#i need to Increase the other kinds of shit i am getting into my body which means No i Cannot have a fucking breadbowl and ice cream

[thatneoncrisis]

god i gotta stop seeing Tumblr Dietician Posts on my dash theyre pissing me the damn hell off

[anundyingfidelity]

THE SCENE — Will Poulter x fem reader

Summary: you're in a romantic comedy with Will Poulter and kind of develop a small crush on him. After a hot make out scene, you can't stop thinking about him.

Pairing: Will Poulter x fem!reader.

Word count: 2.8k.

Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, handjobs, couch sex, semi clothed sex, overstimulation, usual dirty language and dirty stuff.

Notes: Reader is around 38 (in my head) and Will is 30 because I fucking need some Will with an older woman and I need him in a romantic comedy so bad right now and this is me trying to fulfil my fantasy as well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filthy shit. Anything is welcome.

>> disclaimer: i totally respect the private lifes of the actors and celebrities i use for my fanfictions, and of course their personal relationships. this is only fiction written for fun and nothing more.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

Finally, he kissed you. But it wasn't just a simple kiss. It was a hungry, needy kiss. Something you longed for since you both met on set.

He pressed his body against yours, his big frame over you, his fingers caressing your cheek until he reached the skin of your neck. His touch made you ache, and he wasn't even down there, where you needed him the most.

As you gasped between kisses, his hands traveled down your hips, until he grabbed your ass, in a harshly way. His big palms squeezing your skin through the pencil skirt. Will broke the kiss, scanning your swollen lips and big eyes, before he pulled you up from the floor only to sit you on the kitchen island, and him now standing between your legs.

It was your turn to kiss him. You pulled him for a sloppy kiss as your lips crashed together again, inviting his tongue to taste your mouth. He started to take off the buttons of your blouse, leaving it open to see your covered breasts, and hungrily you invite his hands to feel your exposed skin. He touched, under your guidance, and felt the heat of your body against him.

Your hands then moved to his trousers, undoing them as fast as you can between kisses. Will pulled you closer, if that was even possible, pressing your bodies together. You grinded against him, and felt his increasing arousal. His growing erection wasn't something he could hide; and this made you crazy, for him and his touch.

His hips moved, thrusting into you, feeling your heat against his clothed crotch, and his lips moved to your neck, placing soft kisses on your skin. It made you gasp and whimper softly, and you thought you'd come just by the friction your bodies were creating...

"Cut!"

The director's voice made you stop.

You almost forgot you were actually acting a heavy make out scene with Will Poulter.

"Are you okay?" you asked sweetly once you stopped, trying to keep it professional.

Will nodded and breathed out. "Yeah, are you alright?"

"I am," you smiled.

He helped you to get on your feet and the staff quickly came to fix yours and his clothing, while listening to the praising from your director and the crew on what you just did. The blonde, tall man blushed a little.

The film was a new romantic comedy, with you and Will on the lead. You played a prestigious boss of an important magazine and Will was the new, naive intern on the company. Will's character was younger than the your character and he fell for your character in an instant. So this scene was the peak of their relationship, where both finally give in to each other.

Unlike you, you fell for Will in real life.

Will's character was clumsy, cute, really kind and hardworking, exactly like him. He was shy when you met at first but as time went by you learned to enjoy each other's company and, in fact, you got along very well.

You sighed, finally this was your last scene for the day, so the crew and the director wrapped up everything, and you finished another long shift of filming. After the scene, you left the set saying thank you to everyone and smiling a lot more than you pretended to Will. God, you were so into him.

The crew took you to hair and make up to take off the clothes for the scene and clean your face. It was late at night, so after that, you went back to your hotel. The only thing on your mind was him. Him touching you, him kissing you, him adoring and worshiping your body in just a few minutes was driving you crazy.

Maybe it was just a mere coincidence, but once you waited for the elevator to arrive, Will appeared by your side. A shy smile on his lips. Your cheeks heated and your body ached, the images of his hands roaming your figure appeared on your head again.

"Almost over," Will said. "The filming, I mean..."

"Yeah, thankfully," you responded almost immediately.

The elevator doors opened. Will let you get in first and he followed behind. You were the only two people inside the elevator and in silence you arrived to your floor. It wasn't good that you were staying on the same floor, only a room apart. At least, not for you.

You started to walk away, with a smile, and suddenly felt like you had to do something. Anything to talk to him, to have him closer.

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink or something?" the question came out of your mouth without thinking twice, and it certainly caught Will out of guard, judging by the look on his face.

He was standing a couple feet away from you, ready to enter his room, but he stopped from doing so.

"That would be lovely," he said.

"Then, wanna come in?" you asked, playfuly, knowing he would follow.

Will chuckled and you let him in your room. It was a small suite, with a living room and a bedroom. The moment Will entered the place, he thought it had all your aura in it, a proper hotel room for a star like you. Someone whom he really admired a lot from afar, and you had no idea about it.

"Anything special you'd like?" you asked Will, after saying he could sit on the couch. You opened the fridge and his answer was a little weird for you.

"Water will do, thank you."

You glanced at him, your brows furrowed.

"Really, water's fine," his lips put on a pretty, shy look on his face. But you said nothing, grabbing a glass of water and if this was going to go his way, you took water for yourself too.

You offered him the glass and he gladly accepted it as you took yours and made yourself comfortable in the couch, leaving just a little space between both of you.

"I can't believe we're only a couple of days to finish here," Will broke the silence first. God, how much you loved hearing his voice.

"Me neither, hasn't been that long..." you replied. I wish it never ended, at least not yet, you thought.

Suddenly, Will called your name and it slipped from his mouth like the sweetest thing you've ever heard him say. He started to think perfectly his words. "Um I really enjoy working with you," he said. "And you're awesome, and I'm your fan- sorry if it's weird."

A wide smile was on your lips and you felt heat rising on your face. "I enjoy the time with you as well."

The chat went smoothly, with him praising your work and you did the same with Will. He respected you a lot since you were older than him and you had a prominent career he followed closely before. It was nice to have him in your place, alone, without the pressure of doing a perfect scene or your crew around. Even when the british man was just being sweet and making some jokes through your conversation, all you could think about was the heated scene you shared today. On the way his hands traveled down your skin, how his lips felt soft, and the way he was pressing your body to his... A new wave of silence filled the place as you finished your glass of water and placed it on the coffee table, his empty glass was already there.

"You know, I couldn't stop thinking about our scene today..."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" you asked, curious. You could swear you were closer to him now, your legs almost touching. A small blush appeared on his face at the way your eyes looked at him.

"Well, you're you," he mumbled. "And you're wonderful and beautiful..."

"Well, you're beautiful too, and I like you," you didn't mean to say those last words but it was done now. His eyes went wide. Well, now he knew. Will barely gasped and licked his lips. And you just wanted nothing more but kiss him. Now.

He remained quiet, so you decided to make your first move and slowly, you leaned in to kiss his lips. It was short but he closed his eyes and enjoyed the warm feeling. It started soft and delicate, until his hand tangled in your hair, playing with it gently. You whimpered in the middle of the kiss.

"God, you're so gorgeous," you breathed against his lips, taking in every inch and detail of his face. His plump lips and his darkening eyes filled with lust and his furrowed brows were everything you wanted to keep on your mind forever.

You moved until you finally were sitting on his lap, each leg on his sides, and kissed him, this time, you were impatient. Gladly, Will followed your pace, letting you guide him through it while your hips moved slowly, grinding against his crotch.

Will gasped against your mouth, his big hands went down on your sides smoothly. His erection was evident and he found himself not able to control the rolls of his hips, your core already aching and dripping for him. Your small moans were swallowed by his mouth and you continued with the friction your now heated bodies created.

Suddenly, you broke the kiss to get some air and studied the look on his face. It was pure lust. Just exactly how you felt.

"Why you accepted my invitation if you wanted just water?"

"I wanted to be with you," he answered, biting his lip.

"Well, then undress me."

And he did as you ordered. You got on your feet and Will took off your blouse and your pants swiftly but gently at the same time, your bra ended up somewhere on the carpeted floor along with your panties. Finally exposed, you climbed on top of him again with such confidence, that his blue eyes wandered in every inch of your skin. He thought you were perfect like this.

Taking his hand you guided him to your core. And how wet you were by now. He rubbed your folds and your clit, as he left soft butterfly kisses on your neck, inhaling your scent. Your skin was heating and your heart racing. And his touch felt like heaven. His fingers teased your slit and you rocked your hips to feel him where you needed the most.

You didn't care he was still fully clothed, all that mattered was his digits playing with your cunt and his other hand running from your leg to one of your breasts to squeeze your flesh gently. Quickly, you found his belt and undid his trousers. Will breathed against the crook of your neck as your hand ghosted over his now tight boxers, throbing for you. You moaned as one of his long digits entered you, your spine curled. The feeling of getting stretched and ready was too much, and his agonizing slow rhythm made your body ask for more.

The heat between your legs ached and you met the thrusts of his hand rolling your hips, your hand palming him hardly through the fabric while he increased the pace of his finger, adding a second one soon enough. Will used his other hand to hold your waist, fucking your pussy with his fingers, clearly saying he wanted to guide the flow of what you were starting.

"Oh, Will, please," you whimpered, and leaned down to kiss him, eager. Your hands released his cock from his boxers and your palm worked on his hard dick, using the precum of his tip to create friction. Once you pulled away from the kiss you met with his flushed face, scrunched eyes, licking his lips with his tongue... he looked so pretty like that, under your touch and the small control you gathered before was back.

So you continued pumping him, the living room of your suite now was filled with the obscene noises of your pussy as his fingers thrusted into you and your hand pumping him. His eyes opened slowly and met your dark gaze, Will did not stop fucking your cunt, until you grabbed his wrist with your hand, his hard cock now free from your palm. He pulled out his fingers, glistening because of your juices and you took them in your mouth, tasting yourself. His muscles tighten, he felt like he would cum right there just by the licks of your tongue on his fingers, until you cleaned them good.

"I felt you getting hard today..."

You started to take off the buttons of his dress shirt, exposing a little of his well-built chest, hands ghosting over his soft skin.

"I- I couldn't help it," Will gasped, his big hands grabbing your sides.

You smirked. "I know."

And with those words, you sinked down on his cock, your walls pulsed around him as he filled you little by little, until the curve of your ass met the fabric of his trousers under your bare flesh. He let out a low moan and your pussy clenched around him. You were more than ready to take him.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, hypnotized on how good you felt.

So you ride him, holding yourself on his shoulders, with his hands gripping your hips, and you feel his dick deeply every time you sink down again into him, your tits bouncing, and both your moans and his groans mix together. And you realized then that you're finally connected, just as how you fantasized, exactly how you used to dream wide awake.

You realize you're riding him, fully naked, on the couch of your suite, while he was almost dressed. And you loved it. You loved the way he let you fuck yourself on him, and how his big and strong hands remained on your skin, how his fingers moved to cup your breasts. He felt like heaven.

A familiar sensation starts building down your belly, and your walls squeeze his cock as you bounce repeatedly. So close. So fucking close to the sweet end. Your body was desperate to reach the edge and release the tension you had saved for so long, just to have this moment with him. His grip grew rough on your hips, but Will remained still, and you knew it was taking a huge amount of self-control to buck his hips and thrust into you.

And finally, you exploded cursing under your breath, leaning your forehead against his. Moans and whimpers escaped your lips, your pussy clenching around his shaft, but you took a while to slow down and you held tightly on him. The wetness of your cunt sliding down your inner thighs.

"Fuck me," you gasped, still riding out your orgasm. "Fuck me like this until you cum."

And without a word, he did. His hard grip made you remain still, his hips rocking at a brutal pace, you were still sensitive from your orgasm, but it truly didn't care. He was already twitching inside of you and your whole body trembled. Your fingers tangled on his blonde, soft curls, while biting your lip to hold back your moans.

Will was so close to his own peak, his thrusts became erractic and breathy moans left his lips. You were also sure his grip would leave marks on your body, but that was more than okay. It would be perfect to remember how good he was making you feel and how hard he made you cum... Everything was more than perfect and every thrust made you crazy, aching for more of him and how deep he felt inside of your spasming walls...

With a last powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside you, spilling his seed deep inside of your cunt with a shattered breath against the crook of your neck. You just wished to stay like this forever, with him moving you on top of him gently, milking every drop of him.

Your body felt weak, but you smiled, panting and moving to see his beautiful sweaty face. He was completely spent, as much as you were. His hands caressed your thighs in a gentle way, and you pecked his nose, tasting the salty sweat running down his skin.

"This was so good," you mumbled.

"You feel good," Will answered, now he kissed your lips. "You feel better than I ever thought..."

You chuckled. "So you also imagined something before."

"A lot, in fact," he nodded, smiling and kissing your cheek, lips tracing the features on your face.

"Mind sharing some of them later? Maybe in the shower?" you suggested.

"Darling, you don't even have to ask."

The sweetness of his deep voice and the dark meaning of his words sent shivers down your spine. This was going to be a long night.

[max1461]

My first encounter with the broad concept of "people who want to live in the woods" came in the form of seeing people, online and in media, actually living in the woods, in one capacity or another.

As a teenager I watched Ray Mears' Bushcraft. It's a really good show that I would strongly recommend to just about anyone. Ray Mears (who in fact popularized the term "bushcraft") is a British wilderness survival/outdoorsmanship expert, and in Bushcraft he travels around the world, meeting with people who still practice some form of traditional subsistence-off-the-land, and documenting their knowledge and techniques. He shows traditional bushcraft in the Amazon, among aboriginal Australians, etc., and talks to the people who practice it about their way of life.

This show had a pretty big impact on me as a young person. I was already avidly interested in nature and the outdoors, and I had been intrigued by the concept of "wilderness survival" since watching Survivorman as a kid. There was something very appealing about the idea of placing oneself in nature with as few barriers as possible; getting to experience the natural world not just in a removed, "sightseeing" way, but in a real, engaged and "tactile" way. But what Mears presented added an additional layer of appeal: "wilderness survival" not as a chaotic fray to stay alive, but as a body of skills, refined over the centuries, which can be taught and learned. A mature art, something sophisticated and deep, in which one can become a practitioner. Something, in other words, a lot like mathematics, which I already knew that I liked, and a lot like language, which I had just recently become aware I was fascinated by. This inspired in me a much more lasting and serious interest in bushcraft. I began reading about it more seriously, and practicing as much of it as I could (not very much) in my parents' back yard.

I still count "becoming truly proficient in bushcraft" as one of my life goals, although I am not anywhere near that point yet.

A further point stressed by Ray Mears was that these traditional bushcraft techniques are a dying art. As people's lifestyles change, they are not getting passed on, and soon they may be lost. I want to stress here (because I'm on tumblr, where Big Ideas and Grand Narratives rule) that I have no desire to chastise people for living a different lifestyle than their grandparents! That's fine! I do not believe that, I don't know, the children of bushcraft experts should be forced by government decree to live in the woods or whatever. I have to make this clear, because "what should we force people to do by government decree?" seems often to be the only level at which tumblr discoursers are willing to think. What I am claiming is that this loss of knowledge is sad, it is unfortunate, and being that I and others (including most principally many of the practitioners) would not like to see these arts die out, it would be nice if they continued to be taught and learned and thereby passed on into posterity.

There need not be some kind of Decree! Maybe people just do some kind of outreach, as Mears himself did, and get more people interested in these things. Maybe, if you're an Amazonian guy or an aboriginal Australian guy, you do that outreach in a community-internal way, because your desire is principally to increase interest community-internally. I don't know; my whole point here is that I'm not really trying to get into the political dimension of this. That's not where my interests lie. Other than expressing a general sentiment that "bushcraft is cool and readers of my blog should think it's cool", I don't have any particular agenda here.

Anyway, this is the sum total of the context in which "people going out and doing shit in the woods" existed for me until just a few years ago. Then I came into the internet discoursosphere, around 2020, and I realized two things very quickly:

everyone was debating the relative merits of living in the woods

no one seemed to have any interest in or experience with anything even passingly related to living in the woods on a practical level, either first- or second-hand.

It was all, all this purely abstract, "theory"-based, grand narrativizing politico-philosophical debate. Nobody gave a shit about friction fire-lighting or shelter construction at an object level. Nobody gave a fucking shit!

This is a microcosm, and in fact not just a microcosm but perhaps the type case, of why I hate the discourse. The discourse is insistent on taking everything real in the world, everything that is (permit me to get a bit philosophical myself) vibrant and living and actual, and turning it into this dreary, sterile, empty word game. Are the Marxists the True Leftists or are the Anprims the True Leftists? Which one is it? I don't know and I don't care. Why is our interest in being in nature mediated by meaningless word game abstractions? Why must our interest in science or history be reduced to meaningless word game abstractions (shape rotator/wordcel discourse)? Why must our interest in, say, video games be reduced to meaningless word game abstractions (any of the thousand video game discourses)? Etc. etc.

It's actively, fucking, toxic to the idea of just being a person in the world. Everything you do has to be some symbol in a bullshit fucking symbol game. Worse, everything everybody else does becomes to you a symbol in a symbol game, even if they aren't playing.

I am dedicated to an alternate project. I want to be in the world and I want to be in it with others. In fact, I am so dedicated to this, that I can appreciate the reality of others' lived experience and actions even in spite of the symbol games they might be playing, even if I think these symbol games might be a little bit bullshit. This is a plainly virtuous way to be. This is the way I was raised to interact with people; it is parablized in various different ways, we're told (among other things) "everyone has a story", and "everyone is valuable in their own way", and so on. And these things may seem trite but they are true, they are obviously fucking true and many people in "discourse" have forgotten.

There are some anarchists who are really into urban community gardening. They're into it for various reasons. Some feel that it gives them autonomy over and knowledge of their own food in a way that buying things at the grocery store does not. That's fair, and kinda cool. If you're into that I support you. Some of them think that the whole economy could be replaced with urban community gardens. That's a bit silly. But I will come to these "silly" anarchists' defense every single time without question, because, fuck, they're doing something. I mean they're fucking doing something, ya know? They see meaning in this thing, and they're doing it, and that's cool! I would rather go to the overly idealistic anarchist community garden than the just-the-right-tendency Marxist reading group or whatever the fuck every single time.

Buncha "got lost in the world of symbols and forgot what they signify" mfers on this world wide web of ours istg.

[nekumiho]

persona 3 reload came out yesterday so Naturally i was obligated to finally do a finished piece with my silly velvet room attendants submas au. alt versions, lore info, and misc doodles under the cut o__o (attendant related p5 spoilers mentioned). also sorry for the eyestrain.

protags they attend to are Fellow Twins hilda and hilbert who always just get referred to as 'passenger(s)'. velvet room manifestation is the inside of a subway car, no i havent worked out what that symbolizes to hilda and hilbert, dont worry about it. but i think whether its visibly in motion or not wld depend on the protags' mental state, one side of the windows for hilda and one for hilbert. mostly dark empty with no visual movement outside the windows w/ maybe a flickering station light somewhere or a visibly blocked tunnel for when theyre feeling stuck in life, default would be like a well lit platform outside of the window with faceless shadow people walking around, how crowded it is depends on their progress with social links. high speed through the tunnels with their half of the car rocking violently when there's high stress super dire stuff going on, steady movement when theyre making progress with something, etc etc

their brassards HOPEFULLY translate to 'down' (χάμω) and 'up' (πάνω) in greek??? i wanted smth like caroline and justine's hats but also not The Same and uhhh yknow. persona 3 and greek mythology are pretty :handshake:.

i dont wanna steal margaret's eldest sibling clout so i think physically ingo and emmet would be younger than her but only barely. margaret is literally the only attendant i can see being physically over like 35 and i need sbms to be mid thirties at like the bare minimum. theyre highkey disturbed whenever lavenza willingly splits herself back into caroline and justine. weirded out by the other 'twins' in general bc they're not even Real twins. they gatekeep being twins. if anyone asks "so are you guys also just two halves of one person" it will be the most offensive thing you could ever say to them. elizabeth and emmet bully theodore together. ingo doesnt dislike theodore but just kind of forgets he exists because the twins are always being like "my brother, [name] (pauses and remembers theodore), i mean, ONE of my brothers,"

emmet is very :handshake: with elizabeth while ingo is very :handshake: with margaret. they both have their own fave sisters whoops. (sorry lavenza). in any sort of 'dancing game' scenario theyre both awkward as hell. very theodore core in general with emmet having some of the elizabeth vibes of just 'i am just never going to stop making random jerky body movements' ingo is a BIT more stiff. but like in general i think theo's way of life and elizabeth's aria of the soul have pretty good ingo and emmet vibes respectively. if i ever learn model editing beyond texture replacement its so over for my mmds.

i love igor dearly but i think since there are Two of them they can kinda handle stuff on their own while igor helps with Other persona protags in their respective rooms? emmet says shit like "YEAH FUCK IGOR THIS IS OUR LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!" and ingos like "emmet be nice thats still our boss and the only reason he let us be in charge is because hes busy".

ingo handles all persona fusion stuff and emmet does storage/organization/other misc stuff and gives you p3 elizabeth styled quests. they can both be social linked because i say so. emmet is justice arcana and ingo is judgement. emmets quests are the only way or at least the main way to increase your social link with him and if you dont finish one of his Special Request ones you lose your link with him. one of the special requests is to take him and ingo to see a real subway station 100% because theyve never seen one.

of all the other velvet rooms, they like the p4 one the most because the inside of the limo is the closest to the subway car they're familiar with but i think theyd like the p3 one too for the possible rocking motion of the elevator eternally going up

thats all i can think of right now i THINK thats everything??? so heres an original concept sketch,

and also a funny emmet quest moments doodle

oh yeah emmet really fucking loves jack frost because they have similar vibes. ingo, on the other hand, is a big pyro jack fan.

[sysmedsaresexist]

hey does acknowledging the existence of parts make symptoms worse? like if they have a different name or other stuff about them thats different from you as a part, or using we/us, or generally just talking about them as a different part. i see ppl on reddit complain abt 'fakers' and them talking abt parts as if different from themself being against treatment guidelines but whenever i talk about my parts this way w drs/nurses/etc no one gives a shit. how else am i supposed to talk about it

Posting all three asks together.

To the very first question, does acknowledging parts make symptoms worse, yes and no. I have to talk about both, because it depends.

Typically, when people first find out they're a system or start questioning having a CDD, symptoms DO get worse.

A lot of antis and reddit are going on old research (old research doesn't support them, bear with me). Before the age of the internet, most people had someone ELSE point out that they were a system before they saw it in themselves.

This has to do with how mental health was treated a couple decades ago (having problems was Bad™️, deny and hide symptoms, it's still true but it was much worse), and access to resources about symptoms being much, much harder to come by. Amnesia was harder to notice. These days, every time you log in, you can see what your alters were doing while you were gone. There's no denying or hiding it.

That said, take myself, for example. I'm in my mid 30s, and I've been in therapy since I was 4.

Around age 20, after a very serious event, my therapist and I started to discuss alters. Before this point, I had rarely heard them, as far I knew, they didn't have names or personalities. Many of my alters DIDN'T have names. They were little more than emotionally reactive concepts of bad coping methods-- "the angry one," "self harming one."

It wasn't until I worked with my therapist to gain some kind of communication that my system kind of... activated. Suddenly, all my symptoms seemed 100 times worse, I was noticing things more and more, the increased communication was terrifying, we fought and rejected each other. We became more real, gained traits, names, voices.

Typically, this kind of upset settles after a while, but it's normal for it to get worse.

This type of progression of symptoms is well documented, but it's no longer the norm.

Now, is it specifically acknowledging the alters or parts that cause issues?

Fuck no, and Treatment Guidelines don't say that acknowledging them as separate is a bad thing.

The treatment guidelines are very clear that you use the language and words that the client uses.

What the treatment guidelines advise against is encouraging the rejection or disownment of parts. An example is someone who's religious, and believes that their system is related to possession. The therapist is to refer to the alters in the same way the client does-- by name and "we/us", etc, without encouraging the idea that they're actually possessed by a demon.

This is more about system accountability than anything else. The point is to get the system to realize that they are all in this together, and that the actions of one have consequences for all, including the demon in question. There is no hell to return to, when the body goes to jail, so do you.

This is integration.

Learning to get along, compromise on needs and wants, working together, leaning on each other, learning about each other, until together you're an unstoppable power ranger mecha with useful skills spread throughout the system. Everyone has a part to play in success.

You can't do that if you don't acknowledge them and their differences.

Fuck reddit.

[subliminalbo]

Okay, elephant in the room? I was an Alpha.

Right now you're thinking "this stupid, little, blonde bimbo is soooo addicted to serving that she went out and got herself brainwashed again." But this is just research, honest! Corbin says that research is the most important part of journalism. You can't write about mindless whores without becoming one yourself!

I was basically already Corbin Arroyo's biggest fan when she joined us in the Alphas house. It was pretty crowded by that point, but I managed to get a turn on her during the conditioning. I can still taste her on my lips, still hear her whimper when my tongue glided over her clit. And I remember how powerful I felt driving my idol to such a point of pure ecstasy that she totally lost her mind—with the help of the visor over her eyes, of course. God, I still get so hot just thinking about it.

But, uh, maaaybe don't mention all that to her? I don't want her to think I'm like some crazy fan or something.

The point is that Corbin and I have been through a lot together. The kind of stuff that bonds people together for life. Like, finding a dead body in the woods. You can't talk about that to everybody.

So I'm working for her now. Or I will be, once I prove myself with a big scoop.

Corbin's been playing it cool. She says stuff like, "I'm not looking for a partner right now" and "please stop texting me." (She's so funny!) I thought tracking her number down would be enough to convince her, but she's really testing me. I needed something big.

Everyone knows River City is filthy with corruption and vice. I figured that if I hung around the motel district long enough I'd stumble upon some kind of scandal to write about, so I checked into the Gilead Hotel. It seemed as good a place as any to do my research. Don't let the fancy name fool you, it's a total dump. I got a good deal on the room though, must have been the cute girl rate.

"Say," I said to the kid with the splotchy beard at the front desk. "Where can a girl find some work around here?"

"Work?" he repeated in a low, quavering sort of voice. "Like...work work?"

"What other kind of work is there?" I giggled.

The poor kid seemed conflicted when he paid me his $250. It was probably a whole paycheck for him, but I wasn't going to discount myself for his sake. I blew him in the break room. It was a little space with wood paneling and crusty green carpet that scraped against my knees. The folding chair creaked beneath him as I rolled my tongue over the head of his cock.

I didn't have much of a taste for this kind of thing before I was an Alpha, but blowjobs were a skill that Madison considered as essential as eating pussy. I put my Alpha training to good use, teasing him with my tongue until he whimpered like Corbin, then I slurped down his shaft in slow, deep gulps, increasing my speed with each repetition. I took him the rest of the way with my hand and finished him off in my mouth, swallowing every drop of his warm cum with a dopey little smile.

"Fu-ck," his voice cracked.

I was so horny when we were finished that I would have let him fuck me, but that was another $750, and I was seriously worried that he would dip into the till. There were more johns in River City with deeper pockets anyway.

Shit, this is bad journalism, isn't it? You want to know how I got brainwashed again to begin with. To be honest, that part's a little fuzzy. I remember I was prowling campus for my big scoop when I met this stranger. Suddenly, I'm handcuffed in some dark room and the stranger's saying, "You are a mindless whore," and I'm like, "No, I'm Tabbie!" But after a few thousand times I started to agree with him.

"I am a mindless whore."

It wasn't a difficult transition for me. Sometimes I miss having a mistress like Madison, but I can hear the power in my Master's voice. I've never seen his face. He sets me up with johns over the phone. I sit around my room at the Gilead Hotel (I never left!) watching TV and waiting for him to call. When the phone rings, my mind goes all fuzzy again and all I can think about are big, fat cocks in my cute, wet pussy.

Master has a few more girls with their own rooms at the hotel and on days off we lounge around the pool and talk about being mindless whores and sucking cocks and stuff.

Research! I mean, I can't remember any of the johns' faces and my Master is so clever I'll never catch him, but I do get to wear cute outfits and be a total slut which was just me most days already. Corbin will save me eventually anyway, so I'm enjoying it while I can.

Oh my god. Maybe Master will make Corbin into a cute mindless whore too!

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 6

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Here we are on book 2!

I took a couple days off because my body was perishing (read: my uterus was being a little bitch) but I am back :D

Today's tea is an apple crumble with milk and sugar and my little reading buddy (Charlie) has returned for this chapter Extra Needy and sporting his new necktie.

Let's get into this long chapter:

And we start three years later! I was wondering if there was going to be a time jump and there is! :) p9

Why is everyone so thirsty in this world RE: Ning YingYing p10

Oh dang. I really want to know what's making people melt into skeletons p13

Shen Qingqiu is such a vibe" I know I am physically useless, but i'm also a walking encyclopedia so I bring that to the party" p14 honestly same

So many corpses in the water!! p18

Oh shit, what the heck Wu Chen's legs? p22

RE: Wu Chen I did lol at "Great Master, you call this a bit uncomfortable?!" p 22

this totally feels more like a curse than a standard plague p24

why am I laughing so hard at "fuck me, with this speed, they wouldn't lose to a runner doing the 100-metre hurdles! 'Old Lady'? Yeah right! I must be blind!"p26

oooo! Gongyi Xiao is back! p28

Baby is back too!! Luo Binghe! pp29-31

omg and now there is a height difference! Shen qinqgiu being the smol one p32

Re: on the subject of thinking it was a curse like 15 pages ago, it is not a curse. I don't know why I thought it would be literally anything other than demons LOL this is the plot of the entire fictional universe of this book p37

Luo Binghe still only has eyes for Shen Qingqiu- even after being tossed into hell p38

I truly love the inner monologue of Shen Qingqiu's thoughts vs what people just kind of assume he's feeling. SQQ: Luo Binghe has brainwashed these disciples, he is definitely coming for me, I am fucked. Everyone else: this poor man misses his student so much, he is so hurt that Luo Binghe didn't go back to him.

LOL at Luo Binghe's hatefire at seeing SQQ and Gongyi Xiao bonding together p42

I can't XD SQQ: I have a huge announcement guys, Luo Binghe is back!!!! Everyone else: who tf is that? RIP p44

no shit that demonic activity increasing in frequency is 100% indeed a bad omen. p47

I'm crying SQQ thinks Luo BInghe is about to kill him p48

not the magpie bridge reference p50

This man is just crushing his windpipe for funsies -> why do I feel like this is their dynamic? p50

SQQ is actually an idiot. This fool is continuously operating under the assumption that nothing in the story has changed and the original story is guaranteed. If he heard these words and responded appropriately he'd probably be fine RE: "Then why did you tell me not to put too much weight on race and that no one is intolerable to the heavens" p55

Goddamn is Luo Binghe just going to keep beating the shit out of SQQ?? pp57-59

He really made him drink his blood (side note: when this is all said and done, I need to read some vampire aus) What even is that blood going to do to him?? (do not actually tell me, I assume I will find out soonish) p59

I am once again here to talk about how utterly Fucked SQQ is. He still has 0 idea that Luo Binghe has absolutely claimed him p65

Oh dang. Still, even after all this, SQQ has not shaken his original fate of being hated p69

Bro should have let Qi Qingyi finish that sentence. Re: out of his mind with grief" also probably would have changed some things (even if he was embarrassed as hell) p71

omg so much happening in this scene rn AND then Shen Qingqiu's ex shows up out of no where?!?!?!?!??!!? p73

this man truly cannot catch a break p75

holy shit not even his ex- his wife??????? p75

oop, we have SQQ backstory reveal p77

But also with this reveal: it's a little weird for her though. Like her family takes in this kid from the street, makes him a servant. He continues to serve them, his "family" starts to view him a sibling, AND THEN they get betrothed (not married). Like what. This is wild poor guy- weird because sibling dynamics, also he was their servant. I think she is the weird one honestly. p77

okay, well, he did kill her brother LOL p78

the water prison does not sound good. p81

he really wants to try and last a month there??? best of luck buddy, he cant even handle riding in a carriage without a snack p85

Bonus picture with no notes!

I'm actually so excited for the water prison- it sounds vile, but I need to know how he get's out/how his relationship with Luo Binghe progresses.

[cannedbeefaroni]

Bloodbath & Beyond (Edward Nashton X Reader) (SMUT)

Summary: Eddie cheers you up while you're on your period.

Content: (TW) BLOOD (PERIOD BLOOD TO BE SPECIFIC), BLOOD KINK(?), period sex, reader has an increased libido during their period, P in V sex, fingering, unprotected sex, soft M/dom, Eddie being a weirdo, but also overly sweet

Y/N is referred to in second person as you/yours, but is referred to with feminine terminology at least once, and is written to have AFAB genitalia.

You couldn’t ask for a sweeter partner than Edward; he was the cutest boy you’ve ever met, with big puppy dog eyes, and he would do anything for you. He’d come over to your place as often as you’d let him, and he’d always greet you with a tight bear hug. He loved bringing you dinner after you’d come home from a long day at work. Sometimes he would surprise you with flowers, explaining that he happened to see a particularly beautiful bouquet in your favorite colors that reminded him of you. He was always at your beckon call, doting over your every need. You’d often forget that he was a terrifying killer, and not just your ideal future househusband.

One particular night he came knocking on your door, and in response he heard you yelp in surprise. Your reaction sparked fear in him, having him saying “it's okay! It’s me!” through the door to not scare you. He waited in silence for a minute before you opened the door, face flushed, hair in disarray, and wearing a t-shirt and shorts. “Aw, sweetie, you don’t look so good,” he cooed at you with a frown.

You glared up at him with tired eyes, saying “I had a long day.”

“-you wanna talk about it?” 

“Yeah,” you let him in, and he set a brown paper bag on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch with you. You could safely assume it was dinner from the smell of food. You slumped into the couch, letting out a yawn as Edward sat patiently next to you, waiting to be spoken to. “I just got my period today. It’s pretty heavy, and on top of that I didn't sleep well last night. I felt like shit all day. I only just got home.”

“Aw…” he caressed your shoulder, leaning in closer as he laid back with you. “Do you feel sick?”

“A little,” you sighed. “Just have cramps and a bit of a migraine. I just took medicine for it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he whispered sweetly to you.

“I just want to cuddle right now.” Edward wasted no time in wrapping you up in a full embrace. He pulled you on top of him, laying on the couch. He knew you loved laying on top of him to nap. His embrace remained tight as he feverishly kissed your forehead. You could feel yourself melting into his body, absorbing his warmth. His warm stomach pressed against yours was soothing, almost like a heat pack. His hand repetitively caressed your back, nearly soothing you to sleep. The two of you made strange whining noises as you lovingly squeezed each other, and Edward giggled softly in adoration. You found yourself dozing off for a few minutes before something was poking your leg. 

 “Eddie?”

“Mhm?” 

“Are you getting… uh…” your face radiated heat, resting against his chest. 

“Uh… I can ignore it, but is it making you uncomfortable?” he asked softly with his hand resting in your hair. 

“I- uh,” 

“I won’t ask you to do anything, I know you’re not in the mood,” he said, and it felt like a knife in the chest. 

“But I am…” you admitted, feeling ashamed even though you knew better to not be.

“Ohhh, were you in the middle of… touching yourself when I got here? It kinda seemed like it,” he asked, and you buried your head in his chest, whimpering an “mhm,” pathetically. “I thought you didn’t like having sex on your period?” he asked, seeming confused. 

“I only don’t want to because I don’t think you’d enjoy it… It would be messy and gross,” as you spoke, Edward scoffed.

“That's ridiculous. Do you really think I would be scared of the sight of blood? Me of all people?” He sounded serious but you thought it was kind of funny that you didn’t take that into account. Your face was burning red, flattered beyond belief that he seemed eager to please you even on your period. It was something entirely new to you. “If you’re so concerned about a mess, we could just do it in the shower. Would you like that, sweetheart?” He sounded like he was begging. 

“Mhm, I’d like that,” you said pensively before being swiftly picked up by your boyfriend, and your legs wrapped around his hips as he carried you to the bathroom. 

He set you down before undressing you gently. Once he pulled off your panties, he even peeled off the dirty pad, rolled it up, and threw it in the garbage for you. You giggled, but was also slightly shocked at how he wasn’t repulsed by the blood. You stepped into the shower before watching him undress himself as well, then he followed in after you. His hands came to cup your face as he kissed you tenderly. You felt needy as your mouth eagerly opened for his tongue, accepting his wet sloppy kisses. He was already half hard, and you could feel him brush against your crotch. His hand traveled down your body, brushing over your sensitive breast and stomach before finding its way to your clit, rubbing it in circles. You gasped loudly at the feeling, and tried to hold back your moans. Your hips twitched and your breathing became sloppy. You were way too quick to begin moving up against his fingers, and he noticed. His fingers dipped into your pussy with ease, and you cried out in pleasure as he was quick to figure the location of your g-spot based on your reactions to his movement. His long fingers pumped in and out of you as he held the back of your head with his other hand, kissing you over and over again. 

“My good girl,” he whispered against your lips over your intense whimpering. His head dipped down into the crook of your neck, leaving kisses and bites. He licked over the sensitive bite marks after leaving them, and continued kissing down your chest to your nipple. He licked around your areola before placing his lips on it to suck on your tender breast. His free hand went to gently massage the other as he continued fingering you, and you continued moaning with increasing volume. You were way more reactive than usual, especially to having your breasts touched. You were crying out from the overstimulation, and your legs began to wobble. “My baby is so needy, aren’t you?” he cooed at you in a whisper. 

“Eddie, please, I’m gonna- I’m-” you stuttered through heavy pants. 

“Not yet, please, I want you to cum while I’m inside,” he said in a raspy voice, looking up at you. He pulled his fingers out of you and stood back up to tower over you. He held up his hand to look at it, covered in your blood. It was bright red and sticky, as it was mixed with your vaginal discharge. The way it stained his hand, however, was similar to regular blood, minus the small clumps. It had a heavy odor, which he was extremely embarrassed to admit to himself was intoxicating to him. He was always obsessed with your scent, to the point of wanting to sniff your dirty clothes and panties. Though he worried about your judgment, he couldn’t stop himself from bringing his fingers to his lips and tasting your blood. You stared at him wide eyed as he eagerly sucked his fingers with his eyes blissfully closed. It tasted like you, but it also tasted more metallic. His arm hooked under your leg, bringing it to wrap around his waist. He pulled you in as close as possible, holding you tightly. You couldn’t find any words to say as the two of you stared into each other's eyes in yearning. You could feel his dick prodding at your entrance, and he eventually grabbed it and guided it into you. His hips rutted into yours, making you cry out viscerally. Edward wasted no time and began fucking you hard. The added wetness made it feel even better than usual. You let him fuck you as hard as he pleased while your body rested against him, letting him take control. He grunted and whimpered with each thrust as he completely lost all composure. His movements were sloppy as he pulled your hair, bringing your eyes to meet his before he kissed your lips with his fingers still grasping your hair. He pulled you by your hair back and stared at you before asking, “do you like this?” with a breathless voice. 

“M-mhm,” you struggled to answer through moans. 

“What was that?” he teased, pretending to not hear you. 

“I- I love it! It’s so good,” you whined as his cock continued pumping inside you mercilessly. His hands moved down your body to grab your ass. His nails dug into the skin as he pushed himself as deep as possible into you. 

“You nearly came instantly. You never finish that quickly. Why didn’t you tell me you get this horny on your period?” he asked brutally through grunts. 

“I was embarrassed- I- I thought it was weird and gross,” you whimpered. Edward frowned in response as he looked at you with sad eyes. 

“I’ll do anything for you. I’ll fuck you whenever you want, sweetie. I wanna take care of my pretty baby,” he panted roughly as his dick twitched inside of you. You could tell he was getting close, and feeling that was pushing you over the edge as well. “-and you’re beautiful. You’re never gross.”

“Eddie, I’m so close,” you cried as you held onto him tightly, letting him fuck you at a brutal pace. 

“Already? My poor baby, you must’ve been so pent up. It's okay sweetie, you can cum now. You can cum for me-” he whispered so sweetly in your ear as his cock pushed you over the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clenched around him, crying out from the intensity. He whimpered “yes, yes, yes” as his dick was being viced. Your legs shook as Edward held onto you tightly, making sure you wouldn’t fall. He kissed your lips intensely as he stayed inside you, letting you ride out your high. You kissed him back, holding him dearly. 

“I wanna keep going until you cum too…” 

“Where do you want me to finish?” he whispered as his lips grazed the side of your face. 

“Inside… please,” you admitted a little shamefully. 

You heard his breath hitch in response. You felt his hands on your sides, shaking in excitement, gently turning you to face the shower door. He had you lean against it as he got you to bend over for him, arching your back and sticking your ass up for him. His hands grabbed each side of your waist tightly. Looking down at himself, the image of his cock covered in your blood was burning into his mind. He slid back into you, filling you up perfectly. You pressed up against the shower door as you looked back up at him, watching him admire your body with adoration before he began moving in and out of you. You arched your back in rhythm with his movements, making your ass slap against his skin, and pulling yourself almost all the way off of him before slamming back down on his base. He leaned forward and began pounding you ruthlessly. His nails were digging into your waist as he forced you to take his dick. He whined viscerally from the added wetness of your period, and the tightness from your orgasm. 

“Oh my god- you’re so good. You feel so good sweetie- I- fuck, I need to fill you up. F-fill you up with everything I’ve got,” he dirty talked to you, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. 

“Please- please, I need it, please, Eddie,” you whimpered through being pushed into the wall with thrusts. Your moans were way too loud, and you knew you were going to get noise complaints for this, but you didn’t really care. His hands ran up to your breasts, grabbing them firmly. He felt the weight of your tits in his hands, feeling how they bounced in reaction to his movements. Then his hands moved to your neck, wrapping around it so gently before grabbing it with force, making you take his cock as deep as possible. 

“Oh god, I never wanna stop- I wanna be this close to you forever. I want to crawl inside your skin and live inside you until the end of time. Sweetheart, you’re my angel, my dove, my sweet songbird. I’m gonna fill you up like you deserve,” he rambled almost incoherently. His voice was whiny, and sounded like he was about to cry. He thrusted into you as hard as possible as he groaned in stutters. You gasped, feeling his hot seed spill into you as his cock twitched. He was slowly pumping his dick into you, getting everything out. He lifted one of your legs by your thigh and wrapped his other arm around you, letting your body rest against his. Edward panted heavily against your ear as your head rested on his shoulder. You turned your head to look up at him, and he did the same to you before deeply kissing you. Pulling away, you realized he was near tears.

“Eddie, are you okay?” you frowned, turning a little to face him better. You caressed his cheek, and he leaned his head into you as his lips tightened into a smile. 

He didn’t respond at first, he just sniffled before hugging you tightly, burying his face in your hair. It sounded like he was laughing and sobbing all at once. You hugged him back, caressing his back to soothe him. Through a sob, he said “thank you.”

“Thank you too,” you said meekly, feeling a little awkward. He giggled as he kissed your forehead. 

“Did I satisfy your needs for tonight?” he said somewhat robotically, and you were kinda unsure whether he was doing it on purpose for a joke or he just worded himself awkwardly. 

“Mhm. You were perfect, Eddie. You always are,” you hummed sweetly, and he chuckled gleefully in response. 

“As long as you’re happy, I’ve fulfilled my purpose,” he rocked you in his arms. “Come on, sweetie, let’s wash off and go to bed. It’s getting late.”

[cariantha]

If Only I Could

Book: Open Heart, Book 2, Chapter 7

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: General

Warning: A couple curse words

Category: Angst (with an OK ending)

Word count: 1.3K

Summary: After conducting surveillance on Louise, Sawyer is frustrated with Ethan’s mixed signals.

A/N: I am participating in the Luck of the Draw event hosted by @moodmusicmonday. I drew the song The Enemy by Andrew Belle. It inspired a little angst. There were definitely some lyrics that spoke to me. I bolded the themes/keywords that I used as prompts.

Not before a final squeeze, Ethan releases the grip on her hand to put the car in park. He shifts his body to face her and she responds in kind. As his grateful eyes connect with hers, he cups her cheek.

“Thanks again for doing this with me. I… I appreciate you, Sawyer. More than I could ever properly express.” 

She feels the sincerity in his touch, hears it in his voice, and sees it in his loving expression. Leaning into hope this will be the moment that the reset business is forgotten, Sawyer wraps one hand around the wrist that still tenderly holds her face. The other hand on his shoulder slowly pulls him in. 

The cautious strategy backfires, giving Ethan too much time to process what was about to happen. As his convictions overwhelm him, he suddenly withdraws, taking her hands in his to hold them down.

“We shouldn’t,” he says with a sorrowful shake of his head. 

Sawyer wastes no time pulling herself free, turning away and scrambling for the door handle. Despite the sheets of rain still coming down, she hurriedly escapes his pity, jumping from the car and slamming the door behind her. 

Ethan slams his hands on the steering wheel. “Shit!” 

Sawyer is halfway to the side entrance of the hospital when she feels his hand on the back of her arm and turns to face him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine, Ethan. We don’t need to do this,” she says, shrugging free from his hold. If she’s learned one thing from her mentor it’s how to be fashionably numb in emotional situations. And in this moment she tries her best to channel that energy, failing instantly with what comes next out of his mouth.

“Sawyer, it’s just…you know how compli-”

“I knowwwww!” she growls, shaking fists in the air. “You don’t need to tell me it’s complicated. You don’t need to tell me you’re doing this for me or my career. I know…” her voice cracks, “but that doesn’t make it sting any less, Ethan.” 

The tears are disguised by the rain that falls upon her face, but glossy eyes give away the depth of her frustration. With crossed arms she stares at the sad reflection looking back from a puddle and recalls something Ethan said earlier. 

“Why didn’t he ever resent her the way I did?”

“Hmph,” she shakes her head in defeat.

“Talk to me.”

“If only I could resent you,” voicing her inner thoughts, “...if only it were that easy.”

“What do you mean?” he wills her to look up at him.

Just a little while ago, in a parking lot across the street from a rundown motel, Sawyer listened sympathetically to Ethan’s heartbreaking family history. Her heart broke for both father and son. But as she stands here now with Ethan’s childhood memories replaying in her mind, she feels for Alan Ramsey. She understands the conflict between head and heart.

“...she said she needed to go to the grocery store, and then she just… didn’t come back.” 

She knows it could never compare to the deep dejection that the Ramsey men must have felt when Louise unexpectedly left. But as of a few months ago, Sawyer can now say she understands what abandonment feels like.

She believed him when he said they would make it work. Only to realize he had broken that promise when he disappeared into the jungle with no word. No opportunity to ask questions. No way to get answers. No chance to say goodbye.   

“[He] was beside himself...thinking something terrible had happened to her.”

Sawyer recalls the increasing dread as each day passed with no contact. Did he even make it to Brazil? Had he been attacked by militant guerillas or actual gorillas? Had he fallen ill from an Amazonian spider bite, or worse, from the disease that he was there to help prevent? Did he fall and get lost in the rainforest, or worst of all, did he fall and get lost in the arms of someone else?

“...he’d been dumped.”

Dumped. Deserted. Rejected. Cast aside. Forgotten. Just a few of the sentiments that described how it felt learning Ethan Ramsey was alive and well, and had the ability to communicate but chose not to. At least not with her.

“She made a fool out of him!”

Finally looking up to answer his question, “Maybe I’ve made myself the fool, but I just can’t seem to hate you. We had something...no, we still have something and despite the repeated rejection, I cling to some shred of hope," she exhales. “Maybe that’s how your dad felt about your mom.”

“I tried,” his whisper barely audible over the patter of rain still falling from the gray sky above. 

“What?”

“I’ve tried,” he enunciates louder, “to make you resent me. And when that didn’t work, I tried to make you my enemy. But it’s impossible to hate you too.” Forgetting they were out in the open, Ethan takes a step forward and delicately wraps his fingers around her wrist. “I’m sorry that everything is so upside down. I wish things could be different.” 

Even with all the moisture around them, his touch ignites a spark. But the thrill is quickly extinguished yet again.

“Ethan? Dr. Brooks? You’re both soaked to the bone! Is everything okay?” Harper calls from under an umbrella.

Remembering their surroundings, he quickly lets go of Sawyer as his ex steps up beside him. Harper’s hand finds the back of his shoulder and the affectionate display makes Sawyer shrink back with a familiar pang of doubt. 

“Uh, Dr. Brooks fell and I…I was making sure she wasn’t hurt,” his concerned eyes scan Sawyer for evidence of further injury, but not the physical kind.

Whether he intended it or not, the double meaning was not lost on her. Sawyer heard more truth in that statement than lies. She did fall. She fell hard. And it does hurt. More than she is willing to admit. 

“Thank you, Dr. Ramsey,” she plays along pretending to look herself over. Finally lifting her eyes to meet his gaze, she is deliberate with her word choice. “Just a few bruises.”

“Ethan, since I’ve caught you here, I’ve been meaning to ask…” Harper’s voice fades into the background as his focus remains on Sawyer’s crestfallen demeanor. “So? Shall I set up the meeting?” the question snaps him back. 

“That’s fine,” he answers, not caring what it is that he just agreed to.

“Great, I’ll look for some time on our schedules. Now come on, let’s get out of this nasty weather,” she suggests leading the way. 

Sawyer turns to follow Harper indoors but Ethan stops her. 

“Rookie, hold on a minute. I’m…I’m sorry our timing is off. You know if the circumstances were different we’d…that I would…” he trails off looking for understanding in her eyes. “You…you know that, right?”

Sawyer visibly deflates her shoulders and nods affirmatively. “And I think that’s why this,” she gestures between them, “...this is really confusing sometimes.” 

“I agree.” 

With no other solution coming to mind, Sawyer tries to move them forward the best way she knows how. “Can you just do me a favor? Every once in a while can you pretend it’s the first day of my intern year and unleash the rude and arrogant Dr. Ramsey? That would help me not want to kiss you all the time,” she jokes.

“Well, I suppose if it helps,” he offers politely before twisting his features into a pretend scowl. “Your taste in men is concerning, your judgment questionable. You are severely lacking both bark and bite when you’re angry, and you are entirely too quick to forgive.”

He walks off without another word, but after a few paces glances back with a satisfied smirk.

“What an asshole,” she smiles back.

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @ofmischiefandmedicine @openheartforeverinmyheart @doriopenheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog

[glitchdollmemoria]

that last post mentioning masks got me thinking about how like... i quite literally cannot wear a mask at all times due to one of my disabilities. i TRY to wear one when i can but it isnt always an option for me, which fucking sucks because im terrified of getting sick and potentially worsening the very disability that prevents me from consistently masking. and hardly anyone masks anymore so its not like theyre helping to keep me or anyone else safe lmfao. to spell it out very plainly i am PRO-MASK so dont put words in my mouth here please.

i experience heat intolerance, as a symptom of some kind of muscle weakness fatigue issue that still hasnt been properly diagnosed. my body temperature runs warm, im overly sensitive to my environment, and physical activity makes it worse. if i overheat, my muscle weakness (and nausea, and brain fog, and-) will flare up and ill be forced to rest for what could range from minutes to hours to days to weeks to months depending on how bad it is. i have to take IMMEDIATE action when i notice myself getting too warm because i cant risk that, and taking immediate action includes removing anything i can thats keeping me warm, including masks.

so when i walk to work in the summer bc i have exactly zero alternate options? most likely cant mask right away when i come in unless the weather is cooler than usual, because i need to take like half an hour for my body temperature to go back to normal.

moving around more than usual during my shift? the physical activity is gonna increase my temperature and ill have to take my mask off.

going somewhere other than work, having to either walk or take the bus? either way i have to spend time in the sun and so again i will probably need a cool down period once i get inside / on the bus, depending on how hot the weather is.

and theres an intersection here of my multiple disabilities and my poverty. i cant drive due to another illness, and i cant afford to use a rideshare service or even regularly take the bus, so walking in the heat is my only option to get to work. my work options are limited because i couldnt complete college and cant perform heavy physical labor, so i have to stick with a retail job that requires a lot of moving throughout the store, which itself is physical labor that can potentially make me sick if i go overboard.

mostly i just wanted to put this out there because i never really see people talk about actual reasons they cant wear masks, its almost always antimaskers who dont give a damn about people like me. but if you take anything from my ranting, let it be these two points:

while most people who dont wear masks are just making that choice because they dont like doing so or dont think its important anymore, a few of us out here literally cannot always mask despite knowing its a risk to ourselves and others; and

IF YOU CAN MASK PLEASE KEEP FUCKING MASKING. covid still exists! disabled people still exist! many of us are extra susceptible to the long term effects of covid! please fucking help to protect us! please give a shit about us! i feel like im shouting into the void here because i hardly see anyone mask anymore but please.

[a-christmas-carol-from-hr]

Lying awake, intently tuning in on you If I was young, it didn't stop you coming through [Marley's Ghost]

TW: tw: body horror, freaky tech stuff

A/N: We can't rewind, we've gone too far/Pictures came and broke your heart/Put the blame on VCR...

AKA the entirety of the Marley's Ghost scene from my project, a_christmas_carol.exe! Happy Halloween!

-

The rain only increased as Scrooge made her way home from the office. This Christmas Eve had dawned gray and seemed determined to end black. The wind blew with all the fury of a cyclone. The rain lashed at her face, as sharp as glass. More than once Scrooge had to stop to clear her glasses, and the chill that set in from lack of motion was enough to chill even her blood. Smoke hissed out of potholes as she passed, adding an uneasy fog to the night air that whispered and shifted with each drop, cold meeting hot with an unholy hiss.

The doors to Scrooge’s apartment building were remarkably high-tech. Sealed shut from any trespassers, any tenants had to have the door unlocked via face recognition software. For a particularly unsociable woman, it suited Scrooge well. But it was notoriously finicky, and this cold evening Scrooge had no desire to be locked out. She pulled the hood of her rain jacket down, glowering into the camera.

“Good evening!” Came the automated response. “Please look into the camera!”

“I am.” Scrooge responded, although she knew it’d have no effect.

“I’m sorry! I can’t seem to get a clear image of your face. Could you please try again.”

“It’s I, you damned thing. Let me in!”

The computer gave no response. The camera focused on her, and she heard an audible click. And then, in that chipper tone, it spoke:

“Good evening, Mr. Marley! We’ve not seen you these past two-thousand, five-hundred and fifty-five days! We’ve not seen you these past five-five-five-five-five-five-.”

Scrooge jolted back, mouth agape. For a moment, she was at a loss for words.

“Good evening, Ms. Scrooge! Welcome back!”

The doors unlocked.

For a moment she simply stared at the monitor. She blinked, and adjusted her glasses. And then:

“Nonsense.”

She pushed her way through the door. Scrooge told herself the hairs on the back of her neck were only standing up from the cold.

It wasn’t in Scrooge’s nature to drink. Drunkenness led to foolishness, and Scrooge was not a fool. At most she would have a glass of the cheapest vintage offered when pressed by a business associate. Even then, she drank only because social mores required it of her, not from any pleasure.

But the incident at the door had rattled her nerves more than she’d admit to herself. As she slipped off her jacket and slipped on her house-shoes, the desire for a stiff drink to calm herself came over her.

The apartment Scrooge lived in had once belonged to her partner. Her partner had been more inclined to drink than she was, for what little that was. Marley had a taste for vodka. The cheap stuff, of course, but the bottles that remained in her apartment would serve well enough. She found one of the bottles under the television stand. She’d never redecorated after she moved in. Marley’s furniture suited her needs fine, and anything of his that was not useful was either shoved into a closet or into boxes. Not that he had many things that weren’t of use. The two, Marley and Scrooge, were birds of a feather.

The burn of the cheap vodka made her wrinkle her nose in distaste, but she poured it into a chipped glass. Scrooge moved through the apartment, one hand holding the glass while the other unbuttoned the first few buttons on her blouse. She sat down on her couch, idly reaching for her laptop while she raised the glass to her mouth. She took a single sip and then spat it back out into the glass.

“God damn you, Jacob Marley,” She gasped.The vodka tasted of blood. “What the fuck kind of shit did you buy!?”

Her laptop let out a strange noise before the screen turned an electric blue. Scrooge groaned. “Fabulous. Just what I need.” She held down the start button, putting aside the vodka in disgust.

The computer turned off and then after a moment turned off again. She didn’t think she’d pressed the start button, but she supposed she must have. The login screen loaded, and Ellen quickly typed her credentials.

ACCESS DENIED, The screen blared.

“What!?” Ellen growled. She entered the information again. Still, she was locked out.

ACCESS DENIED. SYSTEM IN USE BY ADMIN JMARLEY.

The hairs on the back of Scrooge’s neck stood up. Suddenly, the apartment seemed very quiet indeed.

She stared at it for a moment before slamming the screen shut. “Stupid fucking thing.” She muttered. It was broken, clearly. It had to be.

As she put aside the laptop, she must have pressed the television remote. She had to have. Because it suddenly lit up, shocking Scrooge enough to make her jolt.

“The BBC reports that hunger, poverty, and wealth inequality is at a level high this Christmas-.” A clipped voice rang out.

“Bullshit.”

Scrooge jabbed the remote. The screen went dark. She gave a jerking nod, satisfied. That would put an end to this. Ellen leaned against the couch and closed her eyes. After a moment she allowed herself to lean over, curling up on the uncomfortable cushions. Despite inheriting many pieces of furniture from her late partner, Ellen Scrooge always slept on the couch. Taking up the whole bed was a waste. Besides, she didn’t feel she’d particularly earned a good night’s sleep. Not with the fuss of today.

Silence hung in the room like a garland. Darkness stood conquering like a warhero, and Scrooge began to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

The soft sound of static shivered through the room, stirring her just enough to awaken. Scrooge opened her eyes as the room was filled with light. She jolted.

The television had turned on. A newscaster, dressed in the most garish of suits, grinned at Scrooge with a rictus smile.

“Some say that the end is nigh? Is it truly?” The host asked, smiling all the while. The image flickered, but the smile stayed bright.

“The end is nigh?” He repeated. The screen glitched. Scrooge leaned forward.

“What the…?”

The screen went bright white. The image vanished. Scrooge jolted back, eyes screwed up from the brightness. Through slitted eyes, she saw the outline of a body on the screen. There was a horrible sound, like liquid squelching through the mud.

And then, reader, the first of four miracles happened.

A hand appeared on the inside of the glass, pressed up against the screen. And then it pushed it’s way through, literally bursting through the television set like a bug bursting from a membrane. Scrooge screamed, falling into her couch and scrambling to escape. Another hand burst through, reaching out to pull itself forward. A head and torso emerged behind it, and then legs, and then…

Then wires.

The thing floated above the television set. It was a sinewy figure, the angles of its once-well cut suit jutting starkly against its thin flesh. The darkness of its clothing was contrasted by the palor of its face. It seemed like a creature that existed only in black and white, like some Universal Movie monster. It was bound in electrical wires, some buried into its flesh, some simply wrapped around its frame, but they held the figure tight. Some trailed off into the air, but others remained tethered to the television set. As if the creature was bound to it.

It moved through the air, lowering itself to hover just in front of her. Its face faced her own, but its expression was totally blank.

“Who are you?” Scrooge whispered. It gave no reply.

“What are you?”

The TV flashed, and the creature shrieked. The wires sparked, shocking the thing’s entire form. The thing’s eyes opened, as if electricity had powered it up. It wailed, and Scrooge nearly screamed in turn. This thing was in agony, and she could almost feel it. Its eyes stared out in undisguised misery. They stared into her own, and as Scrooge watched in horror, they began to weep. Liquid like the RGB feed from a television dripped from its eyes. It poured down their face, dripping off and vanishing into the air like static.

It tilted its head at Scrooge, looking at her with those awful, awful eyes. When it spoke, its voice sounded as if it were coming through the television set, like some half-garbled recording of a long forgotten program. “Ask me who I was.”

The creature’s voice was warped by pain and static, but Scrooge knew it. She knew it as well as she knew her own, even though she’d not heard it these seven years.

Jacob Marley had been her partner. She’d known him for ages, had known him as she knew herself. He’d not been inclined to numbers as she was, so he handled the advertising. The technology. The man was a worshiper of television. He had no greater god than what could be sold in a few soundbites. There’d been no man alive who understood the art of technology in their business.

“Impossible…” She murmured even as she pulled herself to her feet. Impossible, but she saw it now. Marley was warped by his terrible form, but she could see him under it. The cut of the suit, the frame of the body and face. Marley stared at her, eyes filled with purpose even through his tears. Indeed he seemed to pay the dripping of his eyes no attention as he glided forward, drawing ever closer to her.

Impossible, but there was nobody else it could be. Even after seven years, even after death, she could see traces of the man that was in this thing. The line of a jaw, the set of a mouth.

Jacob Marley. Dead these past seven years. Dead of a stroke that killed him in their offices. As dead as a doornail.

But here all the same.

“…Can you sit down?” Stupid. She wasn’t even sure why she said that. But what else did you say when your dead partner crawled out of your TV set. Marley didn’t seem offended in any case. Though he gave no response, Marley pulled one of the cords around his shoulder and tossed it. The force moved him forward and he glided towards the armchair. For a second Scrooge fancied he might collapse right through it, but the spirit fell heavily into the seat. It seemed to relish the relief. Electricity sparked along its wrists, digging painfully into the flesh, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment. An eternity of words went unsaid, unfelt. For a moment Scrooge felt something. But she quickly stifled it, shoving it down into the locked chest she kept her memories of Marley.

“This isn’t happening.” She said flatly.

Marley didn’t look surprised as she rose to her feet and turned away. “This isn’t happening.” She repeated. “This is a dream. A hallucination. This…this is not happening to me.”

“You don’t believe in me.” Marley replied. His voice was like a radio stuck between stations. She heard echoes of other words, other voices, but they were too faint to make out.

“Fuck no.”

“Why not?”

“…I don’t know.” She admitted.

“Then why doubt at all?” He asked. A thread of electric current ran along his forehead, throbbing like a vein might have in life.

“Because this could be anything. I’ve not checked my carbon monoxide detector in…ever.” As she listed explanations, Scrooge’s bravery grew. “Yes. Yes. The alcohol. All bottled after Chernobyl. This could be a cocktail of monoxide and radiation. Yes. Yes.” She leaned forward, fairly spitting her words at Marley. “Yes. Yes! That’s what you are! All a trick of the mind! All style, no substance!”

Marley rose up, the electricity along his wires flashing with a fury. He dug his fingers into his face, clawing at his cheek as he howled in anguish. His spectral nails drew more of his technicolor blood, the magenta and cyan of his grief sharp against his skin. His shriek seemed to bring with it the grief of ten-thousand lives, his blood the pain of ten-thousand bodies. Marley wailed and bled, and Scrooge felt her very soul falter.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

“DO YOU BELIEVE IN ME OR NOT!” Marley shrieked.

“I do! I do! Stop it!” She begged.

With one final howl Marley ceased to scream, but the gashes from his nails continued to bleed, mixing with his ever-flowing tears. Scrooge could not remember ever seeing Marley cry, but it seemed in death he could not help but weep. Something wet dripped down her own face, and she wiped it away.

“Jacob,” A name reserved for moments of something that had barely existed. “Marley.” She corrected. “Why are you here? Why are you like this?”

“Because I earned it.” Marley replied, voice dripping with pain and regret. A line of current twitched over his heart.

“All mankind is asked to do in life is to help. To go among our fellow man, and do what little we can do. I did nothing. My spirit never went beyond in life, so I go in death.” Marley let out a small wail, a noise half-static and half-misery.

“How could I have been so blind! So STUPID!” He roared. The wires flashed again and he screamed again, this time in pure agony. Scrooge pressed herself further against the couch.

“You are bound in wires, why!?”

“I earned these wires, ounce by ounce and yard by yard. I earned this damnation every day of my life.” Marley took one in hand, and thrust it towards her. “Do you know it, Ellen Scrooge? Yours were as long as mine seven christmas eves ago. Oh, you are an industrious soul, Ellen Scrooge. You have worked on yours.”

“No more, no more. You…" Scrooge began weakly. "You cannot be- Damned? Why should you be damned? You were a good man- of business."

"BUSINESS!?"

The television set blasted to life, the light blinding in its fury. Marley rose again, and the scream he let out was worse than the first. He howled at her, his wordless expression of rage cutting her to her soul. She tried to jump up, tried to flee, but suddenly his hands were in her shirt and he was pulling her to face him.

His eyes, her partner's eyes, saw her and they hated.

"MANKIND WAS MY BUSINESS. THE COMMON WELL-FARE WAS MY BUSINESS. MERCY. CHARITY. KINDNESS. ALL MY BUSINESS." His voice grew more warped by static as he screamed, to the point she could barely understand him. Ellen managed to pull herself free, the burning sensation of static still lingering in her skin. She scampered over the other side of the couch, desperate to put as much space between Marley and her as she could. This was not her Marley. This was not her Marley.

For a moment, the ghost seemed to reach for her again. Scrooge flinched away, raising an arm in defense. He stared at her, and then looked at its hands. While the fury was still there, it was fading into something else. Something like regret. I’m afraid of him, she realizes with a shudder. I’m afraid of him. How can I be afraid of him?

"Do you have any idea what this is like, Elle?" He asked. For a moment, it sounded like his own voice. His living voice. “Do you have any idea how much this hurts, Elle? Have you any idea of the length of your own chain? It was as long as this seven Christmas Eves ago, when you burned me all alone, Elle."

His words struck her to the core. She’d have preferred he go back to yelling rather than say that. “I…it was the best choice. The economical choice.” She said weakly, trying to defend something she did not believe herself. “I thought it’d be what you wanted…”

“I was all alone, Elle.” He said. His voice had always been what she admired most about Marley. He had been gifted with a gilded tongue. The man could sell ice water in the Arctic with his tenor. And now it was so small. So pathetic. “I was all alone. You left me, all alone. You put me in there, all alone. Why did you do that?”

His sincerity struck her like a knife in her back. She forced herself to rally. “I will not be judged. You’re the one who went and died. Not me. Have you any idea the chaos you left behind?” She moved forward, stepping towards the ghost with all the rage she could muster. It did not flinch back. “You died, in the middle of the last Quarter, in our fucking OFFICE. There was an inquiry, Marley! The police had eyes all over the building. It was weeks before anything could be done. You left, and you have the nerve to yell about things not done?! You wanted attention!? Goddamn your attention! You ruined everything! Be thankful I didn’t throw you in the Thames!”

The venom she spat her last words with surprised even Ellen. It certainly seemed to surprise Marley. His expression flickered, something like grief passing through his face. But she was in no mood to coddle a roaming spirit. She turned furiously, looking out the window. Her arms crossed over her chest, a habit she had while thinking. “What do you want?”

The spirit stayed where she left it. “I have obtained for you a deal. A chance at avoiding my fate.”

“How touching. Would I get my own wires too, or shall we share?” She laughs humorlessly. “But, thank you, Jacob.” She spat his name scornfully. “You always did have an eye for a bargain.”

“The price paid for redemption is not a cheap one.”

“Naturally, if you arranged it. What’s the cut for you, hm?” She said turning around.

“Nothing.” He replied.

“You get the whole price?”

“I get nothing,” He said with all the finality of the grave. “It is too late for me, Ellen.”

Despite her rage, despite her disbelief, and despite her coldness, something in his tone of simple, grieved acceptance chilled her to the bone.

“You have three more appointments for tonight,” He said. “I suggest you prepare yourself.”

“Oh, with who? Let me guess. A psychologist who shall ask me all the ways my father was cruel to me? A lawyer who will read me my rights as I walk into hell?”

“You will be visited,” Marley said. “By three ghosts.”

“…Ghosts?” Ellen asked.

“Yes.”

“And is that the chance of salvation?”

“It is.”

“…Keep it. I’ve had enough of ghosts.”

She turned her back on him again. But this time, Marley was not so daunted. The second he was out of sight, she felt his presence at her back. With an electric hiss, a wire snaked over her chest. She gasped in pain as it fell with a weight on her body, on her heart, on her soul. Heavy. So heavy.

Another sought to bind her. And then another. And then another. And then-.

“Stop it!” She begged, ducking under his arm.

Marley looked as if he was about to chase after her. But he stopped. His head tilted as he seemed to listen to something. Ellen couldn’t hear anything but the whine of electricity.

“What is it?” She asked, unable to hide the fear in her voice.

“I can hear it.” He said.

“Hear what?”

“Everything.” He whispered. “Everything. Every bit of misery on television. Every piece of horror broadcasted on the air. Watching. Always watching. All we ever do is watch, Elle. We see, but we are blind. We hear, but we are deaf. All we do is consume.”

Marley shuddered. His appearance seemed jagged around the edges, like a fading image on a television screen.

“I don’t hear anything.” Scrooge said.

Marley looked at her. He glared behind his tears.

“Then listen.”

The air was suddenly alive with grief.

Ellen Scrooge fell to her knees, hands clasped over her ears, as the sound of countless souls filled the room. She could not see them, but their voices rang out in misery. She could not make out a single word, but somehow she knew exactly what was being said. It was the voices of the damned. It was the voices of those who, like Marley could have done something, but never did.

Marley’s hand buried in her shirt and he pulled her up. The light of the television set flickered behind him like the light of God.

“T H E N L I S T E N!” He wailed. Marley was angry. Marley was furious. Marley was afraid.

The television set seemed to let out a terrible shriek of pain. Every light in her apartment turned on at once, blinding her with their glow. The wails of the dead increased into one horrible din.

And then every light went out. Ellen fell on her face. The room was as silent as the tomb.

Marley was gone.

[system-of-a-feather]

Look I know DID doesn't give you super powers but I think it does and unlike other alters my heart is just built different (I'M JOKING)

But historically our system for the past 10 years has been like "yeah we aren't built for stamina and thats ok, Riku took a month or endurance training and could barely do 0.75 miles straight for at a rate of a 15 minute mile" and that persisted under Ray (the OG Gym nut that brought upon our Jock Days and my Personal Coach TM) with a slight but not drastic boost to stamina

And so over this past year whenever I've gone to the gym, I have this STUPID high stamina and can keep going - often far past we should when I'm on my pisser and in a rage fury, so Ray, Lucille, and Riku have hard rules to keep me in check to make sure I dont push the body too hard (rules with safety precautions, rules about regularly stopping every X time and if I want to push limits I have to regularly check my heart rate on a reliable checker to make sure I'm not going about 170 bpm, etc) and even if I am following all of those, if Riku's too close co-con they (who are the historical worst stamina main part in the system) get so spooked they annoy me into stopping far before I'm even challenged

And so today I went to the gym and like, we've been living at our parents for a bit and I'm a hyper independent "need my personal space" kind of person and so I havent had MY Personal Space beyond when I go to the gym and I was like "fuck it man, lets cancel muscle work out today and take up a fun challenge - can I take a fat SHIT on the claim that we aren't built for stamina and go for an hour straight without breaking any of the safety rules"

And god damn it man it wasn't even that hard. 1 Hour Straight, the Elliptical told me to Cool The FUCK down, a little over 5 miles, no stopping, heart rate maintained between 145-166 bpm the whole time and quickly returned to a 136 bpm about 10 seconds after stopping to just walk

Like I dunno man

DID doesn't give you super powers but god damn does dissociation do weird fucking shit cause god damn our system has *properly trained* in incremental increasing distance for stamina and endurance for months on months and at most could only do 1.5 miles in like 20 minutes before dying even at our previous peak

I'm over here easily knocking out 5 miles in an hour and still going "eh, i could have gone longer"

Idk man

IDK

You can tell the story here smh

^ This was when I started cooling down and also when I really wanted to make sure I got at least 5 miles cause 4.8 sounded lame af

[gaypiratebrainrot]

Man. I have SO many thoughts about the secret fic. I am utterly fascinated. I read it all last night and want to reread to get my head around it. But just initial thoughts here:

I've seen in some of your responses to questions that it is partially an exploration of your own discomfort with RPF and that the backlash is part of the art and like - bravo. Yes. I can't help but see all of the outrage on Twitter and remember that these are the same people who:

•Harass and bully Rosie Darby constantly and screenshot/post her tweets to be mocked for the people in the fandom she has blocked

•Create and pass around nasty memes of Rita Ora

•Speculate about Rita and Taika's sex lives/assume he just uses her for sex

•Openly talk about the sex acts they'd like to do to these two actors

•Incorporate details about real actors into their fictional versions constantly

•Ship Anton/Viago because they're played by the same actors as Stede/Ed

•Draw graphic porn of these actors using references of their real bodies with their real faces

•The list goes on

And I don't bring this all up to play the blame game or justify RPF (although I think the shit with Rosie and Rita is insane and so embarrassing) because in my old age - I think I deep down am not comfortable with RPF even though I have not shaken the temptation yet. I bring this all up to say that the righteous outrage seems to be coming from a lack of self-awareness and just a lot of folks who are really clinging to the idea that their version of fandom is Right and Good. I guess my point is that I think all fanfiction/fanart/fandom is somewhere on the spectrum of invasiveness and most people refuse to accept that about their own art because we're all convinced we're the good guys in the story. And it doesn't help that this fandom seems particularly hellbent on finding bad guys.

ANYWAYS

Amazing job. Totally original and fascinating. Truly. Really proud you published it and are weathering the storm. If you need to talk about anything or are having a tough time w/ the backlash, feel free to message me <3

hi!! thank you so so much for this amazing message!! i'm so delighted that people besides me are able to appreciate the bonus meta built into the backlash, it's giving me insane brain vibes lol.

i did about fifty million meta levels of analysis on my own discomfort while writing this fic and am full of thoughts. i have no desire to say that fiction about real people is good or bad because i honestly just don't think about the world that way anymore. what i can say is that fiction about real people exists, has existed probably as long as language/storytelling, and will very likely always exist.

human beings talk about each other. we tell stories about each other. gossip is probably as essential to humanity as dance or music. it is an incredibly uncomfortable reality that every single person who knows you has a version of you in their head that you have no control over. that we all exist as our own embodied experience AND as all of the ways we are perceived. one of the more challenging aspects of being a human, i'd say.

to be a celebrity, or have any kind of audience, is to increase the number of heads you exist in, and as i am presently experiencing for the first time on a small scale between the last fic and this one, this comes with all sorts of uncomfortable, messy problems.

however, the other function of this fic is as a free speech tool. let's say we decide the uncomfortable mess of real person fiction is harmful enough to ban it from being published, either on Ao3, or within our legal system. would you ban this fic and why? and if you would ban this fic, how much of what parts would i have to change before it would be allowed? who would get to choose the "correct" answer to those questions, and who would be reading the fic and deciding whether or not it fits the "correct" guidelines? do you want to give someone else the ability to make that choice for you?

people would have been more pissed off if i'd used taika's kids actual names. but what if i'd named his kids sasha and malia obama? what if i'd used the trump kids? cause if you're banning real person fiction, all three gotta go.

ultimately, i think the parts of me that are really uncomfortable with what i've written feel like i've been horribly rude and disrespectful to the people i love, and honestly, i feel like there's some truth to that. it's just one truth among many, many, many other simultaneous truths, including my belief that the wrestling i did in writing this is important and worthwhile wrestling, and i'm absolutely ecstatic to see i was able to inflict that wrestling upon so many of you <3

[brckensocietyarch]

so i've decided to make this post as like a long explanation for what's going on with me at the moment. those who've known me a while might know bits and pieces or all of it but i'm sure many people don't know. now, don't feel like you have to read this, but if you want to have some understanding about what's going on with me this'll explain it. (if you ask what's wrong with me, etc, I'll probably link you to this post so i don't have to explain it over and over again. reminder: this is a long post.

so, for starters before i get to the big issue, before it started playing up again i was dealing with random fatigue and drops in blood pressure, so i did a halter monitor and am finding out next week if it's post-spicy cough pots or something else. (this was why i was worn down at the start of the year and still had some fatigue before this.)

now, backstory, back in 2015 i was diagnosed with a disorder called iih (intracranial idiopathic hypertension), a brain disorder that means i overproduce cerebral spinal fluid, (along with a lot of other things - it can legit mimic a brain tumor- fun). at that time i was put on a medication called diamox which pretty much helped keep the iih down to a point, (i had to up it multiple times because for some reason my iih liked getting worse at random times). in 2020 we worked out one of the reasons for the random increase, tss (transverse sinus stenosis) meaning the big veins at the back of my head had a weak spot which caused fluid to build up which then in turn caused the vein to be crushed shut. by this time diamox had fucked with my body a lot (it's likely the cause of my fibro and is the reason my teeth have turned to shit). so, to fix the issue i was given a stent to help with the tss. this was meant to be my hail mary and make life easier. a side note: iih has caused be to have chronic migraines(which i'm now taking injections for), a chronic daily headache that doesn't respond to treatment and a slew of other things. if left untreated? it can cause blindness and even death (fun). the reason i got diagnosed in 2015 was because i went to an eye doctor with vision issues and it turned out my optic was swelling. so, fast forward to last year, we found out that my pressure where going up, again, and causing the vein my stent was in to occlude(close) around the stent, we also found that the second transverse vein was also closing. now, a fun little thing that can help for a very short period is having an lp (lumbar puncture), i've had many (and many have failed, sigh), last year they got 40ml from my back and thankfully the vein reopened. we know that I'll need to extend my stent and get one in the other vein but there are complications that we need to fix before i can get that surgery (which after a year have only gotten worse, not better). they knew we had to work something out but i'm a VERY complicated case. so for the past year it's kind of just been "we'll monitor and go from there". welp, the monitoring appointments i had this month showed my optic nerve is swelling again and the pressure is up. so, i've got to do the one thing i didn't want to do, return to taking diamox. to list a few of the side effects i'm already getting after three days of taking them: extreme fatigue, tingling in my feet, dehydration and making carbonated beverages taste like drinking literal acid... (that's legit just the starter ones). so yeah, fun.... that's what i've been dealing with (and that's just based around this disorder, not all my other bullshit, lol.)

[fallinghorizontally]

The cause of your anxiety is your mother

Mine is, that's for sure. I've been having panic attacks almost every other day for the past 5 weeks now. They happen because my body randomly shoots out a physical symptoms like fast heart rate, chest discomfort, a feeling of dread, or weird spasms in my neck. It's so hard because I can never know if it's something serious or not. It's hard trying not to completely freak the fuck out in the middle of a symptom and most of the time I will. Sometimes I'm able to get ahold of myself but sometimes even if I do, for a moment, I'm stuck with nothing but dread that will turn into anxiety again and I'll feel another symptom again. It's so hard to be brave and tell myself that I'm fine in the moment when part of my brain tells me its serious and to top it off the fight or flight just makes everything seem so much more dire.

Whenever I have a panic attack and my moms around, I run to her for help and perhaps comfort. I wonder why I do this. It's almost like an instinct. I know she will be of no help so why do I keep running to her. Before shit hit, I would get anxious and it was a direct cause of my environment, I think. I think that if I am constantly under stress and emotional hardship it will manifest itself as anxiety and physical symptoms. Of course, I haven't been normal for a while. I constantly check my pulse and do other shit that "helps" my symptoms or anxiety. But that was manageable. I could live my life peacefully and still do those things even if I knew it was not normal. Ever since I moved back home, my anxiety has increased so much and maybe that's why I'm now in this fucking cycle of panic and anxiety. My mom is is too fucking much. I play many roles in her fucking house. I am an assistant, translator, baby sitter, therapist, accountant, DOCTOR, advisor, and so much more. It is too fucking much and the worst part is that all that shit is expected. I can't even get a sincere fucking thank you. I barely ask for anything, just empathy and it seems like I'm asking for the deed to the world. She's religious and she tells her church friends all of my ailments and according to them my mental illness is because of evil. That my anxiety is caused by problems that go beyond the physical and my mom thinks that I am constantly thinking about my past traumas. I mean sure maybe but it disregards the fact that hypochondria and mental illness in general is very fucking real and I feel like she does not fucking listen. I feel so lost and lonely. To her and her fucking church friends, I am empowered by the devil and if I don't submit to their religion then I'm going to hell. Like why the fuck would you tell that to someone who's already going through so much mental anguish not to mention the fact that I am not even religious. I simply don't believe in the white mans religion which they've been indoctrinated into believing. I don't need my mental problems to be pushed aside and labeled as "evil spirits." I want to ask all those old hags to stop taking their fucking diabetes and dementia treatments and to trust God with their sickness. That little plastic box with Sunday through Saturday labeled on it? Yeah toss those the fuck out, God has your back sister! Just because mental illness is something they can't ever understand, it is treated as something other worldly and it pains me so much because I am simply not heard and threatened with eviction if I don't submit to my moms religion. And I don't do it because I simply don't believe nor do I trust those people. They simply would not understand what I am going through and they would tell me to pray it away. It is such hypocrisy. I wish you could see my mothers medication cabinet as well as the boxes of diabetes injections in the fridge. I just wish someone would listen and actually understand what it is I am going through. Instead, I just get more shit, threats, stress, and terrible advice from people who don't understand this kind of disease.

And it just makes me more anxious.

Oh and I mention their medications because I am currently taking lexapro (just started) and my mom is so against it. She says I'm just gonna be a fucking addict and all fucking stupid and that it's a clutch or whatever. Basically she's against modern medicine when it comes to mental health, something she doesn't understand, hence the hypocrisy.

[aria-ashryver]

heyoooo it's ur friendly local biohazard, just having a quick health check in under the cut!

(don't listen to my lies when i say "quick", it's never quick haha)

look at me being all worried about being late to see my doctor when he's away on vacation anyway and I had to chat with a different oncologist lol

So! I haven't really done any ✨Kicking Caesar's Kneecaps✨ chats in a while, so this is me just checking in!

So far my chemo journey has gone

3 months of weekly chemotherapy and hormone antibody treatments

1 month off (bc of peripheral neuropathy damage)

restarting the chemo regime at a 25% lower dose, with the expectation that I'll be needing an additional 3 months (today would mark one month since I restarted!)

BUT HEYYYY guess who has two thumbs that don't work anymore and an increased sensitivity to peripheral neuropathy!!!

(dark humour is dark?)

ok, it's not quite that bad yet. Yet being the operative word unfortunately.

For those who don't know, chemotherapy can effect the peripheral nerves in your body -- for some people, this means damage to nerves in the hands/feet/wrists/arms that can sometimes be permanent.

Not everyone gets nerve damage, and some get it worse than others.

I just so happen to be one of those lucky chumps with sensitive nerves!! While the month long break from chemo certainly helped reduce the intensity, the nerve damage in my hands is definitely spreading again.

What was initially just a bit of numbness/tingliness in the tip of my right thumb has since progressed into;

constant numbness/tingling sensations in my right thumb down to the heel of my thumb

static sensations across both palms and all of my fingers (which fortunately comes and goes)

occasional shooting nerve pain up my right arm, all the way from palm to armpit

extreme nerve sensitivity when I bend both of my wrists

tendon pain in both hands if i overexert myself

which is all kinds of not fun! And also goes a ways to explain why it's so damn hard for me to write at the moment! lol.

The doctors have therefore made a decision to pause my chemo for another two weeks, which is good in the sense that they are hopeful the break will halt some of the progressing nerve damage, but also lowkey infuriating because I would really like to get off this goddamn ride, you know?

Depending on how things go, my treatment plan might need to be changed again, so that I am getting less chemotherapy every week over a long period of weeks

which, like... 😑🙃🙃🙃🙃

...i just wanna be done with this, you know??

in happier news, all the other symptoms are calming down a little bit -- I haven't needed any anti-nausea meds in a few weeks, I'm not getting as many nosebleeds, the muscle pain and spasms seem to have stopped, I'm a little less fatigued -- there's still a whole host of shit going wrong, don't get me wrong, chemo still absolutely SUCKS ASS, but I'm really grateful that I've been able to get a decent nights sleep for the first time in months this past week 🥰💖

I also needed to get some urgent scans last week (I had some weird symptoms I'd never seen before and they were worried about potential fluid retention in my heart -- heart damage is the other big-concerning-possibly-permanent-damage thing chemo can bring about), but as it turns out, my body was just being a little bitch and my heart scans look good!!

i guess the tl;dr of this whole thing is just chemo blows and my hands are broken, but my heart isn't which is great, my sprit isn't, which is also great, and overall I'm feeling a hell of a lot better this week, despite being annoyed at the fact that I might have to do chemo for longer than i expected

here, have a sign I happened across on my walk to get a blood test yesterday. fitting, no?

if you are here reading this, i'm wishing you light and joy and love 🌻