#the article almost made me vomit

[hg-aneh]

SIGH

He needs to get his child taken away, that boy is not safe

Uh. Anyways, I'm moving to the Sonic fandom now, uh, hope you can stay w me thru it all :') ahhhh

[cloudzoro]

Painkiller | Roronoa Zoro ♡

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genre: comfort, smut (minors dni)

pairings: roronoa zoro x fem reader

wc: 1.6k (short and sweet)

cw: established relationship, comfort sex, cunnilingus, squirting, spitting, dacryphilia, unpredicted sex, size kink, soft sex, soft!dom zoro, he's slightly ooc in this one :/ but soft comfort sex with zoro :)

♡ masterlist ♡

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You don't mean to hold your emotions back; you know it's terrible for you, but you can't help it. The thought of opening up makes you want to vomit. It frustrates you to no end that you've ended up with the most emotionally intelligent and observant group of friends you could have. Since you woke up in the morning, you've been asked over and over again what's wrong.

The real question is, what isn't wrong

The limits of your stress levels are being tested to the fullest. You've been losing concentration during training and workouts, the plans you make keep going wrong, you mess up during a fight and almost got Zoro killed, and you've had to play referee during an argument between Nami and Usopp. What was once just minor irritation is slowly building up to something much more destructive. It's starting to show both in your face and body language. Despite everyone's insistence that you tell them what's wrong, your boyfriend Zoro understands you better. He knows that you're agitated, but instead of pushing you to open up, he knows how to help you.

Zoro notices the way your hands shake as you pick at the food Sanji has made you. Sanji only takes it slightly personally when you don't finish the meal. He can tell there's something deeper going on. Zoro follows you out of the dining hall and into your room. He doesn't speak, and you don't acknowledge him until you're both sitting on the bed. He pulls you onto his lap so you're straddling him. He quietly holds you as you cry into the crook of his neck. His palms apply comforting pressure to your hips and he rubs his thumbs over your skin. He doesn't ask the reason for your tears; he's been around you all week and seen all the problems. You calm yourself down and shift on his lap. Though you've calmed down, thoughts still cloud your head, and there's only one method guaranteed to empty your head.

“Zoro”, you whine, grinding down on his lap. “make me feel good?” you ask, leaning in to kiss him. He kisses back, much softer than usual.

“You sure?” he asks, pulling back to assess you. You nod, slowly dragging your hips over his crotch.

“It's the first step towards feeling better, and I think I could use a distraction. There's no bigger distraction than your cock ” you say, leaning forward to kiss him again. Zoro laughs, glad to see you feeling better, and closes the gap between you. He’d never say no to you. He wraps his arms around you and guides you down to lie on your back.

“Don't you worry, baby, I'll make it all go away” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead. He carefully undresses you, leaving wet kisses on your skin with every article of clothing removed. He's abnormally soft with you, still wary of your heightened emotions. When you're stripped completely naked, Zoro stops to admire you. His hands trace down your body and spread open your legs. The sight of your pussy makes his cock twitch. He shuffles down so he's flat on his stomach and licks at your drooling cunt. He groans at your taste as he buries his face in your pussy and suctions his lips around your clit. You reach down to grab his hair, back arching off the bed at how good his mouth feels. He's aggressive as he eats you out, determined to empty your head of all thoughts except the desire to cum.

It doesn't take you long to cum. You try to clamp your legs shut, but Zoro's strong hands hold your legs apart as he licks you through your high. He gives you a second to breathe as he sucks his fingers into his mouth. Then, within seconds, his mouth is back on you, making you moan out. Usually, knowing the others are on board, you'd keep it down but you just can't find it in you to be quiet. Not when your boyfriend is spitting on you and eating you out like a starved man. He pushes his slicked-up fingers inside of you, curling them to reach the right spot. He knows he's doing it right when you suddenly shout his name, writing in his grasp, and his non-occupied hand holds you in place for him.

“Is that it, baby?” he asks despite already knowing the answer. He waits for your frantic nodding before leaning back in to continue eating you out. He's laser-focused on making you cum. You're too wound up, and you find yourself on the edge of an orgasm quicker than you ever have been before. There's something different in this one; you can feel a tingling in your lower stomach and tears well up in your eyes as the intense feeling begins to take over. You cry out as he works you closer and closer to an orgasm. “You going to cum again? Pretty girl. It's ok. I got you, just let go.”

Hearing I've got you is so different to hearing I love you. Coming from a man like Zoro, it means the world to hear. The tears roll down your cheeks as you cum. Your orgasm completely wrecks you and leaves you shaking and trembling into the sheets as you gush into Zoro's mouth. You don't have time to be embarrassed about the fact you're squirting or about how quickly you came with the way he greedily accepts everything you give to him. He leans back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That feel good for you, angel?” He likes to call you angel, it's a perfect dichotomy to his own demonic reputation, and you really do look angelic in your blissed-out state. He leans down to kitten lick at your tear tracks.

“I want more”, you whine, pulling at his shirt, which he happily takes off for you. Your nails dig into his skin as you pull him down to kiss you. His tongue presses into your mouth as he reaches down to undo his trousers. He pulls away to take a breath and kicks off the rest of his clothes.

“What'd you want? you gotta use your words. Or have I already fucked you senseless?” His voice has you in a chokehold, and you have no choice but to respond.

“I want your cock Zoro, please” you beg. Though Zoro enjoys all the ridiculous pet names, there's nothing that satisfies him more than hearing his name from your mouth. He gives you a smile worthy of a demon and leans over your body. He lines his cock up with your hole and teases his tip into your hole, making you cry out in frustration. “Zoro, please don't tease me” you whimper.

“Don't you worry, baby, I'll make you all better”, he coos. There's a teasing edge to his words, but there's no maliciousness or condescension. He really does intend to take care of you. He pushes his cock into your hole, and he's so big that you struggle at first. He attempts to soothe you, grunting praises through his clenched teeth and rubbing your skin. The way your cunt stretches to take him makes both of you moan into each other's mouths. His kiss feels natural as his lips move comfortably over yours. You've kissed each other a thousand times, and each time reminds you of why you gave your heart to him in the first place. Your pussy clenches around him, and he pulls back from the kiss to examine your face.

“Please move,” you say, words coming out breathy as you can barely form a coherent sentence. Zoro nods, adjusting himself to lean on his forearms so he can adequately thrust into you. His thrust gets heavier as you moan and babble about how good he feels. “Fuck, feels too good. ‘s too much.” You say, clawing at his back.

“yeah? Am I too big for you, pretty girl?” He's big, he's so fucking big, and it drives you crazy. His body over yours is like a comforting blanket to you as he bullies his cock into you. The dazed look in your eyes,, as tears start to fall lets Zoro know that he's finally achieved his true goal of emptying your pretty head. He knows you feel better now. He adjusts his position slightly, gripping the sheets on either side of your head as he fucks you down into the mattress.

Your whole body shakes as your orgasm crashes over you like a rough sea. Zoro infiltrates all five of your senses, and all you can do is call his name as you writhe in his grasp. You can hear his voice, but you can't focus on what he's saying as your ears are ringing with the intensity of your orgasm. He cums soon after you, and you feel him release inside you. You whimper as he fills you up with his cum. You cling to him as much as you can as exhaustion catches up. When the aftershocks of your orgasm cool down, you gaze up at your boyfriend.

“How're you feeling?” he asks, catching his breath.

“good” is all you can manage as he pulls out of you. Your pussy clenches around nothing as you adjust to the empty feeling. He smiles, a genuine smile, as his head buries itself in your neck. He presses several soft kisses to your skin. He's glad he's helped you, even if your release is temporary. He reaches for the pack of tissues on the bedside table to briefly clean you. He moves to lie down beside you and pulls you down on top of his chest. You fall asleep almost instantly. All the energy has been sucked out of you, and all you need is a refreshing nap.

“Get some rest, baby. I'll be here.”

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thank you for reading!!!

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated <3

[hwangism143]

love is embarrassing

synopsis: in which chan shows you that love is so much more than what you believe.

pairing: idol!chan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: jealousy, mentions of eating and rain, suggestive if you squint, small injuries, death of a pet

word count: 852 words

now playing: love is embarrassing - olivia rodrigo

requested: by @15092000volcano (have your own requests? find the prompt list here)

a/n: berry is very much alive, i just had to kill her off for plot purposes (pls don't kill me). also, lmk what you think of this fic!

"my god, love's embarrassing as hell"

You always believed the endeavor of love to be pointless. You had read the classics and watched the movies, distrust seeping into your being. How could love be worth it? How could love be worth death and sacrifice; how could it be worth endless pain and optionally putting oneself through torture?

It wasn't like love was helping pay the bills. Romeo and Juliet wasn't a tragedy due to romance in your eyes, it was a tragedy brought forth by lack of common sense, as simple as that.

That was when a young, elementary school you had finally come up with a hypothesis that would stick around with you longer than you anticipated: love is embarrassing.

And yet, you can never prove a hypothesis without putting it through a test. When you finally did, you realized that love is a startling multitude of other things.

Love is temperamental, like your mood the day you walked out of the movie after yet another rom com your friend had dragged you to watch. It's temperance mimicked that of the weather, rain beating down against the windows of the café that you were stuck in, where a handsome stranger was your lone companion.

"Hi," he said sweetly, "I'm Chan. Need some company?"

Love was ugly, like your tears that flowed down your cheeks and dampened Chan's favorite black hoodie (which you never understood the differentiation behind, a majority of his articles being black). It was ugly like the sweaters Chan had brought your first Christmas together, the same ones you wore when he purposefully dangled a mistletoe over where the two of you stood.

"Where did you even find mistletoe?" you questioned with a laugh.

"I have my sources. Stick around with me long enough and I'll promise to tell you." His lips were soon on yours, sealing the deal.

Love was disgusting, your siblings pretending to gag whenever Chan ran to you and scooped you up from behind, causing an eruption of giggles to emerge from your mouth. It was almost as disgusting as the ramen you once made, giving both of you food poisoning that was no less then unfound agony.

"There is no one else I would rather be vomiting with," Chan declared boldly, as he held your hair while you heaved the contents of your stomach onto the toilet.

Love was green, the way Chan felt after he watched you hit it off with Jisung and Changbin when he invited you to the studio, nearly forgetting about him. It's green like the lettuce you picked when you both went to the grocery store right after, deciding to confront his despaired pout.

"You're jealous."

"Am not!"

"You are jealous, and may I add, you're a terrible liar."

But love was so many things coated in happiness too, right? It wasn't just the bad parts, skipped over in the dictionary and considered as profanity. It was words that made you feel like your were flying in an abyss of harmony.

Love was soft, the way Chan's apologies sounded after an argument, always apologizing first instead of chastising you for your headstrong personality. It smoothed out rough edges, the way you ran your hair through Chan's hair while he fell asleep on your shoulder.

"I love you more than you ever know," he would mumble sleepily into your neck.

Love is healing, the way Chan was when you held him as he grieved over the loss of his childhood pet but slowly picked up the pieces of himself. The small cuts and bruises that you would get from simply doing nothing and the gentle press of a band aid against your skin and Chan tended to you almost instantaneously.

"It's just a tiny cut Chan," you whined.

"Aw come on, let me pamper you," he replied.

Love is comforting, like Chan's sweaters that you wore when you stepped out of the house, his essence melting into yours. It's comfort wove into the silence that hung around you both, never awkward or unwelcoming.

"Is it weird that my favorite sound is you, even when you're quiet?" Chan asked curiously.

"Never," you told him with a laugh.

Love was passionate, the way Chan felt about music and you felt about him. The same passion translated into wandering hands and soft gasps, stolen kisses and rumpled sheets.

"Thank you for loving me," you confessed as his limbs were tangled with yours.

"Thank you for letting me love you," he replied as easily as possible.

Love to you, was an anomaly. But loving Chan and being loved by him showed you that it was the most vivid, chaotic and marvelous tapestry that one could witness in their lifetime. Love was ugly, love was beautiful. Love was disgusting, love was comforting.

Love was damning. Love was everything.

However, you knew one fact about your love that would never change, despite how multifaceted it could be. That one fact was as sure as Chan's encouraging smiles that he sent your way and as steady as his breathing when he laid beside you at night.

Your love would always belong to him.

main taglist (reply to be added):

@linoalwaysknows @moon0fthenight @hyulino @palindrome969

@squishybinnieee @lastgreatamericandynasty1

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ {ɪɪɪ}

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, social media au/smau, texting, profanity, pretty unserious tbh

☆ 1.1k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

What on earth?

You were staring at your screen in utter disappointment. 

It had been three days since you had posted. Not a single comment from him. Every five seconds your hand would fly to your phone, open your page, refresh the comments and- nothing. You groaned, letting your head fall back onto the couch cushions.

Pathetic. You’re being pathetic. 

How the fuck do I grab his attention again?

Kicking your feet up to gain momentum as you hauled yourself up, you pulled out your phone again. Something was swelling up through your body. An idea. That you would probably burn for, but frankly, lack of sleep and the lack of excitement was getting to you. 

The phone rang. She picked up.

“[name]?”

Taika sounded disgruntled, at the very least, upon receiving a call from you at the dead of night. But your adrenaline was surging, causing the pit of your stomach and your palms to tingle. 

“Taika. Do me a favour.” Your leg was bouncing up and down uncontrollably, and you had to press your palm against your knee to try get it to stop- not that it worked. 

“[name], what is this about?” Her groggy voice was dripping with sleep and suspicion.

You paused.

“I bet it’s about Kenji Sato.” She sighed heavily, but it was laced with satisfaction- no, triumph. You ground your teeth together.“Go on. What is it?”

“It’s not-… Look, just. I have a problem. Do something to fix it…? Please?”

“Hah, that’s what I thought.”

-

“Taika, this is not what I meant when I said I wanted help!”

Taika peered at you over the rim of her cup, amused, while you had to restrain yourself from throwing a fit at the coffee shop you’d asked her to meet you at.

“I’m never fucking asking you to help me again.”

Your heart hadn’t stopped pounding since last night. Taika set her cup down and sighed loudly. The tea inside splashed a little over the edge. 

“What do you even mean?” She feigned innocence, pursing her lips as she bat her lashes at you. Your lips twisted into a disdainful scowl. “You asked me to do something, so I did. And I went quite far out of my way to do it. Aren’t I being a good friend?”

It took every sensible bone in your body for you to not reach out and smack the smirk off of her face. 

“Helping me doesn’t exactly entail starting a dating rumour!” You hissed furiously. 

A few people turned to glance at your table, and the hostess clicked her tongue loudly.Taika frowned as she leaned forward.

“Look, [name]. Just go with the flow. He’ll have to text you about this. There’s no way he won’t reach out.”

You groaned. “Taika…”

“Look, this was inevitable. I was going to do it anyways. So just suck it up. I’m helping you here.”

“You were going to do it anyways?!”

She paused. “Well. I was considering it.”

You massaged your temples, exasperated. “

-

Unknown number: Hey, it’s Kenji. You gave me your number?

You were about to vomit your heart out onto the floor. Fuck you, Taika. And why was he typing so formally?

You: Yeah, I remember. Haven’t talked to you in a while. You wondered if that last part made you sound desperate.

Kenji: Ik, I’m sorry. You know how training is.

You: i don’t, actually. But i can imagine.

Kenji: You get it

Kenji: I’m assuming you’ve seen the article.

You were genuinely about to start convulsing on your carpeted floor. On the other side of the screen, Kenji was quite easily matching your feelings.

You: what article 

“Jesus fuck I can’t just send it to her, can I?” He muttered aloud. I’ll look like a creep. He paused. 

Mina glided into the room. “Were you talking to me, Ken?”

Ken jumped practically ten feet into the air as Mina spoke from the corner of the room she was hovering in.“No!” he almost yelled, exasperated. “How long were you- just, uh, leave, please.”

If Mina could have rolled her eyes, she would have, but instead promptly glided out of the room. 

Meanwhile you were instantly regretting your previous sent text.

Why did you act like you didn’t see it? You almost slapped yourself. Jesus christ you’re an idiot.

You: oh wait i think ik which one ur talking about 

Be smooth, [name].

You: is it that dating rumour one?

Kenji: Yeah

You: all your fangirls are probably freaking out haha

Kenji: Probably

Kenji: [name] have you seriously not read it..?

You: ummm just heard of it why?

Kenji: I think you should go read it now

You: huh why

You: trying to make me jealous?

Kenji: link attached: https://xxxx-xxxx

He didn’t say anything else.

You: umm ok fine i’ll read it..?

You set the phone down and tried to swallow your rising panic. This was fine. You just had to wait a small while before replying to make it seem like you read it.

Your phone pinged again, but you didn’t check it.

This was fine. 

-

Kenji: We need to meet up to talk about this

You stared at your phone.

You: yeah

You: when

Kenji: I know a place. Send me your address I’ll pick you up

You: umm ok it’s xxx-xxx-xxx

Kenji: Thanks

Kenji: I’m sorry 

You: ab what

Kenji: All this

You: it’s not your fault

You: you didn’t say when btw

Kenji: 7?

You: ok send me the address of the place 

Kenji: I said i’ll pick you up

You: it’s fine don’t worry about it

Kenji: You sure?

You: yeah don’t worry about it

Kenji: ok 

Oh lord that was awkward.

Tossing your phone onto the kitchen table you slunk into your kitchen to find something to eat. Your laptop was on the table, open, work half unfinished. You grabbed your phone again and send Taika a text.

You: we’re meeting up

You: i still hate you but maybe it’s working idk

Taika: YESNOMFG

Taika: HLEP I CANT TYPE

Taika: See I told you it would all work out

You: actually it’s really fucking awkward so far but sure go ahead pop off

Taika: Fake dating trope, strangers to lovers, fluff, eventual smut, word count: 7.8k, 😍

You: we aren’t fake dating

You: this isn’t a fanfiction

You: bro stop reading fics get off of ao3 go outside go to the park or something 

Taika: Jo

Taika: No*

You: DID YOU SAY EVENTUAL SMUT

You: sleep with one eye open tonight. 

Taika: Yes ma’am 🤩

You: im gonna touch you

[viviennevermillion]

poisoned veins

✧ notes: first work for my "autumn remedies" event! i'm doing the commonly triggering topics first before moving on to my more soft prompts. stay safe while going out and look out for your friends as well. here's an article about how to recognize drink spiking if it happens to you or a friend and what to do in this situation.

✧ synopsis: sampo protects you and takes you to natasha's clinic after your drink has been spiked, waiting in worry for you to wake up. (hurt/comfort), 3.1k words

✧ now playing: bad things — breathe

✧ warnings: drugging, medical emergency, vomiting, seizure, needles

Entertainment was always sparse in a place like the Belobog Underworld. It was almost a little ironic that a Masked Fool like Sampo found enough amusement in a place where most people spent their free time in fight club and meeting up in backalley taverns. That's what pretty much every establishment in Boulder Town was like in the late evenings. You could hardly expect a fancy restaurant in a community that had been sealed off and short on resources for such a long time. But people still made the best of it. Most bars and taverns had enjoyable menus, so people didn't mind coming back on their weekends. It was not Epsilon XII and hardly comparable to the joyful atmosphere Sampo knew from the Masked Fools taverns, but it was the perfect place to get some inspiration for a new scam.

He didn't expect to find you there when he entered the tavern late at night. He had helped Wildfire out with procuring a couple of necessary items and had gotten back late; deciding he wasn't in the mood for half-burnt scrambled eggs that he tried to make while tired and with a hardly commendable attention span. So take-out food was the way to go tonight. He sat down on the stool next to you at the bar. "Hey, fam!", he addressed you with a cheerful smile on his face, "do you come here often?"

You chuckled at his remark and took a sip from your drink. "Why does this sound like a cheap pick-up line?", you raised an eyebrow at him as Sampo ordered the weirdest food on the menu. "It's not, I swear!", he held up his hands defensively and laughed, "I was just curious, is all." You shrugged. "Well, to answer your question, I don't really go to places like this all that often but I was in the area and I really needed a drink. I'm exhausted." Sampo didn't know what you had been doing beforehand, but he could guess that it probably had something to do with helping another poor soul in need or just not understanding what an appropriate time to stop work was. A common pattern around here, really.

"What a coincidence, I just came here for a meal as well", he smiled at you but was a bit annoyed about having to yell over all the background noise. He felt like you were a little uncomfortable with the atmosphere at the bar. "You don't seem to like the place a lot", he remarked, earning a glare from the bartender who probably thought it was out of place for someone to declare loudly that a person didn't like his establishment. But you seemed almost relieved that someone pointed it out. "Yeah it just isn't as safe and comfortable as I'm used to", you nodded, taking another sip of the drink, "had to shoo away some idiots who were getting a little too comfortable being in my personal space before you arrived."

Sampo took his plate with the chocolate sauce burrito into his hands and got up from the stool as soon as it was brought to him. "Well, if you need their money as compensation, you know where to find me", he winked and nodded his head towards the front door, "wanna sit outside where it's a little more quiet?" Pondering on his words, you noticed you were more than ready to leave this place.

So you followed Sampo Koski to sit on a small bench under a lamp post across from the tavern.

There were a few guests outside and Sampo kept his distance from them as he walked through the dining area. Meanwhile you seemed to struggle a little. "Watch where you're going", an older woman hissed as Sampo turned back and saw you getting a little dizzy, bumping into the sitting customer and causing her to let go of her fork which promptly dropped down to the floor. The waiter made his way inside to get her a new one. "Sorry...", you mumbled and seemed a little bit out of it.

Sampo walked back to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder for support, guiding you over to the bench. "Don't need to hold onto you, really", you sighed and sat down, your words sounding a little bit slurred. He wondered how much you had to drink. "Friend, are you doing okay?", he asked with a smile on his face. "Mmmh...", you replied, feeling the wooden surface under your hand as you sat down, almost missing the bench a couple of times, "...just a little tired."

Sampo raised an eyebrow and there was a look of concern on his face but he brushed it off. He knew how a person could get with enough sleep deprivation. Besides, he was there to look after you when you got too drowsy. It was late and he made a mental note to walk you home when the time came. For now though, he thought he'd just sit under the moonlight with you for a while, letting you take in the fresh air and clear your senses. Maybe he'd get to talk with you a little bit and finally find the courage to ask you out. He had done so a couple times, always hiding his true feelings behind his goofy facade. You had thought he was joking and he didn't have it in him to correct you thus far. He couldn't blame you, really.

The downside of being a jester could very well be that people struggled to see that there was a person with feelings just like everyone else underneath the mask. Sampo gazed up to the stars with a helpless smile on his face. He remembered when he made you laugh and how his first thought had been that maybe this had been the reaction he had been looking for all along when he committed to his shenanigans. That seeing you giggle about his endeavors made it worth running from the Silvermane Guards every once in a while. Ever since the border between the underworld and the overworld was reopened, they had been patrolling in Boulder Town as well, which made Sampo's line of work even more difficult. He wondered if you could love someone who had an arrest warrant on his back. Perhaps he'd always be a coward when it came to letting you see what was in his heart, he mused.

"Well, maybe it's time to head back for us. It isn't long until the night patrol passes through here and I wouldn't want to run into the guards tonight. How about I walk you back home?", he sighed but his heart seemed to stop for a second when he looked at you again. You were slouching, your hand pressed to your head and Sampo noted that you looked a little sick. "Y/n?", he called out your name and tapped your shoulder multiple times. You were unresponsive. "Y/n?", he tried again and grasped your shaking hand as you leaned over to your side to empty your stomach into the trashcan next to you. You missed.

"Hey, maybe we should stop by Natasha's clinic before we get you home, alright?", he spoke softly but there was worry evident in his voice, "you don't look like you're doing too well..."

Sampo saw you reach for the drink next to you with unsteady hands, struggling to hold onto the glass as you lifted it to your mouth. A realization seemed to cross Sampo's mind. He took the beverage from your hands before you could take another sip. Something inside you seemed to protest, and you tried to reach for the glass again in confusion, knocking it out of his fingers by accident.

It fell to the floor with a loud shattering sound, startling you. Sampo saw tears forming in your eyes from the shock. You seemed scared and confused but unable to communicate. "Come on, let's get you to a doctor", Sampo whispered in a comforting voice, helping you up, "I'm sure someone will clean this up, don't worry about it. Can you walk?"

He got his answer when you collapsed and your legs gave in. Luckily, Sampo was fast enough to catch you before your head hit the pavement. You stared up with wide eyes but didn't seem to look at anything in particular. It was like you were staring right past him. Your muscles tensed and you tried to point at something that Sampo couldn't see. He called out your name a couple more times in panic, gently tapping your cheek multiple times as if hoping you would just snap out of it. His heart had sunken in his chest and a shiver ran down his spine, seemingly freezing his bones. You looked like consciousness had left you; clenching your jaw and moving it like you were chewing on something.

Sampo swallowed his fear and picked you up, ignoring the concerned stares of the nearby tavern guests. Natasha's clinic was only a few streets away from here. He could make it in 5 minutes if he ran. Running with you in his arms proved to be a challenge as your body continued writhing. The movements reminded Sampo of a new-born baby tossing and turning in the crib and grasping for nothing in particular. Definitely not something that should be happening to you.

You looked dead inside. The image sent a feeling of panic through Sampo's heart and he was hoping his own legs wouldn't give in due to the shock. He needed to be strong for you now. Memories flashed through his mind of the last time he had met you, grabbing a coffee with you in the overworld and joking around about his newest scam. Everything had seemed like fun and games during a time where the possibility of losing you had never crossed his mind. But now it did. And it terrified him. As the cold air of the night seemed to burn in his lungs as he kept running, a quiet voice inside him wondered what would happen if he never got to see your smile again. He could only guess at what had put you in this state but he didn't know what it actually meant for your health. Were you going to see the dawn? Were you going to stay like this? He probably shouldn't think about that for now, he mused.

He opened the door to Natasha's clinic with such force that it sounded like he had kicked it down as he called out for the underworld doctor. He recognized her by the sound of her heels on the floor as she made her way towards him. "Sampo Koski, how many times have I told you to keep your voice down in my hospital-", Natasha stopped in her tracks when she saw Sampo holding you like this, trying to keep you still as to not drop you, "oh god." She hurried over to the emergency section of the clinic and got a stretcher ready for you. "Put them down here", she instructed Sampo, who carefully lowered you onto the stretcher. Natasha noticed there were tears in his eyes and he was shaking. She had never seen him this concerned about anybody.

"Will they be okay?", Sampo bit his lip and tried to calm down, taking deep breaths while simultaneously doing his best to keep your arms and legs on the bed so you wouldn't hit them against something and injure yourself. "Probably", Natasha calmed him down and brought her medical equipment to your bedside, "I've had cases like this before and so far none of them died on me, so have a little faith, okay?" Sampo nodded. "Would you help me keep their arm still? I need to take a blood sample", she asked him. He firmly but gently pinned your arm down with both hands while Natasha took a sample of your blood and then put you on an IV. She brought the tube with your blood to the laboratory while Sampo held your hand in his to make sure you didn't move your arm too much with the catheter in it.

Seeing you writhing on the stretcher made his heart break. Neither trying to comfort you with his words nor swearing that whoever did this to you was going to pay for it seemed to bring you back to him. He felt helpless. The time Natasha took to get results from the blood test, administer medicine to you and ultimately cause your body to relax again felt like an eternity to him. It eventually just looked like you were sleeping, which allowed Sampo to calm down as well. "They need rest now", Natasha said eventually, "I need to attend to the other patients but you can stay here if you'd like to... though I do have the feeling you wouldn't leave even if I kicked you out." She gave him an encouraging smile, having noticed how much you meant to him. Sampo just smiled back weakly and let her continue with her duty as a physician.

When you woke up your head hurt. You felt confused and didn't know where you were. Images flashed through your mind of you talking to Sampo at the bar counter. That was the last thing you remembered. So it was confusing to you to open your eyes and find yourself in a hospital bed with a catheter in your arm and an annoying beeping sound coming from the machine next to you. Natasha had noticed you had woken up and came over to your bed.

"I see you're awake", she remarked with a soft voice and sat down on a chair beside you, "how do you feel?"

You cleared your throat and noticed how dry your mouth felt. Natasha already had a glass of water ready for you. "Can you hold it?", she asked and carefully handed it to you, keeping her hand on the bottom of the glass in case you dropped it. You managed to hold onto it and take a few sips from the water. "Thank you", you mumbled with a weak voice and sat up, feeling a bit of your strength return already, so you kept drinking.

Natasha allowed you to take your time to gather yourself. "So... how did I end up here?", you asked, your voice still sounding a little hoarse. Natasha sighed. "What's the last thing you remember?", she asked you. You took a moment to reply. "I was sitting at the bar counter, talking to Sampo", you explained and chuckled weakly, "he ordered this horrible chocolate sauce burrito... seriously who eats something like that?" A small smile found its way onto Natasha's face. "So, what happened?", you asked quietly.

"Well... it seems someone mixed something into your drink...", she started, seeing your eyes widen, "nothing more happened but you collapsed in front of the tavern and had a seizure. Sampo brought you into my clinic." "Oh...", you mouthed, your thoughts scrambled all over the place as you tried to process what Natasha just said. She nodded towards the other side of your bed and your eyes followed her gesture, finding Sampo passed out on a chair next to you with his crossed arms and head on your nightstand and a blanket draped over him. He was drooling a little and even though he was asleep, you could tell he seemed exhausted.

"He stayed here the whole night", Natasha told you, "...refused to leave your side even when the guards wanted to take him into custody because they suspected he did it." "He didn't", you retorted immediately and Natasha stopped you. "I know. They found that out after investigating the tavern and hearing from other witnesses that you had that drink before Sampo even entered the tavern." You sighed with relief. The last thing you wanted was for the man who brought you here and made sure you got the medical treatment you needed to be arrested.

"Honestly, I've never seen Sampo so scared before", Natasha remarked, "he looked like he had seen a ghost." Your hand reached for your sleeping companion and your fingertips gently carded through his dark blue strands of hair, stirring him awake in the process. Sampo yawned and opened his eyes with a tired expression but as soon as they met yours, he felt wide awake once more. "You're alive!", he exclaimed with a relieved smile on his face and reached for your hand, holding it in his own, "Sampo Koski was so worried about you!" You squeezed his hand. "Thank you for looking out for me."

"There's absolutely nothing to thank", he told you, sounding more sincere than you had ever heard him, "I'm sorry I couldn't do more..." Those last words were more of a whisper but you picked up on them anyway. "You did everything you could", you insisted as Natasha did some further testing to make sure everything about your condition was stable.

"You're going to need to stay here for further testing for now", she explained to you, "you will likely be fine but it's best for you to remain in the hospital and be monitored for today." You nodded. "Don't hesitate to call out to me if you need anything", Natasha continued, "as for everything else, I'm sure Sampo doesn't mind keeping you company while you're here." You looked over to him and he nodded to confirm what Natasha had said. "If you don't mind, of course", he added awkwardly. "I don't", you reassured him and held onto his hand.

Sampo remained by your bedside until you were discharged in the evening, aside from the time he went out to get lunch for the two of you, surprising you with a meal you had mentioned liking. He was ready to answer any question you had about the time when you were unconscious and the things amnesia has made you forget. He made sure to let you know that whenever you needed to talk or just didn't want to be alone after this, he'd be only one call or text away. Whether he had a 'business meeting' or not, according to his words. He doubted he fully knew how to deal with the situation but he swore he would do his best to make sure you'd be okay. You didn't know where the future would take you and how this situation would affect you in the times to come, but you found comfort in the fact that, come what may, you wouldn't have to deal with it alone. Perhaps that was all the confirmation you needed to understand how much you meant to Sampo. Maybe words weren't even needed anymore...

if you liked this fic, keep an eye out for the other works i have scheduled this month. reblogs and comments are appreciated! 👍🏻

any support for my event would be greatly appreciated! 💕

[yolalalalaala]

What if Eury and Ares are dating when Mutiny happened?

(btw, it seems tumblr is more used to release pictures and videos. If anyone can recommend me a place to post long fan fiction, I'd be grateful！)

(I put some original characters in the article, not much space, just to explain how bad the situation on the fleet is)

The situation was worsening. Eurylochus felt the churning in his stomach, the hunger-induced pain spreading, and he pressed against his abdomen, tightening his belt further in an attempt to quell the longing for food. It had been a week since his argument with Ares—no, they hadn't broken up; Eurylochus wouldn't call it that; they had simply disagreed, that was all—and the food on the ship was gone, with only limited fish catch to sustain them. The crew had been starving for days.

He spotted Perimedes on the deck. Since leaving the Underworld, days had passed in this manner: Perimedes stood silently, gazing out at the vast, boundless sea. Eurylochus knew he wasn't looking for the direction of home. During those shared, comforting nights, he had realized that few men still harbored hope of returning.

"Sometimes, I think I see Elpenor," Perimedes said almost in a trance. "He's drunk and looks happy. I told him I wanted to go down to him, and he got angry—didn't he want me to be with him?"

Eurylochus couldn't fathom what it felt like to have a loved one in the Underworld. Sometimes, he felt that Perimedes' longing for Elpenor surpassed his desire to survive. This man missed his beloved so much that he could venture into the realm of death. In that stagnant place, without tomorrow or future, they would at least have each other. Eurylochus recalled the nights he spent without Ares, chatting with his companions about those who had passed.

At one such time, Antises handed him a shabby little notebook, smelling of sea salt and ocean breeze. Eurylochus remembered seeing an identical cover with another comrade. He opened it and saw Polites' name, neatly lined up with others on the first page. Eurylochus recalled these names written there; they had all died at the feet of the Cyclops.

Perimedes reached out and flipped to the last page, where the last line read the name of his beloved, Elpenor.

"This was Crytrius's notebook," Antises said. Before the war began, Eurylochus wasn't familiar with this young man from the farmland on the westernmost edge of Ithaca. As for now—there were only 42 of them left, and it was easy to know each other.

"Crytrius wanted to record the names of every fallen comrade. He always said if we didn't remember them, the spirits of those who had passed would truly be forgotten. He sank into the vast ocean, but I took his notebook," Antises explained. "After enduring the great god of the sea, it was difficult to record the deaths. We struggled to recall the names of every comrade. At least this way, they left a trace of their existence, even though we too might follow in their footsteps and perish here."

Yes, if he died silently in the middle of the sea, he would pray that at least someone remembered him. Gods were immortal, and he hoped at least Ares would remember him, though he knew that tiny, short-lived mortals meant nothing to the gods.

"It's hard to say I don't long to reunite with them in the Underworld," Perimedes chuckled briefly. "Whether wandering the ocean or heading to the realm of death, we have no place to call home, alone and desperate—what's the difference?"

"But the blood on our hands cannot be washed away. Can we go to that peaceful land? Or must we pay for our killings?" Menechas said from the corner of the room. Silence fell upon the room.

Eurylochus pulled himself out of the abyss of memories. Now, six more names had been added to Antises' notebook, one of them being Menechas, Antises' best friend, the young man who worried about his past killings.

The pain of losing his companion made him want to vomit, but his stomach was empty, so he could only retch a few times. His good friend Odysseus was drifting further and further away from him, and he could feel the rift between them. Since hearing the prophet's prophecy, the captain had been in a bad state, silent and increasingly gloomy in his eyes. But Eurylochus never expected him to go to this extent – to sacrifice his crew willingly.

Eurylochus never thought Odysseus had an obligation to save everyone, but he couldn't accept his friend turning into a cold-blooded monster. So he told himself that the captain just couldn't think of a better way, and that Odysseus hadn't expected those six men to sacrifice themselves. He confronted his friend, praying that the other would answer as he deceived himself, but he didn't. Odysseus covered his face with his messy hair and roared two words: "I can't!"

The hunger grew fiercer, and he took a deep breath, remembering what Odysseus had told him – not to eat the cattle of the sun god.

This meant there were cattle ahead… Even if eating their meat meant death, it was still meat that could fill their stomachs. He stepped forward and patted Perimedes on the shoulder: "... I have a not-so-good idea, but I think you'll want to carry it out."

He knew the captain would eventually return home; otherwise, based on his understanding of Odysseus, the latter wouldn't have become gloomy instead of desperate after meeting the prophet. Since that was the case, whatever choices they made wouldn't drag the captain down.

"There are cattle ahead. Their meat can fill our stomachs, but we'll also incur the wrath of the gods and meet our end. What would you choose, my friend?"

Perimedes laughed: "You know perfectly well, Eurylochus, that most of us feel no difference between living now and being dead."

The two men fell silent, as if calmly accepting the fate that was approaching. After a moment, Eurylochus left the deck and entered an empty room. With the death of his friends, more and more dormitories were becoming vacant. He took a deep breath and sat down on the deck.

"Hey Ares, I don't know if you can hear me. I know our last encounter wasn't pleasant." He paused, feeling a bit awkward talking to himself like this, but continued, "Look, my companions and I have made up our minds to die because the suffering of hunger is too long. So, I want to say goodbye to you."

There was no response. Eurylochus didn't know if his words were heard by the god of war. He knew the other god always loved bloodshed and could understand his indifference to the lives of other mortals. But a few days ago, when his comrades had just died at the throat of Scylla, his boyfriend's nonchalant tone was still hard for him to accept. Ares just laughed and mocked Odysseus' cowardice in not facing the enemy head-on, which was also what Eurylochus didn't want to hear.

They had an argument then. But now that Eurylochus had made up his mind to give up his life, continuing the cold war made no sense.

"Uh, that's about it." He fell silent again. In fact, it was meaningless, wasn't it? The gods lived such long lives; how could he care about the death of a mortal?

Eurylochus sighed, stood up, and walked out of the empty room. Ares didn't respond. The man thought bitterly that maybe he had been too optimistic; in fact, Ares had broken up with him completely.

The next day, he and his comrades all agreed on the plan to eat the beef and die, and they carried it out as such. Odysseus looked pain, and he ordered them to row faster, but all thirty-six crew members knew they had no hope of survival; they had accepted it the night before. At least they would die full, and that was enough.

But strangely, nothing happened; no god became angry. The fleet was puzzled until a tall figure landed on the ship and ran quickly towards Eurylochus.

"Eury!" His tone was almost panicked, "You don't know how… It's good that this has been resolved. You won't die, at least not so soon, my love."

Everyone on the fleet was stunned. Who would tell them what was going on???

"It's a good thing you're not the first to eat the cattle. I mean, you're the first mortal, but other gods have done similar things. Hermes paid with his lyre, and what I have is not inferior to what he had." Eurylochus found the other's tone cute, like a child comparing toys. But it didn't lessen his confusion.

"I thought we broke up?" He asked cautiously.

Ares was stunned. Then the god of war erupted, roaring, "What? No!" The ship was rocking slightly because of his roar. Eurylochus was worried that the ship would be overturned, so he quickly soothed him: "No, I mean, of course I don't want to break up, but yesterday when I talked to you, you ignored me."

"That's because I was preparing an apology gift!" Ares was still roaring, but the ship had stopped rocking. After he finished speaking, he hesitated for a moment, looking somewhat embarrassed: "Uh, I'll leave for a while… I'll come to you tonight, Eury."

The tall figure left, leaving the stunned crew and the stunned Odysseus, who was also shocked but more relieved.

"... It's good that you're still alive," Odysseus said. "I have something to ask you, Eurylochus, but we'll talk about it later."

He left. Eurylochus knew his friend would leave the crowd whenever he was emotionally upset; he didn't want too many people to see how much he cared about his friends. He smiled, happy to see his familiar captain back. The rift was still inevitable, but… things were getting better.

Now he had to face the crew's questions.

[happy74827]

Work Jitters

[Gideon Graves x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Getting the job at Graves Industries was hard enough, but keeping it? That was a whole new ballpark.

WC: 3752

Category: Slight Hurt, Slight Fluff (?), Gideon being… Gideon {TW—Vomiting}.

Jason Schwartzman, my beloved.

『••✎••』

Gideon Graves, that smug bastard.

You'd seen his picture in the paper once, or maybe more than once; you couldn't recall exactly. The article was about his company, about how he'd been awarded several "big brain" awards in the past three years, and about how his company was looking to hire the best and brightest. The article even said how much he valued diversity.

But then, why was he working so hard to keep you from the job?

It wasn't as though you were the most unqualified person in the world to be hired at G-Man Media. You'd worked in tech for a number of years. You'd worked hard. You were smart, and you had experience. But apparently, Gideon Graves had a way of making things difficult for you. He was looking for people who were more than qualified.

"But I'm plenty qualified," you'd told him, practically stomping your foot. "And you can't make me feel like I'm not qualified. You don't have that kind of power."

You'd watched in utter amazement as he'd waved his hand dismissively at you.

"Power?" He laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I have no power over you. I have influence. I can make life difficult for you, but it's not as though I'm doing that. You've simply failed to impress me."

Your cheeks burned as you tried to think of something clever to say to that, but there was no way to deny his words.

He didn't even sound angry. He sounded so sure of himself, so absolutely positive of his own superiority. And he'd been so smug about the whole thing, too. Like you were a piece of trash, he'd just found on the street.

And that had just pissed you off so badly. You were usually a fairly even-tempered person. But when you'd walked away from that meeting, you'd felt like you were about to burst out of your skin. You'd marched straight back to your car and driven to a nearby grocery store parking lot. You'd climbed out of the car and put your hands on the hood, pressing your forehead against the warm metal, letting yourself take a few deep breaths to try to calm yourself down.

And that was how you'd met Gideon Graves…

Your boss.

Yes, boss. Despite the fact that he openly admitted his dislike for you, you decided that he was wrong, so wrong, in fact, that you stormed up to him the next day and told him so.

"I'm not failing to impress you," you told him, "You’re failing to impress me.”

You'd watched him fold his arms over his chest and scowl at you. You'd wanted to bite your tongue. He'd had an intense scowl.

But you hadn't bitten your tongue. Instead, you'd done something even more stupid.

"I know how to work a computer," you snapped.

That wasn’t as hard-hitting as you'd intended; it was honestly the stupidest thing you have ever said, but it made that tiny corner of Gideon's lip turn up. Not his usual, knowing smirk, but an actual genuine smile.

"Oh?" he said, leaning back in his chair, tilting his head back and studying you, his eyes narrowed. "That’s one impressive skill set."

Sarcasm. You could deal with sarcasm. You'd dealt with sarcasm in college. Sarcasm was almost your best friend at this point.

"I'm a quick learner," you told him, "and I can work anything with a keyboard."

He laughed again, his smile growing. You were starting to think he just smiled when he was mocking people, but there had been times when his smiles had seemed more genuine, and this one had definitely felt genuine.

"I'm sure you are," he told you, and you felt yourself smile just a little bit when he didn't say it in a mocking tone. "But there's a little more to the job than that."

"I can do the job."

His eyes narrowed, and you were pretty sure he was trying to decide if he wanted to fight you. He leaned forward, placing his arms on the desk.

"What makes you think that you have any chance of winning this position? I told you once, and I’m telling you twice. You're not all that impressive."

"No," you agreed, "not compared to you. You're an idiot savant—a genius with a cocky attitude. But the company isn't looking for an idiot. They want someone with ambition. And I have it. I'm not giving up."

"No?"

"No."

He sat back in his seat, leaning back in his chair, a little smug smile curling his lips.

He was deep in contemplation. His eyes were on you. His face was an inscrutable mask, but his eyes. Those eyes of his. You felt as though he could see straight through you. He had seen you and known, without having to be told, that you weren't like the rest of his previous employees. That you were determined and that he wasn't going to be able to stop you.

He might not like you, but he recognized that you were going to keep trying to get the job and that you were probably the only person in the world who wasn't intimidated by his smug attitude.

"You have balls," he said.

"Thank you."

"No," he said with a frown, "that wasn't a compliment."

He shook his head and held out his hand. You glanced at it and then back at his face.

"A deal," he told you. "One week. You go to work, and you try your damnedest to impress me. Fail, and you’re gone. Pass, and you'll get the job. Deal?"

Your smile was wide, and you reached out and took his hand, giving it a shake.

"Deal," you said.

And here you were, nearly two weeks later, still with the job. You were honestly so impressed with yourself.

It wasn't always easy; Gideon Graves could be a real bastard. But he was an interesting person. He always looked so sure of himself, but there were moments where you could see his doubts. You could see them on the rare occasions when he was surprised or flustered. His confidence was sometimes only a mask for the uncertainty underneath.

He was an enigma to you.

You tried to learn as much about him as possible. You absolutely hated his attitude, but you were more than willing to admit to yourself that you were genuinely curious about the man. There was just something about him that made him fascinating to you. You wanted to know what was going on inside that complicated head of his.

So, you watched.

You watched as he ate lunch. You saw how he would never take more than two bites and would only take the smallest possible amount of time to eat. He never left a single crumb on the table, never let anything get near him that might leave even the tiniest bit of food on his clothes.

You saw how he would do his own filing and paperwork. He could type up a report in no time at all. And you could swear you'd seen him go through a pile of paperwork and not so much as lose his place once. You'd tried to copy his speed a few times, but your fingers were just too clumsy. You were nowhere near his skill level.

You watched how he handled people. He was arrogant, and he had his share of asshole moments, but he was always polite. Always professional. Even if the person he was speaking to was an idiot, he still managed to maintain his composure. Sure, he belittled them, but he did so in a way that was still professional. He never made any comment that would get him sued.

He never let his composure slip, except for one time, and It was all your fault.

You felt sick. You had woken up that morning with a headache and a body that felt like lead. It had taken you forever to get out of bed. By the time you had gotten yourself together and had managed to drag yourself to the shower, you'd felt even worse. But, with how Gideon acted, you were used to getting your work done regardless of how you were feeling, so you'd gotten dressed and headed to the office.

A total of four hours later, you were starting to regret not staying home.

You were doing your best to keep your eyes open, but you just couldn't stay awake. Your mind felt fuzzy. Your body was like a heavyweight. And all you could think about was going back to your apartment and crawling into bed. You could feel your body leaning forward.

The chair tipped, and your body rolled forward, nearly falling out of the chair, only stopping when you hit the edge of the desk.

And then there were hands on you.

Gideon's hands.

He had you, his arm under your shoulders, holding you against him as he straightened the chair.

"Office. Now. Before you hurt yourself," he said, his voice cold, his expression hard.

You stood up, but your head spun. You might have been able to fight it if he had actually helped you to your feet, but instead, he let go of you, watching with a frown as you wobbled back and forth before turning around and starting for the office.

Your feet felt heavy. Your body felt as though it was moving in slow motion. You stumbled a few times before making it into the room. He came in after you, closing the door behind him. You saw him scowl at you before walking to his desk. He leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at you.

"So much for impressing me."

"Sorry," you said, slumping in the chair across from his desk. You could feel your eyes drifting closed. You couldn't help it, but you knew it was because you were so tired.

"I pay you to get your work done, not to go to sleep on the job. I don't care how sick you are. This is unacceptable."

You wanted to tell him you were sorry, but your mouth wouldn't move. You were just too tired.

"Do I have to drag you out of this chair myself?"

You managed to open your eyes and look up at him. You tried to say something, but all that came out was a mumble.

He frowned, his lips a tight line. He pushed off of the desk, and then he was moving towards you. Your stomach lurched as he reached down, grabbing hold of your arm and pulling you up. Your legs wobbled underneath you. His hand was at your elbow.

"Careful," he said, keeping his grip on you until you had straightened up. "You took this job knowing that it would require effort. I will not have you losing sight of what you're doing because you're too lazy to get out of bed in the morning."

"I-”

Then, the worst thing imaginable happened. Just as he was threatening to fire you, your stomach lurched again. But instead of it just being your stomach, this time, it was the entire digestive system as a whole.

It wasn’t until his release on your arm, the wave of nausea subsiding and your head spinning so hard that you could barely stand, that you realized what had happened.

You just puked all over your boss.

You looked at him in horror. His white suit and red shirt were completely covered in a disgusting mix of stomach fluids and coffee. This was where you saw him break. His normal, professional demeanor vanished, and his eyes grew wide, his jaw-dropping.

For a moment, you thought he might say something. But then his eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened, his lips pursing together. He was shaking from head to toe. You couldn't tell if he was angry or if he was disgusted.

"Out," he hissed, his voice quiet but venomous.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Get the hell out.”

You nodded and quickly did as you were told.

Great, not only did you ruin a suit that was probably worth more than your apartment, but you managed to piss off Gideon and get yourself fired. The job you fought so hard for was just thrown out the window in an instant. You didn't blame him. If you were him, you would have fired you too.

It was a long drive home. You were still feeling sick to your stomach, but now it became more like the feeling of a hangover than actual illness. Your headache had subsided a bit, but you felt achy all over.

You pulled up in front of your apartment complex and climbed out of the car, feeling like you were made of lead. You stood there for a moment, leaning against your car, waiting for the feeling of your body to return to normal. When it finally did, you headed inside and took a quick shower before crawling into bed, not even bothering with any dinner.

Your last thought was how Gideon Graves had looked when he realized you had puked on him. You wondered if he was okay. You tried not to think about it, but his expression kept coming back to mind, over and over. He'd looked like he'd been about to explode.

Again, understandably so. But even though you'd done your best to forget it, the memory just wouldn't leave your mind.

The incident became a week’s memory, but you still couldn't stop thinking about him, about his face. About the fact that you lost your job over something so stupid.

It was another week before you saw Gideon again. Honestly, you weren’t expecting it.

Your doorbell rang, and you figured it was the pizza guy since it was just after five o'clock, and you had ordered some dinner. But when you went to the door, there was no pizza guy. Instead, there was Gideon Graves leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at you.

You glanced at him for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, your cheeks burning, and then looked back down at your feet.

"I'm sorry," you said.

"Don’t apologize. I don’t want your apologies.” He looked around, glancing at your apartment. "Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to keep standing there until you decide to ruin my suit again?"

You blinked, looking back at his face, but his expression hadn't changed.

You moved aside, letting him in. He walked past you and stood in your living room. His eyes darted around, and you could tell he was taking it all in. You had a tiny apartment, but it was nice; you'd worked hard to make it so. You had a nice couch, a few bookshelves, a TV, and a small table and chairs in the kitchen area.

"Well?" He said, turning back to look at you.

"I- What?” You asked, not knowing what to say.

"I’ve called you. No responses. I came to your apartment last week. No answer. And now that I'm here, you're standing there, looking like an idiot when I expected a fully functioning human being."

You blinked a few times, still not entirely sure what was going on. You cleared your throat.

"What do you want?"

“What do I want?” He scoffed. His face twisted into a look of disgust, his eyes narrowing at you, and his upper lip curling just the tiniest bit as though he smelled something rotten. "You ruined my suit, and then you left. You don't answer your phone when I call. Did your uncultured brain forget about the job you practically begged me for? I told you to impress me, but if you can't even be bothered to show up, I have no interest in continuing your employment."

You frowned, your jaw dropping open.

"Wait, I’m not already fired?”

His eyes snapped up to your face, his brow furrowing. His lip twitched as he fought to hold back whatever he wanted to say to you. The long pause had your mind shifting attention to him. The way he looked. The way he smelled. You took a small step forward.

"I... I thought-"

He was wearing a suit, like usual, but instead of the white suit with the red shirt, he wore a dark gray suit with a light blue shirt. The shirt wasn't buttoned all the way. He hadn't worn a tie, but he usually always had one, so you were a little shocked when you saw that he didn't have one.

And his hair. His hair wasn't slicked back the way it usually was. Instead, it was loose. It's not quite messy, but it's not perfect either.

"You thought you'd been fired?" he said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nodded.

He sighed and then shook his head. His hands made their way to his glasses, and you realized that his eyes had been fixed on the ground this whole time. He was staring at the floor like he couldn't even look at you.

"I would never fire someone for… puking on me. I’m not that cruel," he muttered. He turned his eyes on you, his fingers adjusting the frames of his glasses. "No. You're still employed here. I simply came to inform you that I'm willing to overlook this week, but the next one that you miss, you're fired."

"Oh," you said. “I- Thank you."

"Don't thank me."

He was turning to leave, and you had to wonder why he had come here in the first place.

"Gideon?"

He paused, his back still to you.

"What did you think I was doing?"

You could see him stiffen, and you had no doubt that he was clenching his jaw. But after a moment, he turned back to look at you, his eyes meeting yours, and you noticed that he had stopped chewing his gum.

"If I had to guess," he said, his tone sharp, "I would have assumed that you were either sleeping or still sick. I told you I would have you fired if you were too sick to work. The fact that you didn't even bother to respond to my calls and messages was more than enough for me to assume the latter."

“But you didn’t fire me."

He narrowed his eyes. "If you don't feel well enough, I suggest you stay home. I don't want to deal with your incompetence right now."

He started to leave again.

"Wait!" You called after him.

He stopped again and looked back over his shoulder at you. His expression was dark and foreboding.

"Do you... Do you need anything?"

"Need? What could you possibly-"

You interrupted him, cutting him off before he could say anything rude or condescending.

"I'm sorry I puked on you. I really am. If I had the money for another suit, I would replace it, but I… don't have that kind of money."

"It’s not ruined. I shipped it to be dry cleaned." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "I don’t want or need your apologies, nor do I need your money. It's not worth a thousand dollars."

"Well, what do you need?"

He was silent, turning his eyes on the floor again, his fingers fussing with his glasses again. His brow was furrowed, and you could see that he was struggling with something.

"Gideon?"

"Stop saying my name like that," he snapped.

He turned around and looked at you again. You blinked in confusion, and he sighed, walking back towards you until he was standing in front of you.

You've forgotten, honestly, how short he was. You were used to thinking of him as this giant of a man. When he walked into a room, his presence made him seem larger than life. But now, you were able to see that he was really a bit shorter than you were. He was a bit on the skinny side, too, not muscular or anything like that. But he still had presence, even when he was being quiet when he was simply standing there looking at you, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Why?"

You blinked again.

"Why what?"

He rolled his eyes, and his expression softened for a moment, just for a moment, before he got angry again.

"You're not supposed to sound so concerned about me. It's insulting. I'm your boss. I shouldn't need anything from you. That's why."

"It’s just a favor… If it will keep you from firing me, I'll do it," you said.

“Just show me you're not incompetent," he snapped, "that you can do your job without having a meltdown over it."

"Okay."

"And quit making me repeat myself. Just show me. I want you to show me that you're going to be an asset to this company."

"I will."

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he was silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face. He sighed again, his shoulders relaxing as he did so.

"I need-"

"Yeah?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Are you going to interrupt me every time I tell you something?"

"Yes," you said.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but he didn't yell at you. Gideon just sighed, looking tired all of a sudden, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I need you to come in tomorrow. I have some… matters I need to attend to, so you need to handle the rest of the work."

"Okay. Can I ask what’s going on?"

His eyes narrowed again, his lips pursing, and you felt like you might have pushed too far, but you were determined to be better.

"Just show up tomorrow," he said, his voice a bit softer. He sounded less angry.

He turned again and headed back for your front door.

"Gideon?"

"What?" He asked, not looking at you as he turned around, his hand reaching for the knob.

"Thanks… for not firing me."

He looked up at you, meeting your eyes, and you were surprised to see that he was smiling again, albeit a tiny little smile, but he was smiling.

"Don't thank me; just get it together," he said, and he pulled open your door and left, shutting it behind him.

And you were left there, staring at your front door, wondering how the hell you were going to be able to do the work that he was going to give you and where exactly that damn pizza was.

[kiwwia-wiwwia]

We'll Be Alright - Matt Murdock x Pregnant!Reader

A/N: Takes place post- s3 so i can do whatever i want hehe. The oh-so-overdone pregnancy trope with lots of fluff and hurt/comfort. I didn't proofread this and honestly I kinda hate it but whatever. NO USE OF Y/N because i hate it.

Series warnings: Discussion of vomit, blood, medical procedures, pain, mentions of miscarriage, pretty much all the pregnancy stuff.

Word Count: 1.2k

Part 1

Matt sighed as he waited for the elevator, anxious to get home to you. You’d called him earlier and told him that Ellison had sent you home early from work, claiming you looked dead on your feet. You’d been overworking yourself recently at The Bulletin and Matt had noticed the toll it was taking on your physical wellbeing. You were exhausted and often felt nauseous, although he knew you were trying to hide it. The elevator finally arrived and he stepped in, hitting the button of his floor and listening impatiently to your heartbeat above him as the elevator ascended. He made his way down the hall and paused when he heard an unusual sound coming from his apartment. He tilted his head in concern when he heard a soft groan leave your mouth, quickly moving towards the door of your shared apartment.

The door was unlocked, despite him constantly getting on you about locking the door when you were home alone. He made a mental note to bring it up again later. He set down his keys and cane on the bench by the door and made his way towards where you were in the bathroom. “Sweetheart?” He called out, alerting him to your presence. He heard you swear under your breath before you shuffled around on the floor. He cocked a brow at that. Why were you on the floor? “I’m home, is everything alright?" He paused, listening as you whimpered quietly in response. "You don’t sound great,” he said softly against the bathroom door. Another discontented noise left your mouth as the door swung open, revealing your form slumped over the toilet bowl.

“Threw up,” you bluntly stated. Your hands gripped the toilet as you gagged, leaning forward. “Might do it again. Ellison made me go home because I almost puked on him, which would’ve been bad. But I gotta finish-” You gagged again and Matt could hear the way your stomach was churning angrily. “-Gotta finish the article,” you mumbled miserably. Matt hummed sadly, settling down next to you on the floor. 

“Love, don’t worry about that right now. You’re obviously not doing well, maybe you need a break from work, hmm?” He traced his fingers over your arm, earning a pleased sigh. The bliss was abruptly cut short as you violently retched and emptied the contents of your stomach. Matt winced at the sound, drawing your hair away from your face with one hand and rubbing your back with the other. The scent of your tears mixed with the sour smell of your bile, a horrid concoction in his nose. You sighed and flushed the toilet, the scent gradually receding as you shakily got up to wash your face. “I don’t know what’s going on,” you sniffled. “My back hurts and I’m nauseous and my boobs are sore, I can hardly stay awake, and-” you stopped, your entire body going rigid. Matt shot up next to you and cupped your face in his hands. “What? Sweetheart, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You let out a shaky exhale and silently pushed past him, entering the living room with panic evident in your gait. Matt confusedly followed you, concern flooding his body. You fumbled around the couch until you found your phone, quickly tapping through your health app. Your eyes widened and you sucked in a sharp breath. Matt was only becoming more and more alarmed at your silence and he tentatively reached out to put a hand on your shoulder. You glanced at him, his face asking you a silent question. “I’m late,” you whispered. “I’m two weeks late, Matt. Oh my god.” His eyes widened as he realized what you were saying. “Do you think you’re…?”

You shrugged helplessly. “It would make sense. Fuck, Matt. I don’t…” you took a shuddering breath, tears pricking your eyes. Matt wrapped his arms around you, anchoring you to reality. He could hear your heart hammering in your chest, your unspoken fears consuming you. “We’ll be okay, love,” he murmured into your hair. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll be alright.”

The two of you stood there for a long time, quiet sniffles escaping as you pressed yourself against him and he trailed his fingers comfortingly up and down your spine.

-*-*-

“Fuck.”

The two of you were seated on the couch, three pregnancy tests displayed in front of you on the coffee table. All three had that god-awful word that you’d feared since college, too many scares embedding this reaction in your mind.

Pregnant.

Matt exhaled loudly, his mind obviously racing. “Okay. This is okay. We… we didn’t expect this so soon.” Your head whipped in his direction and you snorted involuntarily. He tilted his head, one brow raised in confusion. “What?” You shook your head, an amused smile ghosting  your face. “So soon? Were you planning on having children with me, Mr. Murdock?” He flushed at your words and you laughed again, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. “I mean, you moved in with me, didn’t you? You couldn’t have done that without some kind of thought about the future.” You hummed in response, leaning against him. “I thought about it, yeah. Just…” you chuckled softly. “Like you said, not so soon.” The two of you sat there silently for a moment before you remembered something and gasped, smacking him on the knee.

“Matthew.”

“What? What did I do?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do you know what day it is?” 

He stared at you, confusion etched across his features. “...Thursday?” His eyes widened in realization. “Oh my god. It’s Thai food Thursday.” You nodded sagely. “The time-honored tradition of Thai food Thursday mustn’t be forsaken on this day.” Matt snorted, causing you to break character and giggle. He groaned dramatically as he stood, reaching out a hand to haul you up with him. You sighed and looked down, placing a hand on your abdomen. “Let’s hope pad see-ew is something you like, little nugget. Because honestly, that’s the only food that doesn’t make me want to puke at the thought of it.” Matt’s hand joined yours, his thumb gently sweeping over your knuckles. 

He knelt in front of you, the expression on his face soft and reverent as he spoke. “I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered into your belly. You smiled softly. “If you let your mother eat her beloved Thai food without puking,” he continued, “I’ll tell you about how she tripped up the stairs after our first date when you’re old enough to laugh at her with me.” You gasped in mock offense as he smirked up at you, mischief coloring his features. “Matthew!” You scolded, earning a bark of laughter from him. “I did not trip. I just- you were-” you sputtered in exasperation, playfully smacking him on the head. “That’s cheating,” you mumbled. “You can’t bribe our unborn child with tales of my misfortune.”

He grinned as he stood, pressing a quick kiss into your hair. “Not even if it means you can have pad see-ew?” You shook your head with an amused huff. This is how things were supposed to be. You and Matt bantering, laughing and poking fun at each other. You’d be alright. After all, there was no one you’d rather be doing this with.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Again, definitely not my best work but I promise it'll get better with more installments. I plan on having this series show reader and Matt throughout the pregnancy, labor/delivery, and with the newborn. Of course, it wouldn't be exciting without some angst in there, so look forward to that :) like and reblog so I know I'm not just screaming into the void

[willowser]

you find pro-hero touya naked on the sidewalk.

face down, ass up, and completely unmoving; it's a little after 5 in the morning, which is maybe why no one has found him or offered him any clothes. or finished him off.

it's nearly december, but all the ice around him has melted into a slick and dangerous sludge, and snowflakes are sizzling when they make contact with his back. skin a tender pink and baby-smooth; another reason you know he's still alive, aside from all the heat he's generating on such a frozen morning.

"hey," you nudge him lightly with the toe of your boot until he grunts and begins to stir. "i don't know how your quirk works, but laying in the cold like this can't be good for you."

some kind of nonsense noise fumbles out of his mouth as he squints up at you, frown etched so deep that it looks like it hurts. it almost feels like he's mega-wasted and is burning off a hangover, but you squat next to him and don't smell alcohol or weed or vomit or even nicotine. just ash, as the early morning wind stings the inside of your nose.

"c'mon man," you scoff when he turns his back to you, like a teenager not ready to get out of bed. "don't make me leave you out here."

pro-hero touya has tattoos everywhere — or at least in his most visible spots, with his costume. piercings, you're not so sure about; the last time you saw his face up close on a big screen, he might have had a vertical bar through his lip and several in his ears, but you vaguely remember a tabloid article about him almost getting his mouth ripped off during a high-speed chase. you know there's something though, a bunch of metal in his face and head.

this touya has nothing. none of it; born fresh right here, in the muck and the ice.

of course the first thing you think is: clone-touya.

some evil ne'er-do-well has obtained pieces of his dna and is trying to create a super weapon to destroy the city, and in a cruel twist of fate, you get to be the one that finds him. responsible, suddenly, for the could-be end of the world. least you can do is offer him your coat.

you try again at nudging him, with the side of your foot this time so as to put more weight into it, and, surprisingly, he complies rather easily, rolling completely over until he's flat on his back. exposed and bare to the elements.

"whoa," you mutter, eyes shooting up to the windows of the department store he's in front of. trying, at least, to offer him the small courtesy. "you're gonna get a public indecency charge at this point."

this is not the first time you've seen pro-hero touya's dick against your will; two years ago, some sex tape he made leaked and your co-worker was so excited to have it in her possession that it had been shoved into your face, sound and all, in the middle of your shift. there had been metal there, too, but this clone-touya is brand spanking new.

only one of his eyes is cracked open, a thin sliver of his icy blues peeking at you through a veil of snow-heavy lashes. something about him sprawled out on the concrete like a sloppy angel makes your heart squeeze, even if you don't particularly care much for him or his heroics.

"alright," you sigh, shrugging out of your coat to drape over his hips. "don't move, i guess."

it's lucky that he's half-alive right outside your job; in the following twenty minutes, you use your key to get back into the building and pick out a simple set of clothes from the men's section that you'll deduct from your paycheck later. when you come out of the back to find him again, he's at least pushed himself up into a sitting position and is coming to against the wall. in his lap, your fluffy jacket is damp and soggy and drooping and now useless.

if someone would have ever told you that one day you'd be here, helping to dress pro-hero touya like a toddler out of the bath, you — don't know what you would have said. laughed, maybe, eyebrows raised, totally lost. you feel much the same now.

a creeping unease has started at the base of your spine at his silence. finally dressed, he simply watches you, hazy, with half-lidded eyes, and you don't know what you're expecting from someone like him, but the cold shoulder is not it. it sucks that he's actually handsome because you didn't think you were the type of person to get caught up in him, but — all his features are sharp, like they've been carved by careful hands.

shorter in person, and, funny enough, that gives you the confidence to poke him in the cheek, like a brat.

"you okay in there?"

pro-hero touya doesn't retaliate to your impishness — which furthers your concern — only swallows and smacks his lips, squinting into the coming day as it dawns.

you take that as a no.

when you loop your arm through his, he lets you, and offers no objection to being led down the sidewalk. he's — warm, which you knew, but winter is sinking through your thin sweater and the plethora of heat rolling off him nearly has you purring. easy to sink in to, to your surprise, more than pliable in this fugue state.

there's a breakfast place not far from the department store and you think maybe he just needs to eat, or something. drink some water. you've been up since late last night with inventory and the thought of a fat stack of syrupy, buttermilk pancakes is motivation enough to hurry him along.

this early, there are very few people out to gawk at him on the street and you're glad for it, because you don't know how you'd explain this to your coworker if you were to end up in some tabloid. the most attention he garners is when you wrench open the doors to the cafe, and even then, the overtired, middle-aged woman just chews her gum and gestures to a table at the back.

when she brings water, you order a breakfast plate for him and yourself, and the first thing clone-touya says to you, after she's gone, is:

"i don't like pork."

you try not to make a big deal about him finally joining you in the physical world, settling for a shrug. "then don't eat it."

he snorts, still a little disjointed as he stares at the fading pattern of your table. you watch him take it all in: the salt and pepper shakers, the napkin container, the dead flies in the window pane, his tall, sweating glass.

all at once, he drinks it down so fast that some of it slips from the corners of his lips and down his chin, and when he wipes a limp hand across his mouth, you just scoot your glass across to him. and he does it all over again.

despite the weather, he wets a hand to run over his face. "what day is it?"

"thursday."

for some reason, he laughs once. huffy and short, scratchy. with a shake of his head, he turns towards the window, leaning into it like he needs to remember where he's at.

you don't think he is, but you still ask: "y'okay?"

his eyes cut to you, alive, and he considers you for a long moment. "you know who i am?"

you shrug, unable to tell if he's asking because he doesn't know, or if this is some kind of intimidation tactic. "think so." and then when he doesn't respond immediately, you tack on: "don't look right, though."

it makes him laugh, sharp and sudden. "yeah, right?" he shoves up his sleeves to trace the bare skin of his arms, rubbing his thumb over his wrist before making crescents with his nails. clone-touya goes silent again, and he doesn't look up until the food arrives.

before he can complain, you snatch the pork sausage off his plate and the quick action brings him back to the physical world again. back to the table and back to you.

he smiles like a ghost, mouth haunted on the pale, untouched skin of his face. "i have to work really hard at keeping my temperature regulated, or else my quirk will just—" he shrugs before downing another glass of water. when he finishes, he wipes a hand over his mouth, sloppy, and then takes an over-large bite of his pancakes. "eat me up."

you — don't really know what to say. this isn't a conversation topic you ever expected to have with him, not that you ever could have expected one to begin with, but you think he might just be — talking. to you, sure, but not to be polite.

"and if i just keep going and going and going," he speaks with food in his cheeks, and you're a little surprised at how bad his table manners are. but maybe he's just really hungry. "it'll just incinerate me into nothing."

so casually he says it, eyes far out the window, trained on the day as it wakes. you want to say that your clone theory is really coming together — how could he know all that, if he didn't actually incinerate himself into nothing? — but you take in his inkless arms and unpunctured nose and your stomach twists.

"so...then what?" when you speak up, his eyes cut across the table again, expression unchanged. his answer is a lazy gesture to himself with his fork. "you just...come back?"

"good news is," he laughs, insincere, "if i get a tattoo and hate it, i can just start all over again."

you don't know how to feel about that — well, you do, but you think your pity will only annoy him, so you say, "sounds like a waste of money."

clone-touya shrugs and you can see the food get caught in his throat, too large of a bite that has him stealing your water again. "got enough of it."

“your time, then?”

he doesn’t bother to look at you, as he shake his head; it feels rude, like some sort of dismissal. “what’s that fuckin’ matter?”

“okay,” you grit your teeth as he chews on your ice, and try to remember your own manners. maybe he’s grouchy because he just woke up from some kind of ash-nap. “what are you gaining from it?”

and that — has his jaw stilling, nostrils flaring as he finally, finally takes you in. whatever he finds in your face isn’t enough, and you’re reminded, again, that you really aren’t a big fan of this guy. he leans close as he whispers, “you wouldn’t get it.”

and you lean in just as close. “so explain it to me then.”

against the nearly empty plate, his cutlery sings when he drops it, suddenly. with food still stuffed into one side of his cheeks, he sits back in the booth and crosses his arms. childishly, you feel like you’ve won something, and your smile makes his eyes narrow.

“and who are you, anyway? some civilian?” clone-touya — or real, angry touya; you’re not sure anymore — doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, not even when the only other table in the cafe turns to look at him. “y’wanna know what it’s like to be daddy’s prized possession? fine. how much time you got?”

you shrug, crossing your arms as you lean into the table. hugging yourself, making yourself warm against the frost outside, and in his eyes. “what’s that matter?”

[runa-falls]

cat and mouse - 2

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Supervillain(?)!Reader

Warnings: kissy kissy :3, mention of alcohol, you're broke. sorry.

a/n: i wrote this out today (what is now a few days ago) because i couldn't work on the other fic until i got this out of my system :) if there are plot holes its because i vomited out this chapter and threw it out like a dumbass. idk what Black-Cat's personality is like so i made it kinda mirror cat woman from the harley quinn show.

Summary: Every time you try to convince people it was an accident, you immediately get ratted out to the Spider. But really, it was! You don't know why you're being hunted, you didn't even do anything wrong. Yet.

w/c: 2.6k

part 1 part 3 part 4

masterlist

----

Nueva York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, as he, and the world, likes to call him, is your official nemesis, or at least that’s what the city thinks.

You crumple up the half-soaked People magazine, filled with ‘juicy gossip about our favorite Spider and the new villain-of-the-week: Blaze’. Seriously, you might just become a villain if they keep calling you that.

You briefly forgot you swiped the news story off of a nearby food and entertainment stand (that’s barely holding up in the downpour) until you hear:

“Hey! You gotta pay for that!” 

You don’t. 

In your defense, it was only a dollar-fifty. And either way, it’s technically the Spider’s fault that you didn’t have a penny on you!

Honestly, if it were your choice, you’d never see his stupidly broad shoulders again. He truly is the bane of your existence and a major pain in your ass. You genuinely don’t understand why he even pays you any mind, it’s not like you are plotting to take over the city. You just want enough money to get some fries and a Koka Soda, and maybe a couple more black articles of clothing that aren’t covered in clawed-out stripes. 

Spider-Man? More like Cat-Man. 

You would say you’ve been “fighting” this man for weeks like the magazines insinuate, but it’s less violence than it is just you squirming out of his clutches and running away. You swear the Spider is a bloodhound. No matter where you are, or what you’re wearing, he always finds you. And you always get away. It’s actually quite pathetic. 

He goes: “It’s you again.”

You say: “No it’s not.” 

Then he has to say: “Blaze.” Like you’re some ultra-nemesis that has ruined his life.

And you can’t help but: “Stop fucking calling me that, dude.” Before you make a run for it. 

He catches up, obviously, either has you on the ground, against the wall, or holds you up so you can’t escape, but then you do. Every time. And he lets you. 

So really, it’s just fucking annoying. What a waste of a great plan and an excellently executed silent break-in!

You never asked for any of this. The fact you don’t have a flashy-ass elastic suit should be proof enough: You’re not a supervillain. 

But, when the opportunity to make a little more cash comes around, you can’t just say no. In your mind, the bigger the heist, the longer you can stay out of the public and away from him. 

And if the one girl on the team wants to make you a suit, how can you resist? The Spider has ruined all the other clothes you’ve worn (and not in a good way). 

You saw your new suit a few hours before you needed to meet up with the team. Felicia, or Black Cat as the rest of the group refers to her, is probably the most elegant and badass woman you’ve ever met. 

She has voluminous silver-blonde curls and sharp green eyes that match the deadliness of her talon-like retractable claws (which actually kinda remind you of someone…). Though she doesn’t have explosive energy inside of her as you do, her cat-like senses and martial art skills are almost as deadly. 

Felicia was happy to invite you over to her multi-million dollar penthouse to get ready and hang out a little before you needed to leave. 

She’s filing her nails into perfectly deadly points as you sit on her plush ultra-white couch next to the new suit, hands fiddling nervously together as you watch her pamper herself with extreme precision. There are two glasses of high-grade champagne in front of you on the glass coffee table. Yours is barely touched. Hers has been drained and refilled a couple of times throughout the hour. 

“You know, usually I’d work this job alone, but it’s a lot easier to get away when you leave a few maggots to distract the Spider. That’s what men are for. Us girls need to stick together, right?” 

Even her voice is elegant. 

“Yeah.” You croak out. You prefer to listen to her talk than say something dumb and non-villain-like. And yeah, you’ll admit you’re a tiny bit scared of her, but sometimes that’s something you have to go through when making friends. Right?

“Alright, we’ve got like 20 minutes. Go on, babe, try it on.” She loosely gestures to the suit, “Bathroom is in the hallway, first door to the left.” You stand promptly and shuffle over to her bathroom, taking a second to look back to send a grateful smile at her before you close the door. 

It almost resembles the one you saw on her the first day you met. The only difference is that yours is completely black and has a high collar neckline in contrast to her more provocative V-shaped suit.

There’s no fur-lining or silver details, just an invisible zipper that creates the illusion that this suit is painted onto your body. Felicia also provided a simple mask that you can pull over your head when you tie back your hair and some silver hair spray so you’re less recognizable to the general public. 

You stare in the mirror and smooth out any wrinkles down your torso with your gloved fingers. Alright. Now you look like a supervillain. 

Or at least a super-something. 

She makes you do a little spin. “You look lovely, darling.” A smirk pulled at her charming lips. “Absolutely, perfect.” 

—

Fuck.

So here you are, trying to break out of a bank that shut down around you as soon as you walked in. The two guys, who you never took the time to learn the names of, are freaking out, banging harshly against the metal doors that slammed shut in front of the exits. 

Felicia, on the other hand, is as cool as a cucumber, checking her nails like there isn’t a blaring siren and pulsing lights around her. 

So what now? You could probably blast the doors open with whatever comes out of your hands (you’re still not sure as you try to use your powers as a last resort). But that would leave a bunch of evidence that you were there and you didn’t come to knock down a whole building.

You walk over to her, trying to hide the anxiety that’s starting to bubble up inside of you. “What should we do?” She looks up from her manicured nails and looks at you. Then at the guys.

“Well, the boys seem a bit preoccupied,” As if to prove her point, one of them starts kicking the door, as if it would magically open up for him if he were to hit it harder and make more noise. She sighs, “I guess we could use the air duct that leads to the roof.” 

“Ok.”

So you follow her to one of the main offices in the building, watching as she easily rips off the cover of the vent and uses the desk for leverage to hoist her into the surprisingly spacious air duct. 

The chill evening breeze of Nueva York has never felt so good. Well, it has smelt better, but if garbage and crime-filled air meant you’re not going back to jail, you’ll take it. 

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” The Black Cat runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it back and out of her face. Of course, it falls perfectly over her shoulders. “So…I’ll see you later, yeah?” She’s leaving?

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’d love to!” 

“Great.” She walks to the edge of the roof and scales down the back of the building like it’s nothing. Look, it’s not that tall of a building, but still, you weren’t about to follow her down. You watch as her black-suited figure lands on the concrete ground, barely making a sound, before she sashays into the shadows of the city, disappearing into the night. God, she’s so cool. 

And then it’s just you. 

You sit yourself down and finally take a breath. Your first job as a villain and you didn’t even get to see the money. What are you getting yourself into?

You pull slightly at the elastic holding your hair together, regretting the tight pony that’s now giving you a major headache. Maybe this life isn’t for you. With, probably an overdramatic, sigh you push yourself up. Now to figure out how you’re getting out of here. 

–

Turns out you didn’t have too many options. As soon as you were about to take a serious ‘leap of faith’ and try to scale down the building, you were ambushed by a series of fwp, fwp, fwp’s and lifted from the ground. That probably saved your life now that you’re thinking back on it.

So, he found you. Big surprise. He’s practically stalking you at this point.

He takes you for a ride, holding you close as he swings from building to building, barely breaking a sweat. You’re actually surprised that you didn’t hurl all over his stupidly firm shoulder. You should have.

You don’t know why he brought you to the top of a half-constructed building, but you’re assuming he’s just trying to be dramatic again. Superheroes, right? 

You struggle against restraints when you’re finally set down, at least trying to lay in a more comfortable position as Spider-man stands over you. Not only are you fully wrapped in red webs, but your arms are also tied behind your back.

The Spider kneels down, watching you continue to struggle, “Alright, Hardy, give it up.” Hardy? Shit, he must think you’re Felicia. The black suit, the silver hair. Dammit. 

He takes off your mask before you can say anything, pulling out your loose hair tie with it, and boy, is he surprised to see it’s you.

“Wh–Blaze?” He takes off his mask like he can’t believe his fabric-covered eyes. His scarlet gaze not so subtly takes in your new look. A big change from the usual getup you wear. “What, uh,” When he finally meets your eyes, one of his gloved hands raises to rub at the back of his neck. Is he nervous? He briefly looks away from you, “What did you do to your hair?”

“Who cares! Let me out of these!” You glower at him, arms tugging at the luminous webs, “And you know I hate that stupid-ass name.”

“What the hell were you doing here? Why are you suddenly hanging out with a bunch of criminals?”

You give him a deadpan expression, “I’m a villain, remember.”

“Ah,” He slices through a couple of the overlapping webs that fit snugly over your stomach. “Finally giving into the narrative, hm?” Then the ones around your arms.

“S’not like I have much of a choice.” The red webs start to loosen until they unravel completely and pool on the floor. “So, you’re…letting me go?” You rub at your sore wrists, feeling the ache dissipate almost immediately. He shrugs like it’s no big deal for him. 

“It’s expected, isn't it?” He’s at the edge of the roof staring at the buildings around him, a soft breeze sweeps through his hair, and the lights of ‘the city that never sleeps’ soak over his suited figure from below.

“Just like that?” 

“...Just like that.” He says. But he says it more to himself than you. With that, he swiftly puts his mask back on, hiding the wonderfully serene expression he once held, but you never got to see in full. 

Spider-man is confusing. He treats you like you’re some sort of catch-and-release criminal. Acting like a push-over parent that reprimands their child even when they know they’ll do it again. You don’t get it. 

And the way he looks at you sometimes. Like he’s having fun. You see it when he’s chasing you, webbing you to the wall, or holding you under his claws. There’s a glowing heat that pulses in his eyes and you can almost see the barest gleam of his fangs. You can’t even wrap your head around how he can both infuriate and draw you in at the same time. And then he lets you go. 

And now he’s leaving you. 

So you take your chance. 

“Wait.” He stills but doesn’t turn back to look at you. He just stays there, merely stopping to listen to whatever you have to say. But you want him to look at you. You need to see those simmering red eyes that are hidden behind the mask. “I-” You stop yourself. You’re not actually sure what you were going to say. All you know is you just weren’t ready for him to leave yet. “I, um, never caught your name!” It blurts out of your lips before you realize what you’re saying. 

Then silence.

How awkward. 

You were sure he was going to leave you there. No sane superhero would reveal his secret identity, dumbass! Especially to a girl like you.

But then his hand comes up, slips off his mask again, hair slightly ruffled from the action, and he finally turns. Before you know it he’s approaching you, fast. And you can’t do anything but stand there, watching as his looming form starts to take up more and more of your vision until he’s standing right in front of you, head tilted downwards and red eyes low. 

Two warm palms cradle your jaw and you lean into the touch, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. Just as your eyes start to open again, his head is dipping toward yours. Then his lips meet yours.

And it’s perfect. His soft plush lips move against yours, occasionally nipping and sucking on your bottom lip until it was satisfyingly plump. The warm, masculine smell surrounding you makes your knees weak as his hands drop from your face to your waist in an effort to pull you toward him.

Your body melts against him as he starts to softly lick into your mouth, thoroughly seeking out the taste of you. He pushes you gently against the unfinished concrete wall behind you, eliminating any space that was left between your thinly suited bodies. You swear you’re about to melt when you feel his broken groan against your lightly suited-chest.

And then you separate, heavy breaths and intense gazes floating between you. “Miguel.” He looks down at the way he’s holding you, the size of his palm against your smaller body. And then the ridiculous suit that was tailored specifically for the heist, but looks more like something you’d wear for a BDSM session. He clears his throat and looks back up, “Miguel O’Hara.”

“Miguel…” His hand on your waist clenches at the sound of your hoarse voice and you can tell he’s tempted to pull you back in. 

“You’re one of the few who know.”

Now, you’re curious. You hum, “Who else knows?” His eyes glance at your hair and his hand drops. Suddenly, you feel cold. He steps away from you, not unkindly, but it’s clear he’s trying to create space. 

He brushes it off, “No one important.” And then he’s walking away. Back to the same spot he was going to leave you from. Cool. 

“Well,” You take a few steps closer, eyes roaming over his muscled back,  “I promise not to tell anyone.”

“I know.” His mask is back on, and this time you know there’s no stopping him this time. “Catch you later, Little Red.” He jumps. 

Little Red? 

[groovesnjams]

gRooVES 'n JaMs S. O. T. Y. 2024

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"No One Else" by Elias Rønnenfelt

MG:

Much has been made this year about how streaming has ruined the music industry from the fact that Daniel Ek is richer than any musician (not a goalpost I'm particularly moved by; Taylor Swift outearning him would be no victory for anyone) to the ways in which platforms like TikTok have reduced art to background sound. I've read a ton of different commentator takes on the situation -- the 90s are the outlier, no one ever cared about music it was just a monoculture, and so forth. It would seem intuitive that if most of our listening is passive that we turn and demand the art be more active, demand that it arrest us and hold us firmly in its sway so it can't be reduced to advertising pap. This blog is now largely a year-end list; I'm invested in the idea of consequential music. And yet, "No One Else" is so ephemeral. The whole of Heavy Glory is casual, tossed off cool --there's a cover of "Sound of Confusion" included as though for context's sake -- but it felt magical to me. "No One Else" is a break-up song that laments "when I said I wanted nothing, that's not really what I meant" with more pathos than you'd imagine from such a pithy line. He follows it up with "her kiss is truly sweet like no one else/ But I couldn't keep my fingers to myself." The moment swings from wryly sad to an almost sickening confusion that is never fully alleviated, just dumped in the listener's lap like so much vomit. "No One Else" is compelling, it's essential, and it's also almost begging to be passed over and forgotten. Well, I can't forget it.

DV:

How is it possible that in 2024 Rivers Cuomo has not been canceled for good? And not only is he not canceled, not only is he treated as a quirky elder icon of a sort (, but I can no longer even find the pre-"Me Too" articles that dug into his whole awful history? I hope someone tries again and I hope it sticks this time, but until then I'm happy to have a new "No One Else" to add to our personal canon. Rønnenfelt is nearly as self-pitying as any early Weezer song, and slightly more self aware - there's a ruefulness to "No One Else" - especially in the way he delivers the punchline (or twist?) of "But I couldn’t keep my fingers to myself." It's a song about regret and fucking up and if not owning it, at least owning up to it. Rønnenfelt leaves unresolved what will come next, which would be the easy part to put into a pop song but the hard part to actually do. And as it turns out that lack of pat resolution makes "No One Else" indelible in a way it could never be if it tied everything up neatly. Where is this all going, it asks, knowing the question is unanswerable. And then it just ends.

[poppyandzena]

Zena:" The stalkers who claim to be experts on Poppy's story don't even know shit about sexual health. This is just clowning around. I just can't these people seriously. I told Poppy to get testing to protect herself because after someone violates you, they're is zero reason to trust their history."

1.) Literally no one has claimed expertise on Poppy. This is yet another false claim. See, people paid attention to Poppy's behavior and Poppy's words. People are just observing Poppy's publicly abusive meltdown. People are simply tracking a smear campaign. Poppy provides that data. A LOT of data. Poppy continues to incessantly and obsessively make false claims of sexual assault, as if hundreds of people didn't witness Poppy serve us with a linear timeline of rejection. People aren't experts on anyone, that's silly. Poppy put out a fuck ton of information publicly. It's getting difficult for people to silence their own critical thinking. Luckily, there is public access to entire archives documenting Poppy's willfully malicious campaign to destroy another Trans woman. Because of rejection. It's revenge. Thanks to Poppy's unhinged antics across Tumblr and Twitter, people can analyze the data for themselves on their own time. And there-in lies the rub for this sneaky tyrannical goblin -- your arguments are getting more nonsensical. Zena is throwing up diversions. It's getting a bit pitiful.

Zena: "I guess I'm going to be posting sexual health articles to educate these fucks now. Just how much these people know about sex is both astounding and telling. This is a self report on their part."

Zena: "These are just more signs that Poppy's story is actually true AND that she has love and support to help her after this awful shit.

2.) The only link between public discussions on sexual health and Zena's false expertise claims is Poppy's word-vomit. The UTI was splattered all over her TL after having consensual sex & getting rejected. That's it. Zena, this disjointed, bizarre gotchya connection you made with sexual health is not a sign that Poppy's story is true. This deeply goofy statement is almost as bad as me saying, "Oh wow my cat actually has asthma, not a hairball." Then going on to say, "This is a sign why I know my neighbor married a raccoon." Y'all have lost the plot and if all this wasn't so potentially harmful to folks in an already marginalized community, this shit would be funny.

On to the next point the goblin tyrant attempts to slip in subtlety. Folks may have left out the BACTERIAL VAGINOSIS part during sexual health discussions. Hell, some folks might not even know what BV is. NOT knowing what BV is or forgetting to mention BV aren't indicators of a total lack of knowledge on sexual health. Leaving out BV doesn't mean folks need to be educated by this tyrannical goblin Zena. What she's trying to do is divert attention away from Poppy's very transparent attempts to further humiliate Noeh. Everything Poppy puts on her TL centers on smearing Noeh. She literally HAS NOT stopped tweeting @ Noeh since she publicly disclosed her tweets made Noeh uncomfortable when they were partners. It is deeply unsettling that Poppy continues to try to talk to Noeh behind the scenes while routinely @ing Noeh from the YT account. This is all calculated and this community is not dumb. They're catching on. Trust that there are doubts that even her most fervent defenders are experiencing -- OF COURSE they have doubts, but what would happen if they just got brutally honest and disclosed that Poppy is indeed out of control. Poppy has gone against SO many things she advocates in her streams. Rapejacketing and targeting a trans woman is pretty disgusting. Attempting to cut of a homeless trans man's only source of revenue in the middle of winter in MICHIGAN. Shitting all over asexuals because Noeh slipped up and made a controversial statement.

BPD will NEVER be an excuse for abuse. An abuser is actively being coddled to the point where her supporters are enabling more abuse. I think it's pretty clear this therapist has not gotten treatment like DBT for her BPD. This person is a public figure. She is lending more stigma to this diagnosis. There are so many folks with BPD in my life who put in the work and are determined to be well. It is unbelievable what they face and I have so much respect for these survivors. I also feel incredibly protective over them. That impact of these far extending stigmas ACTIVELY cause HARM to people with BPD.

Listen, it's very obvious how Poppy is shitting on survivors of rape and havers of BPD. She's not an imperfect victim. She's a spiteful, vengeful, scorned woman. Zena is also shitting on folks with BPD by enabling Poppy's behavior Her supporters are enabling Poppy's behavior. You are lending to stigma and shitting on other BPD survivors. Coddling this woman while she loudly and publicly continues on with her harmful actions is not a loving act. Enabling is not an act of love. If you truly supported her, you would not lend momentum to her smear campaigns. You'd see that, at this point, Poppy is actually a liability. She is causing REAL harm to your community. Adding insult to injury, she really is out here publicly shitting on y'all, underestimating y'alls knowledge base and ability to recognize lies, abuse, danger, and malice. Some of y'all are leaning into that and at some point, you'll have to come to terms with your choices.

Anyway...

I just want to acknowledge the work and time y'all archivists have put into this. I really do appreciate being able to have access to the information I've needed to form my own opinions. Okay. That is all.

Have a beautiful night, beautiful people.

"Whoops lotsa typos there" 🥴💩

^

[heavencasteel420]

I was feeling a bit stuck on my main WIPs, so for fun I wrote a couple of lines/paragraphs for each of my other story ideas (the proper ones where I have a general sense of the story's shape, not the shitpost ideas like "Chrissy turns into a car?"). Here are the ones for my Dysfunctional/Dark/Super-Dark story ideas--they are generally grodier so proceed with caution):

Dysfunctional

Chiaroscuro (teen noir story)

Although he'd already known her peripherally, as Will's friend's older sister, Jonathan had learned plenty of new things about editor-in-chief Nancy Wheeler since he'd started taking photographs for the school paper. She was ambitious, always fighting to include articles that weren't just summaries of various basketball games and dances. She wouldn't back down from a fight, as a contingent of the PTA had learned when they'd pitched a fit over an anti-nukes editiorial. She'd make her displeasure known if one of the staff turned in late or sloppy work, a trait that had earned the dislike of the sillier girls and the guys who resented that she'd gotten the position in the first place. She preferred nonfiction to fiction, drank medically concerning amounts of Tab, and always asked after Mom and Will.

But, for the purposes of this conversation, two facts were particularly important: that she didn't gossip, and that she'd almost certainly had sex.

How Well I Remember (Jonathan/Jason, post-S1)

If it were just a crazy mom and her not-missing-anymore kid, Jason would round up a bunch of the guys to help fix up the house, but he can't exactly do that when Tommy Hagan, a junior, runs his mouth about psycho-perv Jonathan Byers every time Steve Harrington turns his back. Besides, Jason wouldn't want to embarrass him by bringing people from the same school to see his messed-up house and weird family. Most important, though, charity vaunteth not itself. It's better--more Christian--for Jason to do the right thing without an audience.

The Sin Eater's Prom Date (Jonathan/Chrissy, context is that Jonathan's the one who got taken to the UD in S1 and it made his weird reputation even weirder)

"You could ask Mrs. Sullivan to let you switch lab partners," Jason says. "No one would blame you." Chrissy pulls her imagination away from Jonathan's long, nimble fingers, meticulously dissecting the formaldehyde frog while she took notes. She has to admit that Jason's right. Mrs. Sullivan might protest, but only because making other arrangements for Jonathan could require dealing with him directly. Although she never says anything, her foundation-caked face goes all tight whenever she looks at him. "What if no one wants to switch?" she asks, fiddling with the drawstring of her jacket. "I'd feel awful." "There are probably some burnouts who wouldn't mind," he assures her. Before Chrissy can point out that there aren't many burnouts because it's an honors class, he frowns. "Mrs. Sullivan probably picked you because you're too nice. It's not appropriate."

Silver Threads and Golden Needles (garbage fire Stoncy, post-S1, alcohol mention)

In the dead week between Christmas and New Year's, Steve shows up on his doorstep with a bottle of vodka. It's been three weeks since he and Nancy got back together (a development that Jonathan noted with dismay but no real surprise) and almost two months since the last time he came knocking. He's quieter this time and, thank God, because it's ten-thirty and Mom and Will are both asleep. "You wanna go for a ride?" Steve asks. Jonathan weighs the possibility that Steve has decided to murder him (or, at least, arrange a less-fair rematch of their alley fight) against the awkwardness of having the do-you-want-to-kill-me conversation. "Okay," he says with a shrug. "Let me grab my jacket."

The Teeth of the Hydra upon You (Nancy/Chrissy, AU S2 where Jonathan moved to Maine, alcohol and vomiting)

Suddenly Steve is gone, and in his place is a pink-cheeked, strawberry blonde angel. "You look like Holly Hobby," Nancy informs her woozily. "My sister's name is Holly." Then she retches, and the angel guides her over to the toilets and smooths her hair back while he pukes. Her hands are cool and soft on Nancy's skin.

Dark

I Need Noise (Billy/Jonathan, S2 albeit with slightly different timeline just for logistical purposes, tw for Billy being gross and sexist and fatphobic below)

Billy's been in Hawkins for a couple of weeks, and he's so fucking bored. He knows exactly which girls are going to put out and, of those girls, he knows who's going to be content with screwing and who's angling to be his girlfriend. The pussy pool is shallow whether or not he's willing to publicly hold hands in exchange for a regular fuck, and he can see himself drifting into some depressing situation with Misty Carpenter, the one girl he's managed to finger so far. She's already maneuvered him into taking her to KFC once--not that she needs it, with her porky thighs--so a part of him thinks he might as well give up and focus his efforts on getting her to blow him. Another part of him, though, is almost glad that Neil made him play chauffeur for Max tonight. He'd rather be hanging out in the arcade parking lot, smoking a cigarette while the ungrateful bitch keeps him waiting, than have to make nice with Misty's friends at some dumb hick party at the quarry.

Catch Me When You Can (Eddie/Jonathan, sad AU--kind of a Tonight, Tonight redux/remix--where no one finds out about the UD, Will appears to be dead, Joyce has a mental breakdown and is institutionalized, Lonnie returns to Hawkins to stay with Jonathan, and Jonathan copes with the situation by abusing black-market painkillers that he buys from Eddie and also hooking up with Eddie--the context is a near-fatal, mostly accidental overdose):

For once, Eddie feels lucky to be poor. If he or Wayne had anything of value, Lonnie Byers would take them for all they were worth. Instead, he shows up at the trailer and reams Wayne out while Eddie hides in his bedroom and pretends not to be home. Wayne is mild, even gracious. He doesn't call Lonnie a hypocrite or a shitty excuse for a father, like Eddie longs to do. Instead, he agrees that Lonnie has every reason to be upset. He expresses his regrets (in a non-specific way that won't give Lonnie ammunitions) and asks after Jonathan. Eventually, Lonnie runs out of steam and sighs. "I should press charges," he says. "Hawkins PD is already gunning for your boy. He needs to watch his step." "Thank you," Wayne says, as though Lonnie has provided him with new and valuable information. He lets a few seconds pass before adding, "Probably easier for your boy, too, the sooner this all gets settled." If Lonnie hears this as a threat--if he understands that Wayne really means it'll be easier on Lonnie--his voice doesn't show it. "Yeah," he says. "Jesus. What a mess."

Super-Dark

Everybody Loves Me But You (post-S1 AU where Steve becomes more evil instead of reforming, tw for his gross/violent thoughts)

After the fight, Steve makes two promises to himself. First, that he'll never take Nancy Wheeler back, not even if she falls on her knees and begs him to let her make it up to him. Second, that he'll smash Byers's head into the concrete if he ever catches him creeping around his backyard again. These promises turn out to be easy to keep. Nancy doesn't even look at him at school on Monday, let alone plead with him for a second chance. And, no matter how often Steve checks the woods behind his house, armed with a Louisville Slugger, Byers never shows. He's glad, of course. Despite the fantasy he's built up in his head, he knows that rejecting Nancy, however publicly, would leave him feeling flat. No matter how many people saw her name on the theater marquee, it can't undo the image of Byers embracing her on her bed. Steve's always going to be the idiot who worried about her while she was out humiliating him. And of course he doesn't want Byers anywhere near him.

In the Night, but There's No One (this one's such a bummer that I'm not even getting into it)

"Look, you've told me a lot about Nancy, and she sounds great," Argyle says. His big hand comes to rest between Jonathan's shoulder blades, an island of warmth in a sea of cold dread. "But I don't actually know her. You're my best friend, man. I'm on your side." You wouldn't be, if you knew, Jonathan thinks, although the truth is that he has no reference for what anyone would think. He can't speak, anyway, around the block of ice in his throat. "I just don't get when it would've happened," Argyle continues. "No offense, dude, but you don't really hang out with anyone but me."

[man-in-crisis999]

Questioning Friendship (Full Article)

FRIENDSHIP IN MIDLIFE? 

I’ve started to think about the term ‘friendship’. If you are a man circumferencing middle age in the UK what does friendship actually mean to you? Men and women approach friendship in different ways, us men have misunderstood what friendship actually means.

  Remembering back to my teenage years I had much closer friends. Before the times of regular pub dwelling, friends and I would meet often, play football, talk about girls, music, movies, computer games, fashion, popularity, sex and other limitless conversation topics. The conversation would inevitably lead to prospective talks on losing one's virginity to girls that were far beyond our attraction remit. Our bonds were much stronger in youth, we still teased each other and laughed at each other's shortcomings but that wasn’t the foundation of our friendships. If any of my friends were in trouble I would always have their back and defend them, in return they would have mine.

My experience in adulthood has been somewhat different. When alcohol and pubs entered the fray my male friendships started to change and deteriorate. No longer did we go to the movies or have outdoor excursions together, we didn’t camp or go fishing, we didn’t paddleboard or holiday together. Instead we developed a weekly meeting in the pub. These weekly public house meetings quickly grew into an array of group slander banter for a cheap laugh over a booze up. General conversation had left the building. And I was taking part and not really noticing how my friendships were changing. 

I have always been quite a deep thinker which probably arises from the music, art and movies I am influenced by. As I matured as a man I began to understand the shallowness of the weekly pub meet. This meet was simply an excuse to go out and drink alcohol, to get away from the missus and enjoy that ‘Male Banter’. Now don’t misunderstand me, I like a good laugh just as much as the next person but at some point the banter (I detest this word) has to stop. Our relationships became less about friendship and more about convenience. We never phoned each other, we never met up for coffee or a chat, we never spoke much outside of the pub. I looked at my friends and eventually could only see empty people. I had absolutely no connection with them whatsoever, I didn’t even like them anymore. 

It was only when I met my ex-partner did I start to enjoy another person's company again. We developed that bond that I was so desperate for. Subsequently we met other couples, shared dinners and house parties. We’d host Eurovision nights, family evenings and talk with our new friends about almost everything. I was happy. I firmly believe that happiness comes from good relationships with others. We are not designed to be alone. Which is why I felt so alone in my 20’s even though I had many many so called ‘friends’. 

Inevitably in modern day society my romantic relationship faltered and my partner and I separated. The friends that we had made together I had to let go of. I tried to stay in touch with them but it phased out and I was back to the weekly pub meetup. This time it was even worse and I could hardly even stand listening to the crap they came out with. They would try the banter and teasing with me but I’d lost the capacity for it and just laughed it off whilst swallowing the vomit from my stomach. Why was I here again with these people? I had nothing else. 

At this point I was approaching my 40th birthday. I had no real friends, no children and no partner. I was at a low point. I could see why so many men struggle after relationship breakdowns. Sometimes we are literally left with nothing. I am sure this is a huge contributing factor for the rise in male suicides we see across the country because I have been there, and have had thoughts about that at the time. I had lost my partner who I’d built my life around, lost all the friends we had together, lost the family bonds we had built. I was living alone. The weekly pub meet was never going to be enough for me and I quickly stopped and phased out those people from my life. I had to rebuild everything. During this time I had to be very strong and rely on my immediate family for support. For that I am so grateful. 

As a middle aged man, making new male friends is extremely difficult. People usually, by this age, have made their family and friends and are comfortable in the life they have.

 Fortunately I have found good friendships and have made one or two close friends. Those friendships are real and we regularly meet up for all sorts of different activities. The new friends I have now have all felt the way I was feeling after their own separation or divorce; completely alone. We now realise our mistake of not having built our own foundations/friendships to rely on. We understand what friendship is and how important it is. What we have to realise is that us men; are extremely vulnerable to loneliness. Imagine a man in his 50’s. He’s going through a divorce and has two children with his wife. His wife gains majority custody of the children and the man has to move out of the family home. He has to move somewhere new entirely. His life has been literally ripped from underneath his feet. He has to start again from scratch in his 50’s. His wife would usually keep the friends she has and the ones thay have made together and the man is left with absolutely nothing. How do you think he feels in his new life? Where are HIS friends? These are the building blocks of depression leading to suicide and men need to start supporting each other and being there for one and other like we did in our youth.

[pellaeas]

i think that the reason that i personally *do* tend to favor video somewhat in practice even as i spiritually resent it for the reasons stated, is that with a video, it's (still) immediately apparent that a real human put together this information. i.e. i think that for me this is a product of decaying signal:noise in text searches. why sort through 50 pages of keyword vomit garbage shilling me spammy downloads to try and fix my phone vs putting up with the boring intro made by a REAL nerd with visible human hands who will eventually give me the real answer? truly spammy videos are still pretty obvious from a thumbnail and easy to skip compared to articles that almost sound coherent for altogether too long before giving up that they contain no information

I am slowly losing my mind over the shift towards video as the default media format.

I do not find this to be an efficient way to absorb information. I am bored and distracted by the time the largely unnecessary introduction is over. I can't use ctrl+f to find the specific information I'm looking for. If there are instructions to follow, I don't want to have to constantly pause and back up to the part I need.

At least give me a fucking transcript.

[teddy-the-queer-wizard]

fun new thing happening with me

if i get too hungry or too nauseas or anything really

its a very short journey to becoming overstimulated as hell

its like. having a migraine almost? minus the headache part

noises = bad

sensations = bad

lights are too bright

people wanting to talk to me or ask me questions or want me to do stuff is automatically irritating as hell

it takes a noticeable level of self control not to snap or fall onto things i want like a food agressive dog

i am infuriated if i am eating and have to stop for any reason, or if i have to wait for the microwave to finish, or that I'm carrying it to a comfy seat before digging it or if ive had to do all that and someone wants me to so much as hand them a paper towel thats right next to me.

im so nauseous right now because dummy me decided to send like. 2 messages while sitting in the passenger seat of a moving vehicle - sometimes i can risk it and its fine. sometimes if im quick its fine. today it was not fine - the nausea is in my head and chest but because about half way through the shopping trip my body decided to remember that i hadn't eaten today - i grabbed some shit off the hot rack and devoured it - that by the time the food id grabbed hit my stomach it was too late, i was nauseous in my belly from eating.

add to that the not in considerable amount of pain my sunburn is giving me

im somewhere in near migraine levels of sensitivity.

the sun was too bright, my bathroom lights are also bordering on too bright and theyre also screaming - a sound i only sometimes have to pay attention to as is basically the worst thing in the world when i do and somehow only some peopleget to hear, i had to strip nearly every article of clothing because it was touching me the wrong way and my feet were too hot as well as trapped from the socks, my hair had to come down

my phone just got a text - sound on - as i typed this and i wanted to be sick because noise/irritation/ interruption/ implied demand

my friend needs help sometimes or comes to check on me to help or does things and regaurdless of intention my brian registers some of those things as wrong and i have to not make faces or snap at her

logically i know shes done nothing wrong or needs help or is trying to help. emotionally i need to be left alone and not be made to feel bad about it

so im sitting in the bathroom with the screaming lights drinking water and hoping the Tylenol/motron mix I took kicks in and makes pain and nausea lesson enough that every little thing doesn't make me want to vomit, lash out, or break down

and like on one hand i do seem to be slowly feeling better and on the other im tired, dont feel good and again want to go lay down and not do whatever chores - like cooking - we have left because while ive been good so so so so good the last two days at not losing my shit or being passive aggressive or let anything get to me or make me act like an asshole and make my friend feel bad

its on a leash.

im ontop of not letting my face or body react poorly so far but idk how good a hold of that leash ive got

because i recognize this particular level of petty ass over sensitive bitchy irritation feeling and ive never controlled it before. itd just be explosive and id be mad until suddenly it was out of my system and i was fine again

now im like. peeling back the layers. dealing with myself like im a kid and figuring out whats contributing to make me feel bad and taking steps to alleviate it

but idk that ive got it in me to do whats necessary when ill just be. adding more things to deal with than i can handle right now. like i know i can force/ push myself into doing it

but i really dont want to test the leash i have rn

or vomit

or scream and throw things or lash out and make my friend feel scared hurt or angry back at me