#i wanted to get so much done on my days off but i genuinely have no energy

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

[since everything under a Read More cut gets deleted in case a blog deletes/gets deleted and the WayBackMachine isn’t good with pictures, for Archive Purposes Only, I will add the most important bits of the/rest of the full post and have also checked/updated/added the source links to the best of my abilities]

"From [North] America, they traveled to Australia and New Zealand, then back to the U.S. again. They didn’t have extended time in the U.K. until the end of April (when they were likely writing/recording Take Me Home, as well as rehearsing for their continuing Up All Night tour).

In the gifs above, OT5 are pictured at a Much Music interview from May 2012, unavailable to view [I have added the video link. Btw, at 16:06 there is another very interesting moment where they start talking about Larry Stylinson and Liam says "It's true!"] —the one with the two red tables, where the interviewer asks about boys kissing, and Niall’s wearing a lavender t-shirt and backwards snapback.

Interviewer: “How do you balance [making an album] with how busy you are, and all these concert dates?” Harry shrugs, “You tell us!” Louis says, “We ask ourselves the same question!” Interviewer: “You already have nearly a hundred shows confirmed and almost sold out—for 2013. How do you plan your lives that far in advance?” Harry and Liam laugh, “We don’t!” Louis says, “We wish we did!” [I added the video link]

In Florida during the Up All Night tour in [July] 2012, Niall comments that he spent "30 days at home [in 2011]. So, that's a big difference from 365..." [link to whole interview video]

–––––

Q: Many of these groups get huge but burn out after three or so years.  What’s your plan to make sure that doesn’t happen?

Simon Cowell: “Be sensible and treat them as human beings, genuinely.  That’s the most important thing.  Traditionally, record companies would put out the most possible product in a short period of time, thinking you only have two or three years.  I don’t think that’s necessarily the case now.  If you’re sensible and you don’t burn them out, you don’t have to put a time limit on this anymore.  And they’re so young, these guys.”  

Rolling Stone Q&A with Simon Cowell  (by Andy Greene, April 2012, emphasis mine)

–––––

“I’ve never known a band to announce a second summer tour before a first summer tour is over.  It’s insane – they’re working them like dogs and printing money right now.”  — Andy Greene, May 2012

During This Is Us promo in August 2013, Harry says, "If we could choose the perfect scenario, I would be 'the well-rested one.' "

–––––

Simon Cowell, 2015:  “This is five years, literally non-stop. I’m amazed they’ve done it for so long… I hope [they’ll get back together], but like I said, it’s not going to be because of any pressure from me… like we said in the beginning, this is an opportunity, you won it, and I’ve always had that attitude with them…. Look, even though they’re young, that is a gruelling schedule and after a while I could see they were exhausted, so when they said, “How do you feel about it?”  I said, “Do whatever you want.”  Having a year off is going to be a healthy thing.’

Also during This is Us promo, during one of their multiple press conferences, [in August 2013] a reporter asks, "Did you have a choice to say no to this documentary?" Harry half-shakes his head, and leans in to speak. Niall almost imperceptibly shakes his head, and tightens his mouth.

––––––

Niall, October 2012: I've a re-occurring knee injury from playing football. I've dislocated my knee ten times in the last two years. Operation time for me.

So are you gonna have to go and get an operation done? When?

Niall: (shrugs) Whenever I have time. ...[come up with] a couple years. (Late Late Show, October 2012)

14 months later, January 2014: after performing 123 shows during the Take Me Home tour (only a portion of his responsibilities during that time), 20-year-old Niall had major knee surgery that was 'much larger than anticipated'. He began a new tour with One Direction about three months later, after One Direction’s first extended break since forming as a group.

––––––

From January 2011 – December 2015, One Direction:

• wrote for and recorded 5 albums (91 songs included on the albums)

• performed 327 full concerts as headliners during four tours (on the road for about 110 weeks total)

• were interviewed more than 800 times by various media

• performed at least 97 times on television

• visited at least 37 countries, often more than once

• walked some 33 red carpets

• filmed 18 music videos (at least 36 days’ work)

• filmed well over 100 additional miscellaneous videos

• had at least 29 photo shoots

• shot a feature-film ‘documentary,’ with cameras trailing them for months

• shot concert films for the Up All Night and Where We Are tours

Just one week of heavy promo for the feature-film This is Us in August 2013 included:

approximately 95 junket interviews appearance at the VMAs appearance at America’s Got Talent performance and interview at Today Show press conference in NY Premieres in London and New York; red carpet interviews hours of transatlantic flights

1D’s pace was much more relentless than the glancing summary I’ve given here.

–––––––

During the Four Hangout, Liam comments that there are "...a lot of meetings, there's a lot of meetings in Boybandville." [I added the video link]

(a very young and starry-eyed Zayn, Niall, Liam, Louis, and Harry are pictured above listening to the judges after their week 2 X-Factor performance, 2010) Below, Liam continues, "One thing we didn't realize when we [got in] this band is how many meetings you have." [I added the video link]

––––––

“…the business empire fronted by these cherubic faces now stretches well into the hundreds of millions of pounds, with licensing deals that include everything from lunchboxes to their own fragrances.  Their ambition, or at least their management’s ambition, is seemingly infinite…

During press for Midnight Memories in France, interviewer Cauet asks, "After your films, books, perfume—what's coming up next?" Harry: Space Liam: Our own range of door handles... lampshades... curtains! Louis: Let's do radiators. Harry: Radiators. Louis: Warmth. Zayn: Next music video's on the moon! [I added the video link]

––––––

Harry Magee, Modest!Management: ‘The scale of this band is unprecedented.  None of us involved in the band, from the management, to the agents, to the licensees, to retailers, have ever worked on anything this big before.  There might be huge acts that have been going longer than 25 years but they are not nearly as broad as One Direction, especially when it comes to selling tickets and selling merchandise. …in terms of per-head numbers for merchandise we have broken all the numbers.  We need more stands at the gigs.  More people serving.’ …  (GQ magazine, August 2013, emphasis mine)

(C'Cauet clip continues) Louis: One Direction central heating, I think. Liam: People. Our own range of people! Niall: Coffee tables! Liam: Opening a pet shop! Zayn: On the moon. (C’Cauet sur NRJ, 14 December 2013)

––––––

April 2012, below: it was rumored Simon had given them each 2 million pounds because they were so successful — Niall and Harry said ‘not true.’ In the first gif, Harry says, "He's a bit tight, Simon is." "That's why he's so successful, he's able to keep his money to himself,” Niall laughs.

––––––

1D partial gross revenue 2011-2014 (3 tours, 3 films): more than $500 million   xx  xx  xx  xx

(Here’s an enlightening post re: 1D finances) [updated the link]

––––––

Niall: You know when the Backstreet Boys and New Kids On The Block came back a few months ago?  And all they did were arena tours.  That’s how I’d like to be remembered.

Liam: Yeah, just pop in and do an arena tour every ten years…

Niall: Sell out Wembley.  Smash it hard. Home in time for tea.

Liam: Fingers crossed, eh? (Aug 2013)

In the gif above, OT5 hug in a tight bundle on the day of their X-Factor Judges' House audition, when Louis had an injured foot.

–––––––

One Direction were/are ambitious… but one must consider their ages when they signed their contracts, who truly managed their schedule (’This is what you have to do if you want to succeed’) and the pressure to continue making money. 

Beginning with X-Factor in October 2010, One Direction didn’t get any extended break until 21 Dec 2013 – Feb 2014, about nine weeks.

As students in the UK, they would've received anywhere from 10-22 weeks of vacation a year���not to mention being at home with the love and support of their families and friends.

master list of March 2012 filmed promo [by @youcancallmeathief]

March 2012 timeline [ @bulletprooflarry]

Four Hangout, Nov 2014 

(all gifs by OP, @quietasides)"

One Direction won at the Brit Awards on 21 February 2012.  Harry had just turned 18, Liam and Niall were 18, Zayn was 19, and Louis was 20.

Adding gif captions in italics! Above, the four gifs show some moments from Four Hangout, November 2014. Liam, Louis, and Zayn are pictured sitting on the red couch. Louis says, “I remember that first American promo trip was relentless.” Liam: “Crazy.” Niall: “Nuts.” Louis: “I think it was like three weeks on the trot that we were away [from home].” Liam asks him, “Do you remember when we were doing, like, ten  things at once, as well? Doing interviews and signing and something else…” Louis: “That’s what it was all like. It was all just so, so manic.” Liam: “Crazy.”

Three days after the Brits, they were in Chicago for a radio interview/meet and greet.  They also opened for Big Time Rush that night, and proceeded to play 12 shows over the next two weeks, each in a different city.  During March they also did at least six signings, some smaller performances (such as three songs on the Today Show), and over 60 interviews.

14 March 2012, above: Louis, Harry, and Liam are pictured during one of the nine+ interviews they filmed that day. The interviewer asks, “What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re not working?” Liam replies with a rueful laugh, “Have days off!”

Keep reading

[oimitocat]

LUST OVERFLOW | OS

han jisung x m!reader

cnc (dubious consent) + unintentional piss kink + slight crying + unprotected sex + semi public sex + praise kink + restroom sex + dry penetration (use lube guys)

a/n; imma try to slowly change my layout jjsj

you always bullied the others when they’d go to the bathroom in pairs. obviously it’s sometimes a security thing, but really, you found it silly how they always made someone go with them.

you were humming to yourself your verses, staring at yourself in the mirror while your stylist added some final touches to your hair. you lost track of how many times you’ve had your hair done today. this is the second show of the day and-

“you look nice,” you comment when your eyes drift towards jisung.

the rapper blinked, straightening up. his stylist finished long ago, he just walked near your station to grab your water bottle. he stares at you, unsure how to answer. you’re used to it, so you smile. the thing about your boyfriend is that when it comes to you- he doesn’t know how to take a compliment. anyone else can say something and he’ll be playfully narcissistic for a second.

not with you. he genuinely has his brain short circuit when his charming boyfriend compliments him. especially when you eye him with those eyes, which always trail towards his waist. he fidgets, taking a seat next to you. the members are off goofing around, the camera is running and recording felix with chan.

your stylist finishes and walks off to work on jeongin. no one is looking at you two.

jisung’s leg is bouncing, he realizes he maybe shouldn’t have drank so much water. he normally doesn’t but being around you makes him so parched for some reason. you still make him nervous, sometimes he can’t believe you actually want him. yet, he feels at ease when you place a hand on his knee. he swallows.

“wanna come with me to the restroom?” he asks, realizing he should probably empty his bladder before performing.

you smile, he misses the glint in your eyes as he stands. he gives a small announcement to chan before exiting with you. idols are buzzing about as he guides you to the restroom. he’s decently surprised when it’s empty, heading straight to the farthest stall.

he doesn’t think much of you coming in with him. he does the same to you sometimes. it’s his anxiety that makes him do that though, yet he still doesn’t question you.

before he even faces the toilet, you grab him and press your lips against his. he makes a small noise, closing his eyes and accepting the tender kiss. except the tenderness disappears once he melts into your arms. you have a hand behind his head, pushing him close and pulling him flush against you with an arm around his waist. his hands grab your sides, clinging to the outfit.

your kiss turns aggressive, eating away at his lips ferociously that he finds himself backing away. still, you finish eating his lip tint before finally letting go.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks breathlessly, eyeing you with hazy eyes. his heart is racing and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other when he remembers what he came here for.

“what do you mean?” you ask, not so innocently and slightly serious.

jisung blinks, pursing his lips. “i- no, nothing.” he says softly, pecking your lips again.

he tries to pull away again, he needs to pee. he feels his bladder crying out from how long he’s holding it in for. yet, the peck you mistake it for consent. you grip him again, making him whimper.

you spin him around, pulling down on the collar of his shirt. he shudders when you kiss and lick his nape. he’s sensitive there, trembling and hiccuping his moans. your hand snakes down and rubs him through his pants. that’s when he completely slaps your hand away.

“y/n- no-“ he tries to get away but you grab his waist and grind him. “i need to pee- that’s what i came here for!”

he slaps his hands over his mouth when the door opens and footsteps present themselves. just as two voices exchange conversation between themselves, you buckle his belt and pull his pants down. he tries to stop you, panicking because he’s never been good at being quiet.

“y/n,” he begs as quietly as possible, not only does he know what you want but there’s two things happening.

1) there’s people down the restroom stalls.

2) he needs to pee.

he’s getting overwhelmed. it doesn’t get better when you push him forward, making him brace himself against the wall with his hands out. his heart is about to jump up and crawl up his throat and out his mouth when he feels you hands spread his cheeks apart. the toilets flush farther down and he closes his eyes when he feels the tip of your dick against his hole.

“y/n-“ he whimpers out, bringing a hand back to push you away.

the two people are chattering as they walk out and jisung takes the opportunity to look back at you. his eyes are glistening with tears.

“i need to pee.” he says, “stop.”

“then pee baby,” you say with a serious expression, shoving yourself in with a single movement.

jisung turns back to face forward, trembling and gasping. he screws his eyes shut as you grab his hips and pull him flush against your pelvis. he feels you pulse inside him, he opens his eyes and looks down at the toilet bowl. his own dick semi-hard but close to bursting with piss.

“y/n- wait- pull out- we-we can’t,” he feels his tears drip from his eyes when he screws his eyes shut again at the movement of your hips.

“shh,” you usher as you lean forward, flush against his back.

“i need to pee-“

“then pee.” he shakes his head and you have the audacity to bring a hand over and grab his dick to aim down at the toilet-

“y/n stop-“ he shakes his head but the more you thrust into him, the more he feels his will weakening.

“come on baby,” you whisper huskily into his ear, “be my good boy. you’re doing good so far, so well, my pretty baby is obedient, no?”

jisung swallows, hiccuping when he feels a trickle of pee leave him. “ngh-“

“don’t you want to be good? my good little slut?”

that did it. he slaps a hand over his mouth, his other hand bracing him against the wall as he lets out the stream of piss into the bowl. you pound into him, as he pees, finding ecstasy in it. you do feel a little bad, but you two have talked about things like this and you know he’ll be fine.

even after he’s done, he trembles as you keep your relentless pace from behind. at some point he’s unsure if he came alongside his piss, the sensations new and overwhelming.

“that’s my pretty baby,” you grunt from behind, reaching your high soon after.

“you’re a piece of shit,” he gasps when he feels you cum deep inside, his hips aching from your grip on them.

“my feisty baby,” you smile, placing a kiss on his nape. “you can hate me later.”

“sure will.”

you smile at him as you pull out with a shuddered sigh. and maybe he definitely shows you his hatred later that night, cockblocking you with an evil, innocent smile.

[kingkat12]

procrastination (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: FLUFF, biting, suggestive content, mentions of sex

summary: Roman knows exactly why you're up so late-- and now it's time to get you to admit it and go to bed

word count: 1,155

a/n: enjoy this oneshot i wrote at one a.m. yesterday to talk myself into going to sleep, and i hope it might work as efficiently for u as well<3333

"You should go to bed,"

I turned away from my computer, staring back at Roman with an annoyed look in my eyes-- still, I was sure he would spot the heaviness of my lids instead, along with the way my lashes moved in slow strokes as I continued to battle sleep. "I can't. I have to finish this,"

"You don't have to do anything at all," he murmured, taking off his reading glasses as he put today's paper down in his lap-- I was glad he finally wore them after I had dragged him to the optician to get a prescription. "This is just yesterday's argument all over again."

I cocked a brow; "We're not arguing, though?"

"... You know what I mean,"

"We didn't exactly argue yesterday, either,"

Roman sighed, the yellow hues of a lamp nearby dipping into the golden brown of his hair. "Yeah, you're right," He placed the paper next to him on the couch, crossing his legs as he stared back at me. I wasn't sitting too far away as he had allowed me to use his home office today, and he was on the couch a little further away from the desk. I loved being in this room; it smelled like Roman. It looked like Roman. Everything from the minimalistic style of the interior to the whisky glasses scattered all around the room which he had forgotten to put coasters beneath. He continued; "We didn't argue, and I'm not going to argue with you now either. I'm simply saying that you don't have to get that stuff done right now."

"But--"

"It's not life or death, is it?" Roman shifted, uncrossing his legs as he moved to the edge of the couch. "How much work do you really think you can get done at one in the morning?"

I shrugged. Being put on the spot like this wasn't my favourite thing in the world. Realizing I had to get real with him to get my point across, I let my shoulders slump as I rolled the office chair an inch or two away from my previous spot near the desk. I had to do everything in my power to not start spinning around on it like I usually liked to do with chairs like these. "I don't want to sleep, though,"

Roman nodded, ready to attack the root of the problem; "Why?" he asked, voice soft and gentle. 

I wanted to shut down. Go quiet again and get back to work. Still, I had a feeling this was coming from genuine concern-- and when Roman Godfrey is concerned about your sleep schedule, you know something is off. "I've procrastinated all day," I mumbled, tapping my fingers against the table as I grew uncomfortable with the truth I had suppressed. "I'm procrastinating now. And if I don't make my mind busy with something, I will think about the fact that I haven't gotten anything done today."

Humming, Roman folded his arms over his chest as he listened. Had he not been my boyfriend, I could've mistaken him for my therapist. "You staying up any longer won't change that, though,"

"Yeah," I breathed, no longer meeting his gaze. "But at least I'm not rolling around in bed right now feeling guilty about it." My sentence ended with a sigh, and it didn't take long before I drove my elbows against the hard wood of the desk and buried my face in my hands. Just talking about sleeping made me further exhausted-- was this what he wanted to get out of this conversation? My next words were muffled against my palms; "You don't have to stay up with me, if that's what you're doing. You should get some sleep."

Roman remained quiet, nodding to himself as he kicked back on the couch and ended up in a casual manspread. He grabbed the paper beside him-- "I'll make myself busy with this crossword. By the time I'm done, I hope you've come to your senses,"

I peeked at him through my fingers, and I couldn't help the confusion coursing through my veins as I spotted him reaching for a pen. Was he actually going to do this? Roman Godfrey... doing a crossword puzzle? I must've opened a portal into an alternative universe with my whining. "Come to my senses about what?"

Roman shrugged, filling in his first word on the paper as he no longer met my gaze. "How much nicer it would be to roll around in bed with me instead of doing whatever it is you're doing on your computer,"

Oh. He had a point. I hated when he did that. "Doesn't sound like we'd be getting much sleep that way either,"

Roman chuckled softly, mostly to himself, and wrote down another vertical word across the puzzle. "Perv,"

"... Me?"

"Yes, you," He tsked, pulling his pen away to think about which word to go for next. "Rolling around in bed doesn't have necessarily to mean sex."

I cocked a brow-- "Roman, are you perhaps having a stroke? Everything usually means sex when you're the one talking,"

"Well, tonight I'm a new man," He smiled as he found the answer for a word going across, finally meeting my eyes as he finished filling in the empty slots. "What do you say about making out like we're sixteen and sexually repressed?"

I nearly choked on air. "That's specific,"

"I'm not denying that,"

"How is that different from just... making out like usual?"

Roman leaned his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he thought out loud; "I think it'd just be messier. So uncoordinated that we'd constantly be knocking teeth,"

It was impossible not to laugh-- "You want to knock teeth, Roman?"

He turned his head to me, his green eyes meeting mine with the loveliest of smiles. "Fuck yeah. I'll even bite you if we get that far,"

"... Christ," With a giggle, I shut my laptop. "Fine! I'll go to bed, but only if you promise to keep your teeth far away from mine."

Roman sucked in a sharp breath as he got up to approach me. He spun the chair to make me face him, and he leaned down far enough for his hot breath to graze my cheek; "Actually, I'll bite you right now if you don't get out of my chair, young lady,"

Oh, I loved this mood of his. "Your chair?"

"Yes. My chair," His classic smirk made an appearance as his eyes darkened; "And my girl." 

It didn't take long before Roman scooped me up, hoisting me over his shoulder as I yelped. Still, I knew there was no fighting him. If I did, I'd get another one of those bite marks on my thighs that would linger for days, and I couldn't go through that again. To be frank, I planned to wear more short skirts going forward-- I was visiting his actual office tomorrow, and I planned to make my visit one he'd remember for longer than I had ever had a bite mark lingering on my skin.

[smiley-mcdoggington]

FIRST POST YAY YAY YAY (tw: smut, stancest, dubcon, beware!)

Unicorns were, by far, the most irritating creatures Ford has ever come to know of all the anomalies of Gravity Falls. The amount of trouble it took to sedate that unicorn made Ford want to grab fistfuls of his own hair were they not already filled with the holographic strands from said unicorn. It had taken all day, but it would be worth it - once his house was Bill-proof, it would be worth it.

He fumbled with the frozen doorknob before shouldering into the house with a loud noise. “Stanley! I'm back!” He called, kicking the snow off his boots and reaching for the lightswitch.

There was a takeout menu taped over the thing. Ford rolled his eyes. Of course Stanley couldn't make the trip to the grove on his broken leg but he could snoop around to beg for food.

He tugged the paper from the wall - but then his eyes caught the stocky writing on the back.

‘I'm sorry, Sixer. You can put me in a home or something when it's over, I know I shouldn't have done this without saying but it's the only way to protect you from him forever, this way you don't have to worry so much. Please take care of yourself. -Stanley’

Ford struggled to fit the pieces together. He looked further into his dark home. “Stanley?!” He called again.

He strained his ears, but he couldn't hear any sort of response.

He flicked on the lights, reading over the note again, and making his way deeper in.

“Hello?!” He practically shouted up the stairs.

He almost thought he didn't get a response - then he heard a very faint “Hello..?” from his brother. Ford’s shoulders dropped with relief.

He stormed up the stairs. “Stanley, what is the meaning of this note? Is this about Bill? I told you what the unicorn hair was for--” He found his brother sat on the floor or his bedroom wearing Ford’s favorite trench coat that had gone missing that morning.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Ford asked.

“My leg hurts.” Stanley said astutely, and Ford eyed the leg that Stanley had taken out of its boot.

“Yes, that tends to happen when a leg is broken. Why did you take your boot off?”

Stanley looked dumbfounded. “My leg’s broken?” He asked.

Ford started walking closer when his foot met something. He looked down and saw the memory gun.

He picked it up, and saw the setting entered.

‘Stanley Pines’

He looked back at his brother - who’d cut his hair, was wearing his glasses and his clothes, and was staring uncomprehendingly up at him.

“Stanley, what did you do..?” He asked faintly. Of course he had theorized - but it was just that, a theory, one only meant to be proven when all other options ran out.

His brother had a confused frown. “I'm Stanley?”

Ford’s hands shook where they held the gun - the one Stanley pointed at his own head. He threw it across the room, getting to his knees in front of his brother. “Yes. Stanley, what do you remember? Do you remember making a deal? Anything?”

Stanley leaned away from him. “Uh. Sorry, man - I don't, uh. Do I know you?”

“You do.” He said immediately. “Stanley, you know me, it's Stanford - you know me--” He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, the same way he had done two days ago, but instead of him calming down he just seemed more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Stan, doesn't ring a bell.”

“I'm not Stan, you're Stan and I'm Ford.” He corrected immediately.

“Yikes, that's gotta be confusing. So Ford, would you tell me where the hell I am?”

He genuinely didn't remember. Ford felt sick.

‘You can put me in a home or something when it's over,’ Stanley had said in the note he left. He knew what he was doing to himself. Why would he--

Ford got to his feet, storming out of the room and down the stairs, down to the basement - the second floor of the basement, the floor he’d been avoiding for months. He grabbed the lighter from his pocket and started lighting dusty candles.

He sat himself in the middle of the circle, anxiety overwrought with anger. He recited the incantation he knew by heart and forced his mind to open.

But nothing happened.

He tried again.

Nothing.

He looked up at the ceiling. “Bill!” He yelled into the air. “I've come to make a deal!” He lied, but nothing happened. There was no possible way Bill would pass a declaration like that up - just like Stanley said, Bill was getting desperate, he wouldn't pass up a chance for Ford to let him in his head.

Stanley was dressed up like Ford. Stanley knew how desperate Bill was, knew he would shake hands with Ford no questions asked if he thought Ford offered up his mind.

He ran out of the room, back up the stairs so quickly he ran out of breath. When he got back to the second floor and his brother was face-down on the floor. “Stanley?!” He was over immediately, a hand on his neck looking for a pulse.

Stan smacked his hand away with an annoyed huff, sitting himself back up on his own. “Hey, Phil - thought you left.”

“Ford. What were you doing, Stanley?”

“My leg’s broken.” Stanley said in explanation. “I was thinkin’ of driving myself to the hospital.”

“You could have called me!” Ford argued.

“I did! I thought you left and I wasn't gonna keep on yowling for help like some sick cat, now are you gonna drive me to a hospital or am I gonna drive me to a hospital?”

“Drive myself - grammar.” He corrected, and Stanley gave him a blank look as if unaffected by their usual topic of bickering. “Just - let me help you up.”

Ford hefted Stan's thicker arm over his shoulder and hoisted him to his feet - mostly his left foot, his right dragging behind them as they started walking.

“Hey, uh. Buddy. Stairs are that way. This ain't the first floor.”

Ford wanted to drop him, frankly. Stan again forgetting his name made him perhaps a little too angry. “Wise deduction, but you came from that way - and you walked into my room with a boot on. A cast, too, but I don't want to see what chewed-up mess you made of that. I'm assuming you hid it there.” He said, lining up the back of Stan's knees with his bed and dropping him. Stan didn't make a sound, but the short drop made his eyes wide - still afraid of heights? Or something else?

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Stanley was blinking up at him with eyes that still didn't quite recognize him. Ford kind of wanted to punch him. Or the wall. Or Bill when he got back.

He busied himself with scanning the room - everything had a fine layer of dust, his bedroom hadn't been used quite possibly since the day he made that deal with Bill to increase time spent on the portal past all of his waking hours. He had most of his wardrobe in the basement, and needed nothing comfortable to catch him when he passed out.

He opened the closet door of his room - filled with summer attire for all the good it did him in February. At the bottom was the plastic boot the hospital had given Stanley, and just as he suspected the torn up remains of his cast, still with a pair of bent kitchen scissors lodged into the thick material.

A new cast would be easy to make, but the boot would help as a guideline. He didn't want to go to the hospital with Stanley again - not after the looks the staff gave him every time previous.

He grabbed it and headed downstairs again, already logging what he would need. Fiberglass, cotton, calcined gypsum, calcium sulfate, polyurethane, bandages - he was sure he had more than enough lying around for something as simple as a cast.

He started nosing through the clutter in his house, picking up everything he needed and putting it in an old grocery bag he found to take upstairs.

Once he was satisfied with his haul, he went back upstairs. He checked back in his room and Stanley was right where he left him.

Stan was also looking at the bag like it was his saving grace, then back up at Ford with a determined set of his shoulders. Ford ignored it, going over to the bed and dropping the grocery bag next to the cluttered nightstand

Stan was looking at him still - scanning him. Ford had no idea what his brother could be thinking until he opened his mouth. “Can't get on my knees that well with the leg, John.”

Ford’s mood soured. “Ford. It's Ford, you don't even have to remember two syllables, Stanley.” He snapped, but Stanley just tilted his head down like a scolded dog.

“Sorry, Ford - I'll call ya what you want.” He said, once again eyeing the bag for a second too long to be inconspicuous.

Ford sighed. “It doesn't matter - will you just - just sit there? Sit still?”

“Yes, sir.” Stan said, and then dropped into his back, completely ignoring what Ford just said, but Ford was still reeling from the use of “sir” by his twin brother. Ford didn't look nearly that old - or maybe he did, he had broken all the mirrors weeks ago - but Stanley was the same age as him, regardless!

Finally collected on why this offended him, he turned to look at Stanley again but then lost his train of thought.

Stanley was looking at him. He had taken his glasses off and was staring down at him expectantly over his own chest - was his back arched? Ford opened his mouth and Stanley’s legs visibly inched apart.

“... Stanley?”

“Yes, sir?” The title again - but now in a vastly different context. Why the hell was Stan looking at him like that? Sounding like that? Acting like that?

“What?” Ford said in summary of all his questions.

Stan tilted his head coyly. “Just doin’ what you want, sir.” His eyes flicked to Ford’s bag of supplies and then back. “Bag like that of food ain't cheap. Lemme make it worth your while?” He purred, and Ford’s usual urge to correct him didn't even notice that Stan thought his cast supplies were normal groceries.

Why was the thought of a bag of food making Stan act like a cat in heat? Was his brain damaged with the memory gun or is this such a frequent occurrence even the memory wipe couldn't rid him of it? Ford wondered just how many times Stan had looked at a stranger the way he was looking at him right now. Was he even clean?

Disgust and guilt and something else rolled in his gut - was this a con? Had Stanley still not put together that they're brothers? Would he still be lying on the bed that nicely if he did?

Stan's arms itched upwards and the sides of his knees couldn't go any farther apart from where they hung over the bed - that must hurt, with the leg. Stan didn't react to that, though, instead staring intently down at something while his fingers slowly dug into the dusty sheets.

Ford looked down as well.

Oh.

Ford cleared his throat awkwardly, tugging the front of his shirt down. Stan was looking up at him again, an easy smile on his lips. “You gonna just look at me? You can do whatever you want, s--”

“Sixer.” He corrected, his voice sounding off in his own ears. “You'll call me Sixer.” He said with more confidence than his sweaty palms suggested. He vaguely justified the change in his head while he watched Stan's fingers drag along the sheets.

Stanley, again unaffected by being corrected, leaned up on his elbows. “Alright, Sixer. You want me on my back?” He was scanning Ford again. Ford began answering when Stanley added another question. “... You want me to start by myself--?”

“Yes.” He said in response to the first question, because rolling over might shift the bones in his leg, and then felt shame burn in his throat when he registered the second. He moved to correct himself but Stan moved quicker.

He was undoing the buttons of Ford’s trench coat that Ford had yet to make him take off. His fingers sliding over the large brown buttons with ease, revealing more of the collared shirt he had seen just peeking over it.

It was no wonder he had closed the jacket Ford normally left open - the button-down was also Ford’s, and it looked it, stretched over Stan's larger frame. Ford’s eyes drank up the peeks of skin between buttons where fabric had bowed out, the buttons straining to keep from either undoing themselves or ripping from the their threads entirely. Dark hair wiry and obvious with the white background.

Stan shucked the trenchcoat, leaving it under him while he went for the smaller buttons of his shirt - Ford’s shirt that he had probably stretched beyond recovery. The long sleeves were like a second skin on Stan's forearms as his hands went deftly over the top button.

The button over Stan's pecks, the one most strained, popped open before Stan could even touch it, and Stanley’s breath hitched. He was staring right at him. “Sixer?” Stan asked, still releasing the buttons from their strain. Ford waited for Stanley to say anything else, breath shallow and eyes watching Stanley’s fingers.

“Sixer, come on.” He said, it sounded almost like a whine, like a twisted mimicry of when Stan would tell him to keep up as children running across the sand. Ford’s mouth went dry. Then he felt the warmth of Stan's wrists under his palms as he yanked his hands off that godforsaken button-down. Ford froze like a deer in the headlights when he realized what he’d done, but Stan was looking up at him like he was fucking smug about it.

Ford grabbed him by the back of his roughly chopped hair and dragged him into a kiss that was mostly teeth. Ford bit Stan's lower lip and Stan huffed a laugh like he had won, somehow. Perhaps he had, now that Ford was indulging in this - this incest.

He broke the kiss, going down to undo the last stubborn button and get the shirt off.

“Fuck you've got big hands…” Stanley huffed in almost a whisper, and really? That was Stanley’s candid reaction to the extra digits? Ford almost wanted to cry, instead he went back to kissing Stan like his life depended on it while his hands ran over his arms to get his sleeves off. Stan started pawing at Ford’s own button-down, but Ford just pulled it over his head easily - he had lost a few pounds before Stan got there.

Stan didn't seem to mind at all, hands running down his sides and leaving goosebumps. The distraction let Stan push forward in the kiss, technique much different - better. One of Stanley’s hands started itching down the front of his pants and Ford made an embarrassing noise that had him freezing up.

Stanley stopped, breaking away to get a look at Ford, but Ford just grabbed his wrists again and pushed them into the bed. “No touching.” He said, trying to sound authoritative instead of like someone liable to come in his pants at some heavy petting.

Stanley obediently kept his hands where they were when Ford let go, leaning down to meet Stanley again. Ford tried to copy what Stan was doing earlier, and Stan hummed in his mouth.

Ford slowly moved down to Stan's pants - still his, it seems he didn't even attempt to squeeze into Ford’s stiff slacks. Or maybe he did and hid the ripped remains somewhere. He undid the fly and button and Stan groaned. Ford, spurred on by the noise, started pulling down his pants and underwear at once.

Stan chuckled in his mouth - voice low and harsh and scratching at Ford’s brain. “You wanna stretch me or you wanna watch?” He asked, nose running by Ford’s cheekbone.

“Watch.” Ford said. It was only smart, he had never done something like that before, all of his college trysts were with women. Stan scooted backwards on the bed - barely wincing when his leg shifted. He looked Ford in the eyes and started laving three of his fingers in saliva for a second, before pulling away, a string connecting them to his lips for a moment as he reached down, passing his erection and going further.

Ford watched Stan shove two in immediately - really, how experienced was he? He started pushing them deeper and then back out. Ford watched him work himself open, want making his stomach ache. He reached down and started palming himself, and Stanley groaned again. Ford’s eyes snapped up to his face.

“Sixer? Six - get - lemme see? I wanna see.” He was looking directly at Ford’s crotch, fingers slow and making faint wet noises.

Ford hesitated - one of Bill's many efforts to demonstrate his lack of bodily autonomy was to go to a tattoo and piercing parlor and get what he thought would shame Ford as much as possible - publicly and privately.

“Sixerrrr…” Stan's voice dragged, his hands moving faster - three fingers, now. “Please - God - please lemme see, jus - please, Six I just wanna see…”

Ford undid the front of his pants like they were on fire, and Stan's hand in himself slowed to a crawl. Ford swallowed thickly, pulling himself out of his underwear.

The small barbell glinted off the light. Stan made a breathy sort of whine as his hand sped up again. “Please.” Stan said, more easily than he had ever begged for anything. “Wan’ it - Sixer, Sixer - Shit--” Ford grabbed the hand Stanley had half-buried in himself and pulled it out. His hole was red - open and flexing to the beat of Stan's panting. Ford lined himself up. “Wai - wait.” Stan licked his own hand, the one he just had in his asshole, and then reached down. He ran his five-fingered hand up and down Ford’s length twice and Ford moaned. Stan squeezed his base to keep him from shooting off early and Ford’s cheeks burned.

Stan was looking up at him like he was gorgeous, though. “You good?” He asked gruffly, and Ford nodded.

Stanley leaned back again, resting on his elbows and bending his unbroken leg up. Ford lined himself up again and slowly pushed in.

Stanley was hot - he was saying something, but Ford didn't recognize what. He was so hot - his muscles spasming around Ford and Ford had to grab his base again, whimpering as his orgasm failed again.

Stan started thrusting down onto him - fucking himself, shit - and Ford started tentatively following, slowly releasing the pressure from his hand.

“Shit, Six - Sixer. You gotta move, you - you're killing me here.” Stan whined, back arched, and hands gripping the sheets. “Please.” He begged, and Ford drew his hips back and slammed them forward.

Stan moaned. “Tha - Fuck - That's it, Six - Jus’ like that--” Ford started thrusting in earnest, Stan making these huffing noises to the pace of it. Then Ford’s unfortunate piercing caught something on the drag out and Stan's gasp hitched. He groaned obscenely. “The - their - right there sweetheart - Sixer - Fuck!” Ford’s mind pulled up a diagram of male genitalia - specifically the location of the prostate. Should be…

“FUCK--” Stan sobbed. “Please please Sixer Sixer Sixer F-Ford--”

Ford’s body was overtaken by static, spine curling forward until his nose was buried in Stan's chest hair while his spend flooded his brother. Hands started carding through his hair while he trembled and groaned, he felt himself slowly relaxing into the big arms around him and the soup of endorphins in his head.

The last thing he thought before his mind drifted away was that he could have sworn he was supposed to be staying awake.

[bougiebutchbitch]

I saw so many of your OFMD rbs today that it reignited my OFMD/izzy/steddyhands hyper fixation lol. Not that I’m upset abt it!! What r ur fav headcanons abt them?

jgfhfjf I was on a roll this morning! I like the idea that Izzy survived, but it was covered up by the crew (and Izzy!) to get Izzy away from Ed and Stede. Frenchie, Jim, Fang and Archie were still very wary of Ed, for obvious reasons. Plus, everyone was worried about their unicorn and thought he deserved better than to be the eternal third wheel!

So Stede and Ed legitimately grieve him, and bury a 'body' (actually a mop with two coconuts attached to it, though they're unaware of this skjldsdg - IF YOU KNOW THE FANART, YOU KNOW) all while Izzy is healing and happy with his family on the Revenge, under Frenchie's captainhood! Stede and Ed are repairing their relationship, coming to terms with everything that happened to them and everything they did, good and bad alike. Ditto for Izzy and his crew! It's a perfect happy ending for everyone!

But.

But.

Stede and Ed never quite feel 'whole', by themselves on a little desert island, trying to start a business, every day bogged down with routine and basic hard work that neither of them are used to.

And Izzy loves his crew so much, but he doesn't quite feel 'whole' either. He wants so desperately to see how Stede and Ed are doing. He misses them a lot, and though he holds everything together for Frenchie and the others' sake, Frenchie has caught him a dozen times sat in the crows' nest at night, looking out in the direction of Ed and Stede's island and sighing...

They pass by the island one time, and Izzy is obviously SO fucking forlorn, though he's doing his utmost to pretend otherwise. Frenchie, Jim, Archie and Fang can't bear it. They thought they were doing the right thing by giving Izzy a life away from his captains. And they were! It was what Izzy needed! He's grown in himself, and seems far more grounded and happy!

But he wants to go back to them anyway.

And Frenchie knows it would be wrong to stop him. Plus, who's to say Ed and Stede haven't done some GrowthTM of their own?

So, he wakes Izzy from his cabin and gives him a big hug, before leading him out onto the deck. The whole crew have gathered. Cue hugs all around, and they each give him a little present - a clumsy wooden sculpture from Lucius, a far better one from Pete (he's teaching his husband how to whittle!), a garlic knot necklace from Oluwande and Archie and Jim for luck, etc. etc. etc.

Izzy is gruffly trying not to cry (because he loves them so much and he'll miss them so much, but he has felt like a fucking burden lately (even though he absolutely isn't; after Zheng set off to rebuild her armada, he was in charge of teaching the crew how to Pirate Right, and he did a damn good job!) And he's in a lot of pain trying to keep up with life on the ship with all his old injuries. He knows he's not the best swordsman in the Caribbean anymore, and deep down, he feels, it's time ot pack it in.) He gives each of them a tight hug and a rough-voiced compliment (small and genuine and kinda backhanded in typical Izzy fashion; telling Lucius he's not fucking useless; telling Oluwande he's far too nice to be a quartermaster but he makes it fucking work and that's good, Izzy figures; telling Frenchie he's far from the worst captain Izzy's sailed under). Then he quietly strips his glove off, and hands it to Jim. They don't hug. They just nod at each other, one guard dog to another.

As Izzy rows to shore, to where Ed and Stede's little inn stands, a candle in the window burning like a lighthouse in the night... He hears the music blossom out from the ship, La Vie En Rose, playing him towards his retirement. And he finds himself smiling, so hard it hurts.

...Then he walks into the inn like 'sup twats. Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.' and Ed and Stede start screaming lskdfhkjsdgf

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[sadkachow]

me: so yeah i feel super dizzy and lightheaded when i stand up and also just at random times of the day and also my heart just starts pounding randomly and it skips a beat randomly at least once a day and im also experiencing these other small things that i realized probably arent normal

the cardiologist: yeah, your heart’s beating too fast, but that’s just Normal Teenager Things™️! probably just like dehydration or something lol

[innalheid]

Feeling very Ascension by Gorillaz ft Vince Staples at 2:18

[pynkhues]

It is interesting with Antoinette. I could see it being that Lestat genuinely had affection for her, even if he would certainly have killed her had Louis personally asked him to -- or it could be that she was just familiar, and he wanted the closest thing to intimacy he could get, so someone who knew him was better than someone who didn't. And the whole possibility that she reminded him of Gabrielle in some ways...

(x)

Yeah, I totally agree, anon.

I actually unfortunately suspect that Antoinette isn't a character the show will really come back to, and I think I'm one of three people that cares about that, haha, but where I tend to land on her relationship with Lestat is the fact that neither Lestat nor Louis actually have any friends.

That's not to say that I think Lestat and Antoinette were just friends, I don't, they obviously fucked a lot (which like, also comes down to the fact that Lestat doesn't know how to have friends he doesn't fuck, haha), but I do think the reality is that Lestat and Louis have very different racial and cultural contexts, hobbies and areas of interest which aren't things they can easily share with each other, especially not in early-1900s America, and I think that's a bigger factor in their relationship breakdown than either will admit to.

It's why Louis' able to reconnect with Jonah so quickly - they might be leading different lives, but they have more overlapping factors than they don't, whereas he and Lestat have less than they do - and for Lestat as a white theatre kid, he needs to be around other performers. I think with Antoinette, she's obviously a talented vocalist and an ambitious artist, and I can see that genuinely just being company that Lestat wants to be close with. They probably talk shit about crap theatre they've seen and do vocal runs together and fuck, and honestly for a part of Lestat, that would lowkey be a dream relationship, haha. Do I think they have a deep emotional connection? No, but given even Louis' willing to admit she's talented, and his own complex relationship with not succeeding as an artist, I wonder how much that factors in to his portrayal of her and his insecurities around their relationship (to say nothing of the fact that she's both white and a woman).

This feels like it's going on a hundred tangents, haha, but my point is maybe they'd step out on each other less or descend into unforessen levels of chaos and destruction if they both had a few friends they could talk about their identities and niche interests with!!

[jupiter--dream]

(cw vent, sorry it's just been A Couple Of Days)

Not really having many irl friends comes at the price of feeling so terribly lonely, I feel like I have no one to talk to because I'm not close to enough people, or maybe I am and I just haven't talked to them in a while and I don't want this to be our first conversation qwq

I'm honestly just. Tired, tbh qwq

[softshuji]

Any men out there wanna pretend to be my bf to get my parents off my case about marriage? I am so so serious right now.

[neverendingford]

along the same line as the whole "why do you need to know someone's autistic before you stop bullying them for their autistic traits?" thing I've seen floating around

apologizing for it once you know is meaningless. it doesn't change the fact that you deliberately mocked someone for their behavior.

.

a customer mocked my stutter and I've lost all patience with that so I looked him in the eyes and said "I have a speech disability" and he immediately got all apologetic and was like "I wasn't making fun of you". Bro yes you were. you didn't realize you were making fun of a disability I've spent my entire life struggling with, but you were nonetheless.

just because you don't know you're being an asshole doesn't mean you're not being an asshole. you can apologize but I'm not going to forgive you.

[spr1ng]

bro 💔

[morningmask27]

I feel like November will be a difficult month for me again and I'm not looking for it

[giantkillerjack]

Ya know. I spent most of my life with horrible painful soul-crushing social anxiety.

And after about 25 years of continuous hard work, suddenly, people started pointing out - to my utter bafflement - that I had, in fact, achieved my lifelong dream of being charismatic. I'm 29 now; I feel comfortable in most social situations, and it is a very rare person whom I cannot make laugh.

I am, undoubtedly, finally, charismatic.

But do you know what I found?

I found that now that I have an understanding of which social rules serve which functions -- Now that I have an understanding of just how much damage my awkwardness was doing to people, well,

I found that, actually, my awkwardness never really hurt anyone at all. People were just judgmental dicks to me about it.

Now that I have the skill-level to (most of the time) creatively vocalize what is in my head as soon as I think it and without fear, I can confirm once and for all what I had always suspected:

I was worth talking to when I was quiet.

I was worth talking to when I was awkward, and when the words in my head took time and patience to hear, and when most of my jokes didn't land. I was worth talking to the whole time.

So I just... I hope that if you've ever wondered whether you are worth communicating with, the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. Each of us has a soul worth sharing - and if you and I were talking, I would happily wait for you to speak (or communicate in other ways) without condescending, and I would never shame you for that harmless awkwardness that so many people feel the need to violently stomp out.

You are worth talking to. You just are. And you deserve people who will speak to you with kindness, with patience, and with the basic immutable respect owed to all people.

(I talk about this with some frequency, both on tumblr and in real life. At some point, maybe I'll gather all my thoughts on the matter into one post. At some point, I wrote about my personal experience trying to build my social skill. But I felt the need to say at least a little bit tonight after seeing this other lovely post, and I'm glad I did. It will happen again.)

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

it’s not fair that so much of my memory and cognitive function is tied up in something I cannot control or reasonably prevent