#you dont know what youre talking about. educate yourself or shut up.

[andoutofharm]

anyway please show love to your queer and indigenous friends and show support for the groups and organizations trying to make a difference for these communities IN the states they live in. most of us don’t want to leave, and we shouldn’t HAVE to leave to be recognized as humans worthy of rights and respect and love, not just by our representatives but also by queer people (especially white people) in big cities in the north who assume their experiences are universal.

[sumbril]

Step 1: Do I understand this issue well enough to have an informed opinion on it?

If Yes: Consider the wisdom of stating said opinion.

If No: Proceed to step 2.

Step 2: Am I invested in this issue enough to try to cultivate an informed understanding?

If Yes: Investigate sources for reliable information, consider the facts, reread the current state of the discussion in full, then return to step 1.

If No: Do not engage.

[samvaru]

If u think that venezuelans talking about The situation-that-we-living-in means they are trying to invisibilize The Palestine situation THEN YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

There are multiple tragedies on the world, and we not going to stop talking about ours because you cant seem to be able to worry/knowledge about more than once at the time.

Plus to the people trying to educate US about whats going on ON OUR COUNTRY: shut up, pls, you not doing anything productive neither with your own time or our own time

If you dont know very well whats going on, just stick to informate yourself properly. You dont know how many look so dumb cuz they watch a 5 seconds clip or a single tweet and decide that "yeah thats enough info, now i will go debate with every person i see about this topic i know nothing about"

[lace-coffin]

Hi im that person that asked for the stufed toy thing and oh my god i loved it so much i loved everything and onece your requests are open sorry im asking while they are shut i had this sudden idea for a request sorry😭😭 ive also kinda got 2 ideas soooo sorry😅

But like a reader that is obsessed with drawing and loved to draw cute and sweet drawings to give to asa to do with their hyper fixation or every time they are with him they start ranting to him about it or them i dont know but he would be so educated on their hyper fixation unless its bugs then he would already know everything haha

Or idea 2

The reader likes to lick things randomly for no particular reason they just like to do it or they love physical touch and cant get enough of it always cuddling with asa at night as close as they can and just imagine them cuddling and they just lick him then he just gets confused that would be so funny to imagine😭😭

Or the reader for the same type of thing as the plushie one but instead music to calm them down and they would have like a tiny crying fit for their headphones bc i have had alot of meltdowns over not having my headphones its crazy i love your writing so much hope u have a good day❤️

Asa Emory x Autistic!Gn!Reader with a new hyperfixation

Requests are open!

Hi I hope you like this! I totally crammed my last two fixations into this < 3

Call Asa old but he wasn’t exactly up to date on video games. He defiantly was now at least, not that he had much choice. You were always flipping between interests, intensely talking and interacting with one topic for weeks or months at a time and then switching to another that catches your interest. It’s been Sonic The Hedgehog for atleast 3 weeks now.

He didn’t exactly picture his desk to be filled with pictures of anthropomorphic hedgehogs but here he is, he kinda signed up for this when he stuffed you into the trunk, knowingly or not. As long as you’re happy then he’s happy, even if he thinks you’re spending a little too much time on that GameCube you begged him to bring to hotel..

A few weeks pass and it’s now the Saw franchise. Victims being “tested” in disgusting gory traps by a man that fancies himself to be god? This is more up to his speed..pun unintended.

A series of excited knocks sound from the door of your masters workroom. Stretching his taught shoulders and neck he takes inventory of his aching muscles, he supposes he can take a break to spend some time with his puppy. Slumping back in the chair and swinging it to face to door Asa calls you in. “Enter”

Keeping your eyes pinned to the floor until given further permission you enter the room, shuffling over to drop to your knees in front of your owner, waiting for the order. The currently unmasked man drinks in your appearance, oversized jumper falling to sit on your neatly pressed together thighs and the collar he places on you every morning slightly twisted, the tag not where it should be.

“Eyes up pet” he says firmly, snapping his fingers to emphasise the point. Jumping a little at the suddenness you snap your eyes up to meet a fond look on master’s face, you relax a little, letting out a sigh.

Shuffling to prop his chin up with his fist in interest, Asa continues.

“What can I do for you pet?”

Visibly perking up and practically vibrating on the wooden floor you push the paper into Asa’s face, defiantly too close, there’s no way he can actually see it like that. Realising this you settle to put it in his lap and stare back at him hopefully.

“I drew more pictures! I wanted you to see..” you reply a little shy, suddenly realising how loud and excitable you had been, insecurity creeping in. Asa recognises you shrinking in on yourself and tuts. “Can I see, cricket?” He adds softly, prompting you to show him what you’ve been working on, he never wants you to feel ashamed about you’re passions even if you’ve been taught in the past to ‘tone it down’

Asa wants all of you, he accepted that from the moment he hoisted you into the box, to the moments when he firmly settles the collar around your throat every morning.

Soft smile settling onto your face you hand over the paper, not ignoring the way your knuckles brush against your masters during the exchange.

You wait with baited breath as he looks the paper over, you know he would never say anything demeaning about your art but you can’t help feel a little anxiety when letting someone in on something special to you. Todays drawing is a rough sketch of your for a saw trap, it’s grisly and frankly disgusting, you don’t envy anyone that would end up strapped down and desperate on the other end of it. Obviously you have no need for a contraption like that, but it’s only an (admittedly) sick fantasy.

After flicking through the diagrams and reading the notes as best he can (it’s not your fault he can’t read you’re handwriting well 🙄) a strange look crosses his face..it’s almost like you can see the cogs working in his brain. this could either be fantastic or a disaster, Asa isn’t one to do things half assed, it’s always all or nothing.

“Can I use this?” The silence is suddenly broken, his sclera eyes raising to meet your own, not any less eerie than when hidden behind his mask.

A strange feeling begins to pool in your stomach, should you feel exited? Proud that he wants to use your plans? Or disgusted? Sick to your stomach that the plans you never envisioned actually coming to fruition will be used to torture some poor individual? Unsure how to feel or respond you stare back at him, lips slightly parted as if trying to muster something up.

“These are wonderful cricket, they may need a little tinkering to make them functional but regardless this design is…fascinating.” A sickly sweet smile sits on your masters lips as he hands the paper back to you, ruffling your hair and placing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

Stunned and with a pit in your stomach you nod dumbly, leaning into the affection and practically purring. The idea that you’ve just essentially sentenced someone to their painful and unethical demise is soul crushing…but also a little thrilling? Has your owner really rubbed off on you this much? It’s not like you don’t know what he does day in and day out but it’s never been this..personal.

Asa slaps his knees (like the old man he is) and rolls back over to the desk, pushing away his current projects and random hardware to make room for your (his) new trap.

“Can you bring me the paper please, doll?. I would like to get started as soon as possible.”

Shaking off the ever building dread you pull yourself up, a little unsteady due to the burning in your thighs from sitting in one position so long. Placing the paper on his desk you stare back at him, waiting for further instruction. you’re not sure when he ended up ingraining that response into your mind but at this point it’s not worth questioning, it’s not hard to see that the pair of you are living in your own little world outside of normal society by now.

“You’re welcome to either sit by me as I work and give input considering it’s you’re design or you may sit on your bed and wait for me to finish”

You glance over at the cushy pet bed across the room from Asa’s desk…a lay down does sound ideal right now, maybe a nap will help clear your head? Or swallow the guilt.

“I’m gonna lay down sir, maybe nap a little, promise I won’t snore and distract you” you tease, giggling and feeling a little better in yourself.

Asa huffs out a chuckle at your joke. “I’ll be sure you don’t little bug.” He says, smiling gently at you. You turn to leave before being stopped in your tracks.

“One more thing, pet”

Cool gloved hands slide around your neck making you shiver at the contact, the small misplaced silver tag is slid back into its original place, proudly stating your name and owner on the front like a brand.

“There we go, much better”

Blushing a little you thank your owner and wonder off to the dog bed, curling up and lazily watching him work from afar.

[krypticcafe]

Hello! This is my first time asking someone but can you do 141 men reacting to us being hypersexual? I dont see any of those ones😅

Task Force 141 men w/a hypersexual partner

rating: mature

character(s): GN!Reader, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, John "Soap" McTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Hound

warning(s): language, emotions(?), sexual themes, possible inaccuracies, mentions of trauma

a/n: An interesting request! I'll try my best to be accurate, but I can't guarantee it'll be perfect as someone who does not go through hypersexuality and a lot of resources online tend to only go over symptoms and general medical help but not a lot on how it affects relationships. So please please PLEASE correct me if needed, and I'll make the necessary changes!!

Gaz

I think out of all the guys, he'd be the only one who's heard of it, though he isn't all that educated about it.

With how Gaz is, you're actually quite comfortable discussing it early on in your relationship, bringing it up one day while you two are just talking about things.

He listens and nods along, occasionally commenting here and there, but he mostly listens. When you mention how it can be caused by trauma, you appreciate that he asks but tells you you don't have to if you're uncomfortable. He's just super understanding.

Also super low-key about it.

For example, if you tell him, signal, or if he can tell you're kinda going through it, he'll come up with a quick excuse to pull you aside and talk it out or do something else.

He already knows a bunch of exercises to keep your mind from reeling, small games to keep you grounded, and supervises you for a bit.

If you choose to, Gaz will absolutely support you if you pursue therapy! He'll especially praise you for any progress you make.

All in all, 10/10 boyfriend.

Price

It'll definitely take a while for him to wrap his head around the concept, but as long as you just communicate, things should be fine.

If and when you guys have sex, he's always checking in here and there, making sure you're good but not overdoing it so that it becomes overbearing.

Outside of that, if you're having trouble coping and physical touch helps, he's the best man for it.

His arms will wrap around you snugly, and just listening to his heartbeat alone can help soothe you. Sometimes, he'll hum to you or help massage your back. You find his voice to be helpful with how firm and direct it is, so he'll often converse with you to get your mind off things.

Definitely will give you resources if you ask. Need a therapist? He's got a reliable list. Need tools like sex toys? No shame, he'll get what you need. Ran out of medication? Just picked some up.

Keep in mind he can't always tell if you're having issues since he's quite busy when he's not alone with you, so you two developed a small signal to help each other out if needed.

Don't forget to reassure him too because he worries he's doing something wrong a lot of the time, so again, just communicate with him!

Soap

He's a little confused, but he's got the spirit.

It does take you a while to work up the courage not because you're worried about the shame of telling him, but more about if he'll understand.

When he first hears it, he kinda confuses it for higher libido but you quickly correct him.

"Ah, so it's not just impulsive but intrusive?"

From there, oh he's very, very sweet about it.

One of his best traits is how distracting he is so you can bet your ass he will find a way to keep your mind off things and humor you. He asks a lot of questions, but that's just his way of expressing his concern and care! Again, he's a super observant boy.

He'll always give you distance if that's what you need, but if you need some physical or verbal help, he's there in a heartbeat. If you guys are intimate, he'll take it slow and be loving as possible. He's happy to provide.

Oh, but if he hears you talking badly about yourself, he's quick to shut it down because hearing you call yourself 'dirty' or feeling 'used' has him very distressed.

"But I'm-"

"But nothing. You listen to me, okay? I would never think of you like that and I want you to know that to me, you're more than that, you're more than-" He stumbles over his words, "-jesus, you're everything and I don't want you thinking that you'll ever be less than that to me, alright?"

It's a hard pill to swallow, but his words are nothing but the truth, just as genuine as he is. After that, you start taking more of his words to heart.

Ghost

It's hard to tell what Simon's thinking a lot of the time, but rest assured, it's anything but judgment.

He thanks you for telling him and acknowledging how difficult it is. After all, you've done the same for him.

He's not gonna treat you like a porcelain doll, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna be cautious if guys have sex, he gets how vulnerable it can feel, being exposed, so it's something the two of you work through together.

He's also prone to getting upset if he hears you speaking badly about yourself, and admittedly, he's kind of brash and blunt at first when trying to confront you about it but over time, he learns to better express his concern.

With time, he'll steadily find more ways to keep your mind off of it. So far, he finds he's best at it via spending time with you like cuddling, or when he invites you to do different physical activities like exercising, taking walks, or sparring with him.

If you need help focusing or you take medication or therapy, expect him to nag about it!

"Did you go to the-"

"Yes, love, don't worry, I have. Thank you for asking."

You know he's looking out for you, and you couldn't be any more grateful.

Roach

Very much like Gaz, he's quick to understand.

"The girls who get it, get it" type of energy

He'll ask questions, but if he sees you getting skittish or awkward about it, he'll change the subject.

When he's nonverbal, he knows it'll be difficult to help you, especially if you're struggling to focus on his signs.

So what he does is he'll take your hand and trace a question mark in your hand, asking what's wrong and having you explain. If you need to calm down, he'll trace little shapes and hearts in your palms, intertwine his fingers with you, and help guide your breathing before asking questions.

If you struggle with finding other ways to be intimate or expressing yourself in your relationship, he'll show you what he likes, love languages of his, and such.

During a long mission, he had found you particularly frustrated. Rather than shaming you, he offered to help you get tidied up and take you out on a date.

The two of you went trinket shopping at the local town, though he was mostly buying you whatever you showed interest in, which quickly grew overwhelming.

But hey, it worked to brighten your mood, so it's a win in his book.

Hound

Oh he's so understanding. Hound isn't hypersexual themselves, but they understand the struggles of having highly impulsive and intrusive thoughts and actions, and more than understand the pain and shame that stems.

He expresses that he's proud of you for confiding in him something so personal and being comfortable enough to tell him

From there, he's very attentive to your needs and makes sure you're never overdoing it when indulging in NSFW.

If you two have sex, then it probably starts as a slow process to get comfortable, since Hound has their own sexual anxieties. But they're more than willing to take the reigns, establishing boundaries and patiently communicating with you even if it's difficult. In the end, it's a very vulnerable and intimate experience for the both of you.

In the case things have to stop, he'll clean things up, reassure and praise you, while finding something else for you two to do, like a movie night or cuddling.

Or if you're needy but they're not in the mood, Hound will help you redirect that energy somewhere else and makes sure you don't feel ashamed or insecure.

Personally, their favorite way of helping you is asking you about your interests or hyperfixes because they just love listening to you talk so passionately and just learning more about you so they can spoil you for future reference.

But sometimes you just need him to completely envelop you in his arms and give you something else to feel instead of that frustration, something to feel loved.

[6sixx6sexual6]

Hi I was wondering if you make GNR fics and if you do can you pls make one of Izzy being mean to his girl or something and if you don’t write gnr fics can you do Vince or Nikki being mean to his girl thank you!!

HII I DONT WRITE FOR GNR BUT MAYBE IF I FEEL LIKE GETTING DISGUSTINGLY EDUCATED ON THEM THEN MAYBE. ALSO I THINK YOU MEAN LIKE NIKKI OR SOMETHING BEING MEAN TO HIS OWN GIRLFRIEND AND NOT IZZYS? IM PRETTY SURE

word count: 678

warnings: manipulation, drugs, alcohol, nikki being an ass

ok so just to start things off I don't really know whats going on with like mick and something about nikki sueing him or something and it kinda sucks. but if Nikki would do that to his “brother” now then imagine what Nikki would do to his girlfriend back then.

don't get me wrong, he loves you to death and he shows it, but there's a lot of reasons as to why he would be so toxic or mean.(drugs, alcohol, pressure, and i'm sure in a relationship like this the lack of love he got as a child would probably come into play.)

He does love you though. Sometimes he can just be an asshole. but not so much physically if he's being mean just to be mean but more emotionally if that makes sense.

There can be a number of reasons why Nikki could be mean to you. It could be from drug-induced behavior, especially if he's feeling aggressive or paranoid from being high.

It could also be if he's feeling insecure or threatened in some way, and his default response is to become defensive and lash out. Another possibility is that he's simply being a dick, and he's not thinking deeply about his behavior, but rather just reacting negatively.

he would probably be really passive-aggressive like the silent treatment or just act cold and ignore you. He would also make mean comments, either outright or in a snide or sarcastic way and harsh with his words and demeanor, saying hurtful things to you in order to hurt you and make you feel bad about yourself.

He's the type to go for sensitive points and use them as a weapon, knowing that it'll hurt you even if the criticism may be accurate or true, but if you do it to him hes shutting it down immediately, like getting in your face telling you to shut up or knock it off.

now if you were like in front of people like the band or something, he wouldn't wanna embarrass you or him, and he doesn't wanna hear shit from the guys or get looks from people if he were mean to you, so the most he would do in public is like get real close to you and tell you to leave him alone then walk away.

but if he were just mad or being a dick he'd still act like a boyfriend I guess, but wouldn't talk much. but while he's in this pissy mood he wouldn't try and solve it or apologize.

maybe he would after he got something good out of it but most likely not. maybe he'd disappear for a while then come back with his stupid smile like nothing really happened.

I'm telling you this man is a manipulator and gaslighter! there's no way he's not.

Nikki can manipulate in several ways. He might use emotional manipulation to play on your feelings and make you doubt yourself or your own thoughts and opinions.

He could use intellectual manipulation, where he uses reason and logic to get you to agree with him. He could gaslight you, where he alters reality and convinces you that your own memory of an event is wrong. He could even use guilt or fear to get you to do what he wants.

Overall, he uses his intelligence, charisma, and your feelings towards him to manipulate you to get what he wants.

If Nikki ended up making you cry, he would probably feel guilty and try to make amends after he came down from his aggressive or mean behavior.

He might apologize and try to make things better between you two, it depends on how far he took things, but he would likely feel regretful for making you cry and wouldn't want to see you upset. he'd probably say things like “I didnt mean it like that” in a slight pissy tone but hugging you at the same time.

but he doesn't ever really wanna make you cry. it doesn't bring him pleasure and he always ends up feeling guilty.

[determinate-negation]

Im a highschooler and I'm worried about losing friends and being seen as antisemitic for supporting palestine. One of the girls in my friend group wants to move to Israel when she graduates and is better at arguing than me (debate club) and I don't know what to say when she says stuff like, being against zionist jewish people means youre just antisemitic for being against 80% of jewish people, only jewish people are allowed to say what is/isn't antisemitic so I just get overwhelmed and don't say anything and feel really bad is there anything I can do

the idea that only xyz people are allowed to talk about xyz thing is ridiculous and is a tactic for people to shut down dissent on something and portray themselves as an expert when in reality it might be more complicated and there is no singular consensus among that group. the easiest thing you can do is educate yourself and youll be able to respond to people, challenge them on what theyre saying, back up your own points. ngl a lot of zionists are just regurgitating vague myths they were taught in hebrew school and hasbara (pro israel advocacy) talking points, and they will evade engaging with other history on it because they dont know it or are basing it off stuff other historians have contested. ten myths about israel by ilan pappe is pretty straightforward and probably would help you know what to say. you can download a pdf here. this website also has a lot of information too

and i have more books and links here in my resources tag

[hella1975]

would LOVE to know full details to the culture difference bestie when you've got the time because I'm kinda just a sucker for that. also. were we too nice for you tell me more about that

here we gooooo here's a rundown of the top things that were really jarring to me as a brit in america!

kinda dumb that i feel the need to say this but ive been burned before: americans, if you're going to send me shit about this list, please first reread what you've typed and ask yourself 'am i addressing this person as an actual real life adult that not only has experienced both countries she speaks about but also has perfectly functioning social skills that allow her to navigate what is and isn't a culture difference, or am i talking to her like a condescending little prick?' this includes messages like 'americans aren't actually ___, we're just ___ which clearly went over your head as a silly foreigner :)' do u understand how condescending messages like that are as the person who was there? this list is me saying what was strange to me AS A BRIT IN AMERICA. it is a comparison, not an objective statement of something ive decided is a fact about your culture. im not writing this so people can try and like. educate me on all the things i missed because america was just soooo complex. okay? stunning

you guys were SO nice like i think the best way i can contextualise this for an american is that the first time i felt actually comfortable (not that i was uncomfortable otherwise but i mean in a social sense) was when we were in new york city. no one looked at me no one wanted to talk to me people were shouting and being rude to each other it was just like home <3 the way americans are friendly is just so intense and it took me a good while to stop being so bowled over by it. like if you met someone one time they'd try and hug you and i found that very very strange

americans generally talk about their feelings a lot more and i dont even mean just from the people i interacted with bc that very well might have been because i just got on well with them so we were talking honestly, but even on commercials and things you guys talk about mental illnesses and such like it's a grocery shop whereas in england there's still very much a stiff upper lip culture about that kind of thing

you guys do speak louder. like objectively even 'quiet' americans were louder than most brits and would be glared at in public if we were in england just bc of the volume they were speaking at. you also inflect more. again i think this is another thing that boils down to americans being very bright and intense while the english are renowned for not wanting anyone to look at them ever. like a bug under a rock

FREE REFILLS!! i have not shut up about this but if you order a coffee somewhere then you have in fact ordered UNLIMITED COFFEE. the first time a waitress leaned over me to fill my coffee up i flinched away from her bc i was like what in god's name are you doing

if you try and make a hot drink in america then you are taking your life in your hands. you have to filter the water, find whatever apparatus this specific house uses to boil water, remind yourself that americans have a vendetta against milk so you have to use creamer which is 'exactly like milk' but 'you wouldnt drink it like milk' so what the fuck is going on there, and then by the time everything's done you want to go out back to curl up and die like an old dog. dont get me started on tea

one thing i thought was cute is that you guys say 'come get in the AC' the same way we would say 'come get out of the rain' like that's such a cute little human thing i think

AC itself is such a godsend but me not being used to it was kind of baffling to americans. boom's brother asked me what my ideal AC temp was at home and i just. looked at him bc i didnt even know where to start with that

it took me WEEKS to stop trying to get in the driver's side of the car

american ignorance is a very real very frustrating thing. 'whats that thing they do in europe-' idk bc ive never been to all of europe. 'when i went to europe-' where in europe. it is a continent. i got asked if we have fireworks in europe. bonfire night is older than the founding of america. there's just a genuine belief amongst americans that they're not even AWARE of (because it would be smart, nice americans that i genuinely liked saying these things) that america is the most elite country in the world and is the only place to have certain things

speaking of the european thing with americans, the fact that 'travelling to europe' is typically a bragging right over there and is seen as quite an upper class thing is very interesting. a lot of the times people would be bragging TO ME and it would go over my head bc id be like 'well anyone can go to spain'. i feel like shagaluf would give americans an aneurysm

the sheer size of america never truly registered with me until i was there like i cannot wrap my head around it. the uk can fit in lake michigan 4 times. you guys have cargo ships on lakes. the roads just go straight for miles and miles and miles. you have every environment and weather possible. literally obsessed

capitalism is actually way more intense in america. like yeah it makes sense america is thee capitalist country but i guess i thought because i was coming from a western capitalist country myself that it wouldnt change much. but like. billboards on roads. adverts while you pump gas. there is someone selling u something everywhere u look

tipping was so hard 😭 i knowwww it's necessary i understand the econ behind it all but i was so stressed all the time because of it 😭

YOUR STARBUCKS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN OURS

i knew i was going to have to change the way i spoke in america bc of obvious things (my accent isnt The British Accent that americans recognise, i use a lot of slang etc) but it surprised me just how much i had to change. like by the end of it i wasnt using any slang and i was enunciating every letter because i was just so tired of saying something just for boom to have to literally translate bc like? it was no fault of theirs or mine or even the person i was talking to but it just made me feel Weird and Odd and most surprising of all was that it made me feel stupid? and i guess that's bc i get a lot of shit for my accent over here too so im oversensitive to it but ive never properly felt more like a foreigner in a different country than i did trying to talk to americans

sarcasm. im just. like the running joke is that americans dont get sarcasm and id have actually preferred that i think bc what instead happened is you guys have AMERICAN sarcasm and it just. made no fucking sense to me at all. i literally did not get american humour even slightly it was probably my biggest thing when i was over there like i literally felt like entire conversations were going over my head. british humour is very dry so not only did i not get american humour but sometimes MY humour would be misinterpreted as well and the entire thing was just very strange lol

RIGHT ON RED????? RED MEANS STOP???? WHAT ARE YOU DOING????

[mecchimon]

"I dont support it in real life!"

Then why write about it? If for coping purposes, why post it online for others (especially actual predators) to see and consume? Then why portray those things in a positive light instead of condemning them?And you're seriously going to tell me that just because as an adult you want to see a fictional minor (that mind you, is usually designed to resemble an actual child) depicted in sexual situations doesn't mean you don't share that same view concerning children in real life? You find fictional minors attractive but not real ones? Why does the line between finding someone who is (and usually also looks like) a child sexually attractive get drawn at whether the child is real or not? I'm not calling anyone pedophiles, but if the shoe fits... And also no, I am not talking about 18 y/os finding 17 y/os attractive. Use your brain. Creating content of underaged characters is still questionable regardless of age, however.

Wow.

Well hello to you too. Thanks for the ask and I hope you have a great day.

Now, at what point during your scrolling through my blog, filled with Sanrio characters and drawings of adult fictional men. May I repeat, adult fictional men, did you manage to make up this baffling scenario that I somehow condoned pedophilia ? Where in the numerous reblogs of Pompompurin and My Melody did you see me wishing harm and abuse on real life children ? How does one even come close to that scenario ? Why do you guys immediately hear pedophilia when the word proship is involved ? "Minding your own business and not harassing others online regarding their ship" means pedophilia now ? Is this what we're doing ?

Do you know how crazy you sound coming into a complete stranger's asks to make up grave accusations without any proof whatsoever ?

Not even talking about how weird it is to assume that I'm condoning absolutely everything I post online because apparently fiction and reality are absolutely one and the same to you, and I'm not even going to toe that line considering you won't listen at all, why are you making this random assumption that what I'm posting is vent art ? Because I'm not a victim of sexual assault nor have I been assaulted or raped as a child. It's rude to make assumptions.

And who the hell are you to dictate what they should or shouldn't post ? Your own displeasure or ick shouldn't interfere in anyone else's business, what you should consider doing is actively shutting the fuck up and educating yourself properly on what the words that you spout actually mean, because you just sound dumb right now.

And how twisted do you have to be to casually imply that everything I post online enables pedophiles. Do you know how sick you sound right now ? Pedophiles don't give a fuck about me or my art, they just want to exert their power over children and rape them. And you are relishing in the idea that I or someone could be using my work to do that. That's a good thing to you, that a child could be abused right now ? Where you should be horrified and contact CPS or possibly the authorities, you find glee knowing that the person you're interacting with could be a pedophile who wants to sexually assault children or enable this ?

And excuse me, which children are you talking about exactly ? Because all of the characters in THH are confirmed to be 20 years old. Is a 20 years old a child now ?

You know, you should seriously think before finding random strangers online to acuse them of being pedophiles and maybe find real problems. Because by actively watering down serious problems, you're making things worse for children and those who actually care about children ? Ever thought about that ? You're not protecting anyone, you're making things worse.

Don't you have like, anything else to do ? There has to be at least one thing that you like to do instead of being this hateful, so go do that and stop such being a rude shithead online.

And now I'm disabling anon asks before more twats like you swarm in and start saying the vilest stuff because you think that you can do that with no consequences. I didn't put it there so you can say whatever like I'm a fictional character. I'm a real person, you cunt.

Again, I hope you have a lovely day, and go fuck yourself.

[lvxybby]

It kills me to love you (kai anderson x reader) Angst. (it'll get better <3) PART 2

i sat there on the bench. i became full of stress once i hung up on kai. i did way to much and i know ill get punished for it. will he beat me? scream and yell at me? lock me in a closet? i dont know. i really cant deal with him anymore. i want the things he promised me. he promised to keep me safe, educate me, stay LOYAL to me if im loyal to him, WHICH IS ALL I HAVE BEEN! he has promised me so much! and EVERY SINGLE ONE IS BROKEN! i cant take it! i wont! im tired of him calling me weak and a slut for crying over something or dressing a certain way. i have been taking all his bullshit for so long, and he doesnt expect me to feel bad? sometimes i really miss the old kai. the sweet quiet fun kai. the one who would braid my hair and kiss my cheek when im sad. i miss him coming over and talking to me about his parents. he wont tell me anything because hes so eaten up with paranoia. and vince? he doesnt help one bit. his brother is a mess and all he does is supply kai with adderall! i sat there on that bench or hours just thinking. it grew darker and darker and soon it was 10:30. i held my things close to my body. i didnt want to go back. i couldnt go back. soon i saw the familiar grey toyota pull up onto the side of the curb. kai along with meadow got out. dear lord help me. her "very real blonde" hair was over her shoulders and down her back. i sat patiently and waited. kai walked over to me and slapped me so hard i thought i would pass out. "what the fuck!" he shouted. i stayed quiet. "seriously what the fuck" meadow said "oh shut your fucking mouth you cunt!" i snapped back at her "you have no reason to be in this? why the hell are you even here?!" i continued. kai hit me once more. "you have no right to talk to her like that after what you've done" he growled. "kai i dont want to be around you! thats why i left! all you care about anymore is yourself and meadow! YOU always call me weak and a slut and a attention seeker! ALL those names and you dont expect me to get upset! I DONT WANT TO BE AROUND YOU!" i cried out "what happened to the loyalty? you promised loyalty to go both ways and ive been by your side, helping you dispose of YOUR doings! i do my task no matter how i feel! i always do what you want me to and you dont do anything else for me!" i yelled at him. he snatched my arm and dragged me to his car. i fought back, digging my nails into his skin. i clawed and dug them into his arm but it didnt stop him. meadow followed us. he opened the door and threw me into the back. i hit my head hard on the other side. i quivered as kai got into the front seat, meadow following. he put on his seatbelt and began to drive back to his house. was this it? is this all he would do? no. theres no way. i quietly let tears flow down my face. i rubbed the spot where i hit my head. it felt warm. i moved my hand to find blood smeared onto it. i covered my mouth as i cried a bit more. he stopped right in front of his house and got out. he came over by me and opened the door and began to drag me out by my hair. the asphalt scratched and cut my calves, leaving my legs bleeding. i tried to force his hand away from my hair but he never let go. he pulled me inside and slammed his door "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU" he screamed. "YOU DONT TALK ABOUT THAT ANYWHERE ELSE BUT HERE" he continued. i cried more. he dragged me down to the basement and threw me down onto the hard cold floor. my head was bleeding so much by now. i cried out in pain from the sudden force. i was in so much pain. everything hurt, so badly. "kai please" i cried. i couldnt even stand up i hurt so bad. "no im not done with you" he whispered close to me. "kai all i did was leave the house for a few hours cause i was upset! i never wanted this to happen! i left cause i couldnt take it anymore! i have done so much for you for 2 years! 2! but meadow kills a guy and it so perfect! Ive done so much shit for you! to make YOU happy to make YOU comfortable I HAVE DONE SO MUCH BUT YOU DONT CARE! SO WHY DO YOU WANT ME AROUND!?" I yelled back at him. he sat there quiet for a minute.

[spacemimz]

How about minding your own business ok buddy? you have nothing to do with WRORAU stop acting like you give a shit we all know you're just doing it for clout and brownie points for the creators, stop acting like you're a part of this

I know that this is in fact that "lovely" anon from before. Come on, dont hide :)

And I will not be minding my own business, you should've kept your dirty little mouth shut when you've had the chance. You've hurt someone I care about and I'm not letting this slide. You just picked a fight with the wrong person. I defend the people I care about and Doni and Raph are both incredibly hard working individuals that both have incredible vital parts in making WRORAU what it is.

In fact I DO GIVE A SHIT. A lot of shits actually! Not just about the story but about the people behind it too. And there you again assuming something that couldnt be further from the truth, running your mouth like the idiot you so clearly are. Dont you understand that by keeping this argument going and picking even more fights you make yourself into the biggest tumblr clown of 2023? Are you too dumb to see that? Either get to know us before you judge or shut your dumb little mouth. You should've minded your own business and kept your irrelevant opinion to yourself when you've had the chance. Now you just seem like a loser who's picking a fight for attention and I'm tired of being kind to you, you dont deserve that. Leave my guys alone and keep your shit to yourself. You dont know jackshit about what goes on backstage, so how about you dont try and have an opinion on that? Would make everyone's lives easier if we didnt have to read this bullshit coming out of you. And for the "doing it for clout" part, that's also terrible wrong <33 and while I may not be part of the writing team for WRORAU I do talk with them about story ideas and give my thoughts, wanna know why I get to do that and why they so kindly share their ideas with me? Because we're found siblings and really close friends! There's trust there but I highly doubt that you know what that feels like.

I'm standing up for them because I care for them and they're my brothers at heart, that's it. We're super close and you've run your mouth in ways you shouldn't have. You've dug your grave now go and sit in it like the hopeless loser you are. Either shut up about things you know nothing about or educate yourself on them but trust me after this stunt NO ONE will let you in on what goes on backstage for WRORAU. So kindly do piss off yeah? :) no one wants you and your opinion here

[sunshineandteddybears]

Except playing MCR wouldn’t signal that you’re a goth ally, because they are a popular band that (especially) non-goths listen to. Goths wouldn’t assume you’re an ally for playing MCR, they’d assume you’re annoying. People asking you to get the music right when you’re talking about a music-based subculture isn’t “gatekeeping,” you just don’t know what “goth” means.

See this is why I said songs not played on the radio a bajillion times, songs that hardly ever get played or have never been played would better signify anything.

We're not talking about playing I'm Not Okay, or heck even Helena, we're talking about songs that many non goths probably wouldn't have heard unless they owned albums.

It wasnt asking me to get the music right, it was attempting to make fun of me for supposedly not knowing mcr wasnt goth (cause its emo i know, i was in middle school when they began to get popular) or to try and belittle me by saying why don't you listen to x subgenres of punk if you wanna impress your goth friends (the post was about signaling not impressing, and also nothing about that was actually constructive it was just there to make anon feel superior so dont pretend there was any well intention higher moral ground)

But furthermore, you anons have been taking a jokey responce to a jokey post waaaay too seriously because you are under the assumption I don't actually know what Goth is and feel like you have to educate a "poor dumb normie" so you can feel so smart and superior and pat yourself on the back for successfully gatekeeping (cause yes that is what youre doing, because you immediately went to try and shut me down in a belittling manner because you decided my jokey statement was incorrect and something no goth could ever possibly stand for and thus I must be stopped from daring to step foot into your precious domain)

Because again, goths listen to emo music just as they do punk, and just cause mcr is popular and mainstream now, doesn't mean it was a less valid option (for this jokey post) for a goth ally to use. Because let's face it, any normie that does listen mcr is most likely a goth ally.

If they weren't, they'd be right up there with the conservative nirvana fans that Bloom was about, but frankly I don't really see it much of a concern.

Sorry that I didn't make it more obvious to the lot of you that the response was a joke. Perhaps I should have quoted the ancient text of Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way (also emo but I know so many goths who have this memorized) for you all to realize that my responce to that post wasn't that deep

But again, you anons are being gatekeepers because emo music does, and will always exist, in goth spaces because just like punk, because it still speaks to many goths.

You know who else is popular but I know for a fact Goths listen to? Green Day (punk band in case somehow you think I don't know) so you can shove that mcr is popular argument

[jangofctts]

All the Love We Never Had (Zemo x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, finger sucking, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, overstimulations, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on a couch

How you ended up globetrotting alongside The Falcon, the Winter Soldier, and Baron Helmut Zemo? You have no fucking clue. Sounds like the start of a bad joke.  

Madripoor was a nightmare, Sharon a guilty reminder, and Nagel a fucking disaster. Not like you held any empathy for the guy—bastard stole your journals and dressed your work up as his to further his own research. Made this new strain of super serum—fucker. As terrible as it is to say, you weren’t all too pressed when Zemo pulled the trigger. 

And now you’re here in Riga—holed up in the Baron’s vacation home. It’s nice, you suppose—Zemo has lavish tastes. 

Unfortunate you don’t get to immediately enjoy the spoils of a king sized bed. Sam makes sure of that. “Mind watching the Baron, kid?”  

Under normal circumstances you’d agree—Sam’s been pushing himself, Bucky never sleeps, and it shows. However, you’re in exactly the same predicament. These past few days have not been kind—you’re exhausted. And besides, Zemo unnerves you. It feels like his dark eyes are always upon you—tracing your every step. And the flirting—     

“What? No,” you protest. “I don’t wanna babysit his ass!”

“Tough shit,” Sam says, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s your turn.”  

Bucky hauls his overnight bag over his shoulder and pats your arm. “He’s right—good luck.” 

You gape, sputtering nonsense as they both disappear into their own rooms. The doors slam shut behind them. Oh, fuck this—

Zemo crosses his ankles, propped on the couch. “And then there were two—whatever shall we do together?“

You glare and snatch a spare magazine from the ottoman and throw yourself onto the couch, opposite of Zemo. If you have to babysit, might as well be comfortable doing it. “Don’t talk to me.”

Zemo tilts his head, his smile devious. “We could be enjoying more pleasurable activities to fill the time.” 

“I literally hate you.” 

And you do. You should. 

Oh, but he is attractive. You’d have to be blind not to admit such a thing—but even then, his mannerisms are chivalrous and polite. Putting the whole international terrorist thing aside, he’s the kind of man that plays right into your fantasies. Put together, well-spoken, dark hair and dark eyes to match. It’s rare to find a man with such an extensive amount of education without being snobby about it. Sometimes...

It’s one of his vices—looking harmless. You should know by the vulpine smile he wears that he’s nothing but sharp fangs and savagery. You’ve seen it first hand. Never aimed at you, but close enough to the people you love.     

“You have wandering eyes.” Zemo purrs, peering over the rim of his crystalline tumbler as he raises it to his lips. “Do you find something to your liking?”

You scoff and raise your magazine to block Zemo’s face—a shame you never learned Latvian. It’s basically just a picture book at this point. “Just wondering what poor animal you scalped for that coat.”

Zemo hums in contemplation and raises a hand to thumb at the fur. “Rabbit I believe. Or maybe it is kitten fur.”

You purse your lips and lower the magazine just far enough to shoot him an icy glare. A devilish sparkle flickers to life within those captivating dark eyes, the barest hint of a smirk gracing his lips. He shrugs out of his coat. You chew the inside of your cheek and return the magazine to its previous position. Damn him. “A real comedian, aren’t you, Zemo?”  

“You find me funny?” 

You clench your jaw. Stupid bastard is fishing for compliments. “Yeah, in a clown sort of way.”  

The rapidly melting ice cubes clink against the glass as Zemo stirs his drink with a languid rotate of his wrist. “I find you amusing,” he sips his drink, “among other things.” 

Irritation flares hot and bright beneath your skin. You snap the magazine over your thighs. “I’m trying to read, if you don’t mind.” 

“You are only looking at the pictures, lastovička,” he states matter of factly. “If I am not mistaken, Latvian is not among the languages you speak, yes?”     

You squint. You don’t like where this is going. The beginnings of a game of cat and mouse—dangling the bait above your head to entice you—instill the beginnings of rapport you’ll have a bitch of a time scrubbing clean. You should take Sam and Bucky’s advice and just ignore him. But, the coyness of his smile, viper like and dangerous, tempts you nonetheless. You figure there’s no harm dealing into his little game—only to deduce what exactly he’s angling for. 

“No,” you admit. 

Zemo leans forward, leather creaking as he places his glass onto the ottoman. He rubs at his chin with his forefinger and thumb, rasping against his dark stubble. “Arabic is your favored second language and Spanish—“

“How do you know that?” You hiss, heart leaping between your teeth. S.H.I.E.L.D assured your file would be scrapped and kept off the books.  

“I know much about you,” Zemo grins, interlacing his fingers and reclining back against the couch. 

A biting chill races down your spine. You run your tongue over the backs of your teeth. “Oh?”

“Indeed,” Zemo chuckles. “A graduate of chemistry from Oxford and later a doctorate in cellular biology from Harvard. Hired by Stark Industries, then S.H.I.E.L.D., later to run off with our esteemed American sweetheart, Steven Rogers, during the Avenger’s little spat… Shall I continue?”       

Your lips part in surprise at the regurgitation of your resume. You pride rears at the last bit. “I didn’t run off—I was forcibly removed from S.H.I.E.L.D..”

Somehow, you believe he already knows that tidbit of information. He smiles. 

“Your studies regarding the serum are impressive to say the least,” Zemo compliments as your lungs tighten and squeeze. He’s skirting a dangerous line. “I admit running into certain difficulties in my attempts to access your research journals—and the scientist herself.” 

You teeth gnaw on your bottom lip. It’s still a tender subject for you—your life’s work being destroyed and all. Swept under the rug and scolded for your ambitions. “My research was controversial—firing me was not.”

“They saw your results as a threat to the Avengers,” he states. Zemo shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Typical capitalistic dogma.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “I wouldn’t call it that…it was more like fear…if anything.” 

“So it worked?” Zemo, in these brief moments, has shuffled closer. Excitement is plastered all over his delicate features. You wince—S.H.I.E.L.D. terminated your project before you could gather a better sample size—to protect their secrets from people like Helmut Zemo. An experiment in whether or not the serum could be micro dosed for temporary uses. Instead you just figured out how to suppress the cells and render the serum useless—permanently. “I am surprised they let you keep your life.”  

You rub your arms and look away. So are you. You figure someone high up in the ranks either pulled some strings or outright threatened someone. S.H.I.E.L.D. is long gone but you can never shake the habit of looking over your shoulder—the paranoia that comes with even mentioning the subject. You’re not an idiot—they’ve sent agents time after time to ensure you kept your mouth shut—sent people to neutralize you when you and Steve were on the run. Hell, they probably still keep tabs on you. 

Zemo hums and reaches for his drink. He kicks his head back and drains the remnants. His thumb swipes at a bead of liquid that pearls off his bottom lip. “We are not so different, you and I.” 

Your shoulders bounce as you scoff. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t an international terrorist.” 

He bobs his head. “True—but you are a humanitarian, however.”

“Are you suggesting you are too?” You say, lifting a brow.

Zemo shrugs. “I promote the welfare of others and social reform in methods I find suitable.” 

“Like bombing the Sokovia Accords?”

A swift silence ensues. He levels you with a serious stare. The hairs on the back of your neck rise to fine points. “It was necessary.” 

It briefly crosses your mind to call for Sam and Bucky—they’d appear in a heartbeat. Zemo follows your line of thinking and waves his hand to dismiss the tension. He wants you alone—or just doesn’t want Bucky to punch his teeth in. 

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You unclench your fists from the fabric of your leggings. 

It’s a fascinating experience to watch Zemo flip from deadly to placid in the blink of an eye. Intriguing but nothing less than intimidating. A vortex of emotion that lurks under the cool surface. “The serum is a blight upon humanity—a shame you never published your findings.” 

He’s fishing again. 

“Unlike you, I was trying to give enhanced people options,” you accuse, biting down on the bait. “I didn’t care about the defensive threat or whatever they labeled it as.”           

“Same purpose, different angles, Doctor.”   

You hate that he’s right.

His motivations stem from hatred and revenge while yours are rooted in compassion and mercy. It’s no secret that enhanced individuals are exploited, persecuted and shunned from the majority of society. You get it—you’d be fuckin’ pissed too if your car was used as an Avenger’s personal springboard each week, fighting off hoards of aliens or psycho robots. Fucked up is what it is. 

Unfortunately you happen to be friends with the bastards in question.   

You’ve seen both Steve and Bucky suffer—crumple under the weight of an era they have no business living in. The perpetual demands of society with equally critical conviction. Fear is a funny thing, and world leaders do not like things that they cannot control. 

“If I may ask,” Zemo drawls. “How did you come by your findings?” 

You snort and pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “Subjects were limited, so I uh—well I tried the antiserum out on myself.”

His eyes widen. “You took the serum?”

You nod. Worst pain you’d ever fuckin’ felt. You nearly died from it too. “Yeah—no one else volunteered.” 

Steve was close to agreeing—dipped out at the last second. You don’t blame him, the antiserum hurt like a bitch. You had a fever for days.     

“Brave girl.” 

His words send a dark thrill through you, heat burning under your cheeks. “Whatever—it’s kinda obsolete at this point.” 

“Many do not have your resolve.”

“Ok?” You shrug, hoping your chilliness will ward him off. “It’s not a big deal.”

A stagnant silence ensues. His dark eyes search your face—calculating. You don’t like being under such scrutiny.

When Zemo finds what he’s looking for he speaks up. “You claim to hate me to convince yourself that you do not find my company enjoyable.” 

Anger boils in your chest. It’s true. It’s true and you hate yourself for it. Your muteness gives him enough of an answer. He taps his finger to his nose and scoots closer. You eye him warily.  

“You are a woman of science—indulge me in an experiment.”

Every word from his mouth is like bringing wood to a burning house. You’ll be here all night until ashes are all you breathe.

He’d almost broken past the walls you erected between you in Madripoor. In order to blend in, you acted as his arm candy. It was too easy to pretend to enjoy his possessive touches, the quick pecks against your temple and throat. Not so much an act—you wrestled with the sick flips of your stomach at Sharon’s party and your innate curiosity for Zemo. You’re dousing yourself in kerosene and playing with matches.  

What Sam and Bucky don’t know won’t kill them, right?”

You bob your head with a stiff nod. “Ok…”

Zemo closes the distance between you on the cushions.  

Captivated with each movement, every quirk of his lips and the playful glitter in his eyes—you allow him to skim his soft palm over your knuckles. His long fingers skate over your wrist, curling around the delicate area with equal tenderness as a musician would do with the neck of a stringed instrument. Your eyes are glued to his face, not once dropping that mischievous calculating stare as he brings your fingertips to his mouth. His lips are plush, warm and far too inviting.

A blush heats your cheeks as Zemo plants a sweet kiss into your palm, folds your fingers and peppers light kisses over your knuckles, the back of your hand, your wrist. His lips tickle the crease of your elbow then lift away as he tempts you closer, skimming his fingertips down the length of your arm to catch around your wrist. He tucks your hand close to his hip, making it so that you need to prop most of your weight up on the forgiving cushion while leaning into his space. You’re nose to nose with Zemo now, his gentle exhales cool against your flaming skin. It’s too late to escape his trap of bridging the distance you tried so hard to keep. 

He brings his right hand up to your face and smooths a knuckle down your cheek. He curls his index finger under your chin, tilting your head up and a little to the side. Zemo’s lips are hovering over yours, sharing air and alighting your nerves with crackling energy each time his bottom lip just barely grazes yours. Suspended in a wicked dance of lofted desire. It drives you mad. 

Your voice is breathy—wavering. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I am,” you feel him smirk, his voice a rough rasp. “Kiss me.” 

It’s easy to surrender your pride—to press your lips to his mouth that tastes like cherry blossom tea and devastation. The kiss is hazy and slow—a faint whisper of Zemo’s pleased sigh and the tickle of his stubble against your chin. No rush, no hasty fight against the ticking of a clock running on borrowed time.  

His thumb strokes over the line of your jaw with such fondness that a stab of ache pierces through your ribs. The second kiss is bolder as his lips mold to yours, the hand on your jaw sliding to the back of your neck while the other grips your upper arm. Your fingers tangle into his soft hair as you drag him impossibly closer, tilting your head and deepening the kiss—Zemo groans. 

If he is the sun then you are his forsaken Icarus. What’s left of your molten wings is burning—dripping down your spine in great rivulets of ichorous wax. You can’t change your trajectory and the sun still seduces you in with his dazzling, golden rays—what needs to be and what will be. Heat tears you apart from the inside out and you are only adding fuel to the fire by dragging yourself onto his lap and locking your arms around Zemo, rolling your wet tongue against the seem of his lips. You do not fly too close to the sun—you step towards it, offering yourself up like the great sacrificial lamb upon a funeral pyre. You do not fall to the water and extinguish. The sun stops burning you—morphing into the soft light of dawn and honey glazed fruits. A gentle caress against the skin. 

You breath hitches as he parts his lips, tenderly exploring the taste of you. It’s a perfected dance, playful dips of his tongue to keep you enticed and eager for more and just enough teeth nipping at your bottom lip to remind you of his venomous nature. It’s addicting—  

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, Zemo parts and dips his head to leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up your neck and jaw. His tongue laves at your earlobe, muttering a curse under his breath as your rock your hips into his lap. You whimper and nestle into the crux of where his neck meets his shoulder, your humid breath blooming across his skin and bringing to light just how hard you’re panting. His cologne is elysian, a smoky blend of juniper and bergamot. Expensive.  

Zemo trails his curious fingers down your spine and wraps his hand around your waist, jerking you higher up his legs. Your knees press into the back of the couch, keeping you from fully resting on his lap. Already his arousal presses against the front of his pants. A light cherry red flush stains his fair skin as a sheepish smile works its way onto Zemo’s face. “Apologies—you are terribly alluring and I—ah…I have not taken a lover in many years.” 

“I don’t care,” you assure, a sick sort of delight rushing through your veins at his confession. You drag your tongue up his neck and clamp your teeth around the bit of skin right over his pulse point. He grunts and shifts under you. “I’m in the same boat.”     

“I thought perhaps Sam or Ja—“

“Don’t talk about them,” you interrupt with a wince. Fuck, you’re going to hell. “Please—not now.”  

Zemo hums, obliging your request. He noses at your cheek and guides you into another saccharine kiss. When you part, a sticky trail of saliva connects your lips. “What is it you desire from me?”    

Far off in the back of your mind, your conscious screams at you to flee, escape while you can and shake your hands free of him. The more present part of you and the heat between your legs, convinces you otherwise. Zemo knows it too—he’s had you in the palm of his hand since Madripoor, tugging on your invisible strings like a marionette doll.  

Your stubbornness ties your tongue into knots. You clench your teeth and run your fingers down his burgundy turtleneck. You refuse to give him complete satisfaction over the fact you crave him so desperately. “You.”

Zemo laughs softly and rolls the pad of his thumb over your wet lip. “You already have me—tell me what you want.”

You swallow. You’re at a standstill—neither of you will budge. You mutter a curse. “I…I want to fuck you.” 

Zemo’s wolfish grin spreads wide across his face. He then tuts in reprimand, thumb skimming your jaw. “Such crass language, lastovička.” 

You open your mouth to protest—to accuse him of hypocrisy—but the warm slant of his lips over yours washes away the irritation, a warm buzz replacing it. His other hand drops to join the other, inching up the swell of your hip in search for bare skin. Goosebumps erupt over your flesh as Zemo’s warm fingers latch over your waist, guiding the languid roll of your hips over the growing bulge in his pants. The pace is nowhere near fulfilling, it’s a slow tease meant to drag you under the waves of lustful desperation. You bite your lip to keep your airy whimpers at bay, uninterested in alerting Sam and Bucky to your sin. It’s pathetic how your arousal already soaks the fabric of your underwear. 

Breaking from Zemo’s kiss, you tuck your head into his neck and whine into his ear. His hands drop to rest on the creases of your thighs. Your voice comes out strangled. “Touch me?”

You can feel his dark chuckle vibrate through his sternum. His finger hooks into the elastic of your leggings and lets it snap back. “Take these off.” 

Peeling yourself from him, you stumble to your feet on shaky legs. Zemo watches in appreciation, laces his hands together and reclines into the cushions. Your leggings slide down the length of your legs, abandoned on the hardwood floor in a pathetic heap. Your underwear is quick to follow. Zemo reaches for you eagerly, mumbling praise in his native tongue under his breath as you settle onto his lap.            

Zemo’s thumbs rub soothing circles into the sensitive nerves lining the protrusion of your hip bones, sharp eyes blown wide in arousal. They drop between your legs. His right hand is a blaze of fire as he trails it down your thigh and over your pussy. Your breath catches in your chest as the pads of his index and middle finger lightly part your cunt—there’s no hiding your wetness that coats his fingertips with a single touch. You twitch as he runs his fingers up the line of your cunt, pausing when he finds the little nub of your clit. 

“So wet for me,” Zemo goads, circling around the bundle of nerves. Another rush of liquid heat collects in your core, flooding through your body with a wicked flush. You bite your cheek as Zemo pulls his hand away, inspecting the sticky arousal that glistens on his fingers. Smirking, he catches your eye, ensures your attention is solely on him, and laves his pink tongue over the digits. Your cunt clenches at the sight, engulfed in molten heat as Zemo moans in approval. “You taste divine, lastovička.”  

His saliva coated fingers find your cunt again, gliding through your folds with ease. Your pulse roars in your ears, body arching into his skilled touch. Your thighs jerk as he increases the pressure over your clit, drawing tight circles that burn through your abdomen. Your nails harpoon into the fabric of his shirt. “What—what does that word mean? Shit—“ 

Zemo’s breath is a scalding pant over the column of your throat, right under your chin. His teeth nip your jaw. “Nothing vulgar.”

He leaves it at that. You don’t care enough to pry it out of him.  

Your eyes flutter shut as Zemo’s fingers slip lower. Your cunt clenches in need as his wide fingertips circle your hole, lifting away every time you push into him. Fucking rude.

Whining his name, wicked need surges up your body and spreads to each limb—itching to be sated. You kiss him, open mouthed and wanting, softly groaning as his tongue curls around yours. “You are impatient.” 

You nibble his bottom lip. “And you’re a tease.”

Zemo tilts his head, grins, then abruptly thrusts two of his fingers inside of you, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit. His other arm wraps around the small of your back and pulls you even closer, trapping you against him as you wriggle and squeak. “Is this what you want?”

Your body seizes as white hot ecstasy sears through your core as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. Sparks, brighter than an array of fireworks, burst behind your eyes. A long whine filters past your lips as you shake in his hold, your core clenching tight around his long fingers. It’s a rough change of pace—you’re flying towards your high, faster than a fucking bullet through paper. 

Zemo nuzzles into your neck, lips pressed sweetly against your ear. He nips the shell of your ear and growls your name—you’re done for.  

You cum onto his fingers with a choked cry of his name, the edges of your vision fading into hazy blobs as your back arches. A network of open ended fuses exposed to a current implode behind your eyelids as wildfire spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your curled toes. Zemo continues to finger you through your orgasm, keeping you in place as you jerk and shiver in his unrelenting hold. 

You hear his self-contented laugh above the fuzzy pleasure clouding your brain. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy—your stomach drops. Your cunt is still throbbing and aching—sensitive. Zemo is rubbing your nerves raw, each pass of his fingers a searing line of electrified bliss. 

“Take your pleasure,” Zemo purrs, devouring your cries in a kiss. “Cum around my fingers once more.”   

Zemo tilts his fingers into your cunt faster, suckling your throat and leaving behind stinging marks. Your cunt burns from overstimulation—you're back at the very edge again. Your orgasm swells within you, chars you from the inside out, leaving you a blackened husk of what you once were. Your arousal twists and folds into itself, satiated for now. The throbbing bulge of Zemo’s arousal pressing through his pants is doing a lovely job of contradicting that statement.    

You whine as Zemo pulls his hand free, aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body after your euphoric highs. Each accidental touch that scrapes over your hypersensitive skin dances the edge of a knife between torture and enjoyment. A deep ache settles in your hips, but you’re too lazy to roll to the side. Zemo’s chest is comfortable too—you can hear the fluttering of his heart, trapped in the gilded, ivory bars of his ribcage. He runs his hand over your hair while the other traces down the line of your spine.

Sleep claws at your eyelids, yet Zemo’s shifting, trying to rearrange himself interrupts the process. He clears his throat and uses two fingers to lift the underside of your chin to reach your lips. Zemo kisses the corner of your mouth. “Would you like to continue?”

The gravelly timbre of his voice stokes the embers of desire. Your inhibitions are stamped out. “Pants off—now.” 

“Is that a yes?” Zemo asks, quirking an amused brow. His fingers find his belt buckle. They toy with the excess leather. 

“Yes.”    

His belt buckle clinks as he paws it open. He reaches between his legs to unzip his fly, sighing in relief. “Sit up, please.”

You rock onto your knees as Zemo shoves the fabric of his pants down his thighs to pool around his ankles. A wet spot darkens the front of his grey briefs—your mouth waters. Impatient, you reach your hand between you and palm at his erection through the fabric, delighted by Zemo’s hiss through clenched teeth. He’s heavy in hand, feverish and throbbing. 

Fuck, you need him.

You look up in search for his permission. 

Zemo’s fingers skate up your bare thigh. He grins and gives the soft flesh a squeeze, near reverent in the way he stares up at you. This is where it starts to hurt. It’s frustrating how easy he unravels you, that poetry could exist in a pair of such wicked hands—how they cradle you like your body is made of fine china. “All yours, darling.”  

Licking your lips, you reach between your legs to tug at his waistband and shift his cock free from its confinements. It's somehow exactly what you expected and more. He’s average but mouthwateringly thick, a little curved, swollen cherry red tip glistening with gooey beads of clear liquid. Zemo huffs as you wrap your hand around his length, your knuckles brushing your clit as you pump your fist up and down. He barely bites off his moan, entranced by the oozing tip being swallowed up by your palm, stroking the velvet covered steel of his cock. 

His thighs jump under you each time you reach the base of him. Zemo mutters a curse and tips his head back against the couch, fingers squeezing around your hips. His cock twitches as your mouth finds his neck, throat bobbing as you suck a purple mark right under his jaw. He’s being cordial, patient with you as you explore—even if he is starting to get a bit twitchy.    

He snaps when you reach down to fondle his balls. Zemo sits straight up like he’s been pricked by a needle. He snatches your wrist and pries your hand off, chest heaving.  

“You ok?” You ask tentatively, fearing you’ve hurt him. 

Zemo quickly shakes his head and waves a hand in dismissal. He huffs, his smile bashful and eyes black with arousal. “As I’ve said, it’s been awhile—a shame to cut our time short and spend myself in your hand, no?” 

Oh. Heat burns under your cheeks. “Y-yeah. Makes sense.”

“Unless you—“

“No,” you assure, cutting him off with a short kiss. “I want you.”

A pleased hum rumbles through his chest. Zemo grips himself and settles his cock between your legs, rubs his length through your slit until he's shining with your arousal. You lean up as he cups your upper thighs with both hands and lines the head of his cock up with your center. You let yourself be pulled back down.

“Fuck,” Zemo grunts as he buries himself inside of you, the stretch a satiny, aching burn that wipes your mind clean. Zemo’s vocabulary rarely drops to anything below debonair, and hearing him dissolve into debauchery sends a dark thrill up your spine.

Your breath is no more than a little more than stuttered gasps as Zemo grinds his hips up, slowly inching himself in. It feels like you’re pulling apart at the very seams of your being, your world blackening around the edges and zeroing in on the way Zemo’s cock twitches inside you. His girth starts to hurt a bit, buried to the hilt, but nonetheless igniting a fire in your belly. Zemo presses his nose and lips against the line of your cheekbone, mouthing kisses over your flushed skin and parted lips. His breath is sharp. Tense.

"Good?" He rasps, grabbing firm handfuls of your ass. You nod shakily, shivering when he twitches inside you again, clearly struggling against the urge to throw all caution to the wind and fuck you mindlessly. “You feel heavenly.”

You preen under his complement and lift up slow, shallow little jumps of your hips that hardly satisfy. Experimenting with the catch and drag of his cock splitting through your folds. It’s hypnotic watching the sight of you taking the entire length of his thick cock in and out between your splayed legs. Your arousal drips onto the groomed thatch of dark hair covering the base of him. 

Zemo sighs as your hands plant themselves on his stomach, pushing his shirt up to reveal more of the lean muscle of his middle. He seems to have the same idea. Zemo slides his hands up your middle and finds the swell of your tits under your shirt. He doesn’t even bother taking your bra off either, just shoves his palms up under the wiring and fondling your breasts. You clench around him as his fingers toy with your nipples, the pace of your fucking amping up to a speed that has you scrabbling to latch onto his shoulders. 

“When you wore that dress in Madripoor…” Zemo starts, a dark strand of his hair falling across his forehead. His brows are furrowed, wrestling his words into something coherent. “I could not stop looking at your breasts. I was—shit—was tempted to invite you to bed that night.” 

The admission only adds to your need. “Why didn’t you?” 

He pinches your nipples, rolling the hardened buds between his fingertips. You muffle your cry by biting down on your tongue. Fuck—he knows exactly how to touch you, how to fuck you into a quickly spiraling stupor. You’d give him anything he asked for in these fleeting minutes. 

Zemo’s grip drops to your gyrating hips, aiding by roughly pulling you forward and back,  driving into you roughly. His cock fills you perfectly, scraping against every spot that makes you sing and melt. Zemo answers you with a deep, taking kiss. “I was lucky to even look—your bodyguards are fearsome, and I value a full set of teeth.”   

He’s not wrong. Sam and Bucky are always hovering, within arms reach—two terrible foes that gave every suitor a glare that entailed a horrific fate beyond just punching their lights out. It’s Steve’s fault—it’s no secret he was fiercely protective over you—no surprise that it rubbed off on his two best friends. Sam especially—fuck, you can’t even go on a fucking date without him accidentally crashing it or digging up some obscure file on them. Your gut flips with dread. You wonder what he’d think of this. Zemo balls deep inside you—and you’re enjoying it—    

Zemo jostles your chin. “Come back to me, moja lastovička.”  

Your eyes snap to his. Zemo’s hand drops between you, deft fingers finding your swollen clit. You don’t realize how close you’d been hovering on the edge—spiraling down into a vortex of an orgasm that zips through your veins, consuming you entirely. Your back arches, as your hips snap viciously against his, chasing after those final tidbits of friction you need to set every single one of your nerves ablaze and singing. Sitting over his lap, the taught pale, skin of Zemo’s groin scrapes sinfully against your clit with every unbridled buck of your hips, spots of lightning hot pleasure zinging behind your eyes. To save yourself from being too loud, you mold your lips to his, cry into his mouth as you tremble son Zemo’s cock. Euphoria floods your very soul, yanking you off the precarious edge of sensible thought and lunacy.   

The second you fall limp, Zemo pounces. In a dizzying display of speed, Zemo rolls you onto your back, flat against the couch. He pulls out sharply, lifts up your legs and throws them over his shoulders, all but folding you in half. He slides back inside, your cunt still slick and sore. You whine and scratch at his back in some weak attempt to protest or encourage him, you don't fucking know. Zemo rests his full weight against you, swinging his hips freely, in search for his own high. Between the light slapping of his thighs meeting your ass and your uncontrollable squeaks of pleasure, Zemo thrusts two of his fingers into your mouth to quiet you. 

“Hush, little songbird,” he purrs against your ear, grunting as your tongue slides between his fingers. “Your friends will hear.”

You have half a mind to just say fuck it and deal with the consequences later—but you know better. So does he.   

His thrusts later into an erratic pace, and with a snarl he’s shoving himself deep inside of you as he cums. Sharp pain bursts upon the side of your neck as Zemo’s teeth pinch the delicate skin—you’re lucky if he doesn’t break skin. Your previous high has you still floating in the clouds, drifting on endorphins, but it's impossible to miss the subtle swell and twitch of his cock, and the liquid heat that now coats your insides. Zemo trials his warm tongue over the indents of his teeth as if in apology, and tenderly maneuvers your legs off his narrow shoulders. He removes his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop and kisses your cheek sweetly. 

You hiss as he pulls his softening cock out of your abused hole, wincing as a mix of his cum and your wetness trickle out. Zemo’s eyes are transfixed upon the mess. “You have a towel or something—“

When you try to close your legs Zemo tuts and pulls your legs wider by pushing against your knee. You shutter as he runs a digit through your slit, pushing globs of his pearly white cum back into your cunt. “Better.”

Before you can ask what that means, the Baron slides to the floor, hooks his arms around your thighs and yanks your ass off the side of the couch. Oh my god—he’s gonna kill you. His hot breath fans over your pussy as he uses his thumbs to glide through your slick folds, devotional with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds. 

“Next time,” Zemo rasps darkly, “you will beg for me.“

You bite your lip and arch—Zemo’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit, licking you clean. Zemo sucks on your little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re choking on sobs, raw molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his soft hair—shit. 

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons—the current of a river, even on its surface but deadly and treacherous the deeper you swim. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.   

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—that this is only a dream. It very well might be.

Your nails harpoon into the couch as Zemo strokes and curls the tip of his tongue over you, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. It’s concerning how good he is at this—

Zemo lifts the hood of your clit up with his thumb and zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery. You’re careening towards another end, his eagerness to devour you amping up the influx of your pleasure. 

“Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue deeper into your dripping hole. 

Your release rips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your orgasm seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through your muddled thoughts and remember where exactly you are—who you are. 

Vaguely, you feel Zemo manipulate you into the spot you were in earlier, laying atop his chest. He pulls that stupid coat of his that smells like his cologne around your shoulders and tucks your head under his chin. He runs his fingers through your hair and begins to hum a quiet tune in that raspy timbre of his.  

“You have a pretty voice,” you slur, fighting sleep. 

He hums and plants a kiss onto the top of your head. “You are not so mean when you’ve been properly fucked.” 

“M’not mean,” you retort. 

“Of course not, lastovička.” 

There’s that word again. You work your jaw. “What does that word mean?”

Zemo shifts under you, heartbeat kicking up a beat or two before settling down. He runs a hand down your covered arms. Zemo doesn’t answer for a while—bruised fist clutching onto the remains of an evanescent dream in which these moments are not sparing. You both watch as the soft silver moonlight seeps into the room, distorted by the stained glass, painting patches of your skin ruby red and midnight blue. Just like the watery moonlight, the pulsing ache seeps into your ivory bones while his ethanol dipped fear seeps into the depths of his nimble mind. Strike a match and he will burst into flames and you will disintegrate into ash. 

Zemo thumbs at the cartilage of your ear, delicately twisting the two metal bands pierced into your skin. He inhales deeply, the exhale disturbing stray hairs on the top of your head. “My little swallow.”  

What does it mean to miss something you’ve never had? 

Decaying dreams bleed into the wilting flowerbeds of the past. He can never be yours and you can never be his. You’ve always had a tender heart—no matter how you dress it with barbed wire and rusty switchblades. Your heat still melts, cracks into a million pieces wether it’s made of cardiac muscle or steel. He’s named you swallow, a flying black star, a small warm-breasted piece of what people label as an omen of luck. You’ve finally come to realize that hope for doomed fates do not exist where there is no light. No chance. No luck.   

But there’s always darkness in things—the moon, the sea, the early light. There’s no love to be had here—but you can feel the stirrings of it in another lifetime. The idea of it is devastating and equally revolting. He’s revolting. 

Your throat cinches. You move to leave but he stops you.   

“Stay with me, lastovička,” Zemo whispers, edging on a beg. “Just for a while longer.”

You do.       

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent and very long overdue but oh well lmfao please enjoy and lmk if I missed any tags!

[weebannihilator]

Yall will go fucking rabid, screaming and crying tripping over yourselves to make sure no one says the word ""insane"" but its dead fucking silent when those same people you're apparently "defending" try to advocate for themselves. And if not completely ignored, we're just talked over. Again and again and again. Sureee. Calling someone insane isn't nice i guess but for fucks sake can we focus on something that actually?? matters?????

Instead of trying to baby proof the internet from meanie bad words, maybe it would be more useful to focus on what you can start doing right now that will actually help:

Stop stigmatizing us.

If people were genuinely interested in helping us when they're barking the "don't say insane!!" rant, (They're not.) then it literally wouldn't take anymore than doing your own research to understand what and who they're trying to help. It can be hurtful, but someone calling me insane will never be anywhere near as harmful as the complete lack of even basic knowledge the public has about the disorders they like to stigmatize and laugh at. I can name so many just off the top of my head:

BPD (Borderline personality disorder) is extremely common. There are over 3 million cases every year. A majority of people who have BPD developed it because they were victims of early childhood truama or neglect, but the world has made it out that they're always going to be inherent abusers. Same with NPD. (Narcissistic personality disorder) It's painted that all of them are evil monsters, even though the majority developed the disorder after being abused themselves in childhood. (find a more in depth study/explanation here!)

Instead of focusing your "support" on telling people not to say insane, why don't you focus on visibility and acceptance for victims with disorders?

OCD (Obessive compulsive disorder) is an anxiety disorder associated with intrusive thoughts. Saying, "I'm so OCD" because you like to color code your pencils is careless sterotyping but an extremely common saying.

So why don't you focus on educating yourself/others when you make those mistakes?

Psychosis is common. It is not an illness itself, but a symptom. 3 in 100 people will likely have at least one psychotic episode in their lives, even those without disorders associated with it, after traumatic events. (Ex. like the death of a loved one or a natural disaster.)

So why don't you focus on normalizing reactions to truama? Even the "crazy" ones?

((For most of the extra information above^, I've linked Mayo Clinic webpages. They are easily accessible with accurate descriptions. They cover all symtoms and causes while still staying unbiased and offering support.))

I really could go on and on but this whole thing is just giving me a fucking headache. If you've been on the "dont say insane" bandwagon with absolutely nothing else to show, either shut up and stop pretending you have some moral high ground on illnesses you dont know shit about, or take a step off of your high horse and LISTEN TO US. If you're defending people with disorders, then learn from people with disorders and what we actually care about and need your support for.

We appreciate the effort, but if you're at all genuine about wanting to help, we need you to put that effort into what actually matters to us.

[poptod]

Headcanons for Ahkmenrah with a major stoner s/o?

notes: u dont know the demon within me youve unleashed. i had a physical spasm when i read this request.

+

- You work at the museum as a janitor. Not a great job, but it pays, and you only have to have three roommates instead of your original five.

- Of course it's easiest to clean during the day, when everything's unlocked and all that

– But of your own will, you decided to clean at night. The museum director said nothing about it

– (even though it was secretly so you could smoke on the premises without getting caught)

– of course. of Course when you're so stoned you can barely move, you hear noises inside the museum.

– first you think it's just the security guard, but that's way more than just one person's footsteps, and you know larry doesn't have any friends

– you quietly make your way back inside, the back of your throat burning since you didn't bring a water bottle (which you really should've)

– Obviously you think you're hallucinating.

– You run to the bathroom to compose yourself, sobering up and splashing your face with water. you then confront larry, who's having a drinking contest with one of the exhibits, and all is explained with a perfectly innocent explanation

– from then on you keep your smoking sessions more below the radar.

– also, from then on, you talked with historical figures who were supposed to be dead for hundreds of years but were reanimated through the power of ancient, archaic magic

– also fun

– but actually. Sacagawea? Christopher Columbus? yours to know. and torture. should you want to. colonel custer certainly earns some of your ire.

– you do make an effort to flirt with one of the exhibits though

– theres this really cute boy

– and he just gets so flustered by everything you say. its actually hilarious but also very sweet

– if you ever touch him, he gets all blushy and stutters his way through half-thought out sentences

– one evening you don't get much of a chance to freshen up after you smoke outside. ahk comes out of the museum, finds you, and you barely have time to squish the roach beneath your heel before he's standing in front of you

– he talks to you as usual, rambling slightly about his feelings like usual until he takes a deep breath and notices something in the air

– it's not that he can't know about your smoking habits. it's just. he's a pharaoh. you're not sure how well he's going to understand the concept of getting high

- "Do you smell that?"

- "... smell what?"

- "Burning... something. It smells familiar. Like an herb."

- your eyes widened and in a split second you remembered being a young stoner, looking up the history of marijuana to better understand the laws around it (turns out its mostly racism but whatever)

- egyptians had weed. it was found on mummies.

- for the life of you, you can't remember what they used it for though

- "You might be smelling my joint," you say very quietly.

- "Your what?"

- "Joint. It's something you smoke."

- "Like a pipe?"

- "... something like that," you say. "I'll bring one tomorrow."

- tomorrow comes and you stay true to your word

– when you light it up, puffing until smoke runs in and out of your lungs -

- the prince watches you with wide eyes, his golden clothes reflecting the dismal lighting of the streetlamps.

- "I know what that is!" he says suddenly, nearly jumping with excitement. "shemshemet!"

- it takes a second but you get him to explain what he means. turns out he's right – that's what his language calls weed. shemshemet. and he looks fucking delighted when he finds out.

- "Why are you smiling like that?" You ask, but his smile has you instinctively laughing

- "I smoked this all the time with one of my friends, back in Egypt. Let me!"

- he reaches for the joint, you put your hand over his face, pushing him back as you laugh

- "Careful with it!" you warn him. "Smoking this is a little different than your pipes."

- he coughs. a lot.

- you educate him on how a rolled joint works, and in the end you're both incredibly high from practicing so much. it makes an interesting story for when you go back inside looking blazed as you feel

- eventually it gets to the point that you realize he knows perfectly well how to smoke, he's pretending like he doesn't.

- he's just trying to get you to move closer to him. when you help him, you touch him, instructing him how to hold it so it doesn't burn him, how to inhale and how to use his lips

- This'll shut him up, you think

- "If you're really having this much trouble with it, I'll shotgun you," you say with an 'exasperated' sigh

- "What's that?"

- oh, he's so cute when he doesn't know what the hell's going on

- you take a long drag, set the joint aside, grab the back of his head and pull him in.

- since you can't speak proper, your hand moves to his face, thumb prying at his lips till he opens his mouth

- there you hook your thumb into his jaw, pushing on his tongue and pulling him forward till your lips just barely meet and you can blow the smoke into his mouth

- his knees physically buckle. you have to catch him from falling and nearly none of the smoke actually makes it into his lungs but you're laughing way too hard to care

- he's really just adorable, isn't he?

- "You are welcome to do that any time," he says.

- "If that's the reaction I get, I most certainly fucking will."

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Similarities

Switch AU

A JSE Fanfic

Y’know I realize there hasn’t been that much advancement of the plot in this AU as of late. Sorry bout that. But hey, no story is all action all the time. And we get character development! In this, Jackie stays over with JJ and Marvin, and talks with the latter about some...experiences. Emotions are involved. Two characters grow closer. Stuff like that. It was nice to write, so I hope you guys enjoy :)

More of this AU found here

“And then! And then Kristy gave me this bracelet. She gave one to all the girls in class, I mean, but look at it! It’s my favorite colors!” Michelle shook her wrist, causing her new red-and-yellow beaded bracelet to spin wildly around it. “And I’m the only one who got the star charms!”

Jackie smiled, leaning down to ruffle Michelle’s hair. “Sounds like a fun last day of school.”

“It was! And now we’re on holiday, and that’s always great!” Michelle flopped down onto her back, now laying on the living room floor, and looked up at her dad sitting on the sofa with wide eyes. “And about holidays, what did you get me for Christmas?”

“I can’t tell you that! It’ll ruin the surprise!”

“I’ll like it anyway.”

Jackie laughed. “That’s probably true, but the surprise makes it even better. Why, is there something you really want?”

“Don’t worry, I already wrote my letter,” Michelle said proudly. “I gave it to Ren.”

“Oh that’s great!” Jackie said. Rama showed him the letter earlier; Michelle had included a detailed list of toys she wanted Santa to bring. “Right, I forgot they told me they dropped it off at the mailbox. They also said your writing is looking really good.”

“They did?!” Michelle beamed. “That’s so cool.”

Before Jackie could continue, the alarm on his phone went off. He dug it out of his hoodie pocket and turned it off, sighing. “Well, looks like I have to go now.”

“Aww.” Michelle’s happy expression turned to a pout as they sat up. “Can’t you stay more? I never see you anymore.”

“Sorry, sweetie, Dad has to go to work,” Jackie said regretfully. “But I’m really glad I stopped by before I had to.”

“Stupid work,” Michelle grumbled. She held out her arms. “Hug?”

Jackie bent over and gave her a hug, squeezing tight as he lifted her off the ground and onto her feet. “I’ll see you again later.”

“Bye, Dad.” Michelle waved as Jackie grabbed his coat and walked over to the front door, heading out.

It was a bit after noon, the sky partly cloudy. Jackie had taken to picking up shorter afternoon and evening shifts at the hospital. He was fine with taking more, but his boss still insisted he didn’t work as much, after the...ordeal he went through a few months ago. Part of him wondered if she was trying to get him to quit or something, but he wasn’t going to do that any time soon, so it was a misguided strategy if that was the case.

Rama was outside, trying to do yard work in their small front garden. Jackie stopped for a moment, watching. They quickly noticed and stopped, standing up straight and turning around to ask, “Enjoying the view?”

“Hey, I-I didn’t—I wasn’t—” Jackie stammered, blushing a bit. “You’re wearing a coat. I was just thinking it looked a bit difficult, pulling up dead weeds in the—in the hard winter dirt—”

“I know, Jackieboy,” Rama chuckled. “Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah,” Jackie said regretfully. “I already said goodbye to Michelle.”

Rama hesitated, then slowly asked, “Have you...thought about moving back in...any time? In the near future, I mean.”

Jackie paused, thinking about it as he turned to look over the house. It was so familiar to him. It was his home—or at least, it had been, up until...everything happened. And just being inside put him on edge. “You know...it’s not just that it’s ours, i-it’s any place that...sort of looks like the place where...” He trailed off. After all this time, he still hadn’t told Rama anything about Distorter. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t a good idea to keep secrets from your spouse. But just...something like that...it seemed like the more people knew about Distorter, the more they were pulled into this situation. They’d already lost Michelle for a bit, he couldn’t bear if...

“I understand,” Rama nodded. “But...we miss you. Even though you visit so often.”

“I know, I miss you too.” Jackie thought about it. “I—I still get pretty anxious, but I’m working on it. With Lisa.” That was his therapist. “Maybe sooner rather than later?”

Rama went silent, then clapped their hands once. “Okay. We’ll buy an apartment.”

“Wh-what?!” Jackie gasped. “Ramram, you can’t do that! It’s expensive, and we’re putting most of your book money towards Michelle’s education—Not to mention it’ll be a whole change, the move might be hard on Mich, especially if it’s too far away from the school and she has to transfer. And we’re in the suburbs because of the quiet for your writing—No, i-it won’t work out, I can’t make you two do that.”

After a moment, Rama slowly nodded. “If you’re sure. Take care of yourself, mi corazón. Do what’s best for you.”

Jackie walked over and gave Rama a quick squeeze of the hand. “I will. You do the same.”

They leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. “Have a good time at work.”

“Thanks. I mean, I’ll try. I’ll see you guys later.”

And with that, he headed over to his car and got inside. Before driving off, he waved at the house one more time. Rama waved back, standing in the yard, and Michelle did, too, watching from the front window. He kept looking at them as he pulled away.

——————— 

That evening, Jackie was driving back from work, tired after a long day, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Who could be texting him now? Rama, maybe? Did they want to continue the conversation they had before he went to the hospital? Or maybe it was similarly important. Curious, Jackie pulled over to the side of the road and parked, taking his phone out to check it really quick.

The message was from JJ. Hey Jackie. Sorry, but it’s happened again.

Jackie knew what that meant. He unlocked the phone and replied, Marvin? Whats the problem this time? Symptoms?

Fever again. Sometimes coughing, no sneezing. I thought it was just a cold, but I think it’s getting bad.

Bad? Jackie asked, already worried.

Maybe I’m just paranoid. Thinking about that time he had to stay in the hospital last year. But I’d rather be safe than sorry. Can you pop over?

Jackie didn’t hesitate. Of course. I’ll be right there. But first, how long has he been sick?

JJ paused, probably thinking. Well it really only started the day before yesterday, but about a week ago he got a little sick. He was better by the next day, so I assumed that was it.

Yknow he mightve been pretending to be better?

If he was, I’m going to kill him, JJ immediately replied. 

Jackie let out a huff of laughter. Dont kill him before I get there. I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops.

Got it. Thanks.

He put his phone back in his pocket and pulled back onto the road. He really hoped it wasn’t a repeat of what happened last year. That situation had been...worrying. Stressful, even. Because Marvin hadn’t had any official paperwork, they couldn’t get him to the hospital right away, not until Anti could forge some stuff. Poor Marvin had to suffer through a lot before they got everything together. Luckily, they’d gotten him up-to-date with paperwork and vaccines since then, but even so, winter seemed to especially affect his health.

It was unlikely that this would be a similar situation, but just in case, Jackie stepped on the gas.

———————

He arrived at Marvin and Jameson’s house nine minutes later and hurried up to the front door, where he knocked and waited. Almost immediately the door swung open to show Jameson inside. So glad you could make it, he signed. I hope I didn’t message you at an inconvenient time.

“Huh? No, it was fine, I was heading back home, anyway.” Jackie stepped inside, and JJ closed the door behind him. “Is he in his room?”

Unless he left in the last minute, JJ said.

That might actually be a possibility, given Marvin’s attitude towards being sick. Jackie hurried down the hall to his bedroom. The door was closed, so he slowly eased it open and poked his head in. “Marvin? It’s me.”

The lights were off, and the dark room was filled with the sound of an electric fan whirring. Something moved on the bed—probably Marvin rolling over. “Y’got t’be more specific. ‘Me’ coul’ be anyone,” he mumbled.

“It’s Jackie.” As he said this, Jackie reached over and flipped on the light switch, so Marvin could see him as well as hear.

“Ah!” Marvin squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden brightness. “Jackie? Huh. Come for a visit..? No, wait...y’here for somet’ing?”

“Yeah, I’m just uh...stopping by for a bit.” Jackie took a step into the room, JJ following shortly behind, and walked over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M fine. Jus’ grand.” Obviously, this was not the case. Marvin was sweating enough to make his hair damp, and his skin had a sickly pallor. But despite how hot he seemed, he was shivering, and had the comforter on the bed pulled up. Mr. Fluffington was sitting next to the pillow, purring furiously. Marvin reached over and petted him for a moment before flinging his arm over his face and covering his eyes. “Ev’ryt’ing’s Jake.”

“Yeah. Um...clearly not.” Jackie looked over at JJ. “Can you go get the—”

Already anticipating what he was going to ask for, JJ walked over to the nearest chair and picked up their first aid kit, coming back over to hand it to Jackie.

“Oh. Thanks.” Jackie took it and started rummaging about inside. “Marv, I’m going to take your temperature, do you mind?”

“A-ha. So it’s a fuckin’...fucking’ check-up I get it...” Marvin trailed off into mumbling under his breath, but didn’t protest as Jackie pulled out the thermometer and took his temperature. After it was done, he rolled over onto his side, practically burying his face in Fluffington’s fur.

Jackie looked down at the thermometer and frowned. 39.2 C...that wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all. “Marvin? How do you really feel? Like...on the fatigue scale, where would you be?”

Marvin looked back over at him, head rolling lazily. “Hmm...se-seven? Seven and a half?”

“You have a really high fever. Is there anything else, like a headache or something?”

“Well...” Marvin paused to think. His eyes were a bit glazed. “T’ere’s a tickle in my throat. Won’ go ‘way. My nose is all stuffy. Felt a bit sick...sick like...the stomach issues sick. Couldn’ eat anyt’ing ‘cause...bad.”

Jackie glanced over at JJ, hovering nearby. I can second that, JJ said. He didn’t have dinner.

“Alright. It’s probably just a cold,” Jackie said. Yet a note of uncertainty remained in his voice. “A bad one, but you’ll probably be fine.”

So what do we do then? JJ asked.

Jackie hesitated. “Well...” His instincts were telling him not to take any risks, to stay and make sure everything stayed fine. “Given past experiences, is it okay if I spend the night? Just to keep an eye on things.”

“Wha...?” With a fair amount of effort, Marvin sat up. “No, don’ stay over, you’re...you’re prob’ly all busy. Ye jus’ said it was alrigh’.”

“Alright...for now,” Jackie said darkly. “Right now you’re on the edge of ‘a bad cold’ and ‘a serious issue.’ Things could easily get worse in the night, but by tomorrow, it’ll be clear if this is the worst it’ll get or...if there’s more.”

JJ’s expression was filled with anxiety. Is there anything I can do to help?

“Yeah. Get him to take his shirt off.”

Marvin snorted. “Whoa, Jackie, you know Jems and I aren’...aren’ a pair. Not t’at type of pair.”

Jackie rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you need to change your shirt. I know your feelings on short sleeves, but this is making your fever worse.” He turned back to JJ. “Anyway, you know what else. Ibuprofen, water, all that. You already got the fan on, that’s good.”

JJ nodded seriously. Got it. You really want to stay over?

“Well...better safe than sorry, you know? If it starts to go bad, I can recognize it, and we can get him to the hospital really quickly. Is...is it okay?”

Of course it is! You can stay whenever, but especially in this situation. You’re the doctor, after all. JJ smiled gently.

Marvin groaned. “Fffffine, Jackie can stay.”

Jackie smiled a bit at Marvin’s acceptance. But really, him not protesting more was a sign of how bad he felt. At this point, he probably recognized that he needed help, and it wasn’t worth the struggle. “Great. I’ll just have to call Schneep and tell him what’s going on, so he doesn’t get worried when I don’t show up at the flat. But right now, where do you keep the Ibuprofen?”

———————

Marvin and Jameson’s town house didn’t have a guest bedroom, so Jackie had to set up in the living room. Luckily, they did have lots of spare pillows and blankets. But Jackie wasn’t going to sleep right away. He was staying over to keep an eye on things, so that’s what he did. First, by making sure Marvin actually changed clothes into something cooler and more lightweight. Then, by teaming up with JJ to make sure Marvin actually ate dinner. He still didn’t have much of an appetite, but between the two of them, they convinced him that he needed the energy. Oh, and water. He needed lots of water.

In the meantime, Jackie watched some YouTube videos on his phone to pass the time. JJ offered to lend him a book, but Jackie turned him down. He wasn’t in the mood to read, and besides, it would probably take him days to finish with his new work schedule. Every so often, he got up and went into Marvin’s bedroom to check on him. Maybe too often. Marvin quickly got annoyed, though he didn’t have the energy to snap at him.

“Hey, do you need anything?” Jackie asked on perhaps his fifth check-in.

“I need...t’not be so hot,” Marvin replied, a faint note of sarcasm in his voice.

“Do you feel worse?” Jackie asked. “Maybe you need to take off the blanket?”

“No.” Marvin briefly buried his face in the pillow before realizing that he couldn’t breathe like that, not while his nose was all congested. “‘f I take off the...the blanket, then ‘m too cold.”

“Ah. Well, maybe a thinner one, then? Here, lemme take your temperature again.”

Marvin didn’t say anything, just allowed the temperature-taking and the blanket-switching. Then he rolled over and closed his eyes, presumably falling asleep immediately.

JJ bounced between being on his computer, being upstairs in his magic workroom, and checking up on and bringing things to Marvin. He constantly seemed distracted, unable to commit to one course of action. Jackie couldn’t blame him. His best friend was sick, and there was a distinct possibility that he could get worse and would need to go to the hospital. Anyone would wander around, unsure what to do.

One time, JJ came into the living room with his laptop and sat down, writing. “What’re you doing?” Jackie asked.

JJ looked up. Work stuff. A lot of emails, mostly.

“Ugh. Work emails.” Jackie shook his head. “Y’know half the time the emails I get aren’t even relevant to me. It’s like ‘Notice: thing in the operating room’ and I’m like ‘you do know I’m just a GP, right? And for kids, too, right?’ Like, I think I’ve been in the operating room twice.”

JJ chuckled weakly. It’s a bit different for me. I have to coordinate rehearsals and effect supplies, book venues, and generally manage and schedule a bunch of people.

“Really? What about your manager? What’s her name, uhhh...Darla? Doesn’t she do that stuff?”

Sort of. It’s like a joint effort. I’m technically in charge, though, so I at least have to approve everything.

Jackie shook his head. “I could never do that. Too much. How do you manage?”

I was a theatre kid, JJ said, shrugging with a half-smile on his face.

“Does having actual magic help?”

Not really, not with all the organizational stuff. If anything, it can make things more complicated, as I have to figure out a trick that I can use with real magic but cover up with tricks and effects. JJ sighed. I really need this to go well, Jackie. It’s the first show since my voice was damaged, it has to work out.

Jackie smiled at him. He leaned over from his position on the sofa and put a hand on JJ’s shoulder, which he could barely reach as JJ was sitting in a different chair. “You’ll do great. Your shows have always been fantastic, and the voice thing isn’t going to change that.”

JJ smiled a bit. Thanks, Jackie. Glad to know you think so.

“We all do. We belieeeeve in youuuu.”

JJ laughed a bit, and returned to his emails.

Eventually, night came. JJ wrapped up his work and reluctantly headed to bed, not wanting to leave Marvin alone and sick. But Jackie assured him that it would be fine. He would be staying up, and if Marvin wanted to talk to JJ specifically, he could go wake him up. Or Marvin could text him. Mostly reassured, Jameson went upstairs to sleep, leaving Jackie awake in the living room.

Jackie checked on Marvin a couple times more, but found him asleep. Exhausted from all the fatigue he was feeling. Good. If he slept well, he’d probably be better in the morning, and they could all relax when it turned out to be a terrible cold, and nothing more.

Watching YouTube videos eventually got boring, so Jackie decided to plug his phone in to charge and do something else for a bit. As it turned out, Mr. Fluffington was still awake as well. So Jackie found a laser pointer in a table drawer in the living room and played with him for a bit. Until, after a while, Fluffington got tired of the red dot, and even the cat went to bed.

Bored again, Jackie put the laser pointer back. He was considering JJ’s offer of lending a book to read, and was looking over the titles of the ones on the living room bookshelves, when he heard...something. Some sort of distant sound. He paused, going still as he listened.

For a while, nothing happened, and everything was silent. But then, he heard it again. A voice? Someone saying something? Maybe it wasn’t words, but instead just sounds...distressed sounds. After a few moments of listening, Jackie realized with a start that the voice was coming from down the hall. The direction of Marvin’s room.

Something must have been wrong. Immediately, Jackie unplugged his phone and pocketed it—just in case—and headed down the hall, half-running. He reached Marvin’s door soon, finding it closed. He didn’t hesitate to open it and step inside. “Marvin?! Is everything okay?”

The room was dark again, pitch black in the night. The fan was off. Strange, it was on last time Jackie was in here. Had Marvin woken up and turned it off? That didn’t matter. He could clearly hear Marvin, crying out and whimpering. Jackie flicked the light switch on and walked over. “Marvin? What’s wrong?”

Marvin didn’t answer, just kept mumbling and crying, sounding frantic. Then, Jackie noticed his eyes were closed. Ah. So he was asleep. Having a nightmare. And a bad one, by the looks of it. His blankets and even his shirt were all twisted around him, which only upset him more, as he seemed to be trying to fight against them. Jackie reached out and put a hand on his head, then immediately pulled it away. He was so hot, the fever burning him up. Jackie turned the fan on and checked the bedside nightstand for anything else. There was a half-empty glass of water and a damp cloth. That would work.

He picked up the damp cloth and tried to put it on Marvin’s head. But Marvin cried out and yanked his head away, shouting...something. Jackie couldn’t quite catch it, but he thought he heard ‘go away’ and ‘don’t want your help.’ “Marvin, it’s me. I-I want to—can you wake up? Wake up, it’s fine.” He reached out to try and untangle the blankets.

That turned out to be the wrong thing to do. Marvin started flailing wildly, tossing, turning, kicking, waving. The blankets restricted his movement, but it was still enough to make him roll off the opposite side of the bed. “Marvin!” Jackie leaned over the bed. “God damn it. I’ll get you, don’t worry.”

As he walked around to the other side, he stopped for a moment. The edge of the blankets were tucked into the gap between the mattress and the footboard. Jackie pulled them out, letting the blankets go free. That made them somewhat less restrictive, but it also meant that Marvin, still moving and struggling, ended up wrapping them loosely around his legs. Which...actually probably didn’t help in the long run. Well, too late now. Jackie knelt down on the ground next to Marvin. “Hey, calm down, it’s fine,” he said, trying to sound soothing as he went about untangling the blankets around him.

It took longer than he expected. Marvin kept wriggling and flailing, but still had his eyes firmly shut as he remained asleep. Jackie tried to wake him up, but to no avail. And he kept muttering the whole time, occasionally whimpering or crying out as if in pain. His words ran together, slurred by sleep-talking, but some distinct phrases popped up: “Get away!” “Don’t you dare...” “Leave me alone!” “...don’t want it.” “Don’t want you.” It hurt Jackie’s heart to hear. Was it the fever causing this nightmare? Or something more?

After a good few minutes, he freed the blankets, leaving them on the floor as he tried to pick up Marvin. Again, the struggling made this difficult. Marvin actively tried to push him away at times...though that mostly turned into him weakly slapping Jackie’s face and arms. But Jackie was determined, and managed to get Marvin back on top of the mattress. Once there, Marvin gave up and went limp, lying there still. Jackie sighed in relief and pressed his hand to his head. Still hot, and his pale skin was damp with sweat. He should wake him up soon, get him to drink some water to replace what he lost with all the sweat. But first, he picked up the damp rag again, using some of the water from the glass to wet it more and make it cooler. He laid the cloth across Marvin’s forehead.

The moment he did, something...unusual started to happen. Marvin whimpered, turned his head to the side, and started to cry. Tears leaked from his eyes as he quietly sobbed and continued to mumble something. The words had changed. Now, Jackie could hear a lot of “No” and “Please don’t” over and over and over. As he listened, stunned, these were broken up by adding “I’m sorry” and “I’ll be good” to the mix, which only shocked him further.

“God. Marvin,” he whispered to himself. No more waiting, he had to wake him up now. He couldn’t handle the thought of leaving him to whatever horrible nightmare he was having. “Marvin, wake up. It’s me, it’s Jackie.” He leaned over and started shaking him. Gently at first, then gradually harder as that failed to wake him up. His voice slowly raised. “Marvin. Marvin! This is Jackie. You need to wake up!”

After what felt like ages, Marvin stopped mumbling. He groaned, and slowly opened his eyes, staring up at Jackie. At first, confused. Then slowly getting his bearings. He reached up and weakly grabbed at the damp cloth on his forehead until he managed to take it off. Then he tried to sit up, but gave up once the fatigue proved too heavy. “Whoa...” he muttered. “I...where...? When...?”

“You’re in your room. In the house you live in with Jameson,” Jackie explained patiently. “It’s...” He checked the time on his phone. “Ha, it’s midnight on the dot.”

“What...?” Marvin swallowed dryly. “What’s the date?”

“December 10th.”

“...the year?”

“2018.”

“Right.” Marvin nodded a bit, then stopped, looking a bit dizzy. Once again, he tried to sit up, and this time Jackie helped him prop himself against the headboard. “D’you...have any water?”

“Yeah.” Jackie grabbed the water glass and offered it to him. Marvin grasped it weakly, and Jackie only let go once he was sure he could hold it securely. 

Immediately, Marvin lifted the glass to his mouth and drank, draining the glass. “Th’nk you,” he said, handing it back.

“No problem,” Jackie said, taking it. “I can go get more, if you want. Colder, too.”

Marvin took a deep breath, looking unsure. Actually, he looked more than unsure. He looked...shaken.

“You were...having a bad dream,” Jackie said gently. “I-I could hear you making noise, talking and...shouting and...and crying. So I came to check on you. You were rolling around and fell off at one point, but now you’re awake. A-and you’re alright. You’re safe.”

Marvin stared at him for a while, then looked away and closed his eyes, taking another deep breath. Then, strangely...he laughed. “Bad dream,” he repeated. “‘Tis always a bad dream. T’at’s...only time I remember. Which ‘s...strange...isn’ it? T’at’s not how mem’ry works.”

“Remember?” Jackie blinked. “Remember what?”

A pause. Marvin opened his eyes, but didn’t look directly at Jackie. “If y’coul’...go get water I’d…’preciate it.”

“Do you mean...the time you were with him?” Jackie asked softly.

Marvin stiffened. “How’d you...?”

“How did I guess? I just...” Jackie looked down at his hands. He traced the scars on his wrists and shrugged. “It sounded...familiar.”

The silence that followed stretched on. Jackie was worried he’d overstepped some boundary and was about to leave, when Marvin pulled his knees up and gestured to the end of the bed, now clear without his legs there. “Sit down.”

Jackie sat. “Did I—do you not want to talk about it?”

“You...you r’member, righ’?” Marvin asked. “What happened...when you were with him?”

“Of course. I-I-I couldn’t forget.” Jackie laughed humorlessly. “It’s actually a problem, so much reminds me of it. I had to make Volt throw out his zip-ties, and put away his knives and half his cleaning stuff when I moved in with him, since just looking at them freaked me out. I mean, he’s taken them out again now. ‘Cause it’s a bit better. But I can’t...can’t go home, or into any house that’s even a bit similar to that place, can’t spend too much time inside...” He trailed off. “You...don’t remember anything?”

Marvin hummed, leaning his head back against the wall. “‘T’s strange for me. I don’...I don’ remember how I got here. To the...the ‘when,’ I mean. But I...I’m startin’ t t’ink that...he’s the reason for that.”

“Like...he brought you to the present?” Jackie asked.

“No.” Marvin shook his head a bit, but gave up, wincing a bit. Jackie guessed a headache or something that made the motion worse. “I don’ t’ink he coul’ do t’at. It...it doesn’ really fit him, or...or what he can do. Y’know? But...after I got here, however t’at happened, I...I t’ink I ran into him. A-an’ he decided someone so confused woul’ be an easy target.” He paused for a moment, just breathing. Jackie waited patiently. “I didn’...didn’ r’member any of t’is at first. I forgot ev’ryt’ing between bein’ home, and meeting Jems. But...when I go to sleep, I remember. In my dreams.”

“Well...that can happen sometimes,” Jackie said slowly. “Your brain can block out upsetting stuff. And having nightmares about what happened to you is a common trauma response. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“No, no, I know t’at, but it’s...diff’rent for me,” Marvin insisted. “It’s all...too clear. Like it’s happenin’ for the first time. And...I know the dreams r’lly happened, because...I have scars...that match up.”

At that, Jackie glanced down at Marvin’s arms. He’d noticed the scars before, but hadn’t really thought too much about them. Maybe that said something about him as a friend. Or maybe he just didn’t want to pry. But they definitely existed. Most of them were short lines, probably caused by something sharp, but there were also a few burn scars on Marvin’s upper arms. They were all usually covered by his shirt. Jackie suddenly made a connection. “Is that why you always wear long sleeves?”

“Don’ t’ink so,” Marvin mumbled. “Everyt’ing I say, about proper dress and wantin’ t’keep to a routine and not wantin’ any random people grabbin’ my arm...that’s all true. But...maybe it is a reason, but I jus’ don’ realize it. Is that why you wear your jacket all the time now?”

“Hmm.” Jackie tugged at the cuffs of his hoodie. “No. I mean, it’s related. I just...” He paused, getting his thoughts together. “I didn’t have this while I was with him. I-I left it behind. Or...he did, when he showed up. So it’s just...a reminder that it’s all safe now.”

“Reminder,” Marvin repeated, and nodded, once. 

Jackie let out a long exhale. It was really easy to talk to Marvin about all this. He’d had to work up to sharing details like this with his therapist, but now, he was letting them spill. It must have been because he knew Marvin would understand. “I guess if you don’t remember anything, you don’t need a reminder. Right? Ha. I-I wish I didn’t remember.”

Marvin pressed a hand to his head, as if he could feel the empty spots where the missing memories were supposed to be. “I don’ know. I think...I think I’d rather jus’ know. Because...he must’ve done it. He must’ve made me forget. But...why? For what? What’s the purpose? Is there...somet’ing I still don’ know? T’at he wanted to keep secret?”

“Huh. I...didn’t think of that.” Jackie frowned. “You’re right.”

“T’ere’s a lot missing. I’ve dreamt about how...about how we met, but how’d I get out? I dreamt him takin’ my set of playin’ cards, but...why do I feel...they were so important? More t’an just bein’ mine, I mean. And what...what did I do?” Marvin said that last part in a hushed tone.

Jackie stared at him. Then he stood, took a few steps closer to Marvin, and sat back down on the bed, now next to Marvin. He leaned against the headboard instead of sitting on the edge, so the two of them were mirroring each other, side by side. It wasn’t particularly comfortable. The bed was narrow, so he had to sit very close to Marvin, still burning with fever. But...he wanted to. And Marvin didn’t protest. “If you did anything, it wasn’t your fault,” Jackie said softly. “You can’t...do anything in that state.”

Marvin rubbed his eyes. They were starting to water. “You...know?”

Jackie nodded silently.

Taking a shaky breath, Marvin asked, “What...h-how bad...were the things he...made you...?”

After a long moment, Jackie replied. “No one died. But...some were hurt. I think...if I stayed there any longer, it would’ve gotten worse.” He had to stop for a moment. He’d...never told anyone about that. “But it’s...it’s not our fault. It’s Distorter’s. We called him that because he distorts thought, a-and that’s exactly what he did. We aren’t those thoughts he put there, o-or the actions he caused.”

Marvin couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He buried his face in his hands, but Jackie caught a glimpse of them flowing before he could hide them entirely. “I jus’...wish I coul’ remember.” A sob caught in this throat. “I remember feelin’ horrible, I remember screamin’ at him for what he made me do, I remember tryin’ to fight against it...but I don’ remember what I did. I t’ink...I might dream the memory one day. A-an’ I...don’ know...how I’ll react.”

Jackie leaned against him. Reaching up, he took Marvin’s wrist and slowly pulled his hand away from his face, revealing the tear stains and bloodshot eyes. “We aren’t those thoughts,” he repeated, quietly, but firmly. “Those actions weren’t us.”

Marvin stared at him. Then nodded. He looked away. “Will you...stay? For a while?”

“Of course.”

The two of them sat in silence for a long while, the night stretched before them.

——————— 

The next morning, Jackie woke up to the familiar sounds of someone making breakfast. He opened his eyes and sat up, wincing a bit at the ache in his side and neck. The sofa was clearly designed for sitting, not sleeping. He stretched to try and make it better, then stood and went into the kitchen.

JJ was the one cooking. He waved at Jackie, then asked him for help carrying food to Marvin, still in bed. Jackie agreed and the two of them went down the hall.

Marvin was awake. Sitting up, in fact, with Fluffington in his lap. He thanked the two of them for breakfast. While he ate, Jackie gave him a quick check-up, taking his temperature and asking him basic questions. The fever had distinctly died down, and Marvin reported that he felt really tired, but not nauseous, and he could breathe easier. Jackie and JJ were both immediately relieved.

“So it’s just a cold, then,” Jackie concluded, relaxing for the first time in a full day. “Sorry about all the trouble, you two.”

“Eh, better safe t’an sorry, right?” Marvin shrugged. “And ‘t was...nice to have you over.”

Jackie gave him a gentle smile. Then he said, “I’ll be going now, then. It was nice to be over, too. Though sleeping on the sofa kind of sucked.”

Well you’re wearing jeans, JJ pointed out.

“That’s not a problem, I sleep in jeans a lot.”

What?! JJ gasped, looking personally offended. Jackie, you didn’t tell me you were absolutely out of your mind! How can that be comfortable?!

Jackie laughed. “You get used to it.”

“No, ‘m with Jems on t’is one,” Marvin said, his words slightly muffled as he was speaking into his cup of apple juice.

“I used to take long night shifts at the hospital years ago, and I was so tired that I didn’t even bother to get into pajamas when I got home,” Jackie defended himself. “I mean, I don’t have night shifts anymore, but that’s still a leftover quirk.”

Marvin rolled his eyes. “Didn’ ye say you had to go?”

“Yeah, I told Volt I’d be back in the morning before he went to work at ten. I’ll tell him how you’re doing, by the way. Anti, too.”

“T’anks.” Marvin looked at him. “For...ev’ryt’ing. Be seein’ you.”

“Be seeing you,” Jackie repeated. “And thank you. Goodbye.”

JJ looked confused. He followed Jackie as he headed down the hall to the front door. Before he could leave, he asked, Did something happen?

“Oh. Uhh we had a talk last night,” Jackie said. “About some...serious stuff.”

Ah. I won’t pry, then, JJ said, backing off. Hey, Jackie. Thanks for coming over and staying and everything. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.

“It’s never an inconvenience to help a friend. Or, you know, even if there wasn’t a problem, I’d be happy to stay over any time.” Jackie laughed a bit. “Just gotta prepare a bit better next time. Get an air mattress.”

JJ smiled. Still, thank you. It...it really means a lot, you know? I’m sure Marvin’s glad you stop by to check on him when he’s sick, even when he protests. But remember to take care of yourself too, you know?

Jackie nodded. “Thanks, J. I will. But you have to remember that, too. I know you’re busy with your show and now Marvin’s sick and everything, but keep your stress levels down. You worry a lot about everyone else. Might spread yourself too thin.”

JJ sighed. It...has happened before. I’ll try.

“No, you won’t try. You will take care of yourself. Or let Marvin or one of us do it.”

Alright, I get the point, JJ smiled a bit. Hey, by the way, the show starts in January. Opening night is New Year’s Day, actually. You and Henrik and Anti can come see it for free, if you want. The families, too.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Jackie said cheerfully. Rama and Michelle would probably like that. “I’ll see you later, then?”

See you later. Bye, Jackie.

“Bye, JJ.”

Jackie headed out, hurrying to his car, still parked where he left it last night. A few loose snowflakes started to fall from the sky as he climbed inside and turned on the heater. 

That was...a night. An unexpected one, but...one he needed. He reflected on it as he started to drive away. Then, he took the turn that would take him to Rama and Michelle’s house—his house. There was still time before he said he’d be back at Schneep’s apartment. He wanted to be with his family again.