#i feel like i'm on crazy pills are before FOR REAL RIGHT NOW?!??!!!

[punkrogue]

some fucking idiot: when we say "magneto was right" we're saying he's right about society and shit not supporting his terrorist actions

me: don't lump in with your cowardly ass i'm in full throated support of his terrorism. sentinels, purifiers, the mardies etc are all real and exist and want mutants dead and literally no one gives a single shit. they'd rather pass the mutant registration act and make "scaly lives matter" jokes on twitter then help stop the genocide of mutants. it's a good thing actually he's blowing shit up and he should do more of it actually.

[silusvesuius]

nnnnnnnnnnnnno maa'am

[atinylittlepain]

Part One

no outbreak!joel miller x f!oc

series playlist

joel miller masterlist

series masterlist

She's tired. He's tired. They're neurotic. They're in love. Something needs to change. They need to change.

word count | 4.5K

chapter content info | 18+ angst, discussions of pregnancy, people being WASPy, marital squabbles that become something more serious some of the time, but also real, persistent love

a/n | listen, don't look at me. not gonna lie, it feels good to be back in the ring and i'm excited to share this one with y'all. special thanks to @wannab-urs for beta-ing and for encouraging me along with this one - love ya, twin.

................................................................................................................

He looks handsome and he’s getting on her nerves. She looks beautiful and he still doesn’t think it’s a good idea for her to go to this. She knows he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for her to go to this, but she thinks that’s bullshit, kid gloves that she doesn’t need from him, or from anyone for that matter. 

He could, but he doesn’t tell her that her left eye is twitching a little bit. Her left eye is twitching a little bit, she blinks hard every time she feels muscle starting to spasm, keeps her face turned away from him and toward the passenger side window. 

“What is it?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You keep sighing.” 

“I’m just tired.”

“It’s ten in the morning.”

“It’s been a long week.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“I meant last week then.” 

“Are you taking those multivitamins I got you?” 

“Uh, yeah.”

“I checked the bottle this morning and the safety seal is still on it.” 

“Cass.”

“What?”

“I don’t think a multivitamin is going to be the thing that makes me feel less tired.”

“I hate it when you say my name like that.”

“Okay, how should I say it?”

“Nevermind.” 

“What?”

“It’s fine, okay? Let’s just drop it, I don’t want to start the day like this.” 

“We’re not starting the day like anything, we’re just having a conversation.”

“Joel, please, I’m not doing this with you right now.” And he asks it before he can think much about it, knee-jerk and maybe a little mean, did you take your pills this morning?  Right, going for the nuclear option this morning, she lets out a clipped sound that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp and he wishes there were a way to pluck words out of the air and swallow them back down. And she knows that whatever she says to that is going to be a failure. If she gets angry, if she blows up, she’s crazy. If she informs him that she did, in fact, take her pills, then she’s a liar, because she did, in fact, not take her pills, so she’s even crazier, right. 

“You know, that’s a fucked thing to ask me.” Ring the bell because she’s won this round. He thinks about offering her an apology, a glance while they’re stopped at a red light that only affords him the slope of her cheek and her hair tucked behind her ear with the way her face is turned away from him. He sighs and it makes her shoulders hike up a little higher. 

There’s a spiral of pink balloons wrapped around the porch banister when they pull up, and of course there is a spiral of pink balloons wrapped around the porch banister, she thinks, because Tommy and Maria are having a girl, and that’s lovely, and she is going to smile when she gets out of the car because of how lovely that is. Already thinking about what her face will have to do to make that smile happen while he parks at the end of the driveway because they’re a little late, always a little late these days. At least they have a clear and present escape route, he thinks. 

“Here, let me.” He does, stays still while she runs her fingers up behind the collar of his shirt to smooth it down, and she thinks that she’s not the only one trying to buy a little more time. Made it out of the car, but still standing in front of the car, he has always liked the feeling of her palms splayed over his chest, hums and thanks her for fixing his collar, leans in for a quick smacking thing of a kiss that she gives back to him all ease, and he thinks that maybe they’ll get to be normal today. 

“Remind me again what we got them?”

“Bottle warmer and a set of swaddling blankets.”

“What, they can’t use hot water from the tap like everyone else?” That gets him a clipped laugh from her, and he knows he’s bordering on something tender that could snap and snarl if he says any more, so he takes the laugh and leaves it at that. She laughs, feels stupid for the heat that thickens and closes in behind it and hides the flush from him by collecting the gifts from the trunk. Pastel pink and perfect wrapping paper with thin ribbon curled and bouncing. She briefly considers how it would feel to rip it all to pieces. But no, none of that, because this is Tommy and Maria, and she loves Tommy and Maria, really, she does, so happy for Tommy and Maria. Happy, happy, happy. 

Maria is the one who opens the door, all smiles, all round because she made it to the third trimester. He glances at Cass as they enter into the usual greetings and congratulations, leaning hugs and Tommy somewhere in the fray. Cassandra thinks she’s doing a good job of smiling but she can’t really feel her mouth, letting her lungs collapse a little when Tommy pulls her in for a quick squeeze, hey, Cassie, good to see you. And maybe it’s the lack of pills in her system but is he? Is it? Verging a little close to hostage negotiator territory? Talking to her like she’s a skittish horse? Because, apparently, it’s not just Joel, but the whole clan who seems to expect her to have a hard time with this. His and Tommy’s parents smile and pet at her shoulders when they see her, that same so good to see you, as if they didn’t just see her a month ago for the fourth of July barbecue, as if she’s the one who’s–

“I appreciate y’all being here, I know Maria does too.” Everyone in the backyard even though it’s already pushing eighty degrees, linen dresses and blue jeans and fluted glasses filled with orange juice and something a little stiffer. He squints at Tommy, nods, of course, lets his eyes drift out over mingling friends and family, settling on Cass. She’s smiling, mouth moving around easy words in a small cluster of women. Her arm is curled across her stomach, elbow held in hand, drink held aloft. She is doing fine, he thinks, good. And of course she’s doing fine, everything fine, and he’s fine too. Her eyes catch his and her smile stays, and he feels one of his own, there and gone. They are doing fine.

“Is Cass, you know, doing alright?”

“Oh yeah, she’s doing fine.”

She can feel sweat starting to collect along the waistband of her underwear, a cool, nauseous shiver, so terrible running beneath the skin. Someone, she can’t remember the name, a friend of Maria’s, is saying something about tits. Well, she doesn’t use the word tits, no, that word couldn’t come out of her baby pink painted lips. Breasts, and Cassandra curls her lips back into her mouth to stop herself from offering up mammary glands, if you want to be so proper about it, smiling and mmhmming instead about stretch marks and leakage and sore, seaming skin. Not that she’d know anything about it, not really. But all the other women do, something close to sharing war stories, all the space the body can make, and what remains when it’s empty once again. Now that, empty, she knows a thing or two about empty. 

“You hear from Sarah lately?” 

“You wanna know what I hear from her? Is mom there? And then can you put her on?” Tommy laughs, continuing to make quick work out of carving up another watermelon, pink, pink, pink while Joel enjoys a second to breathe in the air conditioned kitchen. Almost eleven, and they’re going to do cake at almost eleven, and he supposes he doesn’t really know what the etiquette is for things like these so sure, he thinks, cake at almost eleven.

“I guess dad’s advice can only work for so long, huh?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s a freshman in college, man, you don’t remember what we were like at that age?” 

“I’d rather not, thanks.” And the truth is he remembers very little of that time. Playing at boy king, at living forever, and then the flashbang burst and bloom, obliteration and letting the shrapnel boomerang back together when Sarah came. And then, he thinks, back out on the porch and squinting at the sun threaded through the branches of an elm tree, then, it was a sort of crawl in those first few years. 

What he remembers, very little eye contact from anyone, and wanting it more than anything. Never expecting the father to be the one to stay, the very young, very bleary-eyed father who eventually learned to stop looking for other eyes to meet his. Yes, a crawl, kept his head down until one day, two-year-old in tow in the grocery store, looking at pouches of pureed sweet potatoes and peaches, someone ducked her head down alongside his, looked him in the eye, and asked him if it was his wallet she found at the end of the aisle. For the record, it wasn’t his, but he can’t remember who it got returned to any more. That Tina Turner song was playing over the speakers, he remembers that. What’s love got to do with it, what’s love got to do with a HEB on a Wednesday night? Just enough for him to keep going to the HEB on Wednesday nights, hoping to run into the woman who looked him in the eye and told him his daughter was beautiful and had his smile.

“How many do you and Joel have, Cassandra?” Must have been smiling and nodding a little too well to get that question from Sally, Sammy? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t care. Maria needs better friends, she thinks, or maybe just less of them for her to keep track of. 

“Oh, just one. Sarah started college this year actually.” And the usual sequence of snobbery that follows her sharing that detail. Yes, had her very young, yes, must be so proud, and she is proud, she can mean that yes, at least. 

“But she’s not yours, is that right?”

“Excuse me?” Excuse you, Sally, Sammy, whoever the fuck you are. Excuse you in your baby blue linen dress and your fuckass bob. Sally, Sammy, whoever the fuck she is, eats her words fast, quick flickers of french tips and well, I just mean, not yours biologically, you know, I think Maria mentioned something about you adopting her when you and Joel got married. Said with that pitch that winches higher and higher with each word like a question going nowhere. She clasps her hands behind her back and digs her nails into the soft of her palms until the urge to throttle Sally, Sammy, whoever the fuck she is passes.

“Yeah, well, she’s not mine in that way. But I’ve been in her life since she was two so, I think that matters a little more than if she slid out of my vagina.” Shit, slipped, should not have said that, gets a glossed gasp from the peanut gallery and she’s just glad Maria is off hostessing with other people right now, not bearing witness to the way she just slaughtered this conversation with the sharp of her words. Excuse her Sally, Sammy, whoever the fuck you are, and excuse her, all the rest of you, she needs to get out of the heat, out of the sun, out of whatever this is. 

He knows what looks mean what by now. A pinched brow, a frown that’s just barely a frown. She breezes past the kitchen with one hand pressed high against her stomach as if to make sure the rise and fall is still happening. Says her name once and she waves a hand behind her, already halfway down the hall and not turning around now,  sorry, just need the bathroom. Tommy’s eyes do that thing, that softening, slipping thing, looking at him and not asking the question, though it hangs in the air somewhere between them. He excuses himself, walks slowly enough that the bathroom door is already shut and locked by the time he gets to it. The faucet is running, all he hears when he says her name again, feeling like a perfect fool knocking on the door. Not the first time this has happened, and she feels more foolish every time it does. But he’s already asked her if she’s taken her pills today so at the very least, that question is out of the way. Or maybe he’ll ask it again, and maybe she’ll break something, and then report back to her OB-GYN who, for some reason, is the one prescribing her these pills, and tell her OB-GYN that she’s getting crazier and needs more pills that she’ll forget to take. Repeat ad nauseam. No, she thinks, too tired for any of that, two years too tired. She presses her fingers into her temples and closed eyes until the throb in her skull begins to still.

“Do you want to go home?” He doesn’t know how to handle this, not really. Seems to get it wrong more often than not, and sometimes his own frustration turns into meanness that makes it worse, he knows that. He doesn’t know how to deal with her any more, she knows that. The truth is she doesn’t even know how to deal with herself any more, everything always raw and hurting, blistered brain and aching heart and wilting like a frail, flimsy thing. She does alright keeping it tamped down most of the time, keeping it cool and closed off. But, there are times when it flares, like a thin flume of disease nested somewhere deep inside of her. During things like these, around people like these, and the month of April, forget about it. 

“I said something a little awful, I think.” Sheepish, the door still only cracked, enough that he can see that she isn’t crying so, little lift of relief in his chest, at least. 

“What’s that?” He slips in through the half-opened door and she lets him, shuts the door behind him and tells him, may have snapped, may have used the word vagina. It’s a relief to hear him laugh, a single breath of it like he’s not sure if he should. He touches her hand, her wrist, her elbow, little pulse points, half a tired smile.

“There are worse words to use.”

“Could have said cunt.” She shrugs and you’d think he’d have gotten used to her surprising him like that after sixteen years together, but it’s still a giddy little shock to the system, her brass and brash. Like another vital sign, so long as she has her fang she’s fine, at least he thinks so.

“Yeah, that.” He laughs again, coughs, heat flushing down fast in his face and there’s a quick kick in her chest at the sight, something dormant getting stirred up. She likes that look, coaxing that look out of him. The first time, way out of line and out of place, she thinks. Fresh out of college and buying condoms and pretzel rods at the HEB down the block from her apartment and she shouldn’t have, pretty guy, man, father with pretty brown eyes and a little girl in the seat of his shopping cart with pretty brown eyes like his and she shouldn’t have. Thought she was so smooth, pretending like the wallet she showed him wasn’t hers, like she had found it on the linoleum floor, yeah, so smooth, just looking for a reason to shuffle down the baby food aisle and talk to pretty guy, man, father. That same flush, that same smile, little shock, though he had caught her too, taking a sharp glance down at her basket before she could tuck it behind her legs. And then her turn, little shock when he made some joke about little late for me, for that, shrug and smile and yes, she thinks, she didn’t exactly love him right then and there, but whatever comes right before love, it was that. 

“Listen, if it’s getting to be too much for you we can–” Wrong, all wrong, sound in the back of her throat like a scoff that’s how wrong those words were.

“Why does everyone seem to think this is too much for me? It’s a fucking baby shower, not a, I don’t even know what. I’m fine, it’s fine. It’s Tommy’s and Maria’s day and I’m so happy for them that they’re having a–” It catches her off guard, the way the sound gets stuck in her throat, not quite a sob, but verging on it, hiccuping out the rest, a baby. He reaches for her arm again but she jerks it away, hands clasping opposite elbows, all tucked in on herself. 

“It’s okay if it’s not fine, you know, nobody is expecting you to–”

“Nobody is expecting me to keep it together, right?”

“Would you let me finish speaking?” No, never winning any points for patience, ever. Not too many for thinking before he speaks either. Her face crumples for a breath, if that, smoothing back out with a scoff, I’m so sorry, Joel, what were you going to say? No, not normal, not today. He wonders briefly how long they’ve been in the bathroom now, and whether they’ve been speaking loudly enough to draw attention to the fact of how long they’ve been in the bathroom now.

“You know what, forget it. If you say you’re fine then I guess you’re fine. Can we just get through fucking cake and leave, please?” She’s very good at this, at turning herself off, something cool and distant slipping over her eyes, her face, shoulders rolled back sharp. Of course, she says, whatever you say, she says, doesn’t give him another glance as she opens the bathroom door. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t standing here long, just waiting to use the–” 

“Cunt.”

“I’m sorry?” 

“Cut– I had a cut and I needed Joel to look at it but I’m fine, right, Joel? Aren’t I fine?” She doesn’t give him a chance to answer that, doesn’t give Sally, Sammy, whoever the fuck she is a chance to say any more either, already moving past both of them and back toward the sound of laughter and cake, fucking cake about to happen. 

He needs to keep his mouth shut, all he can figure. Keep his mouth shut and maybe, maybe, they’ll get through fucking cake without any more seams splitting. Nothing like this when Sarah came, no balloons, no perfectly frosted and tiered cake with a whole cluster of people around it, and he thinks briefly that maybe he’s the one who isn’t fine being here. Like an ache, or an absence, a place inside of him that has been scooped out and left empty. He doesn’t let himself get sad about it often, mostly because he’s too busy being angry about it with (at?) Cass. But he feels it now, a sinking, swimming feeling that weighs everything down, slow to smile when Maria hands him a plate with a slice of cake on it. 

She takes a plate and pushes around globs of pink icing with her fork for a while, standing in another cluster of people she doesn’t really know, one of the women commenting on how good she’s being when she sets her plate down on the kitchen counter, smile and laugh, though the truth is she’s not sure she could stomach pretty pink icing right now. A small mercy when Tommy steps over alongside her and effectively relieves her of having to continue pretending to be interested in a conversation about kitchen remodels. 

“Looking a little green, Cassie, you alright?”

“I think the heat got to me, but I’ll survive. Congratulations again, you guys are going to be great, really.” And she hopes he interprets the pitch, the little catch of her words as a good emotion that is entirely for him and his family. Not anything else, not anything that would be entirely ridiculous and well, crazy, on her part. 

“I just want to say thank you again for giving us all that furniture, and the clothes, we really–”

“Oh of course, Tom, you did us a favor taking all that stuff. It’s not like we were going to–” Going to what? She doesn’t finish that sentence, and Tommy doesn’t need her to, already nodding, already that look in his eyes that she has come to recognize as thinly-concealed pity. Not like they were ever going to have a use for that furniture, those clothes, not again, not after. A foreclosed room in their house that stayed as silent and shut up as a tomb, and then the happy, happy, happy news from Tommy and Maria and of course, they said, take whatever you want, take it all, actually. The room is empty now. The door stays closed. 

He wants to leave and he wants to leave now. The walls creeping in closer and that hollow thing in between his ribs starting to ache and twinge. He catches her eyes from across the room and it takes little else for a knowing to pass between them, both of them already moving, already starting a string of polite goodbyes, friends and family, sorry, yes, really have to go, it’s becoming hard to breathe, really have to go. 

Early in the afternoon and the sun so bright it makes him a little dizzy when they step outside. He follows the sound of her heels on the sidewalk back to the car, relief in the closing of the door, in settling into the driver’s seat. 

She feels like her brain is deflating in her skull. Enough normal for the day, don’t ask her for any more than that. She props her head in her hand and lets her eyes unfocus, turning the suburban streets they're driving through into pale blurs of minivans and basketball hoops. And there is little fanfare to what happens next, she glances at him once, then looks out the window, hears a metallic clink, and when she looks at him again, there’s a cigarette dangling from his lips. It’s so absurd, so out of nowhere, that she has to laugh. 

“Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t know. Tommy’s a bad influence.”

“Tommy quit.”

“Well then I did him a favor finishing off all his packs.”

“Joel.”

“Yes?”

“How did I miss you picking up smoking again?”

“It’s not like I do it around the house, I know you don’t like the smell.”

“Oh, but you’re happy to trap me in the car with it?” 

“The windows are down.”

“Secondhand smoke.”

“Would you prefer to get out at the next red light?” 

“You know, you’re probably gonna die before me. Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m serious. Statistically speaking, men die first–”

“I wonder why.”

“Cardiac events.”

“That tracks.” 

“You’re already two years older than me and now you’re doing shit like this and I’m probably gonna be like, sixty-eight and a widow, and then I’ll die of stress from being a sixty-eight-year-old widow.” 

“Are you done?” 

“Oh fuck you–”

“Hey.”

“No, what next, huh? Are you gonna ask me if I took my pills again?”

“Well, did you?” 

“That’s not the point.”

“Jesus Christ, Cass, it’s like you don’t even want to get better, you don’t even try.” Silence, she doesn’t fire back, doesn’t make a sound, her lips parted around a wordless frown. The only noise is the turn signal clicking as he pulls into a gas station, his heart sunk down low in his chest, shrinking back in on itself. Too far, too mean, and not even knowing what he was saying until he said it, until she was looking at him in a devastated crumple. 

He parks beside a pump but doesn’t get out, doesn’t move at all, really. Waiting. For what, he isn’t sure. When he looks at her again, that stricken look is gone, something slackening, something tired settled in its place. 

“Do you remember when you stopped shaving and you asked me if your beard looked stupid and I told you it didn’t?” 

“Uh, yes.” 

“I lied. Your beard does look stupid.” And with that, she’s out of her seat, out of the car, and clipping fast toward the convenience store, not sparing him another look. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. 

The light flickers a little in the convenience store bathroom when she flips it on, locking the door behind her just as the first sob shudders up and out of her throat. She doesn’t look in the mirror, she has no use for that, just grips the edge of the sink and allows herself this, a few minutes to get the worst of it out. 

He had finished pumping gas ten minutes ago when she comes back out with a bottle of snapple lemonade tucked under her arm. She has been crying, he can see. He doesn’t know why she always hides it from him. It catches him off guard when she walks around the front of the car to stand in front of his rolled-down window, something bordering on sheepish in the set of her expression, her eyes doing a quick loop from her feet back up to him.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t think your beard is stupid.”

“Okay.”

“I like it, think you look handsome with it.”

“Honey, will you get in the car, please?” She does, offers him the bottle of lemonade and they both take a swig, waiting for whatever words are supposed to come next. A car honks at them, still at the pump, and he has enough sense to wave an apology behind his head and pull over into a parking spot instead.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Cass? That was a stupid thing for me to say. I didn’t mean that.” She wants to say no, not a stupid thing to say, not unfair, not really. But that would be an admission she doesn’t want to make, so she nods, accepts his apology, both of them having a hard time looking at the other, suddenly so interested in the brick wall of the convenience store. 

“We can’t keep doing this.” She doesn’t realize how much she means that until she’s done saying it. Finally saying it, this truth they have been scrapping and snapping around for months now. He says, no, we can’t, and she braces for impact, anticipating the worst, the nuclear option, and she wouldn’t blame him for it. But that blow doesn’t come. He takes her hand over the center console, as simple as anything, and she is reminded again of how much she loves him. 

“Something has to change.”

“I think so.”

“We can figure this out, can’t we?”

“It’s us.” As if that’s an answer, though he still nods, repeats it back to her, it’s us. It’s them. They can’t keep doing this. They have to change. They can figure this out, can’t they?

[i-smoke-chapstick]

hiiii! I hope you’re doing well!!

I saw the post about Gotham X readers and I was wondering if you could write a Dom!riddler x fem!sub!reader smut where he doesn’t let reader finish until she gets his riddles right and it leads to her being overstimulated?

Thanks in advance!

‘THE HILLS,

-GOTHAM!EDWARD NYGMA X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Since killing oswald, ed’s at a breaking point and needs to get his mojo back.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!riddler x female reader. smut!! pure porn, no plot. sub/dom dynamics. orgasm denial. degradation, dumbification of reader. Eddie needs to let some frustrations out. First time writing penetrative sex so hopefully it’s good! Also, thank you anon, i love this idea.

♫ “When I'm fucked up, that's the real me” The Hills by The Weeknd

Oh, he's been an absolute wreck. Ever since the falling out with Oswald, hyped on those god forsaken pills. You catch him mumbling to himself often, yelling and screaming at his reflection at night. You can hardly sleep.

He's absolutely fucked up. You can tell. You've known him forever, and you know the signs. The sweat on his brow, disheveled hair, loose tie. His hands rub together insistently, babbling on to you. He needs a nemesis, a stress reliever. He tells you about the hallucination of Oswald- he needs a replacement. Something to fuel him, make him the Riddler he knows he is.

So, you offered your...technique. It was simple- just distract him for a moment from his desperate scheming. He looked at you like you were absolutely crazy at first.

"...You want to what?" He growled out, slowly, legs sprawled across an arm chair, rubbing his temple. He looked like a mess. A hot mess.

After elaborating, he still looked at you incredulously. His mind was racing with thoughts, about how this could fix him. Before you knew it, he was gradually standing up, wrapping a hand around your throat and gently kissing you.

The soft and gentle kisses turned more and more raw. His hands gripped tight around your throat, sure to leave a mark, and he groaned as he held your leg up. You messily and hastily kissed your way to the bedroom; which is where you are now.

His suit jacket thrown on the floor, your blouse unbuttoned. You lay bare beneath him, gasping for air between hot open-mouthed kisses he lays everywhere.

"Ed-" You struggle out, feeling his fingers plunge inside you. It's a bit painful, and he only mumbles incoherently, he's in a hurry.

"SHUT up." He growls out against you, "I'm thinking."

His fingers rapidly work on you, prepping you as fast as possible. You whimper and he doesn't seem to pay any attention. When the sounds of your wet slick finally fill the room in messy, sopping noises- he looks up at you with his glasses on his face.

He raises himself up from your thighs, staring at you with a vague look of intrigue. It's a small gesture to ask if you're ready.

When you nod, he buries himself in to the crook of you're neck.

"...Wonderful." He whispers.

He finally breaks out in a shit-eating grin, giggling maniacally at your pleading writhing form.

Removing his fingers, his grin stands still, and suddenly rams his cock inside your slit.

You both let out an embarrassingly loud noise at this, his low groan filling the room as he grimaces in pleasure. You feel your eyes roll back as he rams himself into you, filling you up to the hilt. His hand grasps your neck once more, slightly choking you.

He mumbles theatrically in your ear, and you realize just why he wanted to do this.

"I can fill a room with just one heart. Others can have me, but I can't be shared," He begins, thrusting into you. He struggles to speak himself as he feels you clench around his member. "What am I?"

You want to scream at him, damn riddles. You swallow when he drags his cock along your cunt and chokes you a bit more, as to prompt an answer.

"L-love?" You stumble out, only to yelp when his face contorts into rage. His movements stop and you whine.

"What...? No." He snarls at you, and looks down on you- like your the stupidest, weakest, most pathetic thing he's ever seen. "No!?...The- the answer is loneliness?!"

He rolls his eyes, jaw clenched. He continues his degradation with another harsh squeeze to your throat and an agonizingly slow thrust.

"How do you not know that?" He taunts you, anger on his face. But you can see it in the glint of his eyes. He's enjoying this.

He huffs as his thrusts gradually slow down.

"Second." He mutters, feigning exasperation- as if dealing with you, fucking you- is the most tiresome thing in the world. As if he's so above you in every way.

"I can be a member of a group, but never blend in. What am I?" You feel your orgasm building up beside yourself- the way he's choking you out and has you going dumb around his cock.

When you feel the knot building up inside you, you don't answer- and he stops in his tracks.

"I give up!" You whine, incoherently, trying to bounce for any friction, but he has you pinned in place. Tall frame hanging over you. "I give up," You plead- and something in him snaps.

His hand shoves your neck even further in the mattress, and a loud slap rings out. You feel the burning on your cheek and look up at him stunned. It doesn't hurt too badly, and all you can do is struggle to regain your breath. You let out a deep inhale and feel his dick slip back and forth between your pussy lips.

He looks at you, a bit pitifully, and a bit disappointed- wrathful. His teeth are bared and he looks desperate.

"Answer me." He growls out in your ear, and you rack your brain for an answer.

His cock is teetering inside you, teasing you- fucking you at whichever pace he decides. It's leisurely and steady, and you swear you can feel him stretching you out beyond you thought was possible. You need more.

"An individual." You finally settle on, having vaguely read it in a riddle book when you were younger. Your words come out in a whine; and look to him for approval.

He seems a bit upset that you've answered correctly, stopping the fun. But in a huff, he praises you.

"...Good." He hisses, and decides to finally give you what you want. He gradually speeds up and your orgasm builds repeatedly, and you feel fulfilled.

Until...he stops, one last time.

You grab him by his hair, frustrated beyond belief, before he whispers.

"Call me the Riddler." Is all he says, and you look him in the eye. He's lost in pleasure too, and you can tell he's fighting for control as well. It's strangely vulnerable, and comes off as more of a plead. Desperate for release himself; as if he isn't the architect for his own frustration.

"Please," You decide to let him win, "Riddler, please...!" You breathe shakily, whining the words.

And with that, he finally lets himself go.

His hips slam into you relentlessly- chasing his own climax. It's hard and rough and fast, and his fingertips dig into your neck. He's baring his teeth again and grunting, pushing you both into the mattress. He captures your lips and tongue in a kiss when he finally spasms inside of you, both of you reaching your peak. The aftershocks hit you hard, and he buckles overtop of you, cock still twitching inside.

He collapses into your shoulder, and he's mumbling and muttering and ranting unintelligible "thank you's" and apologies for hitting you.

Funny enough, it's the most relaxed you've seen him in weeks.

[paragonraptors]

YEHAW DA:V REVEAL THOUGHTS BELOW!!

Overall: Feeling so excited for this game. I'm climbing up the walls. I can't believe that was 20 minutes, it felt like 10. Need this in my hands yesterday.

What I liked:

-Holy fuck wow wow wow the hair looks like nothing I've seen in a video game before.

-Combat seems very different but also a natural progression of gameplay past. Real-time turn-based was always a little on the clunkier side, and while it never really bothered me, moving towards something more ME-style was expected. Very excited about being able to aim a bow. Would like to know what difficulty they were showcasing bc I'm considering jumping right into a Nightmare run.

-Now that I've been soulsborne-pilled the prospect of a parry mechanic has me buzzing.

-I feel like people are gonna dunk on the "stiffer" animation, but I prefer it so much more than the BG3/HZD constant wobbling. It'll make the key performances stand out instead of mostly jangling keys in front of a baby and letting the big moments get lost in the sauce. (Not that the aformentioned games didn't have good animation, just. If your characters don't need to move their whole body to convey dialogue I'd prefer if they didn't.)

-The sublety in the facial animations is CRAZY.

-The roleplay dialogue seems really reactive!! And the cuts to inject the unique dialogues feels smooth. I'm sure there will still be moments where it's easy to tell, but still cool. Seems like they're gonna be paying more attention to your personality type like DA2 too.

-So excited about Harding and Neve as companions and can't wait to meet everyone else.

-Neve's staff/wand makes me excited to see what kinds of focus options we'll get as a mage AAAA.

-God the costumes have so much swag. One of my hottest of many BG3 takes was that the costumes were overall flavorless. (Really hoping they didn't change the Grey Warden uniforms though that would really disappoint me.)

-Cinematography looks fantastic. Lots of well set up shots.

-NGL I felt something when Solas showed up. Wasn't expecting that. And while not perfect, I liked his interaction with Varric. Their relationship from Inquisition really slips under the radar if you're not bothering to look.

-Varric has never gotten over the trauma of what happened with Anders and it breaks my heart in a good way. God you could see it in his eyes!! [chef's kiss]

-However, I definitely have to kill Solas now for what transpired in this preview.

What I'm iffy about:

-The voice peformances feel a bit stilted. Not really what I'm used to from Bioware and I feel like it's important when the animations are more subdued. Hopefully this feeling will change when I get more of the game.

-The dialogue also felt a bit dumbed down. "Solas is doing his ritual!" "Yes. Solas' ritual. The ritual that we have to stop." Again, hopefully this is symptomatic of a tutorial level/trying to onboard newbies quickly and not the whole game lol. While I prefer this to dialogue that tries to sound smarter than it is, I'm really hoping we see an overall improvement from Inquisition.

-Sort of wish they went with the Andromeda dialogue system instead of bringing back Inquisition's, but I do like that it seems all dialogue options are getting tonal indicators again and they're not as easily conflated with morality. (Though I imagine people will STILL interpret it that way.)

-A little confused about them introducting Minrathous' panopticon shit and then immediately swerving into Solas' ritual. Would have liked some breathing room on that kind of worldbuilding.

- While I'm generally open minded about the change, I Do Not Love not being able to switch to playing companions. Might turn around on this if your ability to issue them commands opens up the closer you are to them/the more you grow into a leadership role. I do like that it seems you will eventually be able to command when they use abilities a la OG Mass Effect bc that was my biggest beef with the Andromeda gameplay, esp on Nightmare/Insanity difficulty.

-Not crazy about the new Pride demon design where are their leggies.

-Not really a Criticism, but they are definitely setting up for Varric to die and while I get it, narratively, I'm NOT HAPPY. Dragon Age has been almost allergic to scripted deaths so it's also gonna feel like being dunked in an ice bath. EVIL STUFF. IN DENIAL.

[meandhisjohn]

News from a crazy mind...

Sherlock, mental health and the support from a fandom.

When Sherlock becomes what the doctor ordered....

100 days lie between those moments.

100 days since I wanted to die.

100 days since I emailed Dignitas.

100 days full of struggle and hope.

100 days later I made it out of hell again.

A handful of people who showed me unconditional love during the hardest setback of my disorder career.

I will love them till the day I die.

And once again the Sherlock world saved my soul before I destroyed it myself.

A fandom full of kindness and support and a detective and a doctor who saved me in more ways than they can ever imagine.

Had a doctors appointment on Friday and I have one hell of a doctor.

Not as good as John Watson but highly supportive of anything that increases my strength.

We talked about a little miracle.

A miracle that sounds so incredibly stupid but it is such a huge thing.

For the past five years I have to take besides my regular medication in mornings and in the evenings a little extra cocktail of meds in the afternoon to keep my extreme nervousness in check.

I'm nervous and tense 24/7 and it takes a toll on my body sometimes.

It makes it very hard to sleep and to find a way to sit still.

So the extra meds are necessary..

Ten days ago I started to listen to Podfics and quickly discovered a new way to enjoy the Sherlock universe.

I'm 43 years old and retired since I was 39 because my body couldn't take the stress anymore.

I have some free times during the day and I made it a habit for the past ten days to listen to Podfics in the afternoon and again at night.

And suddenly I could sleep and, and here comes the miracle..

I forgot to take my afternoon meds.

Even more my body relaxed in a way I haven't experienced in decades.

My body was obviously as surprised as I am because since a few days I have to drink a coffee in the afternoon, otherwise I would fall asleep.

I can only drink coffee without caffeine which tastes awful but otherwise my nervousness goes through the roof and I shake like a leaf.

But now instead of taking an extra dose of anxiety relief pills I take a real good old black coffee full of caffeine after listening to Podfics.

And that sounds incredibly ridiculous but for me it is a miracle because for the first time in over 15 years I feel calm and not because of a chemical reaction but because of a human reaction.

I know @totallysilvergirl had no idea what would happen by telling me about Podfics but I will never forget it!

Back to my incredible doctor who saw the change from a person who was determined to end this endless circle of depression and anxiety to a person who smiles again.

Now he ordered a six months try of daily Podfics ( no joke) to see if my blood levels improves and accordingly my medication can be reduced.

He knows that in the past three years my disorder was always better during my Sherlock highs so he is actually happy about the new development.

Long story short ( too late I know)

Do whatever feels right for you!

Invent your own therapy!

Do what makes you happy no matter how unconventional it might be.

Because you matter!!!!

I attach you my new and exciting Podfic collection for you.

Maybe you will find something you like.

Of course everything is available in Reading form as well.

Be happy in your own, weird, wonderful way.

@keirgreeneyes @discordantwords @a-victorian-girl @bewitched-bullet @lisbeth-kk @whatnext2020 @inevitably-johnlocked @barachiki @babaybo @jobooksncoffee @rey-jake-therapist @missdeliadili @helloliriels @podfixx @johnlocky @johnlockpodficclub @johnlockficclub @peanitbear @strawberrywinter4 @chocolate1elise @kettykika78

[sergle]

i had someone tell me chiro wasnt real and wasn't doing anything for me in the same breath they told me to try cbd oil 🫢

SCREAAMMMMM I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me to just go align my chakras instead. also god I love being told by other people that it isn't Doing Anything to me. like DAMN THAT'S CRAZY... Ig when I've fucked my neck so badly that I can't turn my head to the right, and I'm able to finally get range of motion back again only after getting a chiro adjustment, that must be like a sugar pill thing or something. Or when I have a tension migraine that won't go away for days and days but dissipates after an adjustment. Or when being bedridden with back pain was a common occurrence before I started going to a chiro regularly and now I can go on walks and hikes without my lower back seizing up. Or how my carpal tunnel improved when she started loosening up my wrists. But I guess it doesn't "do anything". I must be fully imagining it. It must just be some woo-woo mind shit. I should probably just smoke some weed and that will physically heal my entire body. I should probably just drive to oklahoma city and pay some extra for a PT to tell me to do some of the exact same stretches my chiro advises me to do, and advise some of the exact same habit changes my chiro has mentioned, and to perform some of the exact same adjustments, but call them "manual therapy" instead. Oh, PTs don't do "adjustments", they simply put their hands on you and manipulate your muscles/joints to alleviate pain, loosen you up, and feel for small misalignments. Which is fucking exactly what a chiropractor does.

[wirewitchviolet]

People really need to shout "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT!?" at bigots more often.

So I just kinda absently clicked a link to a super post of those comics with the stick figure and the "pills that make you turn green," which was neat since I only knew about the original. And I'm scrolling down through them all while also doing something else on my second monitor, sort of on autopilot, and ending up not only down in the comments but deep enough into them where the weird bigots start showing up and I see this quote from a weird bigot (skip the bold quotey bits if you don't want this garbage in your life):

BIGOT: "I feel like this is a major over simplification of what it's supposed to be an analog to. By all means, if you're happy transitioning, i won't stop you. But it's a procedure that is irreversable, and i believe it should only be taught to kids at the same age that they're being taught about the birds and the bees at the parents' disgression Any earlier and its edging on, if not, is teaching the birds and the bees to Minors"

RANDOM NORMAL PERSON: "teaching children about trans people isn't enforcing anything on them except hopefully empathy and knowledge, and acceptance if they are indeed trans"

BIGOT AGAIN: "while you're not wrong, you shouldn't teach them about it till they start experiencing puberty. Which is around middle school, which happens to be when they teach sex ed at the Parents Discression

My qualms come with teaching it to kids younger than that. If you want to teach your kids about it from a younger age, do it at home. But you shouldn't do it for the parents before then and even after you do it at the parents' discretion."

Another person whose brain works comes along and is baffled at this person talking about having sex when the subject is... children being aware that trans people exist. But you know, passively.

BIGOT REALLY GOING MASK OFF NOW: "it is a sex thing. You are going through the act of irreversably changing things about your body that are inherently sex related. Therefore, they should be taught alongside other sex related topics in the appropriate manner and time"

Now, the real thing to do here is as soon as this person starts foaming at the mouth and screaming gibberish, you ideally have them removed from the conversation/venue for being a weird violent hatemonger shouting nonsense, but since you can't do that in every possibly context, sometimes you have to engage the person. Here's how that should look if someone pops off like this face to face:

BIGOT: "I feel like this is a major over simplification of what it's supposed to be an analog to. By all means, if you're happy transitioning, i won't stop you. But it's a procedure that is irreversable-"

YOU: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

Because see here we have the first instance of this weird bigot shouting baffling nonsense scare words that make no damn sense. What "procedure" is this crackpot here even talking about? You stop them dead, and refuse to let them move on until they explain what they mean. Having seen enough of these in the wild, I will tell you right now that this is almost certainly operating on the deranged bigot logic of "if someone says they are trans they are a crazy man pretending to be a woman and if they say they are transitioning that means they convinced a doctor to cut their genitalia off with a giant pair of scissors and there's no way to ever sew that back on!"

This of course has absolutely no basis in reality whatsoever. This is like... "if you listen to rock and roll music you'll be possessed by the devil and do drugs and get pregnant!" levels of crazy nonsense you can't just say out loud in public without revealing you're some kind of crackpot who doesn't live in reality. You just hold them to this and get them to admit that they are spewing absolute nonsense that makes zero sense in context and hey, nobody else in earshot is going to take this creep seriously and they might even be cowed out of moving on to their next propaganda point.

In this particular case you can also point out that in this specific context (and most other times this comes up, honestly) people are quite specifically talking about a comic metaphorically talking about how silly it is that when people start HRT we have to sign a big huge scary looking consent form that goes "hey, you do realize that if you take this combination of medications that makes your body produce less of these chemicals and more of these other chemicals your body is going to gradually change to be like everyone else's with that ratio right?" And that uh... totally is reversible. If you don't have enough estrogens and have too many androgens, you take one of these things to block production of the latter and these other things to supplement the former. Other way around? Just supplement the androgens, they conveniently suppress estrogen production at the right dosage. If for some reason you decide you don't like that new ratio (or you're freaking out over how people react), just... stop doing that. If it turns out your body fell out of the habit of producing the right ratio somehow, supplement accordingly. It's not really a big deal?

OUR BIGOT IN A HYPOTHETICAL WORLD WHERE BEING SHOUTED DOWN DIDN'T MAKE THEM STOP: "i believe it should only be taught to kids at the same age that they're being taught about the birds and the bees-"

YOU: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

Again, just cut this weirdo off. Don't let them keep rushing feverishly through the propaganda bullet points. Demand to know what, exactly, they're worried about being "taught to kids." Like... are we in fact just talking about the concept that trans people exist out there in the world? Because that's a completely absurd and indefensible position to hold. You don't even need to argue back against that one. Being trans is roughly as common as people having red hair. Fairly rare sure, but common enough that if you want to treat that as some sort of forbidden knowledge you're gonna have to keep that kid on like some sort of cult compound with no media access and like... why would you even want to do this?

Maybe they're willing to play the cards on the table that what they really have a problem with is letting trans kids know that being trans is a thing, and that they have options on the table that will allow them to actually lead a good happy life. Again, a pretty damn weird thing to object to, that kind of outs someone as a crank. You could maybe drill deeper on that. Does this person have a kid they suspect is trans? Are they in denial about that and abusing their child to try and "fix them?"

For taht matter, are we still in a world where this person is really conspicuously emphasizing this weird desire to live in a world where sex education isn't taught to children until after they hit puberty? And then only at their parents' discretion, like they kept repeated over and over when given free reign? Because that is a whole other can of worms that someone should really be opening up and interrogating the hell out of.

Like hey... the whole point of sex education is to make sure kids have some basic idea of what sex is prior to any situation where they might be taken advantage of sexually, contract an STI, and/or have some sort of pregnancy scare. You kinda want to get on that as early as you can reasonably expect the kid in question to comprehend what you're even warning them about, and it's kind of a huge red flag when you see people going "only if their parents are OK with it though!" Because like... why the hell wouldn't you be OK with it? The only reasons I can think of are A- you are sexually abusing your child and don't want someone to explain how these things you are doing to them are Bad Actually and they should tell someone, or B- you are confident enough that you have such complete control over where your child is and what your child is doing at every moment of every day that there is no way in hell said child will ever be involved in anything sexual without your direct approval. That one is also abusive, to be clear, and also stupid because we've already established your child is in public school, so, NOT, in fact, under your watchful eye at all times.

And of course, there is again no reason to let a bigot ramble unchecked long enough to get to this point, beyond this being tumblr and moderation being hard to come by of course, but it should go without saying there is absolutely no connection at all between being trans and having sex. It's just a weird association bigots have because A- they are constantly trying to paint trans people as sexual deviants, and B- there is a... really alarming overlap between people who hate trans people and... people who I... don't want to discuss when I'm trying to keep this fairly light... but uh... see option A in the previous paragraph.

Anyway this is all getting way off topic but hey, I'm all for small children being aware that trans people exist and people making it known to young children that being trans is a thing they maybe are, in the interest of... you know, NOT forcing little girls whose parents really badly want them to be little boys to fake it, fail, and get beaten to a pulp by their peers for being weird, and vice versa, and little enbies from also dealing with some variation of this, etc. Let'em all be themselves, and let their weird parents get over it.

But yeah, bigots. Cut them off when they start talking. Interrogate every point as they bring them up. Don't let anything fly. Force them to either admit the horrible agenda they're trying to push today, or the fact that their beliefs are too awful to state in polite society and flee. And be rude and angry about it.

[hollywoodxwhore]

Ours | Chapter 13

Colson x Presley (Original Female Character)

Synopsis: Presley and Colson fell in love accidentally, but they were meant to be. Now that all the obstacles have been removed, they're moving in together in LA. Now, they have all the time in the world for Colson to teach Presley all of the things he knows. This fic is the sequel to Mine, which can be found in my masterlist!

Warnings/Content: shit's about to get real so PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! Almost suicide attempt, panic attacks, suicidal ideation/discussion, Big Fucking Sad (I'm serious y'all, it's sad as fuck), swearing, mentions of guns and pills, hospital trip

PLEASE take care of yourself and skip this if you think it's going to be triggering. Without giving too much away, there are pretty graphic descriptions of thoughts leading up to an almost suicide attempt. I promise if you skip this chapter it won't mess up the plot too much for you. I love y'all.

Colson

Presley isn’t answering me.

I’ve called about a thousand times and sent twice as many texts. Nothing. Her phone is on do not disturb. I get that she needs space, but the state of my mental health is scary right now and I’m not thinking perfectly logically. In the forefront of my mind is a voice telling me that she’s done with me, that this is just too much to handle and that she’s going to leave. That she’s already left.

As it nears the evening and she still hasn’t reached out, my panic reaches new heights. I call her once more, praying that she’ll answer, but it goes straight to voicemail. I try to control my shaky breathing as I prepare to leave a message. I haven’t left any voicemails but maybe if she hears my voice, she’ll realize how sorry I am.

“Pres,” I say, and instantly, my throat is thick with emotion as more tears spill from my eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight and I had no right to talk to you that way. Please come home, baby. Please. I need you.” I pause for a second, then hang up just in time for a sob to rip itself from my chest. I let the phone clatter onto the island as I drop my head into my hands. 

I pick up the phone and call Ashleigh. It rings several times, then goes to voicemail. Slim, too. When it happens with Rook, a cold fear causes sweat to prickle on my skin. They’re all ignoring me. I’ve fucked up too badly this time. I jump to my feet and pace. My hands are damp with sweat and shaking like crazy. My breath is shallow and my stomach is in knots. 

“Fuck,” I whimper, tearing my hands through my hair. What am I going to do? Everyone thinks I’m an abuser. Everyone I love is going to turn on me. I’m going to lose Presley, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The abuse allegations are going to ruin my career.

What do I have left?

Absolutely fucking nothing.

I’ve struggled with my mental health for…pretty much my entire life. I can remember feeling overwhelmingly sad, even as a young kid, even before my mom left and my dad went off the deep end. It got worse when my mom left, of course. My abandonment issues started there, at the ripe age of nine. And then my dad completely changed. The abuse started and the loving father I knew was just…gone. 

I have great friends. I have an insanely perfect wife. My mom is back in my life. But do they want to be in my life? Do they want to be friends or family with someone whose mental state is so precarious? A tortured artist with mood swings and allegations up to his fucking eyeballs. If I were no longer in their lives…would they care? And if they did care, wouldn’t they be able to get over it?

Would it really matter if I was gone? 

I own guns. Several. A shotgun just because I thought it was cool, a couple of handguns. They’re all locked in a safe and haven’t been removed for years now other than to be cleaned. My hands twitch at my sides. Then, I shake my head. Presley would be the one to find me, and even if she’s done with me, I can’t do that to her.

But what if I take some pills and just…fall asleep? Never wake up? That won’t leave a mess. 

What if I send a text to someone else so they find me first? I can leave the door unlocked and they’ll find me. Presley won’t have to. 

Suddenly, I’m numb. The tears dry up and my hands stop trembling, and a wave of calm washes over me. I always knew I’d die young, I just didn’t know when. Everything is screaming at me that it’s now. This is when I leave. 

I grab a fifth of Jack Daniels from the fridge, then go to our medicine cabinet and gather what I need. But then, a sound makes me freeze. A knock on the door. I blink and try to focus, wondering if it’s all in my head. But then another knock sounds. I swallow hard and put my supplies back. I wipe sweaty hands on my legs and then wipe my face. I know I look like hell, and I have no idea who’s at the door. Hell, it could be cops coming to arrest me for domestic abuse charges. Longingly, I look at the cabinet, but another knock shakes me out of it and I hurry to the door.

I look through the peephole and my heart jumps into my throat when I see that it’s Cash. It may not be Presley, but it is her twin, and it is the person whose house she slept at last night. I open the door quickly and Cash immediately analyzes me. We don’t even say anything to each other as he studies me. “Hey,” he says quietly, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re…not okay, are you?”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement. Still, I hang my head and then shake it, throat tightening once again with the threat of tears. Cash sighs and steps into the house, shutting the door behind him. He kicks off his shoes and steps forward, and then he’s hugging me. 

Cash and I are close. He’s my brother in law, and despite what happened in the past, I’m happy to give him the title of my brother. But we’re not hug-while-we’re-crying-and-falling-apart close. Still, I sink into the embrace. A deluge of tears flows onto my cheeks and all of a sudden, I’m not just crying, I’m having a full-blown panic attack.

I can vaguely hear Cash saying my name but my ears are ringing too loud for me to be sure. My whole body has gone numb and tingly; I can’t feel any of my limbs which only makes me panic more. My knees give out and I fall to the floor, but Cash stays wrapped around me. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but they’re words of comfort. I’ve never lost it quite this badly in front of someone before, and I find myself glad that it isn’t Presley, or even Slim or Ash. Cash has known me the least amount of time and for some reason, it’s easier to break down in front of him.

“...Colson. Colson!” I’m so stunned by the fact that he’s calling me Colson and not Kells that I snap out of my attack, just a little. The ringing in my ears intensifies and then eases up, which makes me feel like I can breathe again. Slowly, the numbness fades but the tingles stay, and all of a sudden, I’m shaking like a leaf. But at least I’m breathing again and I can focus on Cash.

“Deep breaths, brother. C’mon,” he soothes, and I understand why he and Presley are so close. He’s great at this whole comfort thing. I do as I'm told, even though my breaths are shaky and ragged at first. But Cash continues to sit with me, his arms wrapped around me, my body leaning on his, and we breathe together. 

I have no idea how long we’re sitting on the floor before Cash takes a final deep breath and lets out a little chuckle. “Jesus. You scared me for a second,” he mutters, and the calmness in his voice makes me realize how trivial this all feels. Megan told a straight up lie. I didn’t even do anything wrong. The only thing I did wrong was to take it out on Presley. And all because she left I was going to, what, kill myself? Jesus Christ. 

When I realize that I would’ve gone through with that stupid decision if Cash hadn’t shown up, I start to tremble all over again. I let out a pathetic whimper. Even though it would’ve been self-inflicted, the near-death experience brings a rush of adrenaline into my body. But Cash brings me back with his soothing but firm voice.

“Hey,” he says. “What is going on? You need to talk to me, Kells.”

“I-I w-w-was g-going to–” My voice is trembling too hard for me to make out the words. Cash shushes me and rocks me a little, and the gesture is surprisingly soothing. It takes me back to childhood or something. 

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “You were going to what?”

“K-kill myself,” I finally manage, my voice totally miserable. 

I feel Cash go tense but slowly, it eases, as if he’s purposefully making himself relax. “How?” he asks.

“Pills,” I sob. “Jack.”

“Did you take anything?” he asks, voice a little higher with panic, but I quickly shake my head.

“I had the fuckin’ bottles i-in hand,” I hiccup, “when you knocked on the door. Jesus Christ, Cash. If you hadn’t shown up…”

“God dammit, Colson,” Cash says thickly. “You’re my fucking brother. God dammit.” He squeezes me tighter and takes a steadying breath. “We need to go somewhere. We need to take you to the ER.”

“B-but I didn’t–”

“Only because I showed up,” Cash interrupts. “If I hadn’t shown up, you’d be…you’d be….” His voice tapers off and he shakes his head. “That’s too close for comfort, man. Please. Just…for me?”

It’s really the least I can do, knowing that Cash is the sole reason I’m alive. Besides, he’s right. That was way too close for comfort. I haven’t had suicidal thoughts like that in forever. It’s scary just how close I was to following through. Hesitantly, I nod, and the breath leaves Cash’s lungs in a relieved whoosh.

“Okay. Come on, brother,” he murmurs, pulling me up. “Let’s go.”

I hate the idea of being "famous." I hate when people use their fame to get special treatment. As much as I love the luxury of private jets and expensive restaurants and being able to travel anywhere in the world, I try my best not to take advantage of my name. 

But I’m not complaining about the privacy I receive at the emergency room.

We’re able to check in over the phone and wait in our car. I walk through a door in a secluded part of the hospital so no one sees me, aside from the staff. I’m whisked right into a room and treated immediately. It makes me sad knowing that there are other people waiting, but at the same time, I was at risk for dying tonight.

A woman in a white coat slips into my room and smiles warmly at me. “Mr. Baker?” she asks, and I nod. “I’m Dr. Schultz. Thank you for your patience.”

I barely had to wait. Still, I nod and smile politely.

Dr. Schultz studies me for a second. “Honey, I want you to know that you’re safe here,” she says. Her voice is warm and calm and instantly, I feel soothed. “We’re going to take care of you. Okay? I just need you to be honest with me.”

“Got it,” I croak. 

Dr. Schultz pats my hand and smiles softly. “Okay. Tell me what happened.”

From there, I walk Dr. Schultz through the bullshit that has been my life recently. She listens intently, never once rushing me through the evaluation. After I explain what happened, we go through my medical history, medications I’m on, whether or not I’m drinking and taking drugs, and what diagnoses I have. I’m exhausted by the time we’ve talked everything out.

Dr. Schultz closes her notebook and clicks her pen closed. “Colson, I would like you to stay overnight,” she says. “Since you and your partner are in an argument and you’re not sure if she’ll be home tonight, it would give me some peace of mind if you would stay here overnight. I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping and we can give you something that will help.”

I nod, feeling relieved that I don’t have to go home to an empty house. Even though I scared the shit out of myself and feel like I’ll never even come close to suicidal thoughts again, I agree with the doctor. Staying overnight would give me peace of mind, too.

I’m set up in a room shortly after, and I text Cash letting him know what’s going on. He assures me that he’ll be here in the morning to pick me up, and he asks if I need anything from home. I don’t want to burden him more, so I tell him I don’t need anything. Then, I silence my phone and set it aside. 

My sleeping medication is administered soon after I settle in. All I want is to talk to Presley, but she needs time, and that’s okay. For now, I just want to sleep, and thanks to the medication and the doctor, I do.

Taglist: @triplexdoublex@jaxbreaker@mgklove99xx@jinx-on-mars-19xx@iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker@anonymousme86@whiteleoqueen@feroniakutenpuu@hxllywoodwhxree

[thelonesomequeen]

Hello! I listened to this garbage so you don’t have to! —Part 2 (April 6, 2023)

I typed up a transcription from the podcast that I will post below. I typed quickly, so please excuse any typos I might not have caught. Don’t drag me for the grammar. That’s all DM talking. I just typed it out the way she said it. For those of you wanting to hear it for yourself, she starts at 52:30.

————————————————————

DM: Well. I did a little poll on Instagram. Because I posted that Chris Evans is Boston’s hometown hero. And I did a little pill for the Bostonians. I said Who is your hometown hero? Ben Affleck or Matt Damon, I grouped them together, Chris Evans, Mark Wahlberg, or Hilaria Baldwin who I just threw in for good measure. And Matt Damon and Ben Affleck won the poll by a landslide and I just need to clarify for my Boston followers, I didn’t realize that Chris Evans didn’t grow up exactly in Boston, he grew up in Sudbury which

Lex: Yeah, Like a suburb.

DM: Which is like right outside of Boston, so I had someone write in and say “grew up in Lincoln Sudbury, was about 8 years behind Chris, but fully agree with this.” so the Sudbury people, and I hope I’m saying that right, they do think that Chris is Boston’s hometown hero.

Lex: Right.

DM: This person says “Lincoln Sudbury” I’m assuming that’s the school “was obsessed with Chris and our whole theatre department was like a shrine to him. He’d come home frequently to visit his family in the early 2000s and we’d see him at the local Natick mall. Him and his family are super suburb-normie. Like I think his dad coached youth soccer when we were all younger. He’s for sure a Sudbury hero, but not Boston. Just a star that loves Boston and Massachusetts." so I felt like I needed to make that distinction because I didn't realize that before I claimed Chris Evans as the...

Lex: I love this distinction. You know, any chance to talk about Chris Evans is a chance I'll take.

DM: Bost (laughs, cuts off word). Wait, I was just going to say! Aren't you, don't you love Chris Evans? Do you still love him so so much?

Lex: I mean, I do but it's so hard because I'm not getting enough content. That's why I posted, you posted those like high school or elementary school, his like bowl cuts year book photos and I was like "I needed this today!" I feel like we never see him anymore because he's got his girlfriend! But we're gonna get some press soon, right? Because he's got that movie coming out on Apple with Ana de Armas again.

DM: Yes. And he's in New York right now with Alba.

Lex: I mean, yeah, like in my, I don't know what the rumor is circulating or blah blah blah, but like, I just feel like they've been engaged since last year. He would not do the People magazine, come out about his love life, again, you wanna talk PR game. That is all strategic to keep the crazies at an arms length...

DM: You think so?!

Lex: satisfy the beast, but still maintain his privacy. Yes! Yes, yes ,yes!

DM: So you think that their relationship is PR?

Lex: Oh no! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I think their relationship is real.

DM: Got you. Got you.

Lex: I think he gave...he's normally very private, but he like gave the PR the big, uh, People's Sexiest Man Alive and blah blah blah to then double down and then drop his relationship so that it's like, you know, he's given, he's giving us, he's breadcrumbing us a little bit and then he can still have his life.

DM: You know, I had heard People magazine was pissed about that. Because he didn't disclose to them..."

Lex: Stop, that he was in the relationship?

DM: When he was....yes. Yes.

Lex: Oh my God.

DM: Mhmm. And he did the photoshoot, did the article, was in the magazine, was in the article, and then was like SURPRISE! I'm in this relationship and they were kinda like...why didn't you just tell us? Like you were just on this huge cover and...

Lex: Talking about what you look for in a relationship...

DM: Yes!

Lex:...and like, what you want in a relationship.

DM: Yes, yes. They were like what the f-ck, but whatever. I mean, you know, happy for him. He seems really happy. I'm still...

Lex: So happy.

DM: in the...

Lex: I'm devastated.

DM: I'm still in the camp that if they do get engaged, or if they are currently engaged, I would not be surprised. I'm still in the camp.

Lex: Same. A thousand percent, I agree.

--and then they move on to the next topic.

[bugsbenefit]

the water motif in s1

i know watergate is a thing we talk about regularly but going through s1 again it's crazy how consistent that theme of water = uh oh, is

there's quite a few posts about it but i just want to go over all of the moments just in s1 alone again (i'll probably do individual posts for the later seasons when i get to them, but i think s1 is generally the most egregious season with it anyways)

instances and images under the cut because i'm serious there's an obscene amount of times this motif comes up

the shot of the lab worker getting dragged up the elevator and killed in the opener of the show gets intercepted by the Wheeler's sprinkler system as we hardcut to Mike's campaign

2. Hopper showers right before taking smoking, taking pills, And drinking simultaneously (also moments before he gets the news of Will's disappearance)

3. Benny washes dishes Right before the lab workers show up and he is killed (sc is of where you can read the captions describing the action instead of a few seconds later where you can see him do so we have some caps in some of these images lmao)

4. it starts lightly raining when the party get to "Mirkwood" where Will dissappeared and then full on starts pouring right before they find El and get dragged into the UD mess

5. after hooking up with a random woman again Hopper stands outside his trailer looking out at the lake while there's constant water sloshing noises in the bg of the dialogue (not subtitled), meanwhile he rejects the woman's advances and talks about feeling cursed (trauma moment poor guy)

6. infamously, Steve's pool, as Barb dies (she also literally dies IN the pool here, oh girl :c)

7. obviously Will's "body" being found in the quarry

8. after Hopper breaks into the lab and gets drugged. he wakes up in his now bugged home and runs outside first thing, where we get another great shot of the lake next to his house, again with the water sounds too

9. Lonnie showers at the Byers' while Joyce finds the papers in his bag confirming he just came back for monetary gain

10. El's constant traumatic flashbacks of the lab where we get to see "the bath", not including Every shot here because it happens more than once

11. now Nancy takes a shower while having flashbacks to her encounter with the Demogorgon that almost killed her

12. El looks at her reflection in the water while she's hiding out in the forest and breaks down/freaks out screaming at her reflection and disturbing the water

13. Mike at the quarry right before he almost dies if it weren't for El's interference (i haven't included the shot of Hopper standing at the quarry talking about how a fall in would be deadly since it's before Will's body is found there and Mike almost dies in there for real, since it would take up even more space here and is already on theme with setting tragedy up)

14. when the party all catches each other up to date Hopper tells everyone that the gate to the UD in the lab is "near a large watertank"

15. El washes her face, feeling bad for not being able to find Will or Barb, and seconds before deciding to ignore her fear and face the void again by setting up a new "bath" for her to use her powers

16. said "bath" itself, obviously, which already causes her great distress but is also from where she sees Barb's dead body

17. Will using the bathroom sink right after coughing up the UD creature and right before he has an actual flash to the UD itself

18. also every instance of El visiting the void, which exclusively consists of the water floor (during which she's not only scared each time but also mainly consists of moments like finding the Demogorgon or a dead Barb)

19. also the fact that anyone in the UD is extremely wet, which we see anytime we get shots of Will or Barb there

like. the amount of times this happens it crazy. i also didn't leave out any water moments and just cherry picked the "bad" ones. this is literally all of them. (fyi, i don't have one establishing lake-shot of Hopper's cabin in here because there's already so many images, but Hopper's cabin is associated with water in general every time were there. something bad also happens every time we're there so i guess it evens out)

also fun detail, i wouldn't include it in the actual list but i just think it's too funny to not mention at all: when the kids hide out in the bus at the car junk yard (the same the kids also hide in with Steve during s2) Brenner's men show up. and when one of them turns to finally check out the bus the camera turns and suddenly there's no cars on screen anymore and just Boats

literally just boats

which is Really funny tbh. i wouldn't count it as an actual watergate moment, but this is also the closest they could get to hint at their water motif without having the guy chug water while hunting kids or having another spontaneous rainstorm start

i just want to know where they're going with their overall water theme SOOO bad, it's been so prominent since s1, it clearly seems to be associated with bad things happening. but also the fact that there are no bodies of water in the UD (while everything is still wet and or gooey??)

I NEED TO KNOWWW LET ME IN

[sleepdepravity]

DISTRUTHS - trial 5

Alright!!! final trial time

monobear continues to be so rude about playing his little prank on them.

then he says that this trial is different. everybody already knows who killed tsubame, that's pretty clear. the thing that monobear wants to know is who was her accomplice, because he wants to execute them.

when asked "didn't you set up that trap specifically for the accomplice, why don't you know who it is," he says

"i. uh. was asleep."

ANYWAYS the accomplice can make it easier for everybody by fessing up.

there's not really a good incentive to confess though, someone says, and monobear is like "right."

shackles suddenly close around everybody's legs. "if the accomplice doesn't confess, i'm just gonna kill everybody one by one until they do. teehee!"

noboru suggests that, well, maybe the accomplice can't confess because he literally can't remember.

it's quickly pointed out that this is extremely unlikely, since he's obviously been attacked and there was red hair at the scene. whoever was the attacker was probably the person with red hair.

monobear immediately denies that there's any other secret person hanging around, so there's no playing that card.

matsui just says it's her, but it's clear that it's not true and she's saying it more out of self-loathing despair and she refuses to elaborate.

monobear spills the tea because, well, matsui did text "tsubame" a lot, and one of the conversations they had was her apologizing for something she said to tsubame shortly before the office blew up. (again, hadn't exactly filled it out, but the gist is matsui feels guilty about whatever she said because it could be construed that she said something bad enough that it drove tsubame to die by suicide...or something)

anyways, everybody besides matsui try stalling for time by going over tsubame's death under the pretense of "well that's how we can figure out the accomplice."

essentially, tsubame took the poisoned "sleeping pills" before then using a monobear to explode the office door. one of the symptoms of the sleeping pills was "loss of sensation," and she used that in tandem with the information she gathered about the building and monobear to act as a decoy. her accomplice then would go in and grab whatever they could that looked useful and scram before Seki could notice.

tsubame eventually dies, Seki finds out about the ploy, then hides tsubame's body and brings out the headmaster's and the neurologist's bodies to sort of force everybody into a murder investigation.

then of course Seki pretended to be tsubame in order to figure out the accomplice. this is mainly out of spite and to enforce a show of power, so that everybody can give up the idea that they could ever escape.

anyways, the accomplice is kotone. they've...essentially been cosplaying this entire time, and their hair is a wig. their real hair color is red.

So, i'm not sure when, but i do know Seki shows up in person since there's not actually much point in keeping up the monobear facade, and also, they're all shackled. but anyways, now that it's been revealed, she gets ready to execute kotone, when. noboru. takes off his own leg and whacks her on the head with it, knocking her out.

it turns out, noboru has had a fake leg this whole time. (this is why he always looks so wobbly. honestly, the fake leg is a little too long.)

by the way, he has no idea why he has a fake leg. it's been sort of disconcerting for him this entire time.

(akane mentions that it's because it had to be amputated while they were being transferred to the headmaster's crazy secret base.)

noboru is able to press the button to release the shackles and then everybody proceeds to tie Seki up.

“Why was Noboru unconscious at the door?” Well, Noboru was actually…the second accomplice! He just didn’t know.

I’m not sure if Kotone knocked him unconscious or if he accidentally knocked himself unconscious, but Kotone tore some stuff out of his notebook because they realized this was a set up and they figured they should cover some tracks.

anyways, through either investigation or interrogation, it's found that Seki, as SHSL luck, was chosen as part of a huge raffle, the headmaster used this raffle mainly for funding, however. Seki grew disillusioned about the whole thing, especially since getting her into this school messed up her family's financials.

Mori, as the headmaster's daughter, had also been extremely unhappy with this whole thing, especially since it seemed the headmaster was essentially neglecting her in favor of "better kids." Mori is the one who kickstarted the riots, and she roped Seki into the plot.

Seki was fully aware that Mori was using her, but went along with it. But she also planned to turn against Mori at some point, because there was a big divergence between their viewpoint. Seki full on hated the school and the students because of the idea of elevating "talented kids." Mori was clearly more envious, her grudge was more personal, she still bought into the whole "talent" thing and therefore was just as bad or whatever.

anyways, that's what the motivation was.

seki's just like "haha and now i guess you'll kill me" and everybody else is just like "uh. no??? no, we're not doing that."

anyways they manage to open the door and that's when they find out the headmaster's secret base is a whole fuckin underwater facility in the middle of an island, and then that's where DISTRUST ends, that's all i thought of. i'll probably make another post for additional notes that didn't fit anywhere else.

[nemesyaaa]

something very strong and dark about this, and i think it's very funny that i really picture S1!rafe for this, because of how much he's divided. but what i love the most about that dark content, it's the writing of this, of rafe. it's very interesting because it's true that he's got not regret, but you can see that he's not proud of himself too, he just wanted to do it. and i'm thinking, it's crazy how pathetic he is, because lmfaooo he really needed someone who is not conscient just to be sure and to feel more powerful. the misogyny is too real unfortunaly. but actually, S1!rafe give me so much this vibe because he's a white kook priviligied man so you can't tell me he would never assault a poor pogue girl ?? let's be honest, anywaus i'm talking too much ☹️✋🏿

He thrusts hard and uncoordinated, fucking like he knows he’s hot, or at least how many more pills he has left in his stash. Knocking against your insides and entirely focused on the way his dick feels, knowing how easily he could move onto another victim, and just how much he wants to enjoy you in particular before it’s over. — «uncoordinated » he's not even conscient himself, it's killing me. he's really such an hard case

“You want this dick so fuckin’ bad huh,” he laughs at the puddle of arousal leaking out underneath you, considers swiping a finger into it to stick into your mouth but he doubts you’d be able to breathe right now if he interfered with the half catatonic features on your face, and it’s not like he’s out for that type of violence anyways (or at least not right now). — the sentence, he say it to reader or more to reassure himself ?? 😵😵 I'm running crazy

“Uh y’know,” he tongues at his cheek, “I could take care of that for you, practically all spread open an’ready huh?” — I feel so perverted while reading this, when i will be punish ? anyways, i'm damned ✋🏿

— r. cameron / reader

warnings: DUBCON — rafe roofies and then rapes reader / unprotected PinV / misogyny / mention of drugs (cocaine & roofies) / mention of virginity / inspiration taken from maddy & nate (euphoria)

synopsis: rafe cameron x fem!reader… sometimes rafe needs to slip a girl a little something at a party to get some, and where’s the shame in that if he knows they want him anyway, they’re just too prudish to admit it.

After you’ve successfully been dosed, he makes you sit on his lap for lack of space on the couch so he can rock you on his knee until you’re tired, delirious, and horny enough to be lifted upstairs, legs dangling against his broad back while you hiccup and giggle next to your upside-down view of his chest.

His nose is numb from the coke and his brain heady, one could argue almost as inebriated as you. But the lines make him oversaturated, not cock-dumb like what he slipped you — eager hands already pawing at his zipper and coming to a fumbled close around the metal just before you’re tossed onto a bed, spread aloof like the crumpled sheets.

“You’re sooo nice to me Rafe.. when all the other guys were sayin’i shoulda gone home,” you end with a belligerent nod of your head, slurring throughout and biting your lip in sexless embarrassment, chewing the skin raw enough to reflect your torn consciousness instead.

Rafe simply smirks, chin protruding outwards while his eyes flit between your thighs peeking through your overridden dress and your tits falling out of the frilly décolletage.

“You a virgin?”

“Mhm” you lie, despite the reeling dizziness occupying your headspace. Besides, nobody likes a whore — especially not rafe, uninterested in ‘stretched out pussy’ as you vaguely recall from his earlier conversation crowded around friends.

He approaches closer now, knocking your trembling knees apart with one of his beefy thighs, bulge forward and creasing in his pants as your dialogue gets him hard already, imposing his physicality in all its glory: “What like— you’ve never even been fingered before?”

You shake your head, tousling curls before staring back up at him, “Only my own.”

To that he chuckles, the noise grating and stunted when he uses it as an excuse to adjust himself in his pants, drawing his chest down further until he’s now hovering above you.

“Uh y’know,” he tongues at his cheek, “I could take care of that for you, practically all spread open an’ready huh?”

Like it wasn’t his plan to get you dumb and stuffed by the end of the night, even if it meant bringing out his inner brute, he was taller, faster, stronger — he could do it if he really wanted, but he made it easy for you instead. Could feel the roofie worming its way into your consciousness, jamming rationality and flooding you with hedonistic desire that would trigger your sex endorphins and make it so that you would want this, that he could brag about it without you opening your bitch mouth the next day and claiming ‘rape’; an ugly word anyways, coming out harsh in a spit, nothing like what rafe was doing to you, especially not with the way you were looking at him.

Your mouth opens, then closes, seemingly flailing on confirmation when really your jaw is getting slack and numb, and so you feel encouraged to nod instead, the movement making your thoughts go all bubbly, refracting Rafe’s glinting eyes at your ‘consent’.

He wastes no time with prep, shoving your dress up so it’s tucked over your tits, basal temperature remaining warm and stuffy despite the exposure to cool air. A good indicator though, means rafe can tell it’s working, and just how long he has before you might start struggling.

When he pulls himself out of his shorts it’s surprising, of course, everything about him is pretty, one would expect a tangible reflection of the cruelty on his features but instead, his dick looks cutesy, if not for the intimidating size.

Spit trickles harshly down his palm when he wraps a hand around himself, tugging quickly and using both his legs to split you around his midriff, leaking and achy despite the inattention you’ve received.

“You want this dick so fuckin’ bad huh,” he laughs at the puddle of arousal leaking out underneath you, considers swiping a finger into it to stick into your mouth but he doubts you’d be able to breathe right now if he interfered with the half catatonic features on your face, and it’s not like he’s out for that type of violence anyways (or at least not right now).

When he pushes himself inside you’re silent, pupils retreating in favour of a squeal — ironically a very Rafe-esque trait — while Rafe bites down into his cheek and rolls his palm over your chest to ease the pressure of the fit.

“Thought the roofie woulda loosened you up a bit..” mumbled out while his stomach clenches, now bracing his entire heavy arm across your abdomen and pinching skin when you involuntarily quiver at the weight, “You can take it c’mon.”

He thrusts hard and uncoordinated, fucking like he knows he’s hot, or at least how many more pills he has left in his stash. Knocking against your insides and entirely focused on the way his dick feels, knowing how easily he could move onto another victim, and just how much he wants to enjoy you in particular before it’s over.

Sweat clings to both your bodies, the slick getting louder when each thrust manages to pound a squelch out of you, spattering against the sheets or catching on Rafe’s balls to stick the both of you together with messy tendrils.

You’re pliant, let him move your legs so your ankles entwine behind his back, heavy hand locking them together and giving you both little breathing room; just enough for him to spill obscenities straight into your emotionless face with hot, sticky breath — he laughs, manically and seemingly at his own joke, before deciding to share it with you, “just don’t go running ‘bout me ‘assaulting’ you right. You wanted this, not my fault my cock’s so good the slut has to go dumb hmm?” mocking you with a teasing lilt and a raised brow.

You pat at his swollen chest, it’s all you can manage to do, urgent to get him off you, give you a little space atleast. He only shoves himself in further, lips puckering to sloppily catch yours, saliva straying down your chin and jaw instead.

Your outright discomfort seems to get him going even more, thrusts increasing in increment despite becoming more careless, tip catching your clit when he slips out and hurries to stuff it back in.

When his face pinches up, brows tensed and nose furrowed, you can tell he’s going to cum, the friction between your bodies almost unbearable with the heat that suddenly envelops him.

A slew of curses are hissed out, casual vulgarity being one of Rafe’s favourite expressions of self, and then he’s pulling out and wrapping a fist around himself to paint your tummy white. Ropes shooting watery on your tummy and painting him a proud picture.

He shakes himself off on you a final time before tucking his wet dick back into his briefs, cleaning himself up entirely unbothered by the dissected mess of you laying drugged and fucked out on the bed.

“My head feels funny.”

“Yeah, that’s cause I fucked it out of whack.” He says it serious but you can imagine his upturned lips at his own sick sense of humour.

“Where are you going?” you sit up groggy, chest tight.

“Uhh, back downstairs, got some more yayo I needa lay off— you can stay here or.. wherever, doesn’t matter.”

He has the decency to shut the door fully when he leaves, yet you’re still alone and forced to lay in the waste of one of Rafe Cameron’s nights out.

[tjsplace]

aug 20

11.51 pm

today has been. a. lot. woke up feeling like shit, as i've grown accustomed to for the past five days, and dragged myself into the shower. washed my hair and had a good class. our professor liked our progress and even tho one person from my group didn't show up, we actually had several things to show her. i went to my mom's to borrow her car for the akashic records on the other side of the city. i had lunch with my grandma even though i was super irritable. she asked me five times if i wanted salad and i tried really hard to not snap at her. i cried with my mom, then drove to the reader's house. i sang the ep boy by luke hemmings the whole way there. seven songs three times each. i have a notebook page with my notes. but basically, i gotta accept myself, i'm not crazy, i gotta make peace with everything i've done and gone through, and i gotta accept my father too. it's his birthday today. she also told me -my masters also told me- that i have such a hard time quitting cigarettes not because i'm an addict. but because cigarettes have been my life-long partners. our bond is even romantical at times. platonic at best. they got me through life. they helped me feel less alone. and i started at sixteen, in a psychiatric clinic. i gotta find the reason i picked up my first cigarette. apparently it's super traumatic for me and it'll be a whole painful thing, but i gotta grow up. i'm still a teenager. i'm telling myself this with all the love i got for myself. i have to restrain myself for adding which is not much to the last sentence. i fail. i'm okay. then i went to my dad's birthday and it was alright. i saw my siblings and even though i was tired as fuck, i had a decent time. after the reading, i went back to my mom's to return the car. we had a conversation, because my masters said i should talk about that traumatic period of time with my mom, my sister, and my closest friends. and write. write a lot and don't quit. ever. anyway, my mom told me so many upsetting things about those weeks surrounding my first suicide attempt. my little brother had been born the week before. i took the pills the next day of my mother's birthday. i'd forgotten about that. she told me even though she hated i started smoking, her psychiatrist told her it was better that i smoked than it was for me to cut myself. i felt the ants between the stay in the hospital and the stay in the psychiatric clinic. it was about the time i lost so much weight because of the doctor who was too mean to me and made me scared of eating sugar. i think my eating disorder was at full-machinery. was that about the time i bought the book la dieta de la muerte? i met the author in the clinic. i became friends with her. but wait, i remember cutting myself after i met another girl in the clinic. she cut herself and i thought she was cool so i started doing that after those twenty days. were they twenty? my masters also said something like i will be free of the cigarettes by the end of the year, but all of the reflecting will be really hard and i'll need to tolerate it to grow up. because i'm still a teenager. i'm still dependent on my mother, especially economically. next year is me entering my adulthood, finally. i will be out of school. i will graduate and have a diploma. i will need to get a job, maybe i need it now. oh no, i don't wanna spiral on what i should or shouldn't do right now. i wanna enjoy my last semester as a teenager. maybe that's not possible. who knows. also i mustn't experience those traumatic events as if they're happening in real time. i just gotta observe then. judgement-free. just as the person i am today. i don't judge people, others have told me it's one of my best qualities. anyway, i'm tired. weird thing is that i didn't smoke as many cigarettes as other days. as yesterday, for example.

[cocoelle]

Kane: Why did I agree to do this podcast with Morgan. Shit after last night it's gonna be so damn uncomfortable.

Kane: You're gonna be great! Fuck I look good, who can resist this?

Morgan: Hey handsome thanks so much for doing this podcast.

Kane: Anything for you sexy man.

Kane: Listen I'm really sorry if I was a little pushy last night, it's just being so close to you drives me absolutely crazy.

Morgan: Trust me I do feel the same way, I just need a little more time that's all.

Kane: Ok sexy, just as long as we're good.

Morgan: Of course we are, you're not getting rid of me that easy.

INTRO to PODCAST: Hello and welcome to Real Talk, the podcast that gets the truth everyone wants to know. I'm your host Morgan Kirkland. In today's episode, we will have some Real Talk with the Lead Singer of Sapphire Skies. We'll discuss his time in prison, what's in the works for the band, and offer listeners a special surprise at the end. Be sure to listen all the way through for the details!

Morgan: Our guest today is Kane Lawler. He is the lead singer and lyricist for the group Sapphire Skies. Hi, Kane! Thanks so much for joining us! Big fan of Sapphire Skies.

Kane: Thanks for inviting me Morgan, it's always great to chat with a fan.

Morgan: You only did 18 months of a 5-year sentence, do you think you got out early because of your celebrity status?

Kane: Wow right to the point. Haha. I don't feel I got any special treatment because of my status. I have a good lawyer who worked hard on getting me an early release and I'm very thankful for that.

Morgan: How did you keep yourself occupied while in prison?

Kane: Well as you know when I was arrested I was addicted to cocaine and prescription pills, so while in prison I attended many therapy group sessions and rehab. Because of that, I've been clean for a little over a year now.

Morgan: Now that you're out can we as fans look forward to any Sapphire Skies tour?

Kane: We will be playing at the Music Festival in Willow Creek and have plans to tour, starting in Del Sol Valley, but as of right now we haven't confirmed any dates for our tour.

Morgan: Well I'm sure your fans, myself included are looking forward to seeing Sapphire Skies back where they belong.

Morgan: Before we wrap things up Kane, do you have any final words for your fans who are listening?

Kane: Myself and the boys will be in the studio recording new music between tour dates, so fans should be on the lookout for a new album by the end of the year.

Morgan: On that note that brings us to the end of this episode! Thanks to Kane Lawler for joining us in some real talk. As always, thanks for listening to Real Talk. If you enjoy our show, please rate and review us on Sim Podcasts—and be sure to enter your name on our Simbook page to win a pair of tickets to see Sapphire Skies at the Willow Creek Musical Festival. Until then, this is Morgan Kirkland, and don’t forget: Real Talk - We get the truth everyone wants to know!

Morgan: You were fantastic, I think that's the best podcast I've ever had.

Kane: Aw you're just saying that 'cause you want me. Haha.

Morgan: Maybe, but I'm not telling.

Kane: Would you like to come and watch me sing at the Music Festival? I would really love it if you came, I could get you a VIP backstage pass.

Morgan: Are you kidding? That would be amazing! Of course, I'll go.

Kane: You just made this man very happy.

Morgan: I have plans with some friends tonight, but I’ll call you later and will definitely see you tomorrow.

Kane: Sounds good babe. Now get over here and give your man a kiss.

Morgan: You're my man are you, I like the sound of that.

Previous / Next

[fivewholeminutes]

OKAY. This got very long, sorry. And. Since I'm not from US/UK, I'll try my best to find the equivalents for the meds i've been taking or at least their main ingredient.

Thank you for giving me more info!! The description of your coughing problem is almost identical to mine, tbh. Coughing like crazy with each cold since i was a kid. And having a week of all the other symptoms at most and then the Extreme Couging Month™ ensuing, even when i was feeling healthy otherwise. Honestly, i don't remember my mum's methods and actually my coughing has become really fucking severe only when i've started working in an office with air co used for both cooling and heating, all year round. That has DESTROYED my throat. Cause yep, it's more of a throat problem rather than a lungs one (might explain why vic's vapor rub doesn't work).

First of all, some bad news: no matter what you do, the cough will ALWAYS stay with you for around a month. None of the methods help to get rid of it sooner, but they can help in minimalising the damage. And trust me, you're not being dramatic, i know full well what a few weeks of sleep deprivation due to constant coughing do to a person and their mental health.

Okay, here's a list of things that helped me:

Unsurprisingly, drinking a lot of water. And i mean A LOT. Think about how much water you drink right now and double it.

You need to limit tea/coffee, cause they dry the throat up faster than you can blink. Tea with a lot of honey or fruit syroups is okay, but also not too many cups per day.

That's not something everyone likes (or can drink), but hot milk with honey and butter helps too. It doesn't taste as bad as it sounds. If you still have other cold/flu symptoms, you can even add garlic there (again, doesn't taste as bad as it sounds, but it's not everybody's cup of tea). Personally, it helps with my throat, but my tummy hurts afterwards. Worth it though.

If you take anything listed here that helps moisturising the throat, do not drink any water straight away afterwards, it will just wash away whatever is coating your throat's inner walls, protecting them from drying off again. I was also washing my teeth before taking the last dose of meds before bed. Gross, but hey. You're gonna take some meds/drops during the night anyway.

Since you can't take too many sore throat meds at once, these little fuckers are real saviors. Or anything else with icelandic moss, really. The point is, you can take them more often than any 'normal' sore throat meds, you don't have to worry about taking too much of them per day. Alternatively: any hard candy, cough drop or gum (please don't fall asleep with them though, it helps as much as if you finished sucking on them before bed and you could choke on them if you fall asleep). The throat likes having a constant flow of sticky substances in it. The icelandic moss stuff works a bit better and a bit longer than candy.

Sleeping while sitting or half-sitting does help a bit, but it's not perfect. Lying flat is a guarantee that you're gonna start coughing in 3...2...1... though.

Ok this fucker is my archnemesis. I mean, not exactly this medicine, but something else with diclofenac in it, called Glimbax. This gargling shit is THE WORST. It could help though. If you don't swallow a bit of it by accident. Then you can see your dinner back, if you know what i mean. (Ok idk if that Difflam thing is as gross as Glimbax was, but god. I had to gargle Glimbax every evening and it was the worst part of the day for me. I was seriously close to crying on some days.)

I don't remember the pills and syrups I was getting exactly, but definitely do not use the ones that are advertised for both dry and wet cough. They don't work for either. If they give you sth with Acetylcysteine, that's more of a wet cough medicine, won't help much. ALTHOUGH my cough was sometimes turning more... phlegm-y, but never at night. Also, there's this thing where you shouldn't take cough medicine after 6pm, but if it's something for dry cough speicifcally, you can take it any time of the day, really.

Flax seeds. Could be ground, could be whole, both are disgusting to drink anyway. You pour hot water into them and they become super fucking sticky and yucky and like kissel. You drink it before bed. It's better not to think much about it when you drink it, otherwise you will realise how gross the texture is and you wouldn't drink the whole cup of it. Fortunately it doesn't have much of a taste (unlike you, Glimbax). It moisturises the throat better than any meds, gargle abominations or isla. Mostly bc it feels like swallowing a jellyfish and sticks to your throat walls like a clingy lover.

Honestly, haven't tried the wet washcloth trick either, but i definitely ALWAYS wear a scarf tied close to my throat. Even in bed. Especially in bed. And i think the cloth would get cold pretty fast, having an opposite result than it should have, really.

Buy an air humidifier (if you don't have one already) and leave it on for the whole night directly next to your bed. Personally i like the 75% humidity setting. It's not that necessary during the day (unless the air gets really dry from the heating), but it does help a lot too. Use it for the whole heating period, not only when you're sick.

Avoid air conditioned places, if possible. I've worked in the office for 2 years and in those 2 years every single little cold ended with the extreme Extreme Couging Month™. I was out of commission for weeks. After the pandemics started, i'm working from home. Never been on a sick leave because of a cold after that. I still do need to be careful in cars and rooms with air co, even if i'm there only for a few hours (i have to drink a lot of water there). When i do get a cold now, I still cough for around a month afterwards, but it's never as bad as it was before.

The long-term trick is to keep your throat moisturised at all times, so that when you do get sick again, it won't be as devastated to produce the ungodly coughing fits again. I drink a lot of water, keep the humidifier on at night for the whole autumn/winter period, wear warm clothes outside at all times (especially warm scarves), drink tea with syroups/honey etc. The more you do it at all times, the lighter the coughing becomes.

That's all i remember!! I really hope that at least some of this would help you. Keeping my fingers crossed at all times for you, seriously, cause i do know better than anyone how absolutely miserable the constant coughing is.

I kept myself and my sister up until like 3 am with my coughing. I am very tired. and somehow (I mean when you think about it its not surprising) I am in a stucky mood.