#it's most likely because i'm dull as fuck and just don't know what to talk about and how to communicate and how to appear interesting

[radioactive-cloud]

for some reason my brain decided that it would be an awesome idea to make me cry while i was vacuuming so that's exactly what i did and now my head hurts and i feel even more miserable and sad than before. great job brain.

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[cherrychilli]

18+

Eddie Munson x flexible! reader, AFAB reader, allusions to PIV sex

Eddie finds out you're double jointed.

A/N: This one's super self indulgent because I'm very bendy and I felt like writing about it. Also they smoke weed but everything's consensual✌️

"C'mon, there's gotta be something about you I don't know already", he prompts after another smoky exhale, blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. It wisps out into the evening air beyond the back doors of his van, opened out to overlook a moon dappled lover's lake.

This is what the conversation had dwindled down to after having spent the whole day together, most other talking points already stretched thin by now.

Usually you would have considered the question more carefully but now that your intuition's been dulled by his stash, you search through the foggy corridors of your mind for an answer like you're feeling around for a light switch in the dark.

Eddie has been your closest friend for the better part of five years now and you weren't exactly a closed book by any means which made coming up with something all the more difficult.

Most of what comes to mind feels too mundane to mention so you pass them over in favor of searching for something that might pique his interest.

"Hmm, I'm kind of double jointed I guess", you slowly recalled, too mellowed out to realize the kind of implications something like that might carry to a man like Eddie.

But where there should have been raised eyebrows and a lascivious curve on his lips you find his eyes narrowing into a puzzled little squint instead as he looks at you from where he's leaned against the back of the driver's seat.

"But we've only had one", he turns the joint in his hand over to examine it closer as if a second one might be hidden somewhere underneath.

Maybe you'd given him too much credit.

You roll your eyes at him playfully, leaning closer on your hands and knees to pluck the joint out of his hand and take another puff. The weed might have made him a little slow and sluggish to fully comprehend your what you'd just shared with him but not enough to prevent him from sneaking a peek at your cleavage from this angle.

"No Eddie, it just means I'm flexible. Like, a little more than most people", you return to your side of the van, leaning back against the side door with your knees pulled up to your chest.

"So, like the splits?"

"More than that"

"More?", his eyes go wide and you can see a hint of redness bordering his sclera, certain the same tinge is present in own eyes too.

"Yeah, like check this out", you hand him back the last of the joint for him to finish off and put out. Holding up your left hand, you fold your thumb into your palm and gather the rest of your fingers with your right hand, slowly bending them back beyond what he thought to be your limit.

The unnatural arc might have unsettled anyone else but not Eddie and you begin to giggle when his face lights up instead of twisting into a wince.

"Shit, does that hurt?"

"Nope", you start to beam a little, letting him take your hand in his when he reaches for it eagerly.

Carefully, he manipulates them, making them bend in all kinds of ways; touching your thumb to your forearm, pushing the first joint of each finger back as far as possible.

"Oh that's fucked", he smiles big and wide as if he could gladly spend an entire day just messing around with your fingers.

"What else can you do?"

His impress fills you with a new kind of high, one much more heady than the weed and you fail to resist it now that you've gotten a taste.

"Mm, I can get my legs behind my head too", you shrug, this time much more aware of what you're divulging.

"Seriously? both of them?", he manages to ask calmly enough though you can almost feel him buzzing under his skin like a cicada about to take flight.

"Yeah, don't even really have to stretch to do it"

His jaw tenses, his normally expressive face unreadable before he quietly asks, "can I see?"

Oh this is dangerous. You feel like you're entering uncharted territory in your friendship but you like the look stirring in his eyes too much to deny him.

"Maybe just one", you offer, thankful that you're wearing your cotton shorts today instead of something denim.

Sitting criss cross on the old blanket he uses to carpet the back of his van for smoke sessions, you slip off your flip flops and place both hands on your right foot. With your left hand cradling the ball of your foot and your right hand gripping your heel, you begin to lift your leg up past your chest.

The underside of your thigh which he only gets to secretly ogle on days when you're dressed like this is bared to him as you get your calf over your shoulder, no trace of pain or discomfort on your face. Dropping your right hand, you duck your head slightly to maneuver your foot over it with your left hand then it's done. Your foot slips into place behind your head, heel nudging the nape of your neck. You're able to straighten up to look him in the eye, shooting him a wink while you wiggle your toes.

"There. Not so hard", you can't help but show off, drunk on the stunned look etched on Eddie's face.

And then his eyes trailed lower.

He does it quickly -- a mental snapshot that he'll file away for later. He memorizes the way your shorts have ridden up, so tight around your core he can make out the print of your underwear and the shape of your cunt beneath the stretched out fabric, wishing he could rip the stitches of the offending material apart and fit his tongue there instead.

Pleased with your display, you untangle yourself smoothly, limbs returning to their rightful alignments as Eddie takes a few seconds to blink himself out of his thoughts. His entirely non platonic, downright debaucherous thoughts.

"Woah that was...wow", he settles, pressing his lips together before his motormouth revs up and he lets out something he'll regret. 'You're like a sexy stretch Armstrong', nearly makes its way through but he's able to bite on to it and swallow it back down just in time.

"You're the first guy I've ever shown that to", you laugh but it comes out a little weak now that you're processing what you've just done.

"Seriously? what about Mark?", he asks, face scrunching up slightly like the name left a bad taste in Eddie's mouth.

The mention of your last ex sobers you up even more. "No, I never told him", you tell him simply, smothering down a laugh. The truth was Mark's idea of kinky was leaving the lights on so you never brought up your little contortionist act, afraid it would be too much for him to handle.

"Don't think he would have been into it", you tell Eddie instead and he looks back at you, deadpanned.

"What?"

"Sorry I just find that really hard to believe", he clears his throat, barely disguising his own interest.

The silence that follows has a certain weight to it. It's a familiar kind of weight that you've felt before on days when you're alone with Eddie and the line between friends and something more begins to blur. The weight of possibility.

"Always wanted to try it", you add, hoping like hell that you haven't misread that hungry look in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I don't know just seems like it could be...fun?", you shrug, a not entirely successful attempt at appearing nonchalant because you've begun to sweat. The van feels far too small all of a sudden which doesn't make sense because you're nowhere near as close as you would like to be with the boy who's seems to be stuck on what to say next.

Call it a leap of faith or call it a huge fucking mistake but you decide to take the plunge and ask him the question that's been beating on the inside of your cranium like a hammer on a nail.

"Eddie, would it be weird if I ask you to-"

"Yes", he answers quickly. Resolutely.

The swiftness of it hurts like a guillotine coming down on your heart -- shot down before you'd even finished the question so you swallow down your regret like a throatful of gravel.

"R-right. Yeah I know it was stupid of me to even try to-"

He doesn't know where he went wrong until he sees your bottom lip tremble and the confidence you'd worn up until now completely strip away, realizing you've mistaken him eagerly jumping the gun for flat out rejection.

Eddie's hands come down on your shoulders as he bolts up to kneel in front of you, shaking you to shock the tears away before they have a chance rise and turn your eyes glassy.

"No! I mean yes, it's not not weird but I don't care because YES, I want to um, do that with you… is what I meant"

His grip eases up but his eyes stay wide to read your expression, chest no longer feeling like an anvil had been dropped on it when a smile breaks out on your face, the kind that feels like it could reach beyond his ribcage and touch his heart.

"Really?", you ask, somehow understanding him perfectly. If there was anyone who could make sense of Eddie's nonsense it was you.

"I mean, if you want to...", he leans closer when he catches you looking at his lips.

"I do want to", you lean in too, hands smoothing up his chest, bringing your lips closer to his.

For all the effort he put into keeping his unfiltered thoughts from spilling out it's just his luck that he stumbles over the very last hurdle before the finishing line.

"Oh my god I'm going to fold you like a pretzel"

It's so abrupt and silly and just so Eddie that you can't help but laugh, dropping your head. His lips skim your forehead and he laughs too, both of you holding each other, locked in a giggle fit until it tapers and subsides.

When you do look back up the heat that had been there before his gaffe returns tenfold. "Maybe leave the dirty talk to me", you place a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a proper kiss.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter thirty-eight — why couldn't it be mini-golf? (💋)

[[ALL WRITTEN CHAPTER]]

The dinner party was quiet for the first part.

But not the kind of quiet that would have made anyone into a bad type of uncomfortable. No, it was the kind of quiet that usually hangs heavy in the air with a clear path to stop it. But that path mentioned was definitely not going to be brought up anytime soon, nor even uttered.

The "path" being the eventual contemplation of both your and Kuni's relationship. Or..."relationship"? You had no idea. And frankly? You were too annoyed by Venti's chewing to even think about it right now.

There sat the bodies of Hu Tao, Thoma, Aether, Lumine, Heizou, Yanfei, Ayaka, Xiao, Kazuha, Venti, Kuni, and you at a very long table with what felt like it had no end in sight. Only sounds were the soft clinking of silverware against the china and the eventual murmur of someone to another. It was similar to faint ripples disturbing the surface of the pond.

Venti, seated next to you, was eating away with an unbothered look, feasting at his second dish of the hot pot with numerous amounts of meat. "Oh my god," He said with his mouth full, exaggerated smacks and crunches that seemed to echo louder than the previous ones, grating irritably on your nerves. "Brilliant. I mean, who came up with this?!"

"Been a thing for...forever, actually." Kuni's eyes dulled as he replied with the most unamused tone imaginable, swirling his chopsticks in the soup stock.

"Do you live under a rock?" Hu Tao's eyes narrowed, ever the lively one as she plopped a piece of well marinated pork in her mouth. "It's a common thing, not very new, dumbass."

"Ohhh, no. Don't go and try and make me look like the dumbass." Venti pointed. "Scara~ I know that you were too lazy to try and think of an actual dinner for us out of your busy schedule, but it really reminds me of how creative you can be anyway. I mean, a steamboat?! Your mind! Can I still call you Scara?"

"No." He replied flatly, not even looking up from his bowl.

"Where did you find this?" Venti marveled. "Genius invention, if I do say so myself. Like, watch this." And with that, he put the raw piece of beef inside of the boiling hot broth.

The beef had bubbled inside of the broth, cooking the meat almost instantly. The rich aroma was wafting throughout all of the visitor's nostrils, leaving a tempting bubble of juice that lightly coated the beef he pulled out, making your own mouth water despite your annoyance.

"You wanted to show us... you cooking meat?" Ayaka asked, her voice tinged in a genuine and curious way, wondering if there was an end confirmation to this. Unfortunately, there wasn't, and the rest of the table sighed.

"You know what guys, the art of cooking is lost on a lot of people, don't expect you to know about it. I wish that you could see how philosophical every thin slice that goes into your mouth is, but I'm not your own eyes." Venti threw his hands up in defense.

"Venti...when the pot is at a very high temperature, the meat inside of it usually tends to cook after a few seconds. That's how it works." Aether slowly told him, to which Hu Tao narrowed her eyes in a death-like stare.

"But what about the journey of that high temperature cooked meat?" Venti continued, his tone almost as philosophical as his aggravating chewing. "The laughs, the memories, the stories, preparing this meal together. That's...what makes this dinner more special than others. Our first."

"And our last." Kuni rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I didn't let you guys into my house just for him to give us a TED Talk on the importance of family time. Just eat the fucking food and save us the theatrics."

"There's no point, he's just going to keep at it." Yanfei sighed in defeat. "He knows what he did. This will never end as long as we're all alive."

"Yeh? What did I do that was that awful?" Venti raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a pout. "Because what I did do was put those two together at a dinner table right now. You're welcome, by the way." He poked the direction towards you and Kuni.

"He's got a point..." Thoma let out a small chuckle, gaze flicking to the both of you. "You're both being civil right now. Most times you'd just try to bite your tongue whenever you were around each other."

"That's so not true." You scoffed. "I'd say I was very civil. Me, at least. Can’t say the same about others."

"Yeah? Throwing me under the bus now?" Kuni shot you a withering glare. "You asked me out first, don't think I don't remember when we were about to get in the car."

"Hey, quick tip for when you're stuck in conversations you don't want to be in: being proactive helps. Being a fake flirt helps. Someone had to break the ice, and it wasn't going to be you." You shrugged.

"By flirting with me?"

"I mean, it got your attention, didn't it?" Hu Tao replied, leaning back in her chair. "You're smitten."

"I am not smitten. I have intense feelings that should be mutual." His eyebrow quirked up, a hint of amusement softening his features. No matter how defensive his tone was, he knew he couldn't believe anything he said. "You shouldn't be chastising me anyway. I already made myself clear before you got here that I hate the shady shit."

"And I made myself clearer that I didn’t want anything from you right now, no?" You retorted immediately, head shooting towards him with a glare, tone clipped and snippy. "You'd be smart not to bring it here."

Tension rose to a great extent as your words began to make everyone uncomfortable, with the exceeding silence and awkwardness that ruminated between you and Kuni. It was pretty much just the two of you that were giving off an aura like no other. Safe to say that even Venti's attempt of getting the both of them to ease up from what they eventually have to do was a failure.

You glanced at Venti after he began to start moaning despite this, and sighed inwardly. Only he of all people could manage to make eating a piece of meat sound like something else. You threw your chopsticks back on the table, it causing a metallic thud. "Alright. I think I'm done."

"I'm sorry that I'm trying to bring liveliness that you all lack right now. Why is so quiet anyway?" Venti asked, his eyes looking around at everyone's suddenly shifted demeanor.

"You shouldn't be encouraging Venti to be loud, Thoma." Lumine hesitated in her words, trying to disengage the situation. "Let's just do an exercise. We'll say something really nice about the person next to us, and if you have nothing to say, you're going to stay here and help Kuni pick apples as a summer job."

Heizou shot up immediately, slamming his hands down on the table. "I have nothing nice to say about anyone here. Fuck all of you."

"Fat fucking chance. Sit your ass back down." Kuni snarled.

Kazuha frowned, furrowed brow betraying his own confusion. "What did we do...?"

Lumine squinted at him, taken aback by his words before pressing her lips together. "You have to play the game first to decide that, jackass."

“Well, this game already isn’t very fun.” Heizou blurted, saltily sitting back down. “Easy enough for nobody to jump me here though, I’ll take all the compliments I can get.”

"I’m glad that Kazuha and Thoma are sitting next to you and not me.” Hu Tao’s eyes dulled. “I’d blow my brains out before I ever compliment a child trafficker.”

“Okay, good thing we’re not starting with you, then.” Lumine argued with the both of them. “Fuck,” She muttered under her breath, composing herself before she had to speak again. “Then, since you’re one of the last letters of the alphabet, You go first, Xiao.”

Xiao picked his head up, his sharp eyes scanning for the person next to him who just so happened to be Venti. “Oh,” He paused, the rest of the table waiting for his response as Venti excitedly bounced in his seat. “I don’t want to play.”

Venti’s shoulders dropped. “Are you kidding? C’mon, you can’t think of anything?”

“Said he doesn’t want to play, this is our group therapy dinner where consent is the Hail Mary. No compliments for you, too bad, so sad.” Hu Tao stuck her tongue out playfully.

“Your attitude right now is the main reason that one of these days you’re going to get scammed so bad by a pyramid scheme that you’re actually going to start believing the Tupperware you’re selling is valuable. It’s not. It never will be.” Venti squinted.

Hu Tao sat there for a minute, looking into the other’s eyes before scrunching her nose up. “Are you okay? That was extremely specific.”

The rest of the table was silent, until Lumine sighed quietly. “Okay…Xiao, can you at least try to come up with something so we can move on? You don’t have to do it again, this is just a one time thing.”

“I’m grateful,” Yanfei gritted her teeth inwardly. “Never thought I’d have to be genuine anytime soon. Why couldn’t it be mini golf?”

He let out a slow breath, clearly reluctant to even participate in this obviously forced exercise. The more he stalled, though, the longer it was going to take to ebb how uncomfortable it is. “Venti,” He began, voice steady but devoid of emotion. “Your music is very refined.”

Venti clutched at his own heart, making a sound like he just got punched in the gut. “I’ll take it. That’s so cute of you.”

“Yeah! This is a really good exercise for us! We haven’t gotten the time to really appreciate each other as friends.” Thoma smiled. “Go ahead, Venti! Say something nice about (Y/N)!”

“Right.” Venti turned his head to you, trying to fully grasp what he wanted to say. It left eye contact with him very unsettling. “Hm…no matter what happens to you, you’ve still proven that you deserve what you have. Keeping that energy lead you to many people wanting to be around you in result. You should be grateful for that.”

You couldn’t help but stiffen at his words, letting out a small smile tug at your mouth in return. “That really means a lot, Venti. Thank you.”

You took a minute to sink in Venti’s words before you slowly turned to the person who you dreaded giving a compliment to right now— Kuni sat there perfectly. His head rested gently on his head as he leaned against the table with his elbow.

“You…” You stammered on your words, trying to look in your mind for something, anything, you could say that wouldn’t compromise your position. But you knew that despite everything, you liked him a lot. He did prove that he was into you a long time ago, you just didn’t want to admit it. “I like…uh…”

You were unsure how to respond. And Kuni knew that too, so he took the lead. “I think you’re the only person who’s brought me joy in more than just a platonic situation. Being around you is something special to me, I’d rather it not go to waste fighting.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, wanting to look agitated, but his words were so genuine that you were put on the spot. You felt tears brimming up in your eyes in return, trying to hold your eyes open to shun them away, only resulting in them returning tenfold.

You quickly stood up from your seat, bitterness running down like waterfalls. “Excuse me.” You murmured, before rushing off to an undisclosed room.

The rest of the table was silent after that, looking around at each other awkwardly. From what was supposed to be a comfortable exercise turned into something entirely worse than expected. Especially since they all had a feeling that it would go wrong with you sitting next to him.

Kuni groaned, his head hanging and his back pressed firmly against the chair. “Fuck,” He drawled, feeling his patience wear thing. “So fucking annoying.”

“Go after them.” Thoma said amongst the quiet, a warm smile on his face. He knew that even though he wanted to go himself, there was someone who was planning to be with you for a very long time. “You’re good. We’ll all be here when you come back.”

Kuni hesitated, to which Kazuha smiled and nodded. “You said you had Mario Kart, right? We can just play that if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Hu Tao was one of the first people to stand up, shooing Kuni off with her manicured hand. “Go. Bye! We’re going trashing on your expensive equipment for three hours.”

No matter how much he wanted to kick everyone out, he was given a small reminder as to how they’re the main reason why you haven’t given up on him. Unfortunately. So he didn’t say anything, leaving towards his bedroom, the same room he heard you lightly sobbing in.

The room both of you found yourselves in were dimly lit and a complete contrast from the kitchen. It was quiet, but the quiet here was different and heavy and thick— almost suffocating him. You sank down into a plush armchair sat in the corner of his room, sitting in silence with yourself until now.

You didn’t bother looking up to see who it was, you knew who it was. Kuni’s footsteps were light and soft enough to tell you that, he took the seat opposite you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You were forced to look at him.

He looked beautiful from up close, his features naturally pairing together with the rest of his face. His jawline a perfect structure, his eyes soft enough for you to stare into his violet pools. His hair light and feathery, strands of it sticking in small clusters.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He sat back, mustering up a mix of concern and patience on his face. “I already told you I’m not going to fight with you anymore.”

You wiped your eyes candidly, the back of your hand leaving residue of your tears. A hiccup broke your speech, “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Your wetted eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as your eyes squeezed shut. “You’re too patient now.”

“Didn’t learn it in a night.” He absorbed your words like they were all that he was able to get in that moment. “I mean, I still have no idea why you came around even this quick. You don’t have a reason to stay by my side as much as I do for you.”

“Oh, of course. Because it’s always different for you. You’re still trying, just like you did when you hated me, it’s confusing. You’re so…fucking confusing.” You looked up again, meeting his eyes with defeat. He was going to be in your life whether it was a friend or a lover, and with the more days that pass with him in it, you start to feel yourself teeter back and forth. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” Your voice was weak.

His eyes never left your face, tentatively taking your hand in his. “I had to get used to the idea of potentially never seeing or talking to you again when I left.” He paused, sincerity striking his face, more of an intense look than usual. “I never want to go through that again so long as I owe it to you. It’s cowardice, and I’d rather face you myself.”

“When will you not owe it to me?” Your heart was hurting, beating faster than it could ever. “I never wanted you to be indebted to me, you did that because you felt guilty, so just squash it already.”

At every second he stayed quiet, the brighter it dawned on you his intentions. He wanted to be by your side as long as possible. “Then it’s all done,” You stared at the hand holding yours, his warmth and steady hands with his skin slightly bulging with his veins, a black ring on his middle finger. “No more games. No more pretenses,” He said calmly. “I want you. More than I wanted anything.”

“Yeah.” You said slowly, a sense of cautious hope blooming in your chest. “I think I kind of do too.”

Swallowing hard, you tried to gather your own sense of resolve here. But all that you were able to even think about was how close he was to you…and the fact that you wanted to suck his face off.

The silence this time was a comforting one, understanding of each other that was unspoken for. He leaned in close to your face, the heat of his breath slowly lingering on your skin, making you ache in a passion you’ve never felt before even when Childe was trying to pursue you.

“Can I?” He whispered.

The breath you had was swept away by his tantalizing voice, nodding slowly at his request. It wasn’t like the last time where the anger and frustration was taken out on the love they pressed into the kiss. No, this one felt a lot better than you ever would have imagined.

The kiss that followed with your words was fluffy at first, the meeting of lips that quickly grew deeper as the months and months of progress they put into their entire history together was no longer at its standstill anymore. His hands snaked across your body, also with an aching desire nestled in his chest.

He tasted amazing on your lips, and you pressed yourself against him in a swift movement, swapping seats gradually. You were dazed, if your eyes could have hearts in them, they would have already.

You didn’t recoil, or protest, or fight him every step of the way anymore. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, its foreign-like actions to you making your eyes bleary with love. You were melting into him, no matter how much you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

It looks like you have a lot more to explain to your fans than expected.

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YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @littlesliceofcheese @yumejo89

@liuaneee @franaby @tiddieshakeshownu @mimi3lover @kavineyah

@kittywagun (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[myuniverseinabox]

Dude I have to know... what are your thoughts about what's come out sofar about the live action HTTYD remake 😭 since I know you're passionate about the franchise

Sighssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Ever since I heard that they were planning to make a live action remake of this movie I have been very disappointed, as I'm sure most were. I intentionally didn't look at anything about it - I didn't wanna know, I didn't wanna see. Over time though I became at least curious to see how they would design the dragons, but that's about it.

Now come the actual teaser- yeah maybe I took a gander at it.

And yeah I hate everything about it.

Now let me preface this with the fact that I don't think live action remakes or remakes in general are inherently bad. Its the intention behind these things that make them awful.

Money. I'm talking about money.

Every movie is going to be motivated by that in some sense because capitalism... but every so often we get real passion making it through. Giving us films like Puss in Boots: The Last Wish, for instance. So sure there's some very slim chance it could be at least semi decent, but, we all know why this film is being made, so I do not care.

Httyd did not need a 'live action remake' as much as any other PERFECTLY GOOD animated movie did. Its just another instance of film company's squeezing every last drop of money they can get from their original movies.

I would have been -okay- with it if they at least made something new out of it. Like as in a new twist on the story, for instance giving it a darker tone ...like if there was actual creative passion behind it and reason to tell a different story. But no, it looks like all the other live action slop where its legit a shot for shot remake with probably some unneeded additional dialogue that misses the point and maybe an added scene so they can pad the run time. And ofc I'm sure they'll remove certain things for no reason as well.

Likeee for instance, the small flinch that toothless does before letting hiccup touch his nose. From the teaser it looks like they just removed that entirely and it feels SO FORCED.

Also not to mention how all the colours are so dulled in this live action version. Look at that gorgeous pink lighting in the og!

The guy who plays hiccup also just looks away like he knows he's meant to and not like he's fucking nervous about it and like oo okay what if I do this.

It's so... devoid of character.

It may sound like I'm nitpicking, and that's because I am, but these small details amount to a lot. Especially in stories that are so... I dunno, character focused??

I also do not like how toothless looks. It coulda been worse but. Ah... they got rid of his markings (as expected) and he kinda just looks like the og version but with 'extra detail'

his head also looks oddly bulbous from the front.

Now look at this babi in all his glorious pink lighting:

SO. In conclusion, yeah. I don't like it.

[uglypastels]

okok I've had this idea brewing in my filthy mind for a few days so imagine sanji discovering camgirl! Strawhat reader and becomes kinda obsessed?? Maybe one day she wears something of his(maybe a ring or his shirt) live and he goes absolutely feral and has his way with her??😵😵💫

I took out the camgirl aspect because I just wasn't sure how to incorporate it into the universe?? (I'm still new to it, so trying to figure out the dos and don'ts haha.) but I hope it's still good.

masterlist | inbox - requests open

reminder that reblogs and comments are the best way to support writers on Tumblr

warning: 18+ content. MDNI. simp sanji. masturbation. suggestive language and actions. light biting.

Laundry Day.

'Can someone remind me again whose brilliant idea it was to fight the giant squid?' You looked down at yourself, stiff as a board, as you felt every inch of your body to be sticky with black ink.

When you looked up again, the rest of the crew had all found a sudden interest in the most mundane parts of the ship, not daring to meet your deadly glare.

'Thought so,' you mumbled. 'I'm gonna go change.' Awkwardly, you made your way downstairs to the bathroom to try and wash off the black goo the sea monster had spewed onto you. You scrubbed for what felt like an hour, with the stains just never seeming to seize. The water poured down your body, slowly turning from a black abyss into a drabby grey until it finally recovered to its natural clear state, and the smell of fish was exchanged for your hair conditioner and body scrub.

stupid. fucking. squid. You kicked around your thoughts as you got out of the shower, nearly falling over in the process.

Too tired to cross the ship to your room, you instead walked to the small laundry cabin that was next to the bathroom and picked up the first pair of shorts you found and a button-up shirt to throw on.

You had thought it was one of yours, always being fond of having some larger piece of attire to throw over a short sleeve, but you soon realised your mistake when you entered the kitchen.

Sanji was in the middle of setting some water to boil, glancing up at you from his work with a soft smile. That smile then quickly froze in what you could only describe as a shock.

'I know I look like a mess,' you sighed, reaching over to the cupboard where the crew kept their hardest liquor. The day just called for a shot. Or three.

'Not the words I would use.' Sanji said, the clicking of the gas stove intercepting him, 'Is that- is that my shirt?'

You glanced down, noticing the blue striped pattern on the material and the actual tailoring of the shirt as opposed to the ones you were used to wearing.

You cursed under your breath. 'Sorry. I'll go change.' You began unrolling the sleeves, already seeing how they started to crease.

'No,' Sanji coughed out. 'It's fine. Honestly.'

'You sure?' You looked up at him apprehensively, but he just shrugged and continued on cooking.

You poured yourself a drink and made yourself comfortable opposite Sanji, enjoying the show that was his meal prep.

'Where's everyone else?' you asked as he began chopping up vegetables.

'Uhm, probably sleeping off the squid,' he chuckled, focused on the ingredients. As he kept going, you realised his answers kept getting shorter and shorter with each question. What usually would be full of quips and flirtatious remarks was cut down, blunt, like the edge of a dull knife.

And at first you had brushed it aside as him concentrating on his craft, but the longer he cooked, the more noticeable it was how he avoided your gaze. Even when talking, he didn't dare look up.

'Are you really ok with me wearing this?' You asked eventually when he was done and washing his hands in the sink.

'Of course, darlin',' he wiped his hands on a towel. He was about to turn around, but you saw the moment as your chance and swiftly slithered by his side. He stumbled back slightly in surprise.

'So why have you been ignoring me for the past hour?'

'I haven't,' he slipped by you elegantly and got to packing up the prepared food into storage boxes.

'But you have-- you didn't even look at me until now.'

'Sorry, sweetheart. I was working.' Usually, his saying something like that would make you think things were back to normal, but he seemed nervous, and before you could say anything else, he excused himself to his cabin.

Confused and a bit flustered at the sudden departure, you stood in the kitchen for a moment. You had planned on going upstairs, to get some fresh air, when Luffy stormed into the room.

'Ah!' he exclaimed, 'glad to see you're back to your ink-free self.'

'Yeah, thanks, Luf.' You took another shot quickly and watched as the captain raided all the cupboards. 'Watcha looking for there?'

'The tangerine cookies that Sanji made yesterday. There should still be some here.' He stretched his arm out to pat around the back of the highest drawer.

'You sure you didn't eat them yet?'

'Nooo,' Luffy looked at you sternly. 'Because I put them there specifically so I wouldn't eat them earlier.'

'Right,' you nodded. 'Well, Sanji had been busy around here, prepping lunch for tomorrow; maybe he moved some things around,' you suggested. 'You could go and ask him.'

'Aaah, I could,' Luffy wavered, 'but I was hoping to do this without Sanji's help.'

'Did he ban you from the kitchen again?' After the last incident of Lufft stuffing himself full of snacks right before dinner, the cook had given him strict orders not to eat an hour before meals. Looking at the clock, you could see it was closing in on dinner time.

Luffy scoffed, which only confirmed your assumptions. With a sigh, you got up. 'Fine, I'll ask him. But he might be asleep, you know.'

'Thanks. You're the best.' Luffy said, arm the length of the room as he opened cupboard after cupboard. You just rolled your eyes and made your way to Sanji's cabin.

'Hey, Sanji,' you knocked softly, unsure if he had maybe decided to take a nap. With no response from the other side of the door, you tried again. You thought to just let it go and leave him be, but then you heard the clashing of the pans in the kitchen, followed by a Luffy 'I'm ok!' and knew that you needed an answer for your captain. These were desperate times.

'Hey, Sanji,' you opened the door. The only thing you had really seen was the shape of his body splayed out on the bed, and it was more of an instinct or a gut reaction that told you that you should not look any further. So, quickly apologising, you shut the door again as Sanji cursed out in shock at the door opening.

'Sorry!' You shouted through the door, simultaneously trying to comprehend the blurs of your vision and trying to forget anything you might have seen. He wasn't... no, that wasn't... no.

There was some stumbling coming from his room, followed by a few more curse words. You didn't know why you were still standing beside his door, but he certainly didn't expect you to have stayed there, and so, when he entered the corridor, your bodies practically collided.

'I didn't see anything!' You blurted out before Sanji could say anything. Both your faces were wide in horror. 'I swear- I just,' you made the mistake of taking his appearance in. His shirt was untucked from his trousers, belt unbuckled and hanging at his sides. Oh god. 'I just... I was wondering where the tangerine cookies were. The ones you made yesterday.'

He was still hard. Most of it was hidden by the layers of clothing, but there was no denying it. You did your best to keep your eyes on his face as he listened to you blurt out words like a maniac, but it sure was difficult as all the puzzle pieces came together.

'They should be in the left cabinet, bottom shelf. Behind the baking ingredients. I hid them so Luffy wouldn't eat them before dinner.'

'Good thinking,' you laughed, probably a bit too loud for the situation, but the nerves were getting worse by the second. 'Well, bye then.' And with that, you ran off to the kitchen, leaving Sanji in all his unspeakable glory behind.

In the kitchen, you were met with Luffy picking up the pans he had dropped and Nami looking at him with what could only be described as disappointment. Without acknowledging them, you walked over to the left cabinet, opened the bottom half of it and searched the bottom shelf for the box of leftover cookies, slamming them onto the counter. Luffy immediately lunged forward to them, oblivious to your shocked state, but the navigator was a bit more perceptive.

'What happened to you?' she asked, declining the offer of a cookie from the captain, who already had two in his mouth.

'Nothing,' you shook your head.

'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

'I didn't! I didn't see anything!' Nope, nothing at all. You definitely did not see that. Or how big it was... or how his hand looked wrapped around it... or his face when he- NO.

'Hey, is that Sanji's shirt?' Now, Luffy decided to be observant. You looked down at your shirt as if you had only now noticed what you were wearing.

'Oh, I guess it is.'

'He must be having a field day with that,' Nami snickered, to which you looked at her confused. She, in turn, rolled her eyes 'Like you haven't seen the way he looks at you on a regular day.'

'I- no?' you blinked, trying to grapple with what she was talking about.

Nami just shrugged before grabbing the last cookie from Luffy's hand and walking out of the room. If you thought he would be aware of anything that you had just talked about, you would have asked the captain if he knew what Nami meant by her comments but instead just contemplated on it all by yourself.

Against all your survival instincts, you walked back in the direction of Sanji's door and knocked again. This time loud and clear. There was shuffling coming from the other side, and a second later, the door opened to reveal Sanji. His lips were pulled in a tight line of a smile as he looked down at you.

'Hey, can I come in?' you asked softly.

'What?' Sanji asked before the initial question properly connected in his mind. 'Uhh, I don't think that's a great idea.'

'Sanj, we should talk about what happened earlier.'

'Do we, though?' His voice raised in pitch nervously, but you just glared up at him, unimpressed.

'Sanji, please just let me come inisde.' You pushed out any thought that just burst through your mind that did not have to do with the current situation, but it was hard to see the images of what you saw in his room before were still very much playing over and over in your head.

In the end, Sanji gave in and opened the door for you. As you walked in, he stayed behind you, hand running nervously through his hair, as he spoke: 'Listen, I'm really sorry about... everything that happened today, really.'

'You have nothing to be sorry for.' You turned to face him. 'I'm the one that stole your shirt and stormed into your room unannounced.' It was his room. He had the right to do whatever he pleased in it.

Sanji laughed awkwardly, looking away to the far side of the room, but even then, you caught how his eyes glanced and slightly lingered over your body. The blue-striped shirt still hanging over it.

You, in the meantime, fought the urge to look at his body, combined with the memory of what you had caught him doing.

Maybe it was the few shots you had taken earlier to forget about the giant squid attack that instead did nothing you had hoped for but only made you bolder as you asked: 'were you thinking about me?'

'What?'

'You know, earlier. When I walked in. Were you... thinking of me?'

'Shit, don't make me say it.' He combed his fingers through his hair. You walked over to him, closing the gap between you lightly.

'Why not?'

'Because I don't want to make things weird between us.' His jaw clenched as you came towards him, and you couldn't help but laugh at what he had to say.

'Oh, it's definitely too late for that now. Things are already weird.'

'Super weird, aren't they?' he asked softly, strangely intensely.

And so, when you responded, your agreeing words were only as hushed as he had been, too focused on each other's proximity. The two of you stood there, frozen between actions, taking each other's bodies in at the new lack of distance until Sanji took the final step over the edge, kissing you with his hands on cupping your cheeks.

You stumbled back at the force, steadying yourself when you caught onto the shirt he was wearing. One of his hands moved down to your waist, guiding you to his bed until the back of your knees hit the wood, and you lightly fell back.

Sanji placed himself over you, and as his weight pressed over you, you could feel his hard-on through his trousers. A curse fell from his lips when you reached for it and your fingertips moved over the material.

'You've been drivin' me insane the whole day, walkin' around in that shirt.' He said as he began leaving a trail of kisses down your neck.

'Figured,' you couldn't but be a bit smug about it, which he did not seem to appreciate given the pinch of his teeth you felt on your sensitive skin.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him even closer to you, trying to get some, friction out of the movement as he pressed himself against you.

'Cocky are we?' He smiled into his kisses, and at this point, all you could do was nod in agreement.

Sanji kept himself up over you with one hand as he used the other to unzip your shorts. One-handed and without a clear view, taking them off turned out to be a bit more of a challenge, far more awkward than expected when you tried to shuffle out of them, but his touch on your skin made up for it by tenfold.

You were about to make a start on unbuttoning the shirt you were wearing when Sanji stopped you. 'No, keep it on.' and kissed you before you could make any other snarky remark on his behalf. But when he pulled away again, though slightly dazed by the passion, you still managed to comment.

'If this is the treatment I receive for stealing your clothes, I might just do it more often.'

To this, Sanji groaned through his teeth. 'You're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart, I swear.

[for-a-longlongtime]

VI. Through the fire, to the wire

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Marcus Pike

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI 🔞🔥🏳️‍🌈 Words: 6.5K Warnings: m/m so obviously there's plenty of gay sex incl. anal fingering, dirty talk about oral, anal, threesomes and spit roasting. Erectile dysfunction (we don't refer to this enough in fic) in this chapter, because Tim is 52 years old and stressed the fuck out by work. A/N: We're no longer in ficlet territory - I'm just embracing it. We are, however, continuing the cheesy Top Gun soundtrack references, because why the hell not? All my love to @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @qveerthe0ry @mountainsandmayhem @perotovar for helping me get through my writer's block! Mostly unbeta-ed, dividers by @saradika.

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“You said–”

“I know, but–...”

“It’s eleven fuckin’ pm, Tim.” Marcus’ voice is uncommonly sharp as he snags the stack of paperwork from Tim’s hand, nearly climbing over him in bed so he can shove the offending papers into the nightstand. “You’ve been working your ass off for months now. Rest a little, would you?”

Tim sighs as he nods, pinching the bridge of his nose before he takes off his glasses and tosses them onto the nightstand. The thick frames hit the edge of the table with a dull thud, before falling to the floor, but this late in the day he’s too tired to even roll his eyes at that. 

“What about your ass, hmm?” He slips his arm around Marcus’s waist, easily preventing him from moving back to the other side of the bed, and tugs him over to sit right on his lap, warm thighs bracing his own. “Come here. You smell good,” he muses, burying his face against Marcus’ neck to inhale the shower fresh scent lingering on his skin. Lemongrass and eucalyptus, two things that he pretty much exclusively associates with Marcus since they started dating a year and a half ago. Even when he smells it in a different context, his body consistently responds in a Pavlovian way, conjuring up images of Marcus pressed against him, gasping his name.

Always, without fail.

Except for how he now has Marcus right here, in his lap, still warm from the shower, dressed in just gray boxers - but yet his dick isn’t even stirring at the welcome weight across his thighs and the skin on skin contact.

As much as he’d like to ignore it, simply blame it on his body being slow to respond, he knows that’s not the case. He’s barely had a morning erection in the past weeks, and even being able to get off in the shower for some much needed stress release hasn’t been in the cards.

Breathe. It’s going to be just fine. You’re not impotent; you’re just exhausted and have been working too much for too long. He tries to be matter-of-fact about it, but the truth is that he’s not used to his body betraying him like this. Right now, it’s pretty damn hard to figure out if it’s temporary stress or a matter of getting up there in age. Early fifties isn’t that old yet, is it? Is this really about age catching up with me? No. It shouldn’t be. 

Before he can spiral too much, the sensation of Marcus’ lips against his cheek pulls him out of his thoughts. So he tries to stay rooted in his body instead of worrying about it, enjoying the feeling of warm hands sliding over his shoulders. Marcus moves with gentle urgency, deft fingers alternating with an occasional kiss against the most tense spots, trying to ease the most strained muscles with a light massage. 

“That feels good,” Tim says drowsily, a sigh escaping from his lips as he lets his hand slip to the small of Marcus' back. 

“Good. Relax,” Marcus whispers as he claims Tim’s mouth in a deep kiss, his hips starting a slow rocking motion against him. It doesn’t get Tim hard the way he wishes it would - the way it generally should -, but it hits his senses so good either way. They haven’t had enough time for each other lately because of his work, and particularly when he feels this run down, it makes him question if he’s doing right by Marcus. Whether at times the balance isn’t askew, even though work frequently keeps both of them at their respective offices for too long, and whether he can keep up with Marcus. 

Their age difference isn’t an issue most days - except for the times that those sixteen years suddenly seem to feel heavier than usual to Tim. If asked, Marcus will always dismiss the mere suggestion of it, but it has happened more than once that Tim finds himself wondering if he’s holding Marcus back, or when the reality of having spend more years in his body makes him wonder if he’s giving Marcus enough of what he needs in more than just a few ways. So this right here, the comforting touches, the way Marcus’ mouth finds his, still as hungry for him as that first week they met - it’s not just something Tim wants, but he actually needs it. The taste of Marcus on his tongue, be it the salt from his sweat or his cum, or that vague taste of coffee and something that’s so distinctly Marcus, just like that familiar fragrance that surrounds him everywhere.

“Stop thinking. I’ve got you.” Marcus’ voice is a low hum as he breaks their kiss so he can take off Tim’s undershirt. This time when he presses his chest against Tim’s, the heat of bare skin against bare skin, makes Tim’s breathing stutter. Missed you. Want you. Marcus’ hunger for him is comforting, reassuring, and Tim gladly lets him take control of the kiss. 

When Marcus’ hands slide over Tim’s chest, stroking his nipples on their way down, that nagging feeling he’s had for the past minutes turns suddenly into a flash of panic; his cock still isn’t responding. Not to any of this, no matter how good and familiar it all feels.

He tries to ignore the anxious feeling that’s building in his chest, unable to deal with it at the moment, still holding out hope that maybe it will be okay. But not even Marcus’ hard dick pressing through his underwear against Tim’s belly, or his whimpers and moans are making Tim stiffen the way it should be - regardless of how much he wants Marcus.

“Tim…”, Marcus breathes, grinding needily against him, and this time Tim feels the wet spot on Marcus’ boxers as he’s leaking through the fabric. He doesn’t think - it’s just instinct, the way his hands slide down to grab a hold of Marcus’ ass and help him rock against him, making Marcus’ needy movements more controlled and focused. Immediately he gets rewarded with another gasp by Marcus, and Tim feels that familiar feeling burning low in his belly - that primal urge to take control, to take and give in ways that make Marcus’ eyes glaze over, and won’t hesitate in the slightest bit to show Tim just how much he wants him. Maybe if he can get him off this way, he won’t have to address the panic right now, or the fact that he feels broken because he can’t even fuck Marcus the way he wants to - the way Marcus likes it. Maybe if…

“Come here, let me…” Marcus’ hand slips between them, cupping Tim through his boxers as he’s breathing heavily, and the panic flares up even more for Tim. That anxious feeling of not wanting to disappoint tastes almost bitter in his mouth, and not even Marcus’ hands or mouth can take that away. For a moment he has to fight the urge to physically pull away, not sure if it’s shame or self consciousness. He can cope with his own insecurities to a certain level, with feeling vulnerable - but he does not want to let Marcus down. Or even worse; make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. 

“Marcus…” He closes his eyes as Marcus strokes him eagerly, deepening their kiss as he rocks harder against Tim. Fingers touching in all the right places, with just the right pressure - but all that’s rising is that ball of panic inside of Tim, pushing against his rib cage until it almost becomes hard to breathe.

“Wanna lay down? Let me suck—“

Tim shakes his head quickly, not letting Marcus finish that sentence and risk getting himself into more of a predicament. He can’t let it get to the point that Marcus gives him a blowjob while he can’t even get fucking hard. “No no, it’s okay, let’s just not — I’m good,” he forces the words out, wincing when he sees the surprise on Marcus’ face and feels it in his body language. 

“If you don't want to right now, or-..”

Nausea turns in Tim’s stomach, and without making a conscious decision to actually say it out loud, he finds that the words just fall from his lips, unable to take back. “I can’t get hard.” 

There’s a beat or two of silence as Tim watches Marcus process what he just told him, and then suddenly the rest of his words come rushing, afraid he won’t be able to say them out loud if he doesn’t do so now. “Been about a week or two, except for that time we fucked in the gym showers. It either doesn’t happen at all or I can’t finish. It’s…. Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just don’t want you to try and — it’s just a waste of time. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I even fucking can fix it.” 

Marcus bites his lip, seeming to hesitate for a moment, and immediately Tim’s nausea gets worse. Fuck. I shouldn’t have… Not like this. Fuck, Rockford. 

“I noticed it already,” Marcus says eventually, carefully picking his words as he rests his hands against Tim’s chest, covering his heart that’s beating wildly. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground. Leaving before I go to work, coming home later and later with a heavier briefcase every week - and then those times you sleep at your office, or get home long after I am asleep.”

He’s right. And you’ve been neglecting him. You’re fucking up your relationship for work. “I’m so sorry.” The words barely come out of his throat, sticking in there like knives, but Marcus immediately shakes his head before Tim can say more.

“No, no. You don’t need to apologize to me about that, that’s not my point,” he clarifies quickly. “I’m just saying that your work is crazy right now, and you’re under way too much stress. You’re not sleeping enough either. That would fuck up anyone, you know? But it will pass. I don’t think you have to worry about this.” 

The expression in Marcus’ eyes is so soft as he leans in to kiss Tim, hands sliding into his hair now as he curls some of the longer locks around his fingers. “Besides. You’re never a waste of time,” he breathes. “No matter what. But thank you for telling me all this. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling so bad. But it’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“I don't know if it will just...go away or pass, whatever,” Tim huffs, and this time the wave of anxiety hitting him is different. Not about how to bring it up to Marcus, but the scarier realization that maybe this is it, this is his new normal. “I'm not fuckin'...young. And if it is my age, then...” He hates saying it. Hates how it makes him feel and sound, but still it rattles around his brain, all day long, without a way to ignore it.

Marcus simply shakes his head, his fingertips softly massaging Tim’s scalp - slow, easy circles in an attempt to make him relax. “Then we’ll just deal with it. Plenty of guys do, and there are so many options. But I don’t think it’s got anything to do with that.” 

It’s almost maddening how calm Marcus is, how matter of fact about it. Tim isn’t sure what reaction he had been expecting, besides every possible bad response, but this sure wasn’t it - and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. 

It must be written on his face though, because Marcus tilts his head as he questioningly takes in the sight of him. “Tim,” he then says softly. “You’re overthinking this. Okay? You told me, and I told you that I already knew, and that it’s not going to be a problem. You need to sleep for now. It’s all just fine.”

At last, the tight feeling in Tim’s chest dissipates, slowly but surely. Sleep sounds like heaven right now, but also impossible with the adrenaline that’s still crashing through his body - he’s practically vibrating out of his skin, unable to settle down. Needing to quiet his mind and be useful. He buries his face against the curve of Marcus’ neck, breathing in his scent deeply to have something else than his thoughts to focus on, and he sighs when Marcus runs his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp like he did earlier.

“Tell me about your day,” he says after a little while as he straightens up, the tension finally leaving his body just as the anxiety did earlier. “No, actually…” he then corrects himself as he remembers something, and he leans back against the headboard as he takes in the sight of Marcus sitting on his lap. 

“Tell me about the other day,” he says, this time brushing his thumb playfully over Marcus’ lower lip. He skips a breath unintentionally when those full lips part and then close around his digit, softly sucking on him. For a moment he’s too flustered and captivated by the sight, and by habit his fingers are just itching to guide Marcus’ head down to take him in his mouth, but he’s able to restrain himself - just barely, by reminding himself that’s exactly what he was trying to avoid right now. “Hey. Don’t distract me, you. Did you go to the airforce base for that flyboy?”

“Ohh. Francisco– Frankie? Yeah, I did.” Marcus can’t hide a smile but tries to anyway, looking bashful for a moment. He grabs Tim’s wrist, holding his hand in place as he kisses his knuckles one by one, then turns Tim’s hand over to pay the same attention to the palm of his hand. “He’s… nice.”

Tim hums in agreement. “Pretty too with those curls. Broad. Nice dick...” God, he still has that image burned on the inside of his brain. Walking into the locker room to find Marcus on his knees, sucking Frankie off - it wasn’t just a sight for sore eyes, but it made him want to spit roast Marcus there and then. “Good lay?”, he asks casually, but he knows the answer already before Marcus speaks. It’s that twinkle in his eyes that Marcus gets whenever he’s excited about discovering something he enjoys; an ancient piece of art at the office, or a song, or a person he’s particularly attracted to. 

“Tell me. If you want to.” They’ve always shared stories about hookups, and while this time - considering circumstances - there is a bit of a nagging insecure voice in his head, he still wants to hear about the day Marcus spent with Frankie. He rubs the small of Marcus’ back in encouragement, hoping to not get a response in pity or ‘are you sure?’ at his inquiry - and Marcus picks up on the silent request, going with it.

“He gave me a tour all around the place and even let me get into some of the planes. It was like a fuckin’ teenage fantasy.” A wide grin spreads over Marcus’ face, and Tim knows exactly what he means. Top Gun had been an obsession for Marcus when he’d discovered it during middle school, not to mention that it made him realize that he was gay. The celebrity crush he had on Tom Cruise had faded after a couple of years, but the one for Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell remained steadfast, and led to him becoming somewhat of an aircraft geek.

“So did you fuck him in a plane?” Tim asks innocently, not surprised when he feels Marcus wriggle in his lap at those words, his eyes darkening. “Oh, you diiid, you little slut.” 

“Technically it was a helicopter. I didn’t think we – I hadn’t planned it or anything.” Marcus laughs, the expression on his face clearly giving away how he’s thinking back about the encounter, and it makes Tim’s heart beat just a little faster. This is why it had been working for them to occasionally see other people; they could always talk about it and be happy for the other, without being intimidated. 

It’s a first for Tim, being in a serious relationship while still keeping things this open, as Marcus was the one who had initially suggested it after they’d been dating for half a year. At the time, he’d wondered if jealousy wouldn’t get in the way, but the opposite turned out to be true. It was exciting to hear what Marcus was up to, or to share whenever he himself had hooked up with someone. Not to mention the thrill of reclaiming each other, seeing someone else’s marks on Marcus’ body, knowing that those would fade but that Marcus would always come home to him. 

“I know. You mentioned it was just going to be a tour, but well… I know your weakness for that air force stuff.” Tim smiles as he moves his hands from Marcus’ hips to his ass, squeezing him as he helps him grind against him. Marcus whimpers, eyes closing for a moment, and when he rocks his hips against Tim, he’s clearly hard again, his whole body vibrating with need. 

“Besides, Frankie wanted to fuck you so badly,” Tim says casually, pleased when he gets a moan in response. “I could tell that the moment I walked into the locker room. You were sucking his dick so good, but he had that look in his eyes like he was starving, just wanting more of you. Am I right?”

Marcus nods wordlessly, and Tim smiles as he continues. “Yeah, of course I am. What happened in the helicopter, hmmm? Did he bend you over the control panel?”

“God, I was hoping he would.” Marcus’ voice is more than just a bit strung out as he rubs himself slowly against Tim’s belly and cock, gripping onto his arms for support while trying to find the words, as his arousal and the memories seem to make that more challenging than usual. “Would’ve been too risky. He blew me as I sat in the pilot chair, telling me I had to come before he’d lose it and would fuck me down on that floor…”

“Which you really were hoping for.” He smiles as he sees how dark Marcus’ eyes become, confirming how spot on that assessment is. 

“Fuck. Yes. His fingers…” Marcus shivers as Tim squeezes his ass again, letting a few fingers slip lower so he can rub the rim of him through his boxers. “He likes having his hair pulled. Was jerking himself off while blowing me, which was so damn hot. I made him come like that, and…” 

He has to take a moment to catch his breath, and Tim hums encouragingly at him as he tugs at Marcus’ boxers. “Take ‘em off. Now,” he orders Marcus, and it’s mere seconds before the underwear is tossed to the floor and Marcus is back in his lap, now fully naked. He doesn’t even have time to ask another question, because Marcus’ mouth is back on his almost immediately, kissing him deep and hard. 

The head of his dick leaks against Tim’s stomach, making it impossible to resist the slickness and heat between them that just keeps building. He growls low when Tim wraps his fingers around him, his tongue even more possessive as he rocks against Tim from the seated position in his lap, clearly eager for more friction.

“Tell me more,” Tim encourages him when they both come up for air, slowly stroking Marcus’ cock as he keeps him pressed close against his belly, not getting enough of him.

“We almost fucked in his shower later, but it was too small. Little place in Ocean Park. The view…” Marcus’ breathing grows heavier as his eyes close, lost in the feeling of Tim jerking him off, and it takes a few tries until he finds his words again. “He ate me out on his bed and fuck, Tim, his mouth. God. I thought I was gonna lose it, but he told me to not come yet, and–...”

“Bossy?”, Tim suggests. He leans over to grab the lube from his nightstand and slick up his hand, and this time Marcus’ hips buck up hard into Tim’s grip as he nods breathlessly. His cock twitches hard in relief and excitement at the welcome glide over his dick, as Tim cups his sack before he moves back up to the shaft. “Mmmm. I bet you loved that. How did he fuck you, ass up in the air?” He laughs as Marcus nods again, picturing it - one of Marcus’ favorite positions, especially with a new hook up if he’s really into them. “Yeah, you must’ve been begging him for it at that point.”

“It was so good. His hands all… fucking strong. He’s ex-army, Delta Force, but not one of those meat heads, you know? Just, broad.” Tim has seen Marcus give detailed presentations in a professional capacity, including discussing ancient art more eloquently than he’s ever heard anybody else do. But right now, Marcus fuckin’ Pike was just a mess, slowly falling apart under his touch - but also by reminiscing about what was clearly a pretty memorable fuck.

“Tell me about his cock,” Tim orders him, and Marcus bites his lip as Tim strokes him faster, making the grip on him tighter, his other hand still guiding Marcus’ rocking movements against him. “I know he’s well-hung, but I want to know how he felt - how you felt.”

“Yeah, yeah… Frankie’s pretty big. Uncut. About your size, just not as thick. He used a condom, taking his time to…” Marcus closes his eyes for a moment in an attempt to compose himself. His hands are warm on Tim’s chest and shoulders, and Tim groans softly when Marcus’ lips brush over his throat, mouthing at his Adam’s apple, then move to suck a hickey on his shoulder. 

“He felt so good. His head is thick, just… fucking perfect. He held me down as he took his time, just giving me the tip first, until I… He was a fuckin’ tease at first.” He laughs, shaking his head as he tries to compose himself, to focus on getting the words out. But when his gaze drops down to the sight of Tim jerking him off, the thoughts all seem to leave his head. He licks his lips hungrily, mesmerized by the slick slide of his dick in Tim’s hand. His cock is almost an angry red color, begging for more attention. He twitches repeatedly by the way Tim rubs his thumb against his frenulum, then upward to gather the bead of precum welling from the slit. “Shit....”

“Keep talking.” Tim’s eyes flit from Marcus’ face down to his dick and back again, taking in the dazed expression on his face with a sense of amusement and pride.

“I… what was I…” Marcus bites his lip, unable to tear his eyes away, then groans as Tim slips his foreskin up to fully cover him. After a few moments, he slowly slips it down again, his fingers a tight channel around Marcus’ cock, and the soft squelching sound of the lube makes them both shiver.

“You were talking about Frankie fucking you,” Tim offers helpfully, unable to stop his smirk at the strung out expression on Marcus face. “Uncut, big, not as thick as me. You like his dick, I can tell. You’re thinking about it right now, pushing inside of you.”

Marcus swallows hard, his eyes locked onto the sight of the viscous stickiness between his dick and Tim’s fingers. “He… yeah. He’s got a great cock, and he knows what to do with it. He liked it when I called him Francisco, and when I begged him for more. Said… he said I took him so well.” Finally Marcus looks up, his eyes dark and pleading, lips swollen from the kisses and bites he’s been leaving on Tim’s skin. 

Tim smiles, cupping Marcus’ chin with his free hand as he leans in to kiss him. “Ask me. I know you want to.”

Marcus’ breathing stutters as he licks his lips briefly. “I need you.” 

“So ask me,” Tim repeats, capturing Marcus’ bottom lip with his teeth to gently tug on it, just enough to cause a soft gasp. He quickly soothes it by sucking on the lip,letting his tongue apologize until the younger man whines for him.

“Please, Tim. Fuck me? Want to feel you inside of me.”

Hearing how much Marcus wants him never fails. It makes him even more eager to give him exactly what he’s asking for. His own dick being unwilling to stiffen is not even on his mind anymore, nor is the earlier anxiety now his head has finally cleared. 

He pours some more lube on his hand, the cool liquid making them both shiver when he slips his fingers between Marcus’ cheeks. “I got you,” he hums at him, stroking the puckered rim as he kisses Marcus, wanting to tease and please him just a little longer. “You want this? Hmmm?”

“Please.” Marcus nods eagerly, his eyes falling shut as Tim’s finger slips inside of him. A soft whimper escapes from him as his body relaxes even more than it did before, hungry to be touched more. He’s radiating heat, and everything is slow, unhurried, despite how eager he is and how urgent his words are becoming. “Aaahh, fuck. More, Tim, please…”

He hushes Marcus softly as he first fucks him with his index finger only, waiting for just a little bit until he slips the second finger inside of Marcus. The eager, tight heat wrapped around his digits makes him hiss, and he wants to put his mouth on Marcus so badly, but he knows this isn’t gonna take long to begin with in the first place. “Greedy boy, taking a second finger just like that,” he teases him with another kiss, sliding as much of his fingers inside of Marcus as possible. “You take it so well. Just like your Flyboy said.”

Marcus moans loudly, and Tim feels him clench tight around his thick fingers. “Shit, you can’t just…”

“Sure I can. I can do whatever the hell I want, baby.” He grins as he starts to pick up the pace, deciding to push Marcus just a little more on the topic of Frankie. He really likes that guy. Not just to fuck, it seems. “Tell me more about your hot little - no, broad, right? - pilot fucking you ass up in his bed. Big hands on your waist, we all know you like that.” He lets go of Marcus’ dick so he can paw at his hip, letting his fingers press into the soft, hot skin. “Did he fuck you hard? He looked like a calm guy, but I bet…”

“You’re killing me.” Marcus’ voice is hoarse, his eyes wild and glassy as he nods, grabbing his cock to stroke himself now Tim’s hands are both occupied. “Yeah, he did, and he’s got… these thick thighs. Strong arms. So hot. Balls slapping as he went faster, slamming into me. His hands—...” His breathing hitches as Tim sets a steady pace with his fingers, starting to fuck him, and again he clenches hard around him. “His… He got me off before he did, made me come so goddamn hard.”

As he should. “But you didn’t get to blow him again?” Tim muses as he licks a drop of sweat off Marcus’ jaw, knowing how much he likes giving oral - saw for himself just how much he was into sucking Frankie off. “Bummed about that?” He pulls his fingers out a little as he pauses for a moment, just enough until Marcus eagerly pushes back against his digits, asking for more.

A wide grin plays over Marcus’ face, and he looks away for a moment as his breathing is labored. The hand around his cock speeds up a little, and he brushes the palm of his hand over the tip, clearly eager for a release. “I did, actually. Later that night, when we fucked on the couch.”

“When you…” Tim can’t stop the whistle of admiration. “Sucking you off in a chopper and then making you come twice at his place? I like this man.”

“Three times, actually.” Marcus laughs breathlessly, hips moving faster as he reaches behind him to grab Tim’s hand, urging him to pick up the pace with which he is finger fucking him. “I woke up to him sucking my dick, and-...” His words suddenly drop off as his head tips back, and he groans loudly, his nails digging into Tim’s hand. “Yes, yes, right there, fuck me, that’s… ohhh, God. Jesus, Tim.”

“Right there? Hmmm?”, Tim coos at him as he adds more pressure, knowing he’s right at Marcus’ most sensitive spot - could’ve done so right from the beginning, but he likes drawing it out, getting the satisfaction of that prolonged release. Marcus nods breathlessly, his hips working along with the pace Tim has set - one hand on Tim’s bicep, the other one still firmly locked around his cock, and the slick channel his dick keeps making onto Tim’s stomach.

“Yeah, Mr. I Got Fucked Four Times In A Day By That Flyboy. I know, I know, you’re so close. You’re so…” This time, he doesn’t let his fingers push back in but instead pulls them all the way out, hearing the disappointed gasp from Marcus.

“No, no - please, don’t stop,” Marcus gasps, eagerly rocking back against Tim’s hand. “ ‘s so fucking good…”

Tim smiles, leaning his forehead against Marcus’ as he only lets the tips of his fingers graze over Marcus’ hole. “Tell me what you want,” he says softly, not being able to keep the teasing lilt out of his voice. “Do you want me? Or perhaps you want your Flyboy?” 

“You.” There’s not a moment of hesitation as Marcus responds. But it’s impossible for Tim to not notice the gleam in Marcus’ eye at the mention of Frankie.

“I think you’re lying. But do you know that you’re lying? Let’s try this again.” He brushes his lips over Marcus’ jawline, feathering light kisses, then runs his tongue over the slightest hint of stubble. “You want me to fuck you - or do you want that Flyboy pressing against your back, his mouth on your neck, so you can feel how hard he is? His hand on your dick - like this,” he squeezes Marcus’ cock gently, hearing his breathing hitch again. “Getting you all worked up so you can take him like a good-...”

“Fuck. Don’t be such a tease. You - I wanna feel you inside.” Marcus tries to compose himself, grabbing Tim’s hand behind him in a plea to slide his fingers back into him. “You don’t believe me?”

“I’m pretty sure I recall you saying you want us both. What was it…” Tim pretends to think deeply, this time slowly rubbing against Marcus’ heat with his middle finger. “Oh, right. Me fucking you further onto his cock to hear you choke.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus’ eyes close for a moment as he whimpers, but Tim continues - making sure to stop touching Marcus’ dick before it pushes him over the edge, as Marcus is desperate for friction at this point.

“Does he already know how slutty you get?” Tim waits for an answer, and when Marcus merely blushes at his words, he grins as he leans in to hush him with a kiss. “Yeah, you heard me,” he hums as he lets his slick fingers push past the tight ring of muscle, slipping back into Marcus. “All breathy and needy, just like this. Wanting to be filled up so badly. Does he know? How nicely you’ll beg for it when you really want it?”

“Ooh, fuckk…” Marcus’ breath catches, his body quickly adjusting to being filled up again, and his dick gets even harder when Tim’s fingers easily find their way back to his prostate. “Tim, please. God, I have to come...”

“We’re done when I say we’re done,” Tim admonishes him, barely concealing a smirk when he feels Marcus tighten around his fingers.  “Unless you want to use your safeword?” 

He knows he’s pushing it, making him hang in there for longer than he usually does, but something inside of him craves it at the moment. Teasing and drawing out those little bits about Frankie that seem to make Marcus weak - just to hold it up to the light and watch it sparkle, see what riles him up the most about this little crush. Not to mention that the idea of a threesome with that pilot sure sounds appealing to him, too. For a moment, that nagging feeling of anxiety tries to creep back into his head - because really, is he seriously considering a threesome while he can’t even get it up right now? But one look at Marcus’ blissed out face makes him forget about

Marcus shakes his head, and when Tim takes his hand off Marcus’ cock and tells him to touch himself, he does so eagerly, his dark eyes remaining locked onto Tim’s.

“Tell me how you want us. Me and your Fra–... Flyboy,” Tim urges him, his right hand occupied with Marcus’ rapidly rising climax while his left one is holding tight onto his hip, encouraging him to keep grinding. “I know you’ve been thinking about it.” 

What, you’re talking about a threesome while you can’t even get it up right now, Rockford? He tries to ignore the anxious feeling that is trying to creep back into his head, and instead attempts to focus on Marcus’ blissed out face. The way he’s writhing in his lap, eyes half closed as Tim fingerfucks him - no, he’s not failing here, it’s clear that he’s giving Marcus exactly what he wants.

“Like that. Just like you said,” Marcus moans, drops of sweat rolling down his neck as he rocks along with Tim’s movements. “You fuckin’ me further onto his cock that’s in my throat, each of you on one end. And… and then I want to watch you fuck him.”

“How?”

Marcus shakes his head, almost tripping over his words. “Any fuckin’ way you want.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Tim groans against his ear, feeling the shivers running through Marcus’ entire body in response. A sob breaks free from the younger man as he jerks himself off furiously, grinding against Tim’s fingers in search of more. He doesn’t even have to ask; Tim picks up on it easily and hushes him reassuringly, capturing his lips again for a kiss. 

It takes a moment and some more lube, but then he slides a third thick finger inside the tight heat that surrounds him. Marcus’ breathing immediately is a dead giveaway that the extra stretch is exactly what he wanted, and he whimpers wordlessly against Tim’s mouth. The angle may be less than ideal for Tim’s wrist, but it’s clear that Marcus isn’t going to last much longer anyway. 

“Shit, shit, oh, god, please…” Marcus’ head tips back, full body shivers running through him as he just surrenders and lets Tim fuck him to his orgasm, fingers right against his prostate. “You should… I want… God, you should fuck him from behind. While he fucks me under him, on my back,” the hoarse words slip from his lips, and Tim can’t take his eyes off him, how goddamn beautiful he looks while falling apart. “I want to see how he takes you while fucking me, your hand in his hair, tugging his curls while…”

“Like this?” Tim’s fingers twist into Marcus’ short hair and he tugs, firm but not too hard, knowing pain isn’t exactly Marcus’ thing. He watches in surprise and awe as a few tears escape from Marcus, their barely visible path down his cheeks accentuating just how good he looks all blissed out. “Ohh, fuck. Your Flyboy is rubbing off on you with that hair pulling kink?”

“I need to… God, I’m gonna…”

“Of course you’re gonna come for me, like the good boy you are. You always do so well,” Tim breathes against his ear, and Marcus’ hips jerk hard as the words hit his praise kink - as deliberately aimed as Tim’s fingers inside of him pushing him relentlessly to his release. “Want to watch me take him apart the way you’re losing it now - is that it? Fuck him until he screams like he’s in heat, begging for more of my cock as I fuck him deeper into you…”

A loud gasp escapes from Marcus as he comes hard, crying out Tim’s name as he spills himself all over their stomachs. His body jerks with the intensity of the prolonged orgasm, and Tim can’t help but feel more than satisfied at that. He licks Marcus’ neck with a broad stroke before pressing more kisses and praise against his flushed skin, letting him ride out his high.

When he feels Marcus’ twitching getting too close to overstimulation, he slips his fingers out and grabs one of the wet wipes in his nightstand drawer - cleaning up his hand before he grabs a few more to clean up the both of them. “Thirsty?”, he asked, brushing his lips over Marcus’ in a soft kiss as he cleans the cum off his belly, and Marcus hums in response. “Got you, gimme a sec.” Part of him wishes he wasn’t using wipes to clean up Marcus, the urge to taste him on his tongue so strong. But with the adrenaline leaving both of them, exhaustion sets in for him as well, making him stick to the easy clean up for now.

“You have such a filthy mouth,” Marcus mumbles, half asleep already on his pillow a few minutes later, his arm slung low around Tim’s waist.

“Me? Because you’re so prim and proper.” Tim smiles as he tightens his arm around Marcus, pulling him in closer. “That Flyboy really gets you going.”

“I like him.” Marcus sighs, burying himself closer against Tim’s chest as his eyes are closed now. “You would too- I mean. Maybe you should meet him. Just because he’s nice, you know?”

It takes a moment for Tim to digest that comment, despite his previous playful comments to Marcus about taking him with Frankie. Because Marcus has never before suggested he should meet one of his hookups - not really unless there were clear plans to have a threeway. 

“You really like him, huh?”, he says eventually. But the only response he gets is the sound of Marcus snoring quietly and contently. So Tim lets it go - knowing he’s too tired to further pursue that line of thoughts right now. It doesn’t matter, especially not with Marcus falling asleep right there against him.

That flyboy got to him good, though.

Oof, it took me a while to hop back into the saddle and complete this chapter. I've got so much backstory (and upcoming chapters) in my head that it took time to sort this out. This is also why I'm so behind on reading and rb-ing everybody's fic, and responding to messages, but I promise I'll catch up soon. Thank you for reading, I hope you're still enjoying these guys! 💜

I’m not gonna make this a PSA but hey, if you or your partner are experiencing ED, try to be open about it! Not fun, but it’ll get you much further than ignoring it will. Talk to your dr (and if you don’t feel comfortable with them, get a new GP).

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[msookyspooky]

Fours a Franchise

Part 18

wordcount: 8,257

You gasped against Stu's lips before you jerked away. Hand raising to smack him for doing that ahile you were vulnerable and angry and-

He grabbed your wrist before you could slap him. You glared and went to use the other hand before he grabbed that one too. Stu gave you a flirty, coy little grin at having both your wrist in his large hands as a frustrated growl of annoyance ripped from your throat. Face hot and head thumping as you nudged him in the gut with your knee.

“Ugh!-” He gasped. Air momentarily knocked out of him as you barely nudged his stitched up abdomen. You shot up and rushed to the door; Your own hurt body be damned.

You were fucking humiliated! Of course he made this a joke, of course he just liked seeing you riled up, he was the most confusing impulsive god forsaken freak you ever met other than the other asshole in the living room.

“No, wait!” He quickly rushed and blocked the door in a panic. Grimacing with the movement. “Don't.”

You glared, “Move, Stu! I wanted to talk; not you look for an opportunity.”

“Sweetcheeks, please.” He begged.

“No! Damn it, Stu. I'm done. Ya know what? Think whatever you want. If you want to believe I was madly in love or I hated you or I lied or me and Billy are a thing; think whatever! I'm tired of the insults and manipulation-”

“YN!” He pleaded as he flushed himself against the press board door. Still banged up from earlier and from the last few days. “Don't go…Please don't go. I'm sorry, okay? I don't think you're easy, I don't think you're a bitch, I don't think you hate me I-” His voice wavered.

You held your glare as he stared at you and continued his plight. “I'm hurt, okay? I'm just saying shit and I know I suck. I know I'm an asshole and a user and a pervert and a freak. I know it, I do, I know it.” His baby blue eyes bore into you in a rare act of vulnerability as you stared apprehensively back at him. “I use fucking-” His voice caught in his throat as he shook his head, “- Jokes and shit to cover up knowing no one wants me unless I'm the clown.”

You sighed at the dull ache in your chest; the damned feeling.

“Please.” You huffed softly. “You were so popular in school, you had girls into you, you had rich parents that let you get away with murder… Literally. You're rich now with models and acting jobs. Karma definitely does not exist because you have it all.”

His face screwed up and he furiously shook his head the more you spoke. Watery blue his eyes stared at you as he sucked in a breath, “No…No, it's all bullshit. I lie all the time. I just make it seem like I got it all…Sometimes I do, sometimes I'm a sad pathetic guy sitting at home by himself.”

“Join the club.” You couldn't resist saying. I mean, damn. Did everyone think because you paraded around by your old publicist like a circus act that your life was grande? You were so SICK of everyone using you or patronizing you or dismissing you in favor of their own hurt.

You were about to shove past him before he dropped to his knees. You looked embarrassed, unsure and tense as you told him, “Stu, c'mon…Get up. You're gonna mess up your stitches.”

He hugged your waist, careful of your own stitches as he looked up at you. Blue eyes twinkling in the lamp's lighting. “I can't! Please, my life is shit without you. I can't stand the idea of you with anyone but me. Fuck, I'm willing to share even with fuckface if I have to…YN, I have to be involved! I have to have you. I gotta be near you, I gotta-” His voice was raw with emotion as he gripped you tighter.

You faltered as he bombarded you. This felt like manipulation in itself and by God it was sadly working as a sinking happened with your weary heart.

His face screwed up like a sad child as tears leaked down his eyes. No longer a murderer at this moment. That was him. He had so many sides. So many curves. So many masks. You knew he was probably just crying for himself and yet you felt pity. Hell, didn't everyone cry for themselves? You cried for Randy but also poor you. You cried for Dewey not believing you because it wasn't fair to you…Maybe this was Stockholm syndrome? Maybe you were as sick as them? Maybe they finally broke you? But you ran a hand through Stu's dark blonde hair, almost a light brown as it darkened with age. He whimpered and cried against you.

“I'm sick of being last. I'm sick of it.” He sobbed. Hiccuping his words. “I-I want someone to fucking love me!…No one ever picks me." He whimpered as he sniffled. "I'm always last. Always second best to Billy. To everyone. Just the comedy in the background…Even you picked him over me.” He sobbed heavily against you more than you ever heard and it tore at you. The real problem right there. A deep sense of pain that he was never you or anyone else's first choice.

“Hey…Hey, Stu. Stu, c'mon.” You ran a comforting hand through his hair. “I didn't pick Billy over you. I didn't pick anyone. I've been trying to tell you all night, I just found Billy's note days ago and confronted him on the porch tonight and…”

“But you had a moment! You go to him because you're scared of me.” He gave in a low voice, sniffing hard and wiping his tears against Billy's shirt you wore as he kneeled. Just insult to injury right in front of him. “Plleasse…Please Yn…Please let me love you the only way I know how. Please, I don't know how to be good. I don't know how to love. I don't-” He faltered with a cry in his throat.

You frowned deeply. “Stu…”

“YN.” He gazed up at you with teary blue eyes. “I love you. I've always loved you in the only way I know how…Teach me. Please please please don't abandon me. Don't leave me again. I can't take it! I don't want that Hollywood shit or those whores or money; I just want you…You're all I want. You're all I've ever wanted. You're all I fucking have!” He pleaded on his knees with pitiful cries.

You stared down at him, wavering on your feet. Light headed. Sick to your stomach. Throat dry. “Stu…Oh Stu.” You sighed out.

“D-Do you love me?” His lower lip trembled as he gazed up at you. Genuine emotion from what you could see. He was always a hurricane. Happy was elation and anger was rage and sadness was devastation and he flipped through them so easily.

You faltered. What do you do? He really had you cornered here. Your face contorted in your own misery and anguish as a lump formed in your throat. “I…” You gritted your teeth and forced it out. Not much left to lose now. “I do. And yet I resent you. I can't let you in. I can't let you close and you make it so hard…That's why I went no contact. Because I'd let you in if you were near me. I can't have you hurting me and breaking my heart over and over.” You softly whispered trying not to cry.

“I won't!” His eyes lit up and he eagerly nodded through his tears, “I deserve your resentment, I suck! I'm shit! I fucked up your life and I deserve it! I-I do... I'll make up for it.”

“Stu-” You sighed out heavily especially considering how he acted tonight.

“No, I swear. I promise. Give me a chance, give me one damn chance. Please, YN!” He grasped his long arms around your thighs to hug you to him. “I'll be whatever you need just don't shut me out again. I'll change! Please!”

“You have tried but…Stu, I don't know if you can.”

“Then I'll change more; YN PLEASE!” He begged like a dying man. “Please I love you, I love you please-” He babbled.

You just broke. You couldn't fight this anymore. You might go to prison or die or be alone forever. You had no one. Why fight this anymore?

Yes, he was wrong. He was sick. He killed Tatum and Sidney and tried killing you. He was a monster…And yet the more you let him in, the less monstrous he seemed. When does a monster not become a monster? When you fall in love with them...

He seemed more like an immature child throwing tantrums and begging for love and attention and no one hears him than anything. He felt like a creature that doesn't know how to love yet wants to. You've been so lonely…So fucking lonely. Even before all this, you knew how he felt. Dewey and Randy and your family barely made time for you when you spent years trying for them; so fuck it. What more was there to lose?

“...Okay.” You sighed heavily. “I won't shut you out. I won't do that to you again unless you give me a reason. You're already off on a shitty start tonight.” You warned while dabbing your eyes.

He looked up at you and to your disgusted amusement had tears and snot on his face on your damn shirt. “You mean it?” His voice was so high pitched and strained for him.

You gave a reluctant smirk, “Yeah, don't make me regret it, okay? I missed the Stu that came over for spaghetti at my house years ago, not the asshole I talked to on the phone days ago or the guy I saw tonight.”

He looked at you in reverence. “He's gone. I promise.”

You knew that wasn't the case but you sighed and smiled as he forced himself up and to stand you helping him after the injuries he sustained against Jill and Charlie. “Can you stay?”

“Nooo, I shouldn't.”

“No, I insist. You shouldn't sleep on a couch with springs coming out of it. You deserve a memory foam mattress not that bums couch.” He wiped his eyes and you got him a tissue off the nightstand. He blew his nose loudly and joked, “Tissues on the nightstand? Yeah we know what these are for.”

You couldn't help the smirk. The warmth in your chest at not fighting. At being able to slowly lower your well constructed walls. “Stu, people sneeze in the middle of the night, ya know.”

"Pft." Stu huffed. You cringed slightly at him using the tissue to pick his nose and get any runniness out. “Yeah well, he's a miserable guy in his 30's. He's blowing his load, not snot.”

You groaned softly but smiled reluctantly as he rubbed his nose and sniffled at how hard he had sobbed.

“Ugh. That was pretty unmanly of me.” He grimaced.

“Nah.”

“Don't lie to me. It's patronizing. You still have my snot and tears on your shirt…His shirt.” He grumbled the last part.

“Stu, don't start.” You chided but looked down and…Ew. He groaned standing up painfully and got a fresh tissue to rub his wet face fluids off the edge of your nightshirt.

“Yeah yeah.” He grumbled while cleaning it. He gazed back up at you. “Sorry but…”

You sighed softly and wryly smiled, “It's fine. I think we all have been through Hell. Just chalk it up as...Stress.”

“C'mon.” He urged you to the bed.

Despite your best efforts…That bed looked so nice compared to the old smelly couch. He grasped your hand with the gentleness of a Dove rather than a predator. Easing you both to the bed as you grimaced in pain at moving.

“Shit, sorry.” He mumbled as you winced and both of you accidentally got face to face. "My face good?"

You smirked, "Yeah, you're good."

He gazed at you and you at him. His eyes were puffy and hooded as they flickered to your lips before leaning forward. You almost shoved away but damn you were tired. You were emotionally and physically tired and his lips touching yours just…

You relaxed as he kissed you and you couldn't resist it. Years and years of stubborn resistance became silly at this point. You hummed softly and kissed him back.

This was so different than in that garage at his party in 1996…He deepened the kiss and grabbed you. Urgent and hot and desperate and demanding as you faltered. Memories of your first kiss coming back and seeing Tatum's body-

“Ow!” You hissed at him gripping you too tight and too close where your stitches were.

You glared at his smug grin against your face. “Mm, can't you just take it like a good- Ow!” He yelped at you poking his stitches and he grabbed your hand for him to let go with a glare of his own. “Allrriighhtt. Damn.”

You both stared, trying to catch your breath before you firmly told him. “I need time.”

“You've had 15 years.” He reminded you in mild annoyance as he settled back on the pillow.

“Yeah, well…” You frowned and averted your gaze. “I need more.”

He lost his inflated ego and sighed. Nestling a bit closer and pulling the blanket over you both with a groan at using his arms.

“Alright…Alright, I'll give you time baby.” He whispered as he kissed your forehead and laid back down while gazing at you.

Your face felt hot. It was so uncharacteristically soft of Stu and yet not really. He was very openly affectionate, not stifled like Billy. He was just selfish, rude, pig headed, arrogant, immature, sadistic. Yet...

You almost didn't trust closing your eyes. Pillow fortresses between you both the last time you slept together in the same bed…But god your head hurt, your eyes were heavy, you ached. So tired you just closed your eyes as his fingers gently ran up and down your arm. Observing you.

‘Maybe he's just as bewildered as I am?’ You wondered before sleep took you.

‐------------------------------------

You woke up in the middle of the night feeling unwell. Staring right at Stu in bed as you realized you actually did let your guard down enough to sleep…You still couldn't believe it. You both kissed.

But behind the kiss you told yourself you tried to get out of; was the emotional connection to a fucking murderer…You actually still had something for him. After all the horrible evil shit he's done and everything he's put you through. Unbelievable.

You wanted to hate yourself after everything you let him do. The way you let him manipulate you like that. Yet, you didn't have the energy. You felt worn down, exhausted, hopeless. Like you were lost in the dark and the only ones with lanterns were Billy and Stu. How messed up. They could be soaked in blood and poking you with a knife in that darkness, and yet, they had metaphorical lanterns. They were the only things you truly had left. You were just so…So tired. So damn tired of hiding and wanting connection and never truly having it out of fear of the consequences. And so, this one time, it seemed you let your guard down and finally let Stu in.

…Furthermore, your head was frigging killing you.

You just need to sneak out to catch a breath. You needed fresh air to think. About what? You didn't know. But seeing Stu's sleeping face beside you felt too intimate right now. You slowly crept out of Billy's bed, the old mattress creaking with your movements. Stu stirred and you stiffened a bit. Your sore body pounding and heavy as you waited to see what he might do. You watched him resettle in bed, dozing back to slumber and you tiptoed out of there. Barely shutting the cheap door and shuffling slowly across the shag carpet. You went down the hall, past the open living room and to the front door-

“Where do you think you're going?”

You paused hearing his voice. Sighing to yourself because of course he was up.

“Just getting fresh air.” You said not even looking at him.

“Yeah? Not leaving are you?” He mumbled sitting in that chair and with a grunt of pain to stand.

You looked over your shoulder at the blunt question, “...No.”

“You better not.” He warned as he stood. “There's no way you're leaving me here with that nut job. You can't just fuck a crazy killer that's been obsessed with you since High School then leave thinking he won't go apeshit.”

You scoffed with narrowed eyes. “I did not.” You grumbled not nearly as vehemently as you normally would be.

He held up a hand, “Ah ah. I don't care.” But he did eye you for a moment. “...Did he force you or hurt you or anything? Not that I care just trying to figure shit out is all.” He asked quietly, averting his eyes. “Lots of commotion. I was waiting for you to scream or something and me have to save your ass, as usual.” He shrugged looking away with a grumpy expression.

“No…Besides, I'd fight him the way I did you both at Windsor. Stuff of yours would've gotten broken and I could handle myself.” You reluctantly mumbled with a wry smile knowing you were blowing smoke.

Billy smirked whether at your false bravado or the sick memory of kissing you and almost taking advantage of you backstage at college; it was unclear.

Regardless, he simply lost the wavering smirk and nodded, “Alright. Just don't go running off. I mean it, I will drag you back here kicking and screaming.”

You huffed softly while turning to look at him fully, “Why? Scared I'd go to the cops?” You couldn't help jeering.

“That.” He got a bit closer. “And it's just…Not what you should do. We aren't hurting you and whether we like it or not we need to stick close to avoid cops. I gotta keep you alive to possibly kill you one day.”

There was silence before you mumbled, “Is that the only reason? That goal of yours?”

“Don't be such a freak.” Billy scoffed, “Yeah? The Hell you think I'd miss you or something? Please.”

You rolled your eyes at how damn defensive he got but stayed quiet as he continued.

“- But Stu would definitely go ballistic if you left and I mean after everything I'd hoped you wouldn't abandon me with him in that state.” He shrugged looking away.

“Oh no worries, I won't abandon the guy that's wanting to off me one day.” You sarcastically quipped. You watched him. The air still awkward after the fight and letter reveal but released air through your nostrils you didn't know you were holding in. “Jesus, stop bugging out on me. I'm not leaving. Just need fresh air…” You hugged yourself. “I'm cold. Hoping outside will be warmer, I guess.”

Billy blinked and looked at you. “Cold? You don't look it…In fact, you look like shit. Like you ran a marathon or something. How hard did you ride him in my bed?”

“Shut up and bite me.” You grumbled with an eyeroll. “I told you we didn't. I just don't feel good…Like, at all.” You stiffened as he felt your face out of nowhere.

You stared in wide eyed shock and despite yourself you seemed to memorize his hand. The slight roughness and his more masculine hand on your soft face compared to when you were teenagers. You dare say you relished it. Almost closing your eyes and untensing at his touch…God, how lonely have you gotten?

His brows furrowed, “Damn woman, you're burning up... Get to the couch.” He guided you; not taking no for an answer.

“Hey, what-”

“Shut up.” He ordered in a rushed mumble. Sitting you down and lifting your shirt. You went to fight him, taken aback but stopped the knee jerk reaction as you remembered your stitches, the soreness a stark reminder. His reaction alone made any protest die in your throat as he turned on a lamp then shot up cursing, “Son of a-”

“W-What?” You asked. A feeling of trepidation at his reaction creeping into you.

“Shit. You have an infection. Bad... God damn it!” He cursed, rushing around the best his injured leg and torso could let him.

Your eyes widened. With a pained groan you got up to stagger to the bathroom while he was busy rummaging for things. Your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest and lungs felt a bit more labored than usual. Maybe it was just a placebo to Billy's reaction?

But that hopeful thought died. You gasped as you looked in the mirror at your whole torso, significantly darker and redder than the rest of your body. “OH MY GOD!”

This was bad. You swore you already had body aches and chills but somehow seeing that magnified it. You felt sicker than ever before.

Billy was rushing about looking through cabinets and cussing, “Damn it.” He hissed as he went to his room and pounded on his bedroom door. “Stu, get up!”

You didn't stop him. Unsure what to do…You could die within a day like this. Maybe sooner.

————————————

Stu and Billy sat around you as you shivered and held a blanket to yourself. Almost spacing out and dissociating.

“...This is so bad, man.” Stu mumbled with his elbows on his knees the best he could with his injuries.

“Yeah it is. Sepsis is setting in.” Billy ran a hand over his head.

You had been watching Stu and he looked clammy too if you were being honest. Billy was the only one that seemed more tired than anything.

“What are we gonna do? She'll die!” Stu urged.

“I don't know.” Billy's leg shook as he tried to think.

Stu demanded, “Do we rob a damn pharmacy?! Do we find a fucking drug dealer? What the hell do we do?-”

“I don't know, damn it!” Billy snapped back. Grabbing at his now short dark hair as Stu seemed to have definitely got over his bitterness earlier.

Stu looked at you, almost doting on you with a worried look. “Sweetcheeks, why did you wait? You should've said something right away!”

“I didn't, I took…The pills um…I took the pills like I was supposed to…Didn't feel this sick.” Even forming thoughts to words was hard. You should have told him ‘I would have but someone was being dramatic and fist fighting’ but you were too tired to even do that.

Billy shook his head with a tense expression. “She's gonna fucking die.”

“No shit, dick!” Stu smacked the coffee table.

“Well, she is! No fucking fish or horse antibiotics or even human pills are gonna help her now that's in her bloodstream like that.” He leaned against the wall clutching his face.

“Then give her all of what we have. Damn it, screw me, man! Just give them so we aren't dumping her in a ditch like this. She was supposed to die by OUR hands; not infection!”

You gave him a side eye but stayed quiet.

Billy groaned, “Are you listening? It's in her blood. Pills are not gonna work and she'll probably just puke them up.”

Stu looked at you as you shuddered at how cold you were. “...She's gotta go to an ER. She has to. Get an IV or whatever. She's not dying like this. Not right now.”

“And they'll nab her.” Billy gave helplessly as he smacked his head lightly trying to think. “They'll arrest her and hunt for us.”

“Then screw it!” Stu was sweating and looking tense. “I'll turn myself in. Screw it.”

That snapped you out of it a bit. “What?” You hoarsely mumbled, “N-No. No you're not…”

“You're gonna die.” Stu glared down at you as he hissed it out. “You're gonna fucking die if you don't get to a hospital soon. If I turn myself in and just claim I kidnapped you and-”

“No.” You protested. in a strained, tired voice. Even breathing feels labored. “You're not-”

Stu looked eye level with you as you sat. “I made sure you survived all this time despite everything. You aren't dying from something as stupid as sepsis.”

Billy groaned, “Shut up! Just think for a second and don't be so damn impulsive-”

“WE DON'T HAVE SECONDS!” Stu yelled.

As if on cue, you felt something coming up and quickly leaned over to the wastebasket beside the couch. Gagging and groaning in pain as you puked.

“Oh great. She just upchucked all the medication.” Billy grunted and rolled his lips in thought, “If we get her to a hospital and get out…Like a tiny one…One with low security.”

“And will they have what she needs?” Stu urged as he helped steady you.

“I don't know, why are you acting like I'm God here!? I don't fucking know, Stu!-”

“It's almost sunrise, so we need to figure something out!”

Amidst their arguing…The phone rang.

Everyone stopped to look down at your phone…An unknown caller at 5am?

“Don't answer it.” Billy was going to snatch it.

You groaned and sat up more, wiping your mouth. “Wait, maybe…Maybe we should?” You panted out. “What do I gotta lose? I wanna know.”

Billy sighed heavily and pinched his nose bridge. “YN, the fever is getting to you. You're not making sense.”

Stu of all people answered, “Yo, whose this?”

You and Billy stared at him. His eyes widened before narrowing at whatever was said on the other line. He put it on speaker phone and replied, “Yeah…She's here.”

“Good. You're lucky I had a spare of these…Don't you dare name drop or I will hang up and go after the Riley's or maybe those tiny Meek brats so vulnerable and unattended by the grieving widow, hm?”

Ghostface. Not just any Ghostface. Jill. You wanted to know how she got another modulator into what you presumed was still the hospital. Did Dewey ignorantly retrieve a bag or something from her house with it in it?

You narrowed your eyes, holding the blanket close to yourself. “...What do you want? How did you-” You demanded.

“I remember the number? Trust me, I would remember your number YN. Even having to punch it into someone else's cell.” They continued after a pause. “I've been debating this all night. Decided to give you a wake up call before anyone is aware. I wanna make a deal with you. Come back to Woodsboro and we forget this ever happened.”

Billy scoffed, “You think we're idiots?”

“Yes.” The voice bluntly gave. “But more than that; you're desperate. Nowhere to go, running out of places to hide, probably hurting really bad too…Everyone knows YN's face, how long can you hide YN?”

You sobered knowing she was right. Even without infection setting in…Couldn't go home, visit family, travel, go anywhere without people recognizing you. People found you during your court trial over a decade ago let alone now with your face on billboards.

“And besides, you're probably wishing you were in a plush hospital bed right about now hm?”

“Must be nice.” Stu retorted.

“Shut up.” The voice warned. “I'm cutting you a deal but any name dropping or information of locations even over the phone and you can kiss it goodbye. Quickly. Make a choice.”

You were having a hard time concentrating as Billy told her, “Alright, name it.”

“YN comes home to Woodsboro. Tell them Charlie was involved and the two unknowns that Police won't find…That's it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “So, you want me to not disclose the real killer, huh? Forget it. You killed my friend and now you want a deal?”

Stu stopped you from hanging up by grabbing your wrist. “Hey, quit.” He for once was the level headed one in your feverish state. He talked louder, “So, that's it?” He asked the caller. “Just say the only killers were Charlie and two unknowns they'll never find?”

“Yeah. Maybe I'm one of them and calling you right now? Couldn't really tell in all the chaos, could you? It happened so fast. I bet the other survivor couldn't either.” She kept up the act like it wasn't her.

You soured. She was asking you to help her get away with murder.

“She'll do it.” Stu stated firmly.

“Stu-” You protested.

Billy said nothing but didn't seem against it either.

“Hurry. Get here before noon and tell the ‘truth’.”

Billy finally chimed in, “And how did she get out of the hospital? What's your answer to that?”

“It was obvious she was kidnapped, moron. I wonder if she ever even saw their faces?”

This was crazy. She wanted you to go to the lion's den that was Woodsboro and testify nothing but lies and pray none of you got any severe consequences for such a risky action?

“Fine. She'll be there.” Billy agreed and hung up the phone for you.

“How dare you?” You tiredly glared, “I am not-”

“You are.” Billy ordered in a cold no bullshit tone. “This gets us off police radar if you give a false description that matches Jill's.”

“I can't…Damn it…She killed-”

“And you'll be next, idiot!” Stu exclaimed with clear worry on his face. “You're dying and you won't do this because of fucking Randy!? I will drop your ass off at Woodsboro hospital myself at this point!”

“You two are nuts!...It won't work.” You grumbled while your teeth chattered.

Stu's blue eyes narrowed in determination. “Do it or I'll turn myself in.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I am! Sweetcheeks, you have a severe case of sepsis and every goddamn minute counts!” He looked at Billy and told him. “Get us some clothes and your keys.”

Usually Billy gave the orders but it seemed after your kiss; Stu's crush on you magnified and he wasn't letting his obsession with you die. No way, no how.

Billy sighed and walked to the hallway throwing an arm up, “Screw it. It's our best shot.”

You gaped and raised your voice the best you could, “Stop it! I'm not!”

Stu grabbed your arms painfully and shook you, “Shut the hell up. You are!” He practically spat in your face. “You know what? We aren't arguing.” The 6’4 guy just hauled you up to your feet and dragged you as Billy got his keys and some spare clothes.

You protested the whole way trying to grab the door and Billy just effortlessly plucked your fingers free in your feverish weak state. Stu helped you down the stairs the best he could before shoving you in the van's back seat while you groaned in pain. Trembling at the night air hitting you while your face felt hot as hell.

“We're taking back roads so police don't possibly pull us over.” Billy informed closing his door. “If they do? You know the drill.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Stu gave, getting in the passenger side.

“What the hell? Stop.” You weakly ordered not having a say in YOU possibly going to prison too if caught and convicted was infuriating!

Billy turned to glare at you while starting the vehicle. “This gets us free for good. No more hunting for Tim and James if you change our description and say it was two different guys. Billy and Stu stay dead. Tim and James don't look like us. Our new identities are safe. You get treatment, we might get treatment if we get worse in a different hospital, you get away and we get away and all you have to do is say fuck your dumbass moral code.”

Stu added as Billy put the van in reverse, “You think you're being selfish to Randy? The dead guy?” You winced at how callous he was as he continued, “You're being selfish to us, YN. We've done you wrong but we also did right, so ya know what? This is something you can do to clear this and be even.”

Your mind in your feverish state was reeling. Too much at one time.“But…Fingerprints at the scene and…Descriptions?”

Stu added, “Yeah yeah, our fingerprints are in the system. Mainly Billy from the false arrest in 96 but we'll deal with that somehow. After all, I got a fake ID and can get another one…We'll still have to lay low but this throws cops off our tail a bit if we need to get treated at a hospital a few cities over and get out as soon as possible.”

“But Dewey!-”

“Fuck Dewey!” Billy sneered as he drove down a rural backroad. “Dewey didn't listen to you at all. Man looked close to shooting you too if it meant shooting me. He didn't care if you had to flee with no treatment. In fact, I'm sure he ordered a manhunt for you and in his bullshit idea of getting medical treatment behind bars.”

You vaguely realized you kinda had the same view of them in 1996…Was that wrong? Was it right? Your brain feels foggy at the moment to decide.

Stu added, “Whatever him and Gale say? Deny that shit, man. Jill and you agreeing as the survivors that were there are the only things anyone needs. Let's just pray there's no trial from the naysayers.”

“We avoided our faces to hospital cameras and nurses will probably give multiple descriptions of the chaos that night.” Billy huffed, “Should've killed the one bitch we stole the keys from. Damn.”

Stu nodded, “Yeah, just glad Dewey was slow as fuck and didn't handcuff us before we woke up. We were two victims that escaped the same night YN did and even as the killers the cops are hunting; if she gives a false description it buys everyone time.”

“No shit.” Billy looked at you in the dark backseat with his mirror. “It's this or die of infection, YN. Your choice.” Billy gave his fingers clenching and unclenching the wheel tensely.

This was happening…This was actually happening. “But…People saw? What if…I mean what if they describe you both?”

“Change our look and lay low if this doesn't work.” Billy gave.

“Done it before. I think I might do a Slim Shady look. You know, bleach blonde and buzzed?...No?” Stu asked and Billy shook his head. “Well fine then. I'll figure it out.”

“But your movies?” You mumbled tiredly curled up in a shaky painful ball in that blanket in the backseat. “Scooby doo?...Oh no…People are gonna know you.” You felt light headed the more the hour went by.

Billy sided eyed Stu. “What?” He asked the man in the passenger seat. “What's she talking about?”

“Man, she's really out of it huh? Scooby doo? Of all things, why say that? Whew, she is not in her right mind.” He nervously chuckled.

“The movie when you played Shag-”

“YN, you're really burning up girl!” He made a show of turning around to feel your head. “You're delirious!”

Billy continued side eyeing Stu but said nothing.

You knew Stu played Shaggy in a movie, right? You and Dewey, no, Randy that's right…Yeah you watched it…With the kids…

Stu snapped his fingers as your eyes wanted to close, “Ah ah. Try and stay up for now. We're getting there, Sweetcheeks. Just hang on.”

—————————————

That morning the still active Sheriff of Woodsboro got a call and he shot up out of bed and had been wrung tight ever since. Dewey was floored. Absolutely outraged, a very rare emotion for him.

Even more so with his wife trying to stop him.

“Would you calm down!?”

“YN!” He stammered, too upset to form sentences. “She arrived at the hospital this morning! I gotta get there in case she runs.”

Gale pushed him back with annoyance, “You aren't doing that and she's so sick . Where is she running? Huh?”

“I don't know! I don't understand why she came back.” He exclaimed frantically “And you!” He accused her with a pointed finger. “You visited Jill behind my back? Why would you do that!? AND went into our evidence room at the precinct for the case I specifically told you not to be involved in!”

“Because she's guilty, Dewey!” Gale yelled in frustration, hands clawing the air as they argued. “She is the killer and I need YN to cooperate and tell us everything she knows so we can get Jill locked up and do actual justice. If that means her ass too, so be it. Two birds, one stone. But we can't go in there hot headed.”

“Justice is Billy and Stu locked up! Not a teen we have no proof of! Not even…” He yelled but faltered at your name while walking to their kitchen. They rarely argued because Dewey usually backed down. But not this time. Not over this.

“There's plenty of proof!” Gale followed him. “If you did your job-”

He glared at her. That definitely hit an ugly sore spot in him.

“You know what I mean, damn it! You signed off this case because you just gave up and in a few days you're retired. With how you're acting now, you are getting too personal with this case and you're blinded so that's probably for the best…I guess! I don't know anymore!…And where do you come off yelling at me? YOU'RE the one that hid photos of YN and those two from me not just for a whole decade but this recent incident too!”

“Because I know how you are. I know how much you love a new headline, how obsessed you were with the case, and I knew how much you secretly didn't like YN and only liked her for me. You would use it against her without any proof.” He bluntly gave.

“OH! And you won't? I was right too, now wasn't I?” She urged mockingly.

Dewey scoffed and to Gale's surprise; went to the kitchen. Once there, he got out the Whiskey they had in the bottom cabinet collecting dust from no use.

Dewey replied, “That's the answer, huh? Gale was right and Dewey is a giant moron. How dare Dewey be upset that YN lied. How dare Dewey be torn over her involvement. How dare Dewey try to protect liars all these years. We just…Accept it! Billy and Stu got away, YN could go to any hospital and she came here after I gave her ample warning, justice isn't served, people died in vain including our friend…And all you can do is think of a good story to spin about a teen girl-” He humorlessly laughed, rubbing his face with a wry smile.

Gale eyed him, “And is that the answer? Drinking at 10 in the morning?”

“Gale. Please.” He sighed out rubbing his face as he took a swig.

Gale glared, “How about you get up and instead of being upset YN is back you question her and Jill and see who's lying!?”

“Why bother? Billy Loomis and Stu Macher are out there and YN knows it and she won't admit it and there's no way to prove it…Randy's killers got away. Sidney's killers got away. Tatum's…”

He went to read a magazine and Gale jerked it away, “So you're just gonna sit like a bump on a log and scratch your ass and act numb now? You were demanding to go out that door 5 minutes ago!”

He almost pouted, “Yeah well, that was before my wife didn't support me. No one else will believe me either and the one person that should have my back in this can only care about a story.” He took a swig with a bitter tone to his voice.

“You know what? Fine!” Gale groaned in irritation and got her purse, “Seriously, just sit there and drink and feel sorry for Tatum and yourself instead of actually solving what you can at the moment and do something to put this killer away THEN those two pieces of shit!”

He glared and gripped the bottle tighter at Tatum's name being dropped as Gale slammed the front door. He wanted to rush out and argue with her, he wanted to send a nasty text to her at the very least but…He just sighed in defeat.

A pang in his heart because deep down inside he was relieved you were okay yet he was devastated and hurt and angry that you came back and that those two were nowhere to be found. According to Judy you were just dropped off alone feverish and not making sense at the hospital and the hospital couldn't disclose information or go against HIPAA without a warrant or subpoena which they did not have right this moment with no court case in the works but may have to get… Most of all, Jill had suddenly changed her tune that you attacked her by accident thinking it was them…Suddenly, she was happy you were back and swore you didn't attack her on purpose according to Judy?? And she just accidentally got in the crosshairs of you and those two? It was a direct lie that contradicted what he and Gale saw. You had protected Billy and wanted Jill to be shot! Jill…She's lying?

Why would she lie? Why did her story change?...Was Gale right?

Dewey clutched his head with a pitiful whine. He had cried so much his eyes were puffy from crying and lack of sleep the last 2 days. And he felt…Numb. Helpless. He didn't want to see you again because it hurt too much.

————————————

You woke up that evening much more aware while hooked up to an IV dripping, a hospital gown, new bandages. It took a moment to even remember where you were and when you did you laid back with a groan. God no.

“Oh... Woke up, dying star?”

You jolted despite your wounds at Jill of all fucking people in the corner of the room. Her face still injured but healing.

“Reellaaxxx. I know you're scared from the other night but you're safe! I came here as soon as I heard you made it back.” She dipped down and whispered in your ear, “You're so goddamn lucky cops are right outside monitoring us…Or I'd finish what I started by choking you till your eyes pop.”

You sneered, “What-”

“Shut up and listen. I don't have time.” She hissed low for only you to hear. “Our stories have to line up in this last ditch effort…Charlie and those two did all the killings. Repeat it.” You stubbornly faltered, feeling rage just with her near you. You gasped as she pressed on your wound lightly. “Repeat it, bitch. No one is gonna believe your story without mine.”

“...Charlie and…” You hesitated.

“I will go out there and tell them it was you. Then kill Dewey and Gale and Karla and maybe even those brats too and blame it on those idiots; now say it!” She growled out low in your ear; only you two could possibly hear.

You swallowed and scowled, stomach turning at the words leaving her mouth. “Charlie…And…Those two men were the killers.”

“You don't know them. If you were dumb enough to text-”

“We called that night.” You reluctantly gave in. “My mechanic and an unknown I can just label as a friend of a friend I never named. At worst they were…Booty Calls or drug dealers or something.” You gave with resignation and tiredness with such a severe infection.

She grinned, “Oh not completely stupid then. Okay, we don't know them…Repeat-”

“We don't know them.” You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth at your arm practically being twisted. “Dewey has a picture of us at a motel though.”

“Who cares? It's that wash up that failed everyone versus you. Play stupid and say that you didn't say because they were quick fucks and you felt ashamed or some shit. Now hurry up. They were working with Charlie.”

“They were working with Charlie. Two men. Don't know them.” You forced out through gritted teeth.

“They attacked us in the ICU following me when I went to visit to finish us both off. You attacked me thinking it was them.”

You sneered but forced yourself to repeat it.

“They kidnapped you as a hostage but got scared and dropped you off when they thought the cops were getting a hold of them. One has dark hair, a hooked nose, blue eyes and the tall one has reddish hair, a tooth gap and…A tattoo on his right shoulder. Yeah a dragon...They blindfolded you most of the time so you couldn't see.” She made up the lie on the spot like a natural.

You tried to keep up repeating what was important. Hooked nose…Blue eyes…Red hair…Tattoo of dragon on right shoulder.

“You and I tried to fight for each other. Dewey and Gale are liars.”

You were silent and she pressed on your torso. You couldn't even call for help or she'd twist the story to make herself the victim, something the media already spun. “They're liars!...Damn you.” You rushed out in a hiss of pain.

“But bitch, the limelight is mine. You better watch your ass after this because-”

Jill jerked away as a nurse came in and she put on the sweet act hugging you, “Oh God, I was so worried! We all were…” She whispered, “I'm so glad you're safe…Right now.”

You didn't hug her back. Feeling disgusted, enraged, guilty, in physical pain, ill. You almost wanted to just say screw the plan and go to prison for a few years for hiding criminals if it meant she was locked up for life. But then you thought of Billy and Stu…Goddamn it, since when were you attached to those killers?!

Jill pulled away pretending to wipe an imaginary tear from her eye as the nurse smiled. All you could do was replay the information over and over in your head. Anxious, sick with sepsis and eager to just be done with all of this for good. Jill left with the nurse while eyeing you…

This was Hell.

—————————

Gale leaned against the wall as Dewey paced the hospital hall, having decided to force himself to go with her. His leg injury gave him a bit of trouble. Gale WANTED to tell him it was the liquor and lack of sleep or lack of a good diet making it mess up again but kept it to herself.

Judy came out and sighed, “Sheriff, she didn't see two men there. Charlie stabbed her in the backyard while YN went to go find Jill and that's all she knows.”

“Damn it.” Dewey groaned, rubbing his face.

Judy, ever the ass kisser in Gale's eyes, told her retiring superior. Judy's eyes wide and trying to be helpful as she assured, “I was shot by one! I believe you even…Though I'm confused how it could be who you say, Sir?”

“Billy Loomis and Stu Macher!-”

Gale shhed him aggressively and shooed him away from Judy as Judy reluctantly let her. Once Judy was out of ear shot, thankfully getting a report from another Deputy. Gale hissed at Dewey, “Are you insane? Shut up! No one is going to take you seriously or this case if you go voicing those names aloud.”

“Yeah, well it's a fact.” He grumbled. “I'm just glad we got Kirby to a hospital that no one knows she's at but her folks.”

“Because of Jill.” Gale voiced.

Dewey rolled his lips and corrected, “After what happened to Jill… She needs protection.” He pointed to the room and Gale rolled her eyes at her husband.

The ex-journalist debated interviewing the stabbed teen but…No. Her story hasn't changed not even once. Charlie acted stabbed, then replicated Steven Oarth, she went to go help him, he faked it and stabbed her. No names or others she saw. She was clueless and a dead end. She didn't even seem to hint at Jill or YN being Ghostface.

Gale mumbled, “Fact or not, you can't have a damn manhunt for two killers that on record are reported dead.”

“Bodies were never found, the door kicked from the inside, footprints, tire tracks, Tim and James matching-��

She replied, “They'll tell you the house was too destroyed for bodies and yes even bones, door burst open from heat, footprints were from chasing people, tire tracks could've been anyone, Tim and James was only described by YN. Tim vaguely by Randy, ya know, two traumatized teens. One was previously medicated for PTSD induced hallucinations. Oh, and two Detectives that are now dead from 13 years ago that the court could argue had just a vague sight of these men and were feeding into teen hysteria.”

“And us!” Dewey exclaimed in exasperation and desperation. “Why are you acting like you didn't claim to see them at Windsor!? You were on stage and swore to me; your story never changed. We saw them and heard them and talked to them the other night. It was them!”

Gale scoffed, “And who's gonna believe us!? I've been down this road, Dewey! A reporter that lost a case over this years ago and her husband… Who…” She faltered.

“...Say it.” He demanded. Dewey's downturned brown eyes stared at her. “Just say it. Failed. He failed. So much so that he's retiring.”

“More like, they'll try saying…Look, I'm not saying it but I know they will that…He never got over ‘96 and the death of his sister and her friend weighed on him enough that now he's seeing Ghost like YN did-” Gale sighed with an eye roll and followed after him as he stalked off amidst her sentence. “Dewey!”

“Let's just get to YN and Jill.” He mumbled as they both made their way to the car.

[morlock-holmes]

Notice in the post below that the only named task that the OP struggled with is homework?

Now, people diagnosed with ADHD or similar disorders often do struggle with tasks that we might actually want to do, but almost always, the diagnosis is linked in everyone's mind to an inability to do homework.

But homework is fucking bullshit.

I really think it's absurd to ignore that fact when talking about how you complete tasks.

"Gosh, my kid seems to have a lot of trouble focusing on dull make-work which I force him to do for two hours every single day, why could this be?"

I spent literally as little time in school as I could and still graduate. As in, by my junior or senior year the principal sat me down and said, "If you skip anymore school we aren't going to be able to graduate you from High School."

And yet... When I bothered to go, I got good grades. I did generally quite well on tests and did eventually graduate. I'm quite proud of that as an act of self-mastery but it does raise the question:

Why was so much energy spent on trying to get me to go to school for all that time when I was demonstrably able to get the benefits with literal years less work than they wanted me to put in?

Why was so much time spent trying to devote those years to schoolwork when it simply wasn't necessary for me to learn?

Homework is a microcosm of that whole question. I always wanted to know,

"So, if I can skip 60% of the homework and still get an "A" on the test, why do you try to force me to do it?"

And to this day I have never gotten a good answer.

So: I saw no value in most of my homework and that hasn't changed to this day.

So, here's a pop quiz for the people wondering why their kids with diagnoses don't do their homework no matter what planning and techniques adults supply them with:

What would your kid have to do to spend less of their valuable time on homework?

"Well, if they just knuckled down and got it done..."

BZZT! WRONG! You get a "D-" on this test and I really hope you apply yourself more to the next one, you have so much potential...

If they "forget about it" then they have to do even less.

Now, of course that means that your kid is in a state of constant stress from avoidance. They are thinking, "Man, I'm going to get in so much trouble for not doing this, but I just can't seem to force myself to do it, and anyway I don't fucking want to."

You think that they'd be better off spending two stressful hours on their homework and then being able to relax the rest of the time. They feel like they'll be happier not doing it at all and feeling a vague undercurrent of stress as they go about their leisure time.

What's the third option if they want to spend less time on homework?

Oh, nothing? Is it nothing whatsoever until they graduate from school?

This is infuriatingly counter-productive. We spend literal years teaching ADHD kids that avoidance and procrastination are the only ways to exert control over their lives in the face of unpleasant situations imposed from outside.

Now, in point of fact this is absolutely not the case for adult life, which offers a plethora of ways to reduce pointless make-work imposed on you by outside authorities and, in any case, rarely bothers to impose two hours per day of unpaid, unrewarding make-work on people anyway.

How much of the difficulty ADHD people have with cleaning the toilet or whatever is because psychologically, they still think of it as homework? Cleaning the toilet is not homework; it rewards you with a clean toilet at the end and it's entirely possible to defer it, or hire someone else to do it, or find shortcuts. But if the major psychological task of your childhood is homework, maybe it might take quite a long time to think that there could even be anything aside from homework?

[pokidot]

MANDELA — thirteen

wc: 734

Knock, knock, knock.

Loud, but not persistent. A ghastly echo that didn't fade, twisted branches scratching against one another as they resembled brittle bones. The cabin that sat in front of them was still in this sunrise, wood walls a statue in the cool air.

The woman, Kane, opened the cabin door hesitantly as her eyes made the rounds of the surrounding people. She was dressed in a long and flowy white dress that undulated in the little breeze there was, material hanging loosely as if it didn't belong on her body. You grinned in response to her confused aura, holding up Hu Tao's hands still bound together in the cuffs.

"I said I wouldn't disappoint, here I am!" You chirped, a contrast from the solemn tone you did have. “It took many…many sacrifices to get here right now, I’m desperately relying on that payola.”

Kazuha’s eyes narrowed to Xiao skeptically to mouth, ‘payola?’ to him, but even he didn’t know what you were saying. His eyebrows furrowed, sighing to himself in defeat.

Kane’s eyes moved to you, an empty gaze reflecting as if she couldn't fully comprehend the situation. You sniffed this out quick, because as soon as your smile went to falter, her mouth immediately twitched up to all of them. But it didn't seem like a smile, more so a reflex to you. "I should have had a lot more faith in you, I'm sorry. I don't have a good history with...college students."

“Spoken as if you’ve talked to college students regularly at one point?” Venti asked.

“HILARIOUS, OH MY GO—” Your laugh came out abruptly, laughing like it was the funniest joke in the world, but it quickly died down once you realized that everyone was looking at you now. Especially Kuni, with dull eyes. “Oh, uh,” You looked back at Kane’s eerie smile fixed into place. “It wasn’t a joke?”

“I don’t think it was ever that funny of one, if it is a joke.” Kuni clenched his jaw, “Why are you smiling like you’ve been practicing anyway, Tachibana? Are you even who we’re looking for?”

Venti looked rather accomplished at the very notion that you wanted to hit, putting his hands on his waist and tilting his head proudly at you.

Something about the woman unnerved the group, rightfully so, because it looked like she was mimicking an emotion she didn’t even felt. It was so uncanny valley to even watch, but you wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. “She just found out her husband’s missing, guys. Let’s keep our wits, now.”

“Could’ve fooled me, she looks like she’s enjoying the hell out of herself.” He replied back. “Seriously. Are you gonna let us in so we can see what’s going on, or are you going to make us stand out here like mindless sheep?”

“Yes, come in while scrutinizing me in front of my own house.” Kane’s smile twitched again, corners of her mouth trembling. “It’s hard to imagine for you, but I’d rather be anywhere than here right now.“

He would have believed her if it weren’t for the inane reaction and the fact that she felt like she was struggling to play a role in a play right. His violet eyes narrowed. “So…you acting like a nut job is your impulse reaction, or?”

“Oh my god,” Aether cried, covering his ears. “Stop. The voices are coming back, I can’t even hear my own breathing with how loud Andrew is in my ear.”

“Andrew better be anything other than Garfield, or I’m blowing this bitch up.” Heizou warned.

“See? He understands how this works. I’m halfway to taking the former.” And with that, his eyes scanned the area for any signs of foul play. “Fine, I’ll bite. But you better be telling the truth about his disappearance, or you’re done fucking with us and I’m driving a stake into your heart, demon.”

Kuni walked past her as he aggressively pulled Hu Tao with him, the two of them entering the home after he got in the client’s face and started telling her shit. You awkwardly looked behind to see the rest of his friends paralyzed in most likely stun.

Your lips trembled as you tried not to laugh, tears in your eyes from the sheer force. “That was so sassy yass gurl of him.”

“I thought he didn’t believe in ghosts..?” Kazuha asked.

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NOTES || *crickets* ... this storys been out for a year and its still not done chat, it may be cooked

TAGLIST: @wisteriarain @akagism2 @murderisokayforme @d4y-dr3am3r @truck-kuns-gf

@ayoitsmarie33 @crucnhice @natsuscrustyscarf @dreamsofminnie @goj0h

@xirthia @kylexzz @dollpoetwriting @dreamingkace @strawbxrrytiger

@k1an4a @featuredtofu @neversore

[rimunagenius]

I’m Not Talking ‘Bout Boys I’m Talking ‘Bout Them.

ఌ pairing: Naomi Mcpherson x AFAB!reader

ఌ Warnings: RPF!! homophobia!! , slight smut, slight angst?, fluff, fluff, and some more fluff, realization about the preferred sexual preference (if that’s even a warning)

ఌ Word Count: 3.5k words (major whoopsie…no it’s not)

ఌ okay so as you may not already know, this fic is based off the song ‘girls’ from girl in red. it’s basically the prompt of the story. another thing, this fic is loosely based off me, being a bisexual woman, and not experiencing homophobia personally, but seeing how others around me speak and feel about people in the LGBTQ community, i haven’t come out to my parents. so writing this, i hope this helps in anyway, whether it’s a tiny small or big significant way, to help whoever reads this know it’s okay to be queer. to love women. to love whoever the fuck you want to love. be yourself unapologetically and once you stop caring what the people around you feel, and stop thinking about how you may offend them for your choices and feelings, you’ll truly live a blissful life. okay that’s it, enjoy!

ఌ

❧ I've been hiding for so long

These feelings, they're not gone

Could I tell anyone?

You have always been an ally to the LGBTQ community. You had many friends who grew up to be gay or lesbian, nonbinary, all of the above. You even have family members part of the community. You didn't realize until you had hit high school that you were into a spectrum of people. Freshman year, you were curious and never even experimented with anyone other than boys. But by your junior year, you had realized you loved anyone…you were queer.

The thoughts of wanting to understand someone so deeply and have a beautiful connection that would manifest in a caring and long relationship, was all you seeked. It was never a phase that every teenager convinces themselves they're going through—it was real.

But you knew your parents. They'd say they were supportive because you had family that were queer. But now and then, the unsupportive side of them would slip and it made you scared for the reaction you'd get if you had said you not only liked men but everyone.

❧ Afraid of what they'll say

So I push them away

I'm acting so strange

You so desperately wanted to tell your parents about the feelings you had and the thoughts you wanted to share. You just could never get past the what if.

Any conversation about your love life you had dismissed. You couldn't possibly say that you liked a girl or someone who was different than themselves in their eyes. You knew it was getting obvious with the way you'd shut down the topic. You knew that your siblings would catch on.

The jokes they’d make about you being queer because you haven't mentioned the idea of being with a guy recently were starting to irritate you a little more every day. You just had to suck it up and "forget" to tell them about the most beautiful person you had ever met.

❧ They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

You don't know when it happened but you just knew you had to speak to this person. Their beautiful curly hair, the perfect height, the perfect style, the perfect facial features that were accentuated with the prettiest gold jewelry in their nose. They caught your eye the second you had walked into the club.

You had been with friends and you just couldn't stop looking. Your friends picked up on the longing glances you'd throw their way any chance the conversation got dull someplace.

"Just talk to them!" Your friend yelled over the loud music. "What's the worst that could happen?" They sipped through the straw of their drink while moving their eyes from you to the person you couldn't stop looking at.

"No. Absolutely not. They're way out of my league, dude." Oh, absolutely not. Your friend was not about to take no for an answer. They knew about your family situation. Even though you were a grown woman, your parent's opinions still mattered to you. What they thought of you was important.

"Babe, you are so beautiful and hot. Please be real here. They're coming over here anyways, now's your chance." They smiled, sipping their drink again watching the person walk up to the bar.

"Are you fucking serious?" You took a small step back and bumped into someone. Turning around immediately, you saw them. The perfect person you had been staring at all night long. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I did not know you were right there,"

"No it's okay, don't worry about it." They smiled at you. The height difference was stirring a nervous feeling in your belly. Like someone had released a butterfly sanctuary in your belly.

"Let me pay for your drink, it's the least I can do for someone as gorgeous as you." It slipped out. You hadn't even realized you said it until you said it and saw their face looking back at you. The embarrassment was unbearable. A small smile graced their features and they were thankful you couldn't see the small blush creeping on their cheeks.

"Oh, you don't have to but thank you. What's your name, pretty?" They leaned down so they could hear you better over the music. Your knees were weak.

"Y/n. And yours?" You looked at them, batting your eyelashes. It was hard not to try and make them interested. You thought they were so pretty, you had to have them.

"Naomi. Nice to meet you." You both smiled and insisted on paying for their drink. You paid for it and smiled. The smile faltered as you realized this may or may not be the very last time you see them ever.

"Hey—" You both spoke at the same time. You giggled and looked up at them, signaling for them to finish. "Can I get your number? Sorry if that's forward but your beautiful and want to know if you'd like to get coffee sometime?" They asked, leaning back up to gauge your expression.

"Oh yeah! I'd love to." You gave them your number and for the rest of the night, you both went about your own business with your separate parties. Catching each other's eye from across the room every now and then.

They were the most beautiful person you had ever seen in your whole entire life. It hurt your brain to even fathom how they could exist.

❧ They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

I shouldn't be feeling this

But it's too hard to resist

You and Naomi had hung out a lot of times after the club incident. You were so glad you had decided to get out of your house that night. You didn’t think you could sit through anymore phone calls of your mom telling you how nice her coworker's son was for the last 5 months. You did have to, every now and then.

They had told you they were in a band. A relatively famous one. You hadn't known any of that and were about to explode when they told you they opened for Taylor Swift on her Eras Tour. What made you so oblivious to this information? You had been there. You even asked about the dates and you didn't even realize you had watched Naomi perform.

They also told you that they had a show this coming weekend and needed help picking an outfit or two for the music festival. They invited you over to their house, which was a pretty close range from your condo that you lived in. You had been over more than a handful of times. You guys have been seeing each other for almost 5 months, making it official in the third month. 

"I say, you give me a fashion show and we can decide from there." You smiled at them. You honestly believe that you have never been this happy. Yeah, a few hetero relationships you had in the past you were happy. But you weren't truly happy. Not like this. You haven't told your parents about them but you truly wanted to. You wanted to tell them that Naomi had awakened a newfound liveliness to you. That they had made everything so much easier. You thanked your lucky stars for bumping into them five months ago. 

"I say, that's a great idea, gorgeous." They walked up to you sitting on the foot of the bed, planting a kiss on your forehead, and then walking to the closet to grab an outfit to try on.

They changed in the bathroom and walked out in long basketball shorts, a white wife beater, a jean jacket, and a backward black LA hat. Heat rose to your face, and all over your body. Especially there. You blushed intensely and smiled. "So this outfit is a yes, then?" Naomi laughed as they noticed the immediate reaction your body had. 

"Oh, hell yeah. I honestly think you should never take it off. Unless I'm taking it off you." You smiled and laughed. Their face flushed as they turned away for a second and looked back at you. You gave them a small wink as they walked up to you, crouched down, and grabbed your face pulling you into a kiss. 

Both of you smiled into the kiss, which started to grow more hot and heavy. A small sigh left your nose and you pulled away. "As much as I love doing that, you have a fashion show to finish, baby." A small frown pierced their lips as they grabbed a few new articles of clothing from their closet and walked into the bathroom. 

Walking out in a white button-up shirt, a tie hanging loosely around their neck under the collar, and black vintage Versace jeans. You absolutely loved this outfit. You loved the other one but something about this outfit made them look so professional, endearing, and just overall adorable. You had always loved when they would pick you up for dates and they were wearing an outfit similar to this with a button-up shirt. 

"Oh my god, I love this nomi. You look so good." You smiled as you pulled out your phone and took a video. Naomi does a small spin before flipping the camera off. They laughed and immediately apologized. You both now laughing together. 

❧ Soft skin and soft lips

The soft light from the sunset started creeping in through the bedroom window, adding an even more romantic ambiance to the room. Your soft pants fill the room. 

"Oh..my...god." You sighed heavily, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. Your chest rose and fell with the swift motion and pace Naomi had set with their fingers curling inside of you. You could not lie and say this wasn't better than any sex you had ever prior to now. 

"You're doing so good for me, sweet girl." A whiny moan left your throat as their soft praises and new pet name coaxed you closer and closer to the finish line. Your eyes looked into theirs. Your walls tighten around their slender fingers. How could someone be so good with just their fingers?

"Uh...don't stop. So close, baby." Your voice rose and thighs closed. "Just like that. I'm so close." You could not fathom the feeling they were making you feel. In almost a mere second, their fingers curled in just the right spot causing a soft scream to escape your lips. 

"Oh, baby." Naomi looked down at you, head dropping to kiss up your neck. Their soft lips traveled across your jawline, lips brushing the lobe of your ear. "Let go for me." They whispered, another soft whine left your lips as you did what they asked of you. "Yeah, just like that, baby." 

Naomi maneuvered their body back in front of your aching cunt. Sliding their fingers out, catching whatever slipped out with their tongue. You let out a soft cry, overly sensitive to touch as you were still coming down from what felt like the best high in your life. Naomi then put the fingers they had buried inside of you in their mouth, sucking and licking off any remnants of your orgasm off their fingers. 

You wouldn't lie...you could've come all over again just by watching them watch you while they did that. They then placed a soft kiss on your clit, a soft satisfied hum leaving their lips. Their lips trailed up your body until they found solace on yours again. The passionate kiss left you breathless and tasting yourself on their tongue. 

Naomi’s arms planted on either side of your waist, you ran your hands slowly up their arms. From their soft and slender wrists, all the way to the open expanse of their shirtless back. Naomi sighs at the cool sensation of your rings dragging across their body. 

You then pulled them in for another kiss, your arms slung over the back of their neck. Your fingertips graze the beautiful crazy curls on their head. 

You could stay here forever. 

❧ I should be into this guy

But it's just a waste of time

He's really not my type

I know what I like

"No, mom." I am not going on a date with Nick. He's not my type at the moment." You looked at Naomi, an incredulous look on your face, a quiet tut of laughter leaving their lips as their hand glided up your thigh. 

"Why not? What is your type then?" Your mom asked over the phone. You didn't know if you had wanted to flat-out say that you had been seeing someone. The someone being a famous queer public figure. Your mom on speaker, Naomi being able to hear the whole conversation. 

They nodded their head at you, a look of encouragement in their eyes. This whole ‘your mom trying to set you up’ thing was getting old. You just wanted to tell her that you were so in love with your partner.

"Mommy, I'm already seeing someone. And they make me very happy, any more than a man could." Naomi squeezed your thigh, their head resting in their hand that was leaning on the back of the couch. You smiled at them, mouthing 'I love you.' They did it back. Big smile across their face.

"What do you mean "any more than a man could"? Are you dating a woman? Are you seriously dating a woman? Y/n, don't make me tell your dad about this. What do you think he'll say?" She sighed loudly over the speaker. You started to get super nervous. 

You rubbed your other hand that wasn't holding the phone, across your chest. A heavy feeling weighing down on you suddenly. "No, mommy. They're not a woman either. They're nonbinary, which means they don't choose to identify as a boy or girl. I love them. They make me happy." 

"I don't want to hear details about this gay relationship." 

"I never said anything about that." 

"Well, I don't want to hear about it. I have to go. And I'm going to tell your father about this." You didn't even feel nervous anymore. The hard part was over and you honestly felt irritated that your mom couldn't just be happy that you were happy. Why did it matter who was making you happy?

"Okay, whatever." You hung up the phone and flopped your head against Naomi's chest. "I'm sorry she said what she said, baby. I didn't think she'd take it that bad. For once I thought she’d just listen and still accept what’s happening." You looked up at them. They leaned down and placed a kiss on your lips. 

"It's okay. We'll be okay. At least she knows now. The hard part is over, love." 

"Yes. It's finally over." You both lay there on your couch, cuddling for the rest of the morning. You could only think about how their opinions slowly started to not matter what they thought of Naomi. It only mattered what you thought and you thought the absolute world of them. You had truly never met anyone like them. 

❧ No, this is not a phase

Or a coming of age

This will never change

You and your parents had been fighting over the phone and dinner for the last week. They couldn't get used to the pronouns Naomi had gone by and not identifying with a gender, how they lived their life, and how we both chose to live it together. 

You had slowly started to get over your parent’s projecting and ignorance and felt at peace with your life. With your Naomi. They had known how stressful this had been for you, so a nice romantic weekend was planned for the both of you. Granted the weekend had consisted of you two at Josettes parent's vacation cabin by the lake. It was honestly so beautiful. 

The second night you were there, you celebrated your one-year anniversary with a nice candlelit dinner and walk outside by the dock. When you reached the end of the dock looking out across the lake, the moon casting the perfect light over the royal blue waters. "Naomi look how beautiful." You looked across at the landscape in front of you, your smile faltering when Naomi said they couldn't see it. "What do you me- Oh my god." 

Naomi was on one knee, a beautiful diamond ring in their hand. "Holy shit. No way. Naomi." You couldn't help the tears falling and the laughing trying to hide the fact that you were literally sobbing. 

"Y/n. You are so perfect. From your hair to your contagious laugh. Everything about you is engraved in my brain. I think about you when I'm thousands of miles away and when I'm right under you while you sleep against me." You could not stop the loud sob that escaped your throat. You immediately got on your knees and cupped their face. "I can't even remember what my life was like before you were in it and I don't want to know how it is after. I never want to have an after-you. This," they motioned their index finger between the two of you. Their eyes welling up with tears too. "Is forever. You and me. Will you marry me?" You kissed their lips, the kiss so tender yet so full of every emotion you could possibly feel in a moment like this. 

"Yes. Yes. It will always be a yes, baby." You continued to cry as they slid the ring on your finger. You could not have imagined that this would be your life a year ago. You never wanted to forget this. Forget them. 

Your parents would never understand you both. No matter how much they tried to will this relationship away. You both had already left an imprint in each other's lives. This was forever or nothing. Happiness or nothing. Your love for each other was never going away. 

❧ They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

You had spent the next day at the cabin wrapped in the sheets and each other's embrace. The bliss that came with Naomi was something so sacred and real. You knew that when you looked at them. 

You had woken up before them. The sun shining through the window behind you. Sitting up, wrapping and holding the sheets over your naked frame, you reached over and took a picture of their peaceful state of sleep. 

The way the sun shines on their features, accentuating the gorgeous freckles across their face, you posted it on your Instagram story. The first time your family will see that this was never a phase. It was real and it was happening.

Captioning the picture, "I can't wait to marry you." You had tagged Naomi before turning your phone off and laying back down next to them. Snuggling in closer, they wrapped their arm around your frame and pulled you closer before placing a soft kiss on your head. You both had gone back to sleep. Just you two against the world. 

❧ They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

You knew you couldn't count on them to be here. The one special day that you'd ever have in your life and your family couldn't set their pride aside and be there. It didn't bother you much because you had friends and they showed up for you. That's what counted. That's the only thing that matters aside from marrying the love of your life. But it still hurt.

Josette had suggested she walk you down the aisle and you loved the idea. As you both walked down the aisle, you looked at her and then at Naomi. You three had all been crying as the seconds ticked that the marriage was official. 

Naomi in their tux, you in your long white wedding dress. This was perfect. They were perfect. A button-up shirt never looked as good on them as it did right now. 

❧ They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

'Cause I don't know what to do

It's not like I get to choose

Who I love

Your honeymoon consisted of laying in bed, sex, beach, sex, laying in bed, more sex, and sleeping. Falling for them was singlehandedly the best thing you had ever done. You could not believe this is who you got to do life with for the rest of it. 

You didn't choose to be queer. But you sure as hell glad that it got you here in this moment.

❧ They're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

They're so pretty with their button-up shirts

And they're so pretty, it hurts

I'm not talking 'bout boys

I'm talking 'bout girls

They're so pretty, it hurts

Being out, not giving a single damn about who had to say what about your marriage, was a blissful life. You get to watch your soulmate do what they love, be who they are, and choose you to be a part of it. Going through the suppression and ignorance to get here...was so rewarding. 

Naomi. They were so pretty it hurt to even express the amount of attraction and admiration you had for them. You got to have them. All of them. 

Forever.

ఌ loving someone for who they are is all that matters. Whether your bisexual, lesbian, pan, etc. You don’t owe anyone a damn thing. Even if your not out yet, that’s okay. You won’t be in the closet forever, you will be yourself openly and unapologetically, whether it’s tomorrow or in the next year (and i’ll be on that journey with you); Loving a woman, loving your partner, is not a crime. It’s not wrong. No matter what anyone says. They can’t take your love, your identity, yourself, away from you. Never forget it.

[imbecominggayer]

How To Write Characters With Addiction

From @differentnighttale: "I am curious if you give advice about writing people with addictions for example substance. I have reasons my male MC does it. But how can I describe the addictions the MC has correctly."

In this post we are going to be talking about addiction! From alcoholism, substance abuse, nymphomania, to everything else that can be a possible addiction. This post will be all about making this realistic and complex :)

A) What Are The Benefits?, Make It Convincing

Grab a fucking piece of paper or whatever you have and just write a paragraph from your addict's perspective on the situation. Omit the bad stuff. Make it highly convincing. if you aren't thinking "hmm, understandable" after you've written and read it, you did it wrong.

What do they get out of it?

Why did they like it at first?

Are they calmer, more intensely concentrated, does it take the edge off?

Are they more confident?

Does it ease the sense of being fundamentally wrong or dull some other pain?

Is it fun to do something rebellious?

What made them like this thing so much they tried it again, and again, and again?

B) Think About The Consequences, And Ignore It

Oftentime, at least in my experience, people will continue with a bad habit if it means they don't have to be the one to think about the consequences.

The Consequences For Addiction Include:

Financial. Depending on what your character uses to get their fix and how much they use, they might be spending hundreds a week if they are a particularly aggressive user. People often steal money from their loved ones. Addiction also tends to get people fired. Write a scene where your drunk character gets fired for operating machinery. Have them be a burdenous sponge.

Social. It's common for addicts to lose their loved ones since it often gets to a point where it's impossible to care about these people despite how much you love them. Make love ones leave your character! And don't blame them

Physical. STDs, Overdose, Liver Failure, and a shit ton of other issues from the chronic to the fatal either cause, exacerbate, or are linked with addiction. Recovery can't automatically save your character so don't write that story.

Psychological. Being an addict isn't fun since you get to struggle with points 1, 2, and 3 all at the same time! Write about your character issues. Their lack of control. Their spiralling life.

Write all about your character's suffering. And then have them justify it. Make it convincing.

They need it. It's not their fault that this is the only that helps them! Everyone just doesn't get it. I'm trying to work on it, OK?! It'll all work out! They know that it's wrong but...

My most hated shit is when a character's arc is easy. They struggle with some things like a big dramatic argument with their wife, they cry a bit, and then they learn that "drugs are bad" so everything is fine :D

NO!!! Why don't you write about a friendship that doesn't get mended? A chronic illness they now have to pay huge medicine bills for? A fucked-up rap sheet that they can't escape?

And it's not because we want to punich addicts. It's because it doesn't matter if you care about addicts if you don't care about the messy shit!

It's easy to sympathize with an addict if you make them the most innocent victim who never hurts someone intentionally and who gets rid of the addiction in a second and never struggles with it ever again!

Do the hard shit. Make your readers sympathize with the unsympathetic asshole addict! Addicts aren't always good people! They can be dickbags. And they still deserve resources. Life isn't some kind of karma game where dickbags suffer and good people rise! Everyone deserves to not suffer!

Addiction is ultimately a disease. But it's a disease that can make someone you love into an absolutely unlikeable person. And this is coming from someone with an alcoholic dad <3 He does good things and bad things. I can sympathise with my dad and not let him walk all over me.

C) Withdrawal Is Leaving An Ex, Relapse Is Returning

Addiction is a motherfucker trying to leave. It's basically the equivalent of a clingy ex who keeps contacting you, asking for just one conversation, and the moment you so much as acknowledge them you are fucked.

And suffering the brunt of a clingy ex who won't take the hint tends to cause the same symptoms as withdrawal!

Obviously, withdrawal symptoms depend on what type of ex you have and what age you are and yada yada yada. Research for specificity :)

Withdrawal symptoms can include:

Headaches

Insomnia

Fatigue

Hallucinations

Seizures

Tremors

Cravings

etc.

BE AWARE: Relapses are when someone returns back to their drug if they were going cold turkey or going back to their original dose. Relapses can sometimes result in an overdose due to the fact that the brain has been weened off the substance and is now overwhelmed by the high dose.

Relapses often happen when a person makes the deliberate choice in order to stop these fucking nightmarish symptoms. To use the analogy of a clingy ex, you start talking to them in order to tell them to stop contacting.

Relapses can also happen through being in a setting where the behaviors associated with the addiction such as sex, gambling, drinking, substance use, and all manner of things are normalized.

This setting could be a party, a bar, or even a friend group.

Relapse is made more likely if someone is self-detoxing away from a support group or a doctor.

Writing about withdrawal and relapses are an important part in making a story feel more authentic. Just like with mental illness, people rarely learn the lesson and follow it perfectly. They make mistakes. Slip back into old habits. Do shitty things.

We aren't writing their suffering to punish them. We are doing it because you can't say you care if all you are willing to do is look at the easy parts.

D) Little Tidbits To Keep Track Off

This is the miscellanious things that didn't fit into their own boxes.

Friends!

Do they have friends who also have their addiction? How do they hang out? What are they like? How are their substance using friends different from their non-addict ones?

Slang!

Don't just look up slang for your substance of choice. You'll need to look at some first-hand accounts of addiction. Find an influence who has struggled with substance abuse in the past and see how they talk about it!

Variables!

Remember to keep their geographical location, socioeconomic status, time, and a host of other factors. If your character is a penniless alcoholic then it's unlikely they'll get their hands on some type of expensive gin. They'll probably use rubbing alcohol. Keep the price of your drug in mind.

A character's status will also impact their slang. No one unironically says doobie anymore.

A character's location will also impact how they get their shit and how other characters will react to that addiction.

A character's financial status also impacts how the consequences of their actions impact them. A low-income character wont be able to afford the same medication as a rich addict. They also won't have the same luxury for quality therapy, rehab, programs, time, anything really.

Look At The Addict And The Loved Ones

Try not the skew the reality of addiction to paint the addict as the victim and the loved ones as evil for not being forgiving and tolerant enough.

Keep sympathy for both the addict and the loved ones. Or drop sympathy for both of those characters.

E) RESOURCES

FDA and DEA online databases and drug resources

Social Networking Groups

Medical Journals

Local medical professionals, police, and medical examiners

The US national poison center

[britts-galaxy-brain]

I mean, you also been saying a lot shit to her too. Victim blaming her with “she talks a good game by saying suing her family and get Lily’s hard drive taking away.” When Lily crime against her not actually put in jail because it was long time ago and cocsa is not a crime there. And some of victims don’t want to come forward and even then it’s toss up for the cops to care. But then again you should know that because the fbi hand up at you. By your own words you also taking hot air too. Plus Courtney more or less got a lot people actually see the monster she is with her story. You’re clipping away is more or less like dull knife. Plus I do know you been chasing her after she blocks you. Calling her crazy give credit to Lily story and in turn victim blaming you actual goon. And don’t you compare your story to hers. She assaulted by her as child and you were an adult online. And before you say that victim blaming because yeah it was because that a taste what you been doing to Courtney.

How the hell is pointing out that she's a hypocrite by claiming she was going to try to do something, and then turning around and attacking people who aren't near as close to the situation for not being able to legally do anything, "victim blaming"?? I'm fully aware it's like pulling teeth to get the cops to do anything. That wasn't the damn point. The point was Courtney is out of line and cruel for acting like anyone else has any more power in this situation.

Second of all, what the fuck are you talking about with claiming "you know I chased her"? I was the one who kept having to block her because she kept BLOCK EVADING ME. When she'd make a new account here, she'd start responding to shit and trying to start a fight, and I'd block her. When she'd try to get me to dm her in public servers, I'd politely decline and made it clear I don't want to be personal friends again. When she'd start screaming at me in public servers, I'd block her, leave her blocked, and hold my tongue as much as possible to avoid engaging with her and pouring fuel on the fire. The only times I ever snapped back was when she started screaming at a recently escaped Lily fan that they should kill themselves in various creative ways.

I haven't WANTED to directly engage with Courtney for almost a year now. I've been avoiding her. I've been holding my tongue while I watch her spew the most unhinged, vile, at some points outright bullshit about me, my thoughts, my intentions, my words, my overall character. I haven't said shit. And she's done nothing but continue to escalate and spew vitriol toward others. And now me and others are getting MINORS and other young people in our inboxes parroting her raging irrational bullshit.

I'm tired of it. I'm not just gonna continue to sit back while she continues to throw tantrums and smear my character along with multiple others.

What happened to her is sick and awful, but that doesn't give her or anyone else a pass to treat people however she damn well pleases. This isn't me trying to attack her credibility or deny what she's been through. This is me getting fucking fed up with seeing nothing but malice thrown at me when I haven't done shit to deserve it.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Crumbs from whatever WIPS you have?? 🥺👉🏾👈🏾

Ask and you shall receive 😏

I don't currently have a name for the fic I'm working on--usually, title is the last fucking thing I do 💀💀--but it's a fun, drawn-out, sweaty scene with big sub Steve, orchestrated by dom Bucky, and tortured by a penis pump.

So...

“What was that, baby?”

The sound of his voice breaks the dam. Just like that. “Please,” he gasps, “please, please, please—”

“What’re you begging for?” Bucky grabs his jaw, “tell me. What do you want?”

“Put it on mee,” he whines.

“What,” Bucky pushes, literally and verbally, shoving their heaving, sweaty chests together, “what’m I putting on you?”

“The-the pump. Want it. Please? I want it!”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” he shoves his thigh up against him, making him grind tightly against it, “I don’t think you need any help down here, gorgeous.”

A cry leaves Steve, arching his back the best he can as droplets of sweat just start to roll down the indented line of his spine, “Buck!”

“Again,” Bucky softens, “just one more, Stevie, c’mon.”

“Please.”

In response, Bucky makes sure, excessively sure, that the pump cushion is in the right spot (because he’s an asshole like that), twisting it around the base of Steve’s dick until he gasps, eyes watery, then—and only then—he wipes his glistening hands, flesh and metal, off on a nearby towel, and finally fucking does it. Sliiiiiiding the clear tube of the pump down.

Steve can’t decide if he wants to watch the rest of it happen, he’s already cross-eyed from staring intensely down as Bucky teased the body of the pump onto him and off him so slowly. Does he want to know when it’s coming, or not?

He can’t decide. So, he looks, he doesn’t, he looks, he doesn’t he—

Bucky squeezes the hand pump with his metal fingers and palm, the plates in his prosthetic arm revving mechanically, making Steve’s dick twitch on its own. But then, nearly immediately, Steve feels the crashing, sweet, dull ache of his thick, hot blood being pulled into his cock. Oh, god. Steve’s brain swims—drowns—deeper in its pool of dopamine. He opens his mouth to moan when Bucky pumps again, squeezing like he’s using a grip strength trainer made for a normal man, not an enhanced one, unbothered as he makes sure the seal is good and, uh, fuckin' sealed, but rather than a moan, what comes out of Steve is a mortifying, whimpering cry of his lover's name, broken in the middle when his voice cracks.

Holy fuck.

The pump draws his blood into his dick without the mental shift of his arousal deepening—without his body doing it on his own, it makes it feel all the more rare and intense. It’s like lava is traveling through his body, being forcibly pulled into his sensitive cock.

“How’s that, Rogers? Does that make your big, handsome cock feel nice?” Bucky questions, knowing exactly how meanly his smooth, easy talk full of butch compliments contrasts with Steve’s current weak, stripped-down state of being. No matter how big and muscular this body is, post-serum, he’s vulnerable right now, rolled over to expose his belly.

“Nnngh,” Steve whines, giving his most coherent response.

[sysmedsaresexist]

I snapped today

(Well, yesterday, but I made a point of sitting on this to make sure it was what I wanted to do)

I'll be making a post at some point to address some of the drama that I'm sure many of you have been seeing over the last couple months, but before I do, I want to just talk about something personal.

Edit: this is the post. This is the only post I'm going to make addressing the drama. This will be my response.

A vent, rant, I don't know under the cut.

The TL;dr I broke my leg in a way that fucked it up for life and I'm depressed and struggling and being dragged into drama. I want to talk about it, because I never talk about this stuff, and I'm so tired of all of it.

I'm too old for this kind of drama.

A deep dive into my mental health, physical status, my side of the story, and a message for anyone still struggling with the problemaddtic situation.

Earlier this year, I slipped.

I was telling one of my clients about it at work, he's an older gentleman, very sweet, and his reaction still makes me smile.

He asked how I fell, and I said it was black ice.

His eyes went wide. "Black ice? That's dangerous and invisible!"

It sure is, friendo... it sure is.

It was really bad. Both sides of my ankle were crushed to dust. I was in a cast for nearly 8 months. I got an infection around the metal pins and was ill. The pins had to be pulled early, which extended my recovery.

I still dream about the feeling of them trying to pry the pins out of me. You're awake when they do it.

11 months later, I'm still in physio, I've had to add chiro and ortho to my weekly appointments. Most days, I walk with a very heavy limp. I don't have full rotation of my ankle, and I hurt myself a lot by turning too quickly. I still struggle to stand for long periods-- like cooking dinner or showering.

It's becoming increasingly apparent that because of the amount of "hardware" in my leg that I won't get full rotation back. I already have arthritis, so this is wonderful.

I hurt. A lot.

It's not the pain of a broken ankle or leg.

It's this constant, dull throb in my bones. It's the constant "full" feeling as I walk, like my ankle is surrounded by a thick gel that slows its movement. It's sharp, breathtaking stabs when I turn wrong or too quickly. It's the pain that's spread to my already damaged and arthritic hips that keeps me up at night. It's never being able to get comfortable.

Mentally, I'm a wreck.

I already hated this body, and now my leg is scarred and deformed. I'm constantly terrified I'm going to fall again. I'm incredibly self conscious about whether people can tell and if they're judging me. I can't walk fast enough to keep up with crowds, and people are cruel about it. My balance is horrible. I'm realizing all the things I won't be able to do.

I love hiking so goddamn much, and my dream of hiking the orcas island is dashed.

In 2012, after the assault that nearly killed us, it was where we were sent to heal. Elevation 2,500ft. See that little tiny thing at the top?

It's an old observation tower. The end of the hike. I was only able to hike half at the time, but I was driven to the top.

I'll never hike that now. I'll never finish my goal after the assault.

My relationships have taken a massive hit.

I'm angry.

I'm so fucking angry.

He was just a kid, that was just a bit late to his job. The lot should have been salted twenty minutes earlier. As I was lifted into the ambulance, I saw him standing at the front entrance, with his little shovel and bucket of salt. The nephew of the owners, and I could see the fear in his expression. A way to save money over hiring an outside crew.

And now my life will never be the same.

I'm angry for everything that was taken from me.

I'm angry because it doesn't feel fair.

I'm angry because I'm scared all the time now. It won't be much longer before the first snow. I cry every time I think about it.

I'm struggling to come to terms with things.

Today, I had to be in the office, and it was really rough. Normally, I can work from home, but I need to be on site every couple of days. I'm really struggling with forward movement the last few days, and I'm just in a lot of pain after that much walking.

And something snapped in us today.

"Good forbid I mentally NEED to maintain my own sense of peace for a few months so I don't fucking off myself at the idea of my new depressing life as a goddamn cripple"

I have a lot of feelings about this message that I sent to the person posting about me.

I don't like the message. I want to know which one of us is responsible-- who has such deeply negative feelings about disability. I know we're struggling, but maybe I didn't realize how much.

It's terrifying when you have a CDD and your alters talk like that. Looking around in your own head like, "okay, raise your hand if you want... to die..." and everyone is like

"Does anyone want to claim that message?"

In the screenshots below, you'll see me say the above. I guess I just want to provide context and get out thoughts that have been trapped in my head.

I just want this person to leave me alone.

Between my injury, the drama with AEV and our change in stance from anti to pro--

Finally putting an end to my petty drama with Sophie, and ongoing drama with another system that we were casually flirty with for a hot minute (fucking try me, seriously, I don't care anymore, always threatening to publicly post our fucked up relationship drama, GO AWAY, YOU WILL ALSO LOOK BAD IF YOU DO THAT, YOU WILL ONLY SUCCEED IN HUMILIATING US BOTH AND ACTUALLY DOXXING ME), we refused to take part in the release of the most recent sophie doc.

All of this was happening at once.

Now don't get me wrong here-- I've already explained this in another post. It was mostly my content being used in the doc, and that of one of my friends, and I agreed to help go through my posts. I ATTEMPTED to participate in the creation of the doc, though eventually I admitted defeat and said that I would not be able to help. Every time I opened my old posts I hated myself more. I don't like that person. I hated the way I behaved.

And I was struggling so much with finally seeing Sophie as a real person with real feelings and Reasons™️ for doing things. Just like I have reasons for doing things. Just like you have reasons for doing things.

I told them I was struggling, and how and why.

I told them in my very first message that I would not publicly participate, for all the reasons mentioned.

I was not well.

And the posts being made about me are in anger that I didn't stand up for the doc or them.

The one I specifically said I would not get publicly involved with.

And while I wanted to support you in the aftermath, your final messages made me feel as though I shouldn't reach out to check on you. There are several people that will tell you that I worry about you, that I have nothing but positives to say about you, that I stress that you're Going Through It™️ and should be left alone.

People ask me about your posts, whether they're true, what's going on. You have me blocked, but I know you're going to see this. I don't need to look at your blog to know what you're saying, complete strangers fill me in.

It's fantastic, I feel great.

Every time I start to relax, someone new reaches out and it starts all over again. I'm so tired of drama.

Despite everything, despite the fact that you hurt me too, despite the fact that you're actively traumatizing me right now, I still apologized to you.

You'll get your post, but it'll be the truth.

You sent a LOT of messages, at the time I couldn't read them, I mentally could not handle it after our last conversation, but I got the impression you wanted me to post something. I was right.

Today I learned about a new post, and a new blog, and I snapped. I finally managed to bring myself to read your messages in full. And I responded, prompting ANOTHER post about how I'm trying to silence you.

I'm not doing this anymore.

Here are the messages. People can decide for themselves.

But let's actually talk about what you're blaming me for.

While I posted several times about you on my blog, these are the posts in question, where I supposedly started this "rumor", almost two years ago.

TW, SA, ending after the next set of images

When I first read your post, my first thought was, "that's what he said to me."

For survivors, "the only thing you're good for," often brings their assault or abuse to mind. Is the problem that I tagged it as SA? Is that how you think the "rumor" started?

Whether you intended to trigger people or not, you did.

I'm sorry that you're still receiving harassment, and I ask that whoever is reaching out to blue's mutuals to leave them alone. That entire situation was a mess and everyone played a part.

Chances are, though, you're not sending those messages because of me or on behalf of me. It's far more likely that you're sending them because you, yourself, were triggered by blue's words and behaviour.

I don't really have a right to tell you to stop, if that's the case, but as much as I've changed, so has blue.

Everyone deserves a second chance.

People gave me one.

Blue, I meant it, you're brilliant and funny, you deserve better, and I'm so sorry this is happening to you. I wanted to be friends, I'm so sorry that I hurt you. I never wanted to. I'm sorry that I wasn't well enough to help you. I thought I had been clear.

Now everyone leave me alone.

[beanghostprincess]

Sorry I really didn’t mean I’m attacking you or your ship. I also don’t think it’s a red flag, most gay men I saw don’t really like shuggy either. I mean, probably the entire world prefers any other shanks ships? On almost every site, con or store there’s always tons of mishanks and Bennshanks and never shuggy. I get it’s also about dynamic and connection those two pairs have, like with the parallels to other ships the base for them is extremely strong. But the minimal shuggy does speak volumes. I genuinely wonder about this. Shuggy is unpopular and again while I do agree there’s strong connection between “rival ships” I don’t think that’s the only reason… and like…. Buggy is ugly, isn’t he? He doesn’t have cool style, doesn’t look cool, makes ugly faces all the time, also is a coward. I like him as comedy character and shanks brother though!

I understand where you're coming from when you say Shuggy is unpopular amongst some people (actually, before anyone says anything. It IS an extremely popular ship in Japan but I have seen A LOT of hatred towards it in this side of the fandom, so that's what I'm talking about when I say it's unpopular). I have talked about this before. And I have said a lot of times that the reason why is often because people only focus on looks and Buggy is not conventionally attractive for the fangirly twinkified sexualized gaze numerous sides of the fandom and the general audience seek. Like, I am not forcing people to ship them, but I have had people admitting the only reason they don't is because of the looks, and I personally believe that is a very (despite valid, of course) dull way of seeing ships. And respectfully, I don't care that other gay dudes or all the people in the world agree with you. It's not a red flag to not like Shuggy, what it is a red flag, though, is to come into people's inboxes to do what you're doing!

I know you don't mean to attack me or anybody who ships them but your tone does wonders showing otherwise. Your perception of shipping is just based on looks and the fact that you came here, to a blog that explicitly ships these characters and is fond of Buggy, talking shit about one of the characters' looks... Is just straight-up mean and not following the social etiquette this site should follow, which is "let people do whatever the fuck they want".

So with all due respect, what makes you think I won't find your questions offensive in any way? Because you keep talking bad about a character I like in my inbox for literally no reason. Do you expect me to admit that the ship is unpopular because Buggy is ugly and boring? Well, I do admit people view him as ugly and only a comedy relief, but I don't. Expecting others to find beautiful and interesting the same things you do is having a very close-minded vision that One Piece's plot itself is against.

By the way, you're showing that you clearly don't like Buggy in the slightest because you're only talking about the traits that you find negative about him. But of course, you like him as comedy relief. Of course, you like him as a character in Shanks' story and not as a character himself. Despite Buggy having lots of depth. Your perception of these characters seems, in my opinion, extremely empty and, as I said, only based on looks. And you're free of shipping whatever you want however you want! But please, please, don't do this anymore. This is just petty high school mean girl behavior. Even Regina George would word this in a more polite way.

So, as a little advice for you, let people ship whatever they want without questioning their favorite characters! I am sure you will live a more peaceful life!