support that person otherwise because antiblackness is not a deal breaker for them! You might think you're a friend to Black people, but based off the people you hang around... probably not! And we see that!

So you'll watch someone be mask-off antiblack, but "oh their art is so good though" or "but I love their LGBTQ/fandom takes" yeah okay so I see that I am not a part of the safe community that you value or picture, got it.

You have to actually ask yourself, consistently- because antiracism is an active thing, it's decisions you make- "is this thing I'm participating in worth the antiblackness I'm allowing?" Sometimes you're gonna say yes. But if you find yourself saying "yes" far more often than you're saying "no", it's time to admit that you're not being antiracist 😅 and if that identity actually means anything to you, you'll have to start making some better choices!

So, is this person's cool art worth them being a whitewasher? Is this video game series worth the creators being racist? Is this musical worth the racist stereotypes it's perpetuating? Is this person's otherwise cool politics worth them treating Black people like shit? Is being seen as a racist worth keeping me safe in this fandom (that would treat me horribly if I didn't? Are they really my community, then?)? Is my temporary entertainment worth more than someone's humanity?

I think when we choose to be honest with ourselves, and are willing to ask ourselves questions like that, we might recognize just how much control we have over our own racism, and at least how we can minimize our own harm. Bc you can only control you! And you don't have to do or allow the things you allow!

3. Call it out!

I don't think everything warrants a call out. But, sometimes y'all got to be willing to say "hey, this isn't cool, dude". The whole "1 Nazi, 9 patrons, 10 Nazis" thing. I have a post about it somewhere on the CBC page 😭 But yeah. Sometimes things will be right in y'alls faces and you say nothing. And all that does is encourage others with those same beliefs to show up and think that you're okay with them. I really do wish that when you were confident, you spoke up. Or at least told your peers in private "hey, such and such did this antiblack thing and it made me uncomfortable so I'm not going to support them anymore". SOMETHING.

[consolecadet]

Tips for freshly diagnosed celiac-havers

Someone I knew asked me for advice after getting diagnosed with celiac. I gave her some. I might as well share them with you as well!

I am not a doctor, and not your doctor, I'm just some guy with celiac disease. Ask an actual doctor for help with medical decisions. I'm in the northeastern United States, so you might have to go hunting for equivalent resources if you live elsewhere.

Are you done with testing?

If you had a tTG-IgA blood test with an elevated result, or a doctor just told you you have celiac, but you have not gotten a biopsy via endoscopy to confirm your diagnosis, WAIT! You may not want to stop eating gluten quite yet. You have to be eating gluten for the biopsy test to work.

It is not fun to stop eating gluten, start feeling better, and then have to start eating it again just to prove that you really have celiac disease.

Your choice in this area is personal. If you know you're going to have to wait years to get an endoscopy, it would probably be healthier and more pleasant to stop eating gluten now and then do a "gluten challenge" for a few weeks before your endoscopy.

If it's unlikely you will ever get an endoscopy (too expensive, inaccessible, phobia, etc), there's no point in waiting for something that may never come -- just stop eating gluten now.

But if you can schedule an endoscopy for a month or two from now, it's probably best to keep eating gluten until the endoscopy. Sorry.

Please eat food. Like, enough food.

The most important tip I got early in my diagnosis is that if you stop eating gluten and you start feeling crummy -- dizzy, cranky, tired, etc -- it's not because you're going through "gluten detox" or some shit. It's because you're hungry!

It's easy to accidentally start eating way less when you start eating gluten free. A celiac diagnosis can make you want to avoid eating because food feels scary and stressful. Cutting a major ingredient from your diet without knowing what to replace it with can also leave you undernourished.

You really need nourishment when you are recovering from celiac! Your body need energy from food to use on healing your intestines. If you've lived with celiac for a long time, you probably have vitamin deficiencies you're trying to bounce back from. The emotional difficulty of adjusting to a new diagnosis is also much easier to face if you're not starving.

All of this advice applies equally regardless of body size. Yes, even if you are very fat. If you're hungry, eat.

Where to find information about gluten-free food

The gold standard for basic celiac info is celiac nonprofits. There's a ton of info about celiac disease and the gluten free diet on their websites. I recommend:

Celiac Disease Foundation

Beyond Celiac

You know what's not a legitimate celiac nonprofit? Gluten Free Society. Do not listen to anything GFS or its founder Peter Osborne have to say. Osborne is not an actual doctor, nor is he doing actual nutrition science. He is a chiropractor (i.e. quack) so bad that his state's board of chiropractors threatened to revoke his license. Don't let anyone tell you celiac means you can't have corn!!! Truly, wtf @ this guy.

Google's AI summaries for searches like "Is XYZ food gluten free" are often inaccurate (because they pick up sites like GFS). I always click through to the source to be sure. "Is XYZ food celiac safe" sometimes gives more useful search results.

I also like this presentation "I Have Celiac" for a super in-depth guide to having and living with celiac. The OP made it to show to loved ones to explain their deal, but it's so thorough that I found it helpful for myself when I got my diagnosis.

I want to buy food that's safe for celiac...how do I do that?

You should be able to find gf food at any supermarket. The selection of baked goods and processed foods may be lacking, depending on where you live, but produce, raw unmarinated cuts of meat, and other whole foods like milk and eggs are generally safe even if not labeled gf.

A lot of supermarkets have an indicator on the price labels to help you -- for example, at Stop and Shop, the labels on the shelf have an orange circle that says "gf" in it under foods that are gluten free. It's best to check the packaging too, since Stop and Shop sometimes gets it wrong!

Something that says "gluten free" or "certified gluten free" on it is safe for celiac*. Something that doesn't say "gluten free" on the packaging may also be safe, so long as it also doesn't contain wheat, barley, or rye, or have a wheat allergy warning under the ingredient list. Here are some tips for what to look for on ingredient labels.

Labels can get real complicated real fast, so just use your best judgment. It's okay if you don't get it right 100% of the time. The goal when living with celiac is to reduce gluten exposure as much as possible, not to hermetically seal yourself in a deep well where a single molecule of gluten can never possibly reach your tongue. You, and only you, get to decide how much exposure risk you're comfortable with.

My favorite grocery store post-diagnosis is Wegmans. My nearest one is a bit of a hike, so I don't go that often, but it's such a treat when I do. Wegmans has a huge gluten free aisle with gf staples and fun snacks, plus lots of food items that can be harder to find gf, like fresh pasta and baked goods.

I also like the online health food store iHerb for finding new gf snacks and ingredients. You can filter the whole store by dietary needs, so you can also find gf skincare/makeup items and supplements if you want. I have a discount link for 20% off: https://secure.iherb.com/rewards/rewards-program?rcode=DRO2876

The best way to find restaurants that can accommodate celiac is Find Me Gluten Free. It's essentially a gluten-free Yelp. People use the site/app to review of restaurants for 1) what cross-contact precautions the restaurant takes and 2) crucially, if the food was good!

Gf food can be expensive, ngl. The National Celiac Association has advice for how to save money on gf food, including a database of food pantries that set aside gf food for people who need it.

GF ~influencers~

If you want to follow some people who Get It, I like:

Phil Hates Gluten (on IG, TT, and YT) has EoE (another gluten-related autoimmune condition). He reviews gf food and restaurants and makes silly videos about the gf experience.

Robyn's Gluten-free Living on YouTube has gf baking videos and advice about traveling, eating at restaurants, saving money on gf food, and more.

Here on Tumblr, @gluttonysansgluten and @certifiedceliac (and I would love more recommendations for celiac related Tumblr accounts!)

Having celiac is really hard. But it does get easier.

I felt overwhelmed and honestly kind of doomed when I got my celiac diagnosis. For the first few months I felt like I couldn't trust any food and I was going to be totally excluded at all social events forever. It sucked. But then I got a lot of practice figuring out which foods were safe for me, advocating for myself at restaurants and when my friends were planning get-togethers involving food, and now things are really not that bad. And I feel way, way less sick.

If you feel overwhelmed or don't know how to interpret the 1 million sources online telling you what's gluten free, I really recommend seeing a dietician. Your best bet is a weight-neutral or HAES dietician who mentions celiac somewhere on their website or online profile. You can generally count on those folks to give you practical information about how to live with celiac, as well as emotional support as you adjust to what is probably a pretty big and stressful change in your life and how you view yourself!

You got this!

*Please do not talk about Cheerios on my post. Make your own.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

new room check

[queervegancryptid]

This one time, when I was at university, I went home for the summer because I had to, and while there, I didn't have access to my therapist. This was about 10 years ago, and telehealth wasn't a thing the way it is now. So I found a temporary new therapist in the community, and the experience was total bullshit, but I'm glad I did it, and here's why.

Well, first of all, I tried. I know I did my due diligence and tried my best to find a competent therapist. Only problem, I didn't have insurance, so I went to the local free clinic. I told them I was trans, so they put me with.... a cis guy who happened to be gay. Because I guess that's just the same thing.

Well, they tried. It's just that I also was in early recovery from anorexia and bulimia for the first time. He didn't listen so bad that two or three sessions in I was complaining about dysphoria related to periods, and you know what his solution was? Just lose as much weight as you can until your periods stop. This assclown was literally telling me to give myself amenorrhea, which would be bad for anyone, but given that I was trying not to backslide into actually starving myself again, it was absolutely the wrong take.

When I told him I was in recovery, and from what, it was clear he had no idea eating disorders were an issue for me. I said, flabbergasted, "It's in the file." And he just goes, "Everything's in the file!" Dismissive. Totally uncaring. He asked if they ever did stop when I was anorexic. When I said no, he asked if I had ever been "slim."

First you tell me to cause myself serious health complications. Then when I tell you why that's an especially bad thing, you imply I'm fat and have always been fat and so my eating disorder is to be dismissed as irrelevant and inconsequential to my needs as a client. Fuuuuuuuuuuck you.

It still pisses me off to think about it, but I'm proud to say I never went back to that guy. I'm happy I had the strength in that moment to realize he was being a dick, and I'm really happy I was able to tell the administrator, who'd known my family for years by that point, and that she was able to get him removed. If he's saying shit like that to me, what's he saying to other people?

tl;dr sometimes people become therapists even though they shouldn't and end up doing a shit job of it, and you gotta know when to walk away from somebody like that

I have gotten quite a few asks which can be summarized as "my therapist doesn't believe me and keeps blaming me for my problems, but I know I have to stick with therapy if I want to get better-", and I need everyone to realize that therapy isn't inherently good and effective, nor is it always necessary for getting better. Having a bad therapist can actually be more harmful to your recovery than not having one! If your therapist makes you worse or doesn't help you, it's okay to walk away, whether to find a new one or to find healing in something else. You are in fact not morally obligated to see a therapist just because you're mentally ill.

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[conkreetmonkey]

yk what. Maybe I will hop on the trend and take a break from American political news for a while. I don't even live there so it won't affect me, unless it does in which case Canadian news outlets will report on it. I trust my muties will let me know if the shit really hits the fan. There's no way I won't hear, anyway, my housemates are all pretty into the news anyway. I really don't stand to benefit from any of it, and in the situations where I genuinely need to be informed of something, I'll still find out. All it'll do is make me upset, and I really don't need that in my life rn. thx @gummy-worms-in-my-brain for suggesting it last night. I thought about what you said, and you were right, so. Blocking some tags, setting up some filters, all that jazz.