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toyybox · 1 year ago

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Spiderwebs #11: Dollhouse

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The bed was bought from a garage sale, a cheap but sturdy thing from somewhere downtown. It came with a matching nightstand, so Heather had that taken care of. She considered buying a lamp, but giving Jackie anything close to a weapon was a bad idea.

“What do you mean, a brush that isn’t sharp?”

Heather tried her best to sound polite. “I mean, if someone tries to stab me with that toothbrush, they won’t get very far. Something like that.”

The general store employee gave her an odd look, so Heather gave up and bought the least dangerous looking one. The mattress was ordered online. Heather was able to buy a few sets of clothes, alongside gloves and a new pair of black boots that would fit better than the old shoes Heather had let him borrow. She acquired a stronger light bulb, a nicer blanket, a pillow, and a shell-white bedsheet. A writing desk would be necessary for certain experiments, so she blew a few bucks on that. And a better chair, of course. Heather knew she was getting carried away when she almost bought a rug.

Three days passed before she could acquire everything. She didn’t visit Jackie in that time. She had left him food and water, obviously, and assumed he would figure the rest out by himself. She had enough on her hands with all the boxes in her living room, and the incessant calls. There were so many calls.

Heather lifted the phone for what must have been the sixth time that hour. “What is it now?”

“Heather, please!”

She heard that word a lot lately. Heather hung up without a moment’s hesitation. The phone rang again, however. It would keep ringing unless she answered. Her old boss was a determined man, even if he was a tad oblivious.

She lifted the phone again. “Listen, I’ll let you talk once. But this is the last time you call me, or I’m placing a restraining order.”

“Yes, of course.” There was a deep exhale on the other side of the line. “Heather, the organization needs you. Nobody else can work on that project. You were our best asset, face it. Half these idiots don’t even know how to operate a Bunsen burner. We need you.”

“Nice speech, but don’t kid yourself. You need my money.”

“So what? Maybe we need your money. The coffee machine ran out of coffee three weeks ago! Come back, and we’ll give you the highest position possible. All the benefits. Come on, you’re a reasonable person, you gotta come back.”

Heather brought the box cutter out of a drawer. “Yeah, thanks, but I’m legally not allowed back there. Go find someone else to leech off.”

“You tried to drug one intern, who cares?”

“The police!” she snapped. “If the higher-ups hear of this, the authorities will get involved, and I know you can't afford a lawyer. Don’t call me again.”

“Fine, fine. But it doesn’t have to be official, you know, just come with the money and we’ll collaborate in private. No more drugging the interns, but we’ll get some monkeys, whatever. What else are you planning? You aren’t working with someone new already, are you?”

“It’s been a month. What did you expect?” Heather ran the boxcutter along the taped edge of the bedframe’s box. “I’ve got another project. I’m not coming back. Goodbye.”

With that, she hung up and cut the last of the tape off. Damned bureaucrats. Sticking their nose where the money was like a pack of bloodhounds. Had all the politeness of a stray dog, too. Heather was done with them.

The research facility she used to work at had been dreadfully boring. Her colleagues shared different interests, to say the least. Benevolent, but horribly tedious interests. It was challenging, working on curing glioblastoma cancer, but she didn’t really care about curing diseases. She wanted to break the boundaries of what was considered science. She wanted to tear the universe apart and mesh it back together by her own design. Curing cancer was fine, but it was nothing compared to immortality. Those mice pumped full of steroids and painkillers were nothing in the shadow of Jackie Rockwell.

Speaking of, Heather was ready to check up on him. A thick, black scarf had been tossed aside on a sofa. She grabbed it, made her way across the hallway, then knocked on the basement door.

“Who’s there?”

She rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “Very funny.”

“Very funny who?”

Good to know he was awake, at least. She turned the lock and swung the door open. Jackie lay sprawled on the floor, still tangled in the blanket, surrounded by empty granola bar wrappers.

Heather waved her box cutter at him. “What are you doing?”

He froze. His neutral expression shifted into slight alarm. It reminded her of the incident, as she’d taken to thinking of it, after she had cut him open. That made her guilt weigh a little heavier. And that made her anger burn a little brighter. She had no idea what past Heather was thinking. Hugging her test subject was one of the most unprofessional situations she could think of. The worst part was that it had actually felt nice—but that didn't make any sense! Heather was not lonely. She was alone, but not lonely.

All she wanted was to forget about that mistake and move on with the experiments. That was nothing but a misstep, a fumble in the first half of the game. Nothing more.

“It’s not for you.” She pushed the blade closed and pocketed it. “Unless you decide to do something stupid.”

He relaxed, sighed, and sat up. “I’m not doing anything. There’s nothing to do here.”

“You’ll be happy with the change of scenery, then.” She stepped down the stairs. “Close your eyes.”

“I'm getting deja vu.” He closed them anyway.

Heather stepped behind him and wrapped the scarf around his eyes, twice. “Can you see anything?”

He shook his head.

“Excellent.” She pulled him up by the arms, and he staggered to his feet. “Follow my lead. Don’t take the blindfold off.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Exactly.”

With her hands firmly on his shoulders, she steered him up the stairs and out of the basement, then up another flight of stairs and down the hallway to her bedroom. There, she led him into a closet.

He felt for the walls, pushing his hands upon the sides. "Is this another experiment?"

"No. I have business to attend to. I don't want you running off in the meantime."

"The blindfold's a bit unnecessary."

"Is it?” She shut the closet door, then locked it. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t make too much of a mess.”

First of all, his room was filthy. The basement was splattered with blood and ash, filled with junk, and smelled like a slaughterhouse. The empty mirror was easy enough to move. The old dresser was pushed out without much effort, as were the remains of the table. The freezer was harder. She rolled it upstairs on an appliance dolly, as slowly as possible.

Bloodstains weren’t hard to clean. Piles of peroxide powder scattered over the floor broke down the copper-red splotches, while she cleared out the garbage and rotting food. Dusting and sweeping took a good ten or fifteen minutes. Clumps of dust and flakes of charcoal soon lay in the bottom of a black garbage bag.

The smell was harder to get rid of, now that it had time to seep in and settle, but she managed to cover it up with a few sprays of air freshener. Twenty minutes were spent on setting up the furniture, building the bed frame and putting the mattress on, then moving everything else into place.

By the end, Heather had to admit she was proud of her work. She never knew interior design could be so entertaining. That stillness, that empty perfection—it was all so fascinating. It reminded her of a diorama. After all, the room was primarily a safe environment for her subject. A contained space to observe him. An insect in a glass jar. A doll in a dollhouse.

Jackie was leaning against the closet wall when she came back. “Took you long enough.”

“Did I say you could take the blindfold off?”

“It’s a closet, what’s the big deal?”

She ripped the scarf from his grasp and placed it back over his head, despite his irritated expression. “Stop complaining. Come on.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Once they reached the basement, she lifted the scarf away.

He rubbed his eyes. He walked around the room in sprawling circles. He sat down on the bed, at last. His arms fell gently into his lap. Then, he looked back at her over his shoulder, eyes full of an apathetic uneasiness, and did not move. There was something very candid about it.

“Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s stupid,” he replied at once. “Do you wanna know why I think it’s stupid?”

“No.”

“You’re putting so much effort into this,” he continued. “You think this is going to be a permanent thing. It’s ridiculous. It’s a waste of your time. It’s a waste of my time. You can’t keep me here forever.”

“I can’t?” She smiled, faintly amused. “You’re right. Forever is a long time. It’s only until one of us dies.”

“I will kill you.” That candid air snapped as he rose to his feet.

“Oh, you can try. If you need me to teach you another lesson—“ She pulled out the box cutter from her pocket, pushing the blade open—“I’d be happy to help.”

He sat back down, simmering with rage. “I can’t wait to see you rotting in prison, you fucking creep.”

“Oh, boo hoo. I’m a monster because I gave you a home. You have to live here, so what? I’m the one doing all the work. I’m the one taking care of you.” She pointed at him with the blade. “All you have to do is sit there and be quiet.”

“I have a home!” he snarled. “I already have a home! I don’t want you to take care of me. I didn’t ask for you to fucking kidnap me and keep me in your fucking basement. I don’t want to be your fucking test subject. I want to go back home, back to my home. I want to leave.”

“We don’t always get what we want, do we? If whining about it makes you happy, then you can keep whining. You can kick and scream the entire way. You’re still not leaving.” His glare only dug into her harder, and she sighed. “Try thinking of this in a positive way. It’s not all bad.”

“Yes, I’m sure a positive attitude will fix everything,” he replied tartly.

“A positive attitude will make you less insufferable. Just a suggestion. Maybe there’s a reason you used to live alone.”

“All because I didn’t say thank you to the psycho who kidnapped me.” He crossed his arms. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that? That’s a great way to make friends, isn’t it? Hey, maybe people would like you more if you didn’t rip their intestines out. Just a suggestion, you know. Maybe people wouldn’t think you were such a freak if—“

“Do you want to eat dinner or not?”

“I want to break your neck. Go to hell.”

Oh, how dare he. How dare he. Heather wanted to make him suffer for that. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to—but she needed to take her own advice and think logically for a moment. Of course he was angry. Who wouldn't be? He was scared, she knew that, and anger was how he tried to protect himself. Anger was his tooth and claw when he lost all his other weapons. It was only natural, even if it was idiotic. He'd see her point eventually. He'd get used to it. She didn't need to starve him.

"It's alright," she said. "You're upset. I'll get you something to eat."

"You want to drug me again, don't you?” He scoffed. “I'll pass."

"You'll change your mind."

His expression said otherwise, but he would cave in eventually. Like rusted metal, all things could be worn down with time. Like frayed fabric, like rocky shores, like entire mountains. Who was Jackie in the face of all these things? Only a man, only an animal without any claws. Even an immortal couldn't win against the nature of things. The second hand would wear him down, sooner or later.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

#whump writing #lab whump #whump #my writing #defiant whumpee #Spiderwebs Toyybox

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manfred-my-beloved · 8 months ago

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A Special Kind of Weird; chapter one (cross posted on AO3)

Jester Lavorre is a Traveler fan.

Okay, maybe a lot of folks are fans of The Traveler, but none are as enthusiastic about them as Jessie. She’s read his books since she was old enough to vaguely understand the concept of romance — back when her mother would read her children’s stories, and the little tiefling would steal her books off her bookshelf in the dead of night.

She’s just… a big fan. Yeah. Big fan.

So why is The Traveler making college so fucking difficult?

It’s the first week of September; college is on the horizon, with students just getting into their dorms, meeting their roommates, the likes. It’s a time that, as a child, Jester looked forward to — and now, as she sets a box on one of the three beds in her cramped dorm, butterflies dance around in her stomach. Her roommates have barely arrived too, which she’s thankful for — it gives her a last few minutes with her mom, the Ruby of Nicodranas — famous singer and performer, who Jester wishes she could be like.

She tears into the box as soon as Marion leaves for another… in it are posters of The Traveler’s main character, Garmelie, a satyr who goes on… well, to Jester they’re romantic escapades… to others, they’re sexual flings that would normally result in a bunch of STDs. The poster she first gets out is signed by The Traveler himself — one she was lucky to get in a giveaway online, even though she’s never met the man. The second one has Garmelie and a unicorn — unicorns are Jester’s favorite animal — and the third and forth share The Traveler’s cloaked portrait, with his right index finger up to his lips, as though he’s telling the photographer a deep, dark secret that’s not for anyone’s ears but theirs.

Oh, how romantic…

“Sapphire, did you pack your toothbrush?” Jester instinctively shoves the forth poster back into the box as the Ruby comes back, holding a stack of boxes labeled ‘Jessie’s clothes’ and ‘fun thingies’. She sets them down beside her daughter’s bed before going to give her a tight hug. “I can’t believe it… my baby is a college student. It’ll be so lonely without you, little one.”

“Aww, Mama! I’ll email you like, every single day,” the blue tiefling says through the squished hug. She squeezes her mother back, only to feel sad when Marion backs up after a few solid minutes of hugging. She sits down on the bed, staring up at Jester, who’s… trying hard to be brave. For her mama. For school.

For The Traveler.

“Do you know when your roommates are coming?” Marion takes a look around the small dorm; there’s a small desk to the left, and a bathroom that the three girls will have to share — the three beds are bare, just boxes atop them, no bedsheets or pillows to make it look homey. It almost makes the blue girl want to dig out her paints (that she brought, of course) and paint everything a nice pink or blue… maybe yellow? “I’m sure they’ll be… more friendly than the kids at school.”

More friendly could mean anything for any kid. For Jester, it means ‘kids who don’t pick on me for writing nasty fanfiction instead of going to beer pong parties’.

Yeah… her old friends are a relic of the past.

The girl takes one of her posters and heads to the corkboard above her bed, where she starts to pin it up with pink starry push-pins. “Ah! Oh my, doesn’t he look just so cute ?” I’ll avoid Mama’s statement if I can, she thinks. “Mama, do you think you can convince Bluud to invite The Traveler to the Chateau during the winter break?”

Her mother doesn’t suppress her giggle. “I’ll ask him, little Joy.”

Just as the pair are about to banter on, the dorm door bursts open with a ca-thud . Two girls struggle to go in, each saying “after you”; one looks like a sad poet, and the other looks like she could bench press Jester like she were a sack of flour.

The ‘poet’ is the first to enter. A white haired girl, she’s wearing an Orphanmaker shirt and ripped leggings; she has only a small bag with her, and a pillow under her arm. The other girl, who Jester feels both intimidated by and also… very interested in, has dark brown hair, brown skin, and striking blue eyes; she’s in gym clothes and has three duffel bags in her arms. A little boy no older than three is running after her, yelling, “Beau! Beau! Beau, you’re gonna miss me?”

“Yeah, you shithead, I’ll miss you.” The girl, Beau, says to the toddler as she throws her bags on the bed closest to the bathroom. The toddler simply giggles. “Don’t tell Mom that I swore and I’ll get you a… fuck, what are kids into? — a toy or something, when I get home. Yeah?”

“Okay!” The boy screeches and runs back out of the room, most likely to whichever adult was helping Beau take things in. She swings herself onto the foot of the bed, narrowly missing the bed frame’s wrath.

Beau looks at Jester with peak curiosity. “You one of the new roomies?”

“Yeah…” Jester’s voice goes quiet; she looks over at her mother, who’s helping unpack her clothing and putting it in the trunk at the end of the bed. She takes in a forced breath before turning back to Beau with a plastered-on smile. “I’m Jester! You’re—”

“Beau. Just… just Beau,” the other girl says with a smirk on her face. She looks like she could pick Jester apart just by words alone, and yet— “Oh, you a… a raunchy book fan?” She points to the poster. “Not gonna lie, I’ve only seen the movies, but they’re better than Fifty Shades, really.”

Thank gods… Jester’s forced smile turns more genuine at the thought of someone knowing her passion — and oh, how this series is a passion! She takes a seat at the desk nearby, looking at the ‘poet’. “And you are…”

“Oh…” the girl with the white hair is hanging stringed lights from her cork board and bed frame as she pauses to speak. She’s a good six feet tall, if possible. Jester has to really look up to meet her eyes — colorful ones, too. “Yasha… you’re pretty uh, colorful?”

“Thank you, Yasha!” The tiefling looks down at her own clothes (a pink skirt, pastel, of course, and rainbow Converse — a custom made one she bought recently with money from the café she part-timed at) with a wide, toothy grin. “You look kinda… are you into poetry?”

Yasha stops hanging the lights, holding the strings in her hands for a solid minute… before nodding. “I like… poems. My sibling and I write together, though he prefers, ah, songwriting… he’s also a tiefling, if that means much to you..?”

Tiefling? Another one? “Is he here, too?” Jester inquires, with an ounce of hope in her voice.

Yasha nods, not looking away from the stringed lights. “Yeah… his name’s Molly… er, Molly mauk , but everyone calls him Molly, really. He’s weird, but he’s… you know, a good kind of weird. Like—”

“Like me!” Jester says enthusiastically. The white haired girl chuckles as the blue girl gets up and spins in the tight quarters. Marion beams.

“Sapphire, I better get going.” The mother stands from her daughter’s bed; she’s tall, too, but nowhere near as tall as Yasha. She takes Jester into a tight hug, kissing her forehead, before leaving the room, trying (and failing) not to look sad.

Jester isn’t used to being away from her.

“Man, did she look like she was gonna cry or what?” Beau blows a bubble of pink gum and pops it. “Jess, you’ll be fine. There’s like, no need to cry.”

Am I crying? The tiefling touches her cheeks; her fingers come back damp, and she’s quick to wipe her tears off on her sweater. With a sniffle, then an eye rub, she heads back to her side of the room, grabs another poster, and starts to hang it up…

xxx

“Ja, I-I know, I know, Essek —” click .

Caleb Widogast sucks at relationships. Period. He was in a relationship of three, maybe four years that blew to smithereens by the time he graduated high school… then there was his summer boyfriend Essek, who didn’t seem too awfully thrilled about a long distance relationship with the human boy.

The human throws his phone down on his barely-made bed as his roommates snicker. “Shut up,” Caleb mutters; Mollymauk chucks a pillow at his head, just narrowly missing him. “Molly!”

“Look, I’m sorry Mister ‘I bring three fucking toothbrushes with me to a sleepover’ is mad, but you’re too damn adorable for him.” Molly is a short genderfluid tiefling with spiky black hair that falls to his shoulders, and has a habit of wearing funky outfits to ‘find myself a partner’ (his words, not Caleb’s). His other roommates are a half orc boat lover named Fjord, and a giant firbolg known simply as Caduceus, who’s not really studying anything, but he runs the library at school for tuition. “You shouldn’t waste your time with him! Find yourself a new man — or woman, whatever your little Zemnian heart desires.”

“Please… stop.” Caleb feels his face grow red just in time for Molly to ‘ooooh’ about it; thankfully Fjord elbows the purple circus man in the neck, making him shut up. “I didn’t… think he’d break up over the phone.”

“As opposed to in person?” Caduceus isn’t very versed in romance; he’s more of a ‘watch and learn’ type, whether that be from his years as a ‘homeschooled’ kid or just… general ‘Deuces vibes. “At least it wasn’t in front of your family.”

Ah… family.

How did he tell them about his fucked up family? Maybe he would ignore it; maybe he’d pray that his ‘dad’ wouldn’t show up for band practice or fun days. Maybe…

“Well, it’s over, which is good, ain’t it?” Fjord asks. The half orc is quite short for, well, one of his kind, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to sound big. In all fairness, no man is as tall as Caduceus, so Fjord has little to fear.

The human groans into the palm of his hand. “It’s… I actually liked Essek, though,” he mumbles; prays nobody picks up on what he said. “He was… fascinating. Breathtaking, even. It’s… I don’t know—”

“Can’t you just, like, bone someone and call it a night?” Molly flops onto Caleb’s bed, sprawling his body out like a cat.

Caleb’s cheeks burn red. “I— listen, circus man , it’s frankly none of your business, ja ? Yeah.” He tosses a small box on his bed before deciding, albeit last minute, to open it.

Inside, amongst pictures of Essek, is his favorite book by his favourite author — a known Traveler, who a girl in another hall idolizes…

Here’s hoping Caleb isn’t the only Traveler fan in freshman year…

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the1975attheirverybest · 1 year ago

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IT WOULD HE THE SWEETEST THING EVERRRR. I want matty to live stream online if he ever babysits them because that shit would be comedy golddddd

i can just imagine hann and carly are going out. the reader is probably out for work. so matty gets to watch them. ABSOLUTELY CHAOS. the whole living room is a mess, matty giving the kids “snacks”, mostly candy. them yelling at him to turn on some peppa pig or something. and by the end of it they are all sleeping on the sofa in the readers and mattys living room.

Matty’s really hungry cuz like he couldn’t make dinner and leave two toddlers unattended and like they won’t even give him a break anyway, so he ate all the kids snacks anyway. “Oh they rejected the cheese puffs? Yummmm more for me” and his hands and face are as sticky as the kids. They built forts but like he hasn’t had a chance to put anything back where it belongs yet so when they all come home/ Adam and Carly drop by to pick up their kid, the living room is jhst a mess of cushions and pillows and bedsheets and stuff. And they’re sleeping on top of Matty. His kid’s own curl hair is in his face and mouth. Hann films the whole thing and is like trying so so hard not to burst into laughter and wake Matty.

Best dad ever.

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sumuraj · 10 months ago

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homelivingthings · 1 year ago

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Buy Kids Bedsheet Online at Best Prices Starting from Rs XXXX | Wakefit

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tranceindia123 · 6 days ago

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Thoughtful Diwali Gift Ideas From Trance Home Linen

It is the festival symbolized by the victory of knowledge over ignorance and of lights over the darkness. It is the season of reunions, great celebrations, and the gift of items that are thoughtful in the life of your loved one. Diwali gifts by Trance Home Linen take it to new levels—the material transcends to expressing care, appreciation, and hope to make the recipient's living space feel luxurious. This Diwali gift is as it reveals the personality of the receiver and his immediate needs. With one fine collection of subtle home furnishings, Trance Home Linen brings forth diligently and considerately selected choices in a range of preferences for that thoughtful presentation. This is just what a set of bed sheets cotton or a duvet cover set from Trance Home Linen would be for those who enjoy the best in life. Imagine waking up to the feeling that the bedding you are sleeping on is made of the finest organic cotton Indian textiles. Our bedding linens and trance pillow protectors would ensure extreme comfort and aesthetic appeal. Imagine gifting the whole slumber sanctuary, which brings to life the rest and calmness bestowed upon the recipients throughout the year.

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endlessbittersweetdreams · 2 years ago

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"Broken & Beautiful" Chapter 23

NOTES: Since Jake's last name was never revealed in the series, I've decided to give him one. In this fic, he doesn't use "Hughes," as his last name. It's bad enough that he has anything to do with Simone. I don't want him to share her last name, too. He deserves his own name.

I speak very, very little French. This means that I had to rely on an online translator: https://translate.yandex.com. If the translation is accurate, it is as follows: “You are my love. I don't want anyone else,” followed by “Don't you believe me? Let me show you.” If the translation is lousy, blame the online translator. ;)

I wake up slowly, moving just a little. I’m on my back, my right hand by my head while my left hand rests on my stomach. It became quite warm in Jake’s apartment, and so I ended up shoving off the comforter and sleeping under the bedsheet. My eyes are still closed, and I’m vaguely aware of a clicking sound. I’m not quite sure what it is at first. Only that there is a definite pause between each click. I stretch and open my eyes, reaching out for Jake and finding that his side of the bed is empty. It’s now that I realize what the clicking sound is, and I’m fully awake.

Still lying on my back, I let out a tired groan. Staring up at the ceiling, taking note of the fact that the lights are still on, I complain. “Jake, are you kidding me?”

He laughs a little, and I can tell that he‘s not that far away from the bed. “Don’t move.”

I hear another click, and then I prop myself up on my elbows and frown at him. “Jake Holt, if you take one more picture ...”

Click.

I pull the sheet up so I‘m completely underneath it. “Is this punishment for falling asleep? You know what tequila does to me.”

Click.

“Last one. I promise.”

“I swear, if those pictures pop up on your Instagram, or your Flickr, or whatever it is that you use ...” I feel the mattress dip, letting me know that he‘s sitting near me.

“Don’t worry. I won’t post them. They’re just for us.”

“Yeah. Well, I just wish I didn’t have this massive case of bed hair,” I complain. Serves me right for forgetting to tie my hair back before I went to sleep.

“You look beautiful, and you know it.”

I move the sheet down so that it’s no longer covering my head, looking up at him as he leans over to kiss me. “Yeah. Well, don’t think I’ve let you off the hook.”

He laughs softly, his lips close to mine. “I’ll make it up to you, then,” he says, just before he captures my mouth in a searing kiss.

We shove the sheet aside, and then he’s lying on top of me. While we kiss, I run my hands down his bare back and under the hem of his sweatpants. Knowing what I want, he moves away long enough to remove what little clothing he has on. My clothes join his on the floor, and soon his body is pressed against mine.

“I missed you,” he says softly, leaning down to kiss my neck.

“Jake, we were only apart for a week.”

He chuckles against my collarbone. “Those seven days were still torture,” he argues, kissing my collarbone before he gently bites my shoulder.

That‘s true. I mean, it‘s not like we‘re intimate every single night. But still, seven days is a long time for both of us.

“The flu sucks.” He begins to kiss his way down my body, my fingers in his hair.

“That, it does. I’m just glad you’re ...” I begin to pant as he works his magic on one of my more sensitive areas. “... ugh ... better!” I give his hair a gentle tug, and he understands my signal.

He moves back up my body, hovering over me so we’re face-to-face. “So impatient,” he teases.

“Maybe I missed you, too.”

The phone rings just as things really start to heat up between us. Going by the ring tone, I know exactly who’s calling.

“Ugh. It’s Will. Hold on.” I reach for the phone on the side table, but Jake beats me to it and presses a side button that silences the phone. I raise my brow at him. “Really, Jake? You just ignored our friend.”

He cups my face in his hands and says between kisses “It’s been ... seven days ... Lilah.” He kisses me again, doing that thing that drives me crazy.

When we part, I grin up at him. “Will? Will who?”

We’re in the middle of a pretty heavy make-out session when the phone rings again. This time, I’m the one who ignores the call. A short while later, when we’re ready to move way beyond mere kissing, the phone rings for a third time. I’m reaching for the phone when Jake beats me to it, rolling off of me.

He brings the phone to his ear and snaps. “What, Will?!” There’s a brief pause. “Yeah. She’s here. Hold on.” He hands the phone to me and rolls onto his back, glaring up at the ceiling.

I try to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Hey, Will.”

“Lilah, did I wake you?”

I roll my eyes. “No. Not exactly.”

“Good to know.”

I love Will. He’s my best friend. But sometimes, I wish I could reach through the phone and throttle him. The man cannot take a hint!

“What’s up?”

“Look. I hate to do this to you, but Sam called. He’s come down with the flu.”

“And let me guess: you expect me to come to work tomorrow.” Well, that’s just perfect! Not only did Will interrupt my chance to be with Jake for the first time in a week, but now I have to give up my one day off because Sam up and got the flu.

“Yeah. Sorry. I hope you didn’t have anything special planned.”

I roll my eyes. Guess I’ll have to reschedule my shopping spree with Ari. She's going to be thrilled about that. NOT! “No. It’s fine. I understand.”

“All right. Sorry for calling so late. See you tomorrow.”

“Yup.” I end the call and put the phone on silent this time, setting it down on the side table. I look over at Jake, who still looks very much annoyed. Turning onto my side, I reach out and trace his jawline. “Guess you’re stuck with me tomorrow.”

“Pure torture," he teases. His features soften under my touch, and he maneuvers himself so that he’s on top of me again. “Now, where were we?”

Things are quiet in the restaurant, and I am currently the only one working behind the bar. Simone approaches and begins to light the tealight candles I’ve set out. I’m still not comfortable with the way she treats Jake, and nothing could ever justify her behavior. I actually tried to very gently talk to Jake about it, but that conversation went nowhere. I’m surprised he didn’t shut me out. It breaks my heart that he can’t see what is right in front of him, but I’ve decided to put Dr. Wright’s advice into practice. I can’t force him to see the truth. All I can do is love him, support him, and be there for him.

“Where’s your partner in crime?” Simone asks.

“Smoke break,” I answer, polishing a glass. “I’m glad he’s not here, actually. I know his birthday’s coming up, and I still haven’t figured out what to give him. You must know how difficult he is to shop for.”

“I do." Simone lights the last candle, and I help her line them up along the bar top.

“Well, I’m just wondering if you have any ideas.” I hate to seek her advice, but I’m stuck. “I was thinking about a bartending kit, but I figured that would be a little redundant.” She nods in agreement, and I continue. “I mean, I already have a special dinner planned.”

She gives me another one of those half-smiles. “That’s a good start. Sometimes the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

I nod. “That’s the truth. I still have to work out some of the details, but I figure I can sneak out during Shift Drinks and set everything up. He went out of his way to make my birthday special, and I want to return the favor.”

“Well, Jake is a very lucky man. He has you in his life. Not to mention the trip to France.”

I stop in the middle of polishing another glass. “Umm ... I’m sorry. Did you say ‘trip to France’?”

“Yes. I have some business to take care of, and I invited Jake to come with me. He didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head. In my peripheral, I can see that Jake has returned. He’s busy preparing a guest’s order, and so he’s completely oblivious to the fact that we’re both looking at him. “No. He didn’t tell me.”

“I apologize. He said that he was going to tell you. I just thought ... Well, this is embarrassing.”

I turn to look at her. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. Mistakes happen.”

Simone leaves, and I return to my previous task as I process what she’s just told me. I don’t know what to make of what she said. Did she truly believe that he’d already told me, or did she intend to catch me off-guard? I never know with her.

Jake and I stay true to our usual routine (Shift Drinks and Home Bar), and return to my apartment a few minutes after midnight. We kick off our shoes and hang up our coats, and I make my way to the bathroom to change while he heads straight for the kitchen.

“Hey! I’m hungry! You hungry?”

“Yeah!” I call, shimmying out of my jeans. “I think there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge.”

While I change into my sleepwear, I hear Jake rummaging through the refrigerator. Neither one of us has brought up the topic of his trip to France. I can’t deny that I’m not thrilled about the idea of him traveling with Simone. But if this is truly what he wants, then I’ll have to accept it. I just don’t want him to go because he feels he owes her, and I definitely don’t want her to make him miserable. I need to figure out a way to talk to him about this without making him feel like I’m trying to pick a fight with him.

After changing into my pajamas and slipping into Jake’s brown cardigan, I join him in the kitchen. I shake my head at him as he picks pieces of pineapple off of his slices of pizza, tossing them onto my plate. “What do you have against pineapple?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

“Nothing. It just doesn’t belong on pizza.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s better than anchovies.”

He picks up one of his slices and, just before he takes a bite, nods at me in agreement. “Amen to that.” He follows me into the living room, and we settle down on the sofa. He looks over at me and raises a brow. “What is it with you stealing my clothes?”

“I’m not stealing this. I’m borrowing it. Besides, I look cute in it.”

He leans toward me, planting a kiss on the tip of my nose and then on my lips. “Yes, you do.”

We finish our pizza in silence, leaving the empty plates on the coffee table. Jake stretches out on the sofa, resting his head on my lap while I play with his hair. “So, I had an interesting chat with Simone today.”

“Uh-oh. Did she get to you again?”

I shake my head. “No. Not really. We just talked about your birthday. I’m having trouble figuring out what to give you, and I thought she’d have some ideas.” I pause, and then add “She didn’t, by the way. Neither one of you are very helpful.”

He chuckles. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

“I know. I want to. You did so much to make my birthday special, and I want to do the same for you.” I reach down to stroke his face. “Anyway, the point is: she mentioned something about you two going to France.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. She did. Why didn’t you tell me?”

My hand is resting on his chest now, and he covers it with his own. “I was going to tell you. It’s something we’ve been talking about for a few weeks, but nothing was decided until today. Simone has some business to take care of with her ex, and I’m tagging along to support her.”

I frown. Why am I not surprised that Simone would find a way to make Jake’s birthday about her?

“Are you upset, or ...”

“No.” More like concerned, I think to myself. “I mean, I’m going to miss you like crazy. But this is your birthday we’re talking about. If this is something you want to do, then go for it. Just promise me something.”

Jake rubs my hand with his thumb. “Don’t worry. I won’t even think about another woman while I’m there.”

“Thank you. That’s good to know. But that’s not what I was going to say.”

He presses a kiss to my palm and looks up at me. “I’m listening.”

“Don’t get sucked into her drama with Etienne. Let them work it out. I don’t want you to be stuck in France, bored out of your mind and focused on taking care of Simone.” He frowns a little at this, but I continue. “This is your birthday we’re talking about. You only turn thirty once, and I want you to have fun. Promise me you’ll do that.”

Jake gives me a nod and a small smile. “I promise that I’ll have fun.”

To lighten the mood a little, I gently tap the tip of his nose with my finger and tease him. “Just not too much fun.”

“Don’t worry. You can trust me.”

“Oh, I trust you. I just don’t trust all of those gorgeous women who’ll be ready to pounce on you the moment you arrive in France.” He chuckles, and I continue. “Have you seen you? Come on! You know how foreign women can be around gorgeous, sexy, mysterious American bartenders. You’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”

He sits up and maneuvers himself so he’s sitting up, drawing me close to him. He reaches out to run his fingers through my hair. “Tu es mon amour. Je ne veux personne d'autre.”

I have no idea what he just said to me, but it strikes the right chord and makes me all tingly. “Say more things like that.”

He laughs softly and moves his hand down to the back of my neck. As he slowly lowers me to the sofa, he lowers his voice to that sexy tone I love to hear. “Tu ne me crois pas? Laisse-moi te montrer.”

@anastacia-lynn

@mypsychoticlove

#jake x oc sweetbitter #sweetbitter jake #jake sweetbitter #sweetbitterstarz #sweetbitter #tom sturridge sweetbitter #tom sturridge

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wheredidthepeepeego-mp3 · 2 years ago

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i want to preface this by saying i treat rape in big-budget media and rape in fanfic the *exact* same way.

i'm so tired let me write my fanfic in PEACE. I don't give a shit that i'm an "anti" for thinking children shouldn't be posting their coping rape porn online and i don't give a shit that I'm an "pro" for saying the majority of art should be preserved and not censored as long as you behave yourself. I'm not choosing some sort of imaginary label for being normal and paying my taxes aka: thinking nobody should be leaving heart eye emojis under graphic rape fiction that utilizes rape apologetics but ALSO thinking that nobody deserves to be harassed on either side and at the end of the day ITS NOT A BIG FUCKING DEAL. (i put that in bold so children with bad reading comprehension remember that more easily.) ITS NOT A BIG DEAL THIS WHOLE ARGUMENT IS STUPID AND CONTRIVED "i'm a minor so i would know" IF YOURE A MINOR THEN TAKE YOUR PORN OFF THE INTERNET. IT ISNT SAFE. RUB ONE OUT TO IT IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUT OWN ONE DIRECTION BEDSHEETS BUT NOT ON THE INTERNET WHERE ADULTS CAN LEAVE COMMENTS THAT SAY "❤️❤️❤️❤️ this one is so cute teehee" ITS NOT A POLITICAL STATEMENT ITS CHILD INTERNET SAFETY. IT IS NOT A POLITICAL STATEMENT. i'm not calling anyone a pedo, or a groomer, or being homophobic or anti-kink. I'm *absolutely* not calling for censorship of anything. i hate censorship. i do not CARE that you are a rape survivor. i am too. i dont think your fanfic about sexual assault is causing rapes. i don't, I really don't. But most of these 13-14 year old children do not understand that while it's okay to have kinks and they are natural sexual expressions, you *have* to understand that treating rape like it's cute is *bad.* I'm very glad that rape is being more talked about but it's important to treat it with grace and respect. im breaking out the bold again: i have read and enjoyed graphic and disgusting rape fanfic. but it was fics that treated it respectfully, with grace, even if was graphic, or hell, pornographic. I see obvious rape culture rhetoric like "she was biting her lip so even though she said no her face said yes" being repeated in fics by kids and this isn't a "protect the kids" thing. this is an "im allowed to critiseze how media depicts my trauma without harrassment on either end" issue. call me homophobic (ive been gay longer than you peewees) but its an issue of rape apologetics not "censoring gay people." I am a VERY pro-kink person. but real life bdsm communities have been normalizing Safe, Sane, and Consensual for longer than you've known where babies come from. And "she was biting her lip so even though she said no her face said yes" without any context of it being SSC perpetuates this. im aware

Also, if you're in your 20s-30s, and you write porn of teenagers or kids (fictional or elsewhere), you're gross. If you act like you're an oppressed class for writing porn of kids, incest, or animals, you're gross! You're oppressed for being queer, not writing omegaverse pinecest- and yes, these things are mutually exclusive and it's gross to assume omegaverse pinecest or whatever is inherent to queerness. If you're in the "proshipper" community where there are lots of kids writing porn and you aren't posting your own porn on 18+ sites, you're gross. this should be common knowledge, but you're gross. im not commanding you to take your fic down or censor it, nor am i saying youre a pedo or groomer, im saying please direct your sexual thoughts about children in an appropriate place. As I said before: I'm pro kink. There are appropriate kinks for that, that you could write about non-children! If you write diaper fanfic about adults, good for you! If that's what gets you off, I'm very happy you've found your niche. But making porn of children isn't good. I understand fanfiction does not have the reach to make massive change on it's own. But so much of it has genuinely caused people to get stuck in these patterns of feeling ostracized for their kinks, then resenting "antis", then resenting anyone who looks like an "anti" then getting stuck in a bubble comparable to internet agoraphobia where the fictional kiddie porn that could have been weird but mostly harmless takes over them and their whole group chat's twitter accounts. They get fucking redfaced over antis raising critism over a disrespectful depiction of something *very* serious- rape and pedophilia.

i wouldnt have made this post and i wouldnt have even cared if other people weren't forcing me into some sort of box and straightup CALLING ME a proshipper or an antishipper to my digital face.

The bottom line: i don't care if you have a cnc fetish, need to cope with rape trauma, etc. I don't care if you write fanfic about it, I do too. I didn't get assraped on the disney cruise for nothin. I also don't want anything to be censored. But *please* remember Safe, Sane, and Consensual in your fanfic. Ultimately, just be respectful that you aren't perpetuating harmful ideas about real life rape, not cnc, being genuinely desirable. And remember to recover outside of the internet by spending time with your real life hobbies, friends, or most importantly: THERAPIST. And if you're therapist reccomends writing as a coping mechanism: awesome! Just make sure that when you post it online you 1. are not a child, 2. are not sexualising children, 3. you're keeping it respectful. If you keep respect in mind while writing media (I sure as hell do, and I'm no less satisfied with my fic) there wouldn't need to be a conversation about censorship in the first place. (not that im pro censorship)

Please reread this whole post before leaving a comment because your question is likely already answered.

EDIT: I forgot to mention but you can like something and still criticize it. I love bojack horseman but i don't like the way it handled adoption, for example. I've liked some cnc fics or fics about rape trauma and still liked the fic, but thought "Damn, they really could've worded that in a less victim-blamey way" or something along those lines.

#rape tw #rant

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firespirited · 2 years ago

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seriously trying to do research is a circular nightmare and I can’t tell if it’s current search engines or just a complete disconnect between the research and the people. I keep running into age regression is a regularly used coping mechanism also used in therapy [citation not provided] or worse [citation Freud and Jung - are you kidding me?]

Age regression therapy was part of a subset of damaging therapies highly warned against and completely off limits for treating minors due to high vulnerability and suggestibility. We had to rewrite the rules on how children are questioned in criminal cases because of therapeutic hypnotic or suggestive age regression.

All medical pages say that if you do age regression as a coping mechanism voluntarily you should be speaking to a therapist about it and also exploring other options and involuntary regression is a sign that something is very wrong.

The few therapists online talking about it offer hypnosis and some of them offer past life or corrective attachment therapy. I grew up during the satanic panic, during “refrigerator mothers", you have no idea how many red flags this throws up.

I have experienced age regression in person in mentally ill people and it wasn’t something they’d want to do voluntarily but an unpleasant trauma response more like a meltdown, self-care did not involve infantilization quite the opposite, it was about giving them the space and grace you’d give a child (which was more about forcing the ableist/NT caregivers to understand that adults can experience distress on a level that requires the grace you’d give a child).

3 of my grandparents experience/d age regression as part of dementia or adult autistic meltdown: to care for them is/was to never lose sight of their adult dignity, giving them whatever they need without ever codifying an item or want or fear as childish. You want your bedsheets tight and a song, you need me to go to the loo with you because you’re scared? this will happen with ZERO baby talk because part of you is 6 right now but another part hasn’t been 6 for 70 years. STG there was no infantilization allowed at the care home for Down’s syndrome and autism, it wasn’t policy, it was enforced by the patients who would shun disrespectful carers.

Feels like I’m being played on all sides. I can’t find information about self soothing behaviours vs controlled role play vs therapeutic grey zones. Just a mishmash of people all using the same terms and demanding to be seen as legitimate: obvious quacks and people who allow themselves to be in a childlike mindset (which is fine so long as it’s part of a healthy mindset that allows you to treat yourself nicely when an adult too) but who are all using this highly controversial clinical term.

#saf #i hate modern search engines #somebody point me at some actual science #I won't even go into parenting dad - needless to say perceived childish needs are just stressed adult needs.

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