#also i have aboue a 20% idea of what the FUCK is going on in this show lmaoo
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Hey everyone, I hoper you have a great day today. Treat yourself and each other great today.
So this past weekend I wasn’t feeling that well, not well at all. Which Is kinda rare honestly, either way. Over the last few weeks/days I have been noticing myself experiencing episodes of light headedness and even passed out a time or two. Which is effin scary cause I live along ( future Mommy, now is the perfect opportunity to tell me it’s okay, your here to take care of me!! “A boy can dream”.
So as you can imagine passing out and falling down can be pretty dangerous, actually crashed into my bedside table on Saturday and broke it into PIECES. CHIPPED A BONE IN MY HAND TOO. I’m not a big fan of hospitals and all of that, but thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go and just make sure things are okay. Being a full time diapered baby, sometimes it can be tricky. I generated speaking will only go if I have a friend or sitter to kind of help be a buffer. Just in case I say something dumb, or someone gets suspicious. I will also usually change into a “Normal” diaper and avoid wearing anything to “babyish”. Just easier that way.
Well, lol, this weekend I was feeling so gnarly that decided they can think what they want…I am coming comfortable and as myself. I was wearing a pink Princess with a booster, a bright blue onesie and some pastel blue full zip and baby patterned pair of footed Jammie’s. Fuck it, right. Lol. As well, the only diaper bag I had packed was my pink clear acrylic see through backpack style one. To put it lightly, it was Halloween in my bubble and boy did I get the stares and looks. I just put my paci in and ignored them. Thankfully the waiting room was fast and I was taken back with in 15-20 minutes
By the time I was escorted back, I had filled my diaper almost to the point of leaking. Hell I was sure the front desk girl could hear me release embarrassed pee pee streams the whole time we checked in. Which always happens. A great way to know if your really got me flustered is immediate bladder evacuation, followed my a beat red face and a goofy smile. The nurse that brought me to my room was trying to mind her own business and just get on with things, but offered to help get me into a gown since there were s many snaps on the Jammie’s. She then discovered the onesie, which of course had been leaked on showing I was blatantly a helpless little pissy pants. I ended up just standing there silent, looking scared to death I’m sure, while this attractive woman near my age stripped me of my baby clothes exposing just my saggy, stinky, diaper. And a pink baby one at that. She looked up at me with a little distaste and I started wimpering. She quickly began to console me and wrapped me in the gown and had me sit down.
“I know it’s none of my business, but that diaper is pretty wet isn’t it”
“Um, y…ye…yea”. As I started getting more upset.
“Hey little guy, it’s okay, it’s okay. Is that your diaper bag over there”
“Um, yes. Yes it is.”
“Okay, here in a lilts while when I get a few seconds would you mind if I changed you?”
This wasn’t the first times something like this happened, it pretty common. Just never had I come to a medical situation with this much ABDL swag before. She just smiled and told me to try and calm down and things would be just fine. She exited the room and I was left alone awaiting the doctor and etc
The first doctor came and went, nothing to crazy, but wanted me to consider seeing a Urologist while there. I sure maybe, but knew it was a no.
Several minutes later and the fist nurse came back in and closed the curtains behind her.
“Okay little guy, let’s get you more comfortable…huh?”
I just nodded and signaled for my diaper bag. I pulled out a Tykeables, my wipes, powder, and desitin as I had been nursing a rash for a few days. She giggled at the powder and ointment and said I need to make sure and change more often to ovoid that. I told her I know, and joked about needing a full time caregiver to make sure.
She actually popped my paci in, gave me a smile and told me to relax, and everything will be done quickly. I couldn’t tell her that I loved being changed without sounding like a creep so I just smirked, laid back, and started rhythmicly sucking my pink pacifier. She got the VERY wet diaper untapped and began to wipe me down with the SUPER cold wipes (I’m used to my wipe warmer). Right as she was going to slide the new diaper unde me and as she was saying
“Okay, life your butt”
There was suddenly commotion near the screen that separated my spread eagle bottom with a diaper being slide under, and anyone walking past and or etc. she immediately shouted
“Hey, hey…I’m busy in here…DO NOT COME IT. Private private stop”
And guess what, they did not stop. To my horror and here annoyance the doctor from earlier and THREE resident doctors started piling in. He saw what was going on and didn’t care at all. I am laying there, more red faced than I had even been while getting a change while the doctors just hung out waiting for her to finish. I tried closing my eyes to block out the more than uncomfortable situation, right up until when the doctor said
“So, why are your wearing diapers that look like that? Aren’t those the like fetish ones people wear?
The doctors and nurse changing me all tried not to laugh.
I wasn’t able to communicate that well through the fog of humiliation but did manage something to the effect of…
“I don’t like it when they leak. These kinds are thicker and make me feel more secure.”
The doctor made his snide remarks the nurse finished up and I was dry, and covered again. After a battery of tests the doctor wasn’t concerned about my passing out and all that, but did want to keep me for 24 hours for observation. I argued and pleaded to not be held over, but the decision had already been made and there was already a bed on the 8th floor being prepared. The nurse that changed me went out above and beyond and explained that she was talk to the nurses station where I’m going and let them know of my special needs, that way there wouldn’t be any confusion. I asked if I could have a friend bring some some supplies because I only had 1 more diaper in my bag and my onesie wasn’t the cleanest. I did, and my friend Ashley who babysat a occasionally was giving to drop by later with a care package.
After getting up to my room I began calming down and accepting the situation I was going to make the best of it. Around that time a nurse I hadn’t met yet comes in knocking and wanted to introduce herself and figure out all the details and etc.
“H there, Eric? Yes hello, my name is Nora and I willl be your nurse tonight and until 6am or so. I hear your an extra special little one, yea? Lol.
I really didn’t know what to say or what she expected me to say, but I just smiled blushingly and nodded my head.
“You really are a shy one, they were kidding. Lol. Okay, so, this is a hospital, I am a nurse, and diapers and changes are absolutely normal and nothing weird! I hear you like the babyish ones and even the cute toddler clothes too”.
Still blushing, she just smiled and started coming near me.
“Well, let’s just see what we have going on, shall we? I will be checking you everytime I’m in the room. So just be prepared for it. Are you used to that or are diapers a new thing”
What ya think, y’all want the rest?
#ab dl lifestyle#24/7 diapers#ab/dl diaper#diaper bulge#diaper dependent#diaper sissy#diapering#incontinence#bed wetting#nurse
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Just debating weather to rewatch EP 20 or not in my head. And I realised that TWD so far not just this season but last has been doing a lot of mirroring lately with Caryl and other people relationships. Making comparisons.
SPOILERS
So last season, 10B/ the beginning of this season we had Leah (biggest fucking knife to Caryl cause shit went tits up when she was involved) and Daryl relationship. In Find Me a lot of us seen that their relationship in the episode meant or not. Was infact mirroring Caryls. Which at the time when Find me came out was such a clever ideas because in my mind it was kinda of a fuck you to the antis who kept saying Carol was 'too old for Daryl ', she ' a mother to him' so on. We had this actor who was close in age to Melissa/ Carol but her only difference was she had died hair. Anways, in Leah and Daryl relationship we see even from the beginning they are never on the same page Daryl still has these walls up, which conveniently are down when Carol come to visit. Even in Leah and Daryl finale scene in Find Me she asks him to chose her or his family (Carol) and he doesn't. Until Carol has to take care of the Kingdom. Then he chose Leah. She was his second choice. And she is again when they met again in the whole 'reaper' arc his first choice isn't her, it's his family. His people. He tries to save her but like in the beginning there was never any trust between them and there was always walls and secrets. He didn't hesitate to kill her for his family. He made his choice.
Now with ep20 we have Lance talking to Carol about Pamela. Not just Pamela but to Carol about her relationship with Daryl (Side note can we just say thank you to Lance and Negan for being the best and pointing out both to Daryl and Carol everyone can fucking see what they are. Expect them. Thank you to them. Still sad Princess didn't have a go). In previous episode while Lance has hunted Daryl and crew and is finally stopped by Carol and her plan and is being been trialed by Pamela in those scenes man has folded like a deck chair when Pamela so much as says his name (man got the Daryl moves) even in EP 18 Pamela touches Lance face while he is talking and he all but folds and forgets what he was saying. The tention is real. Letting us know that something between them has happened. When Caryl spring Lance from his cell we see their power duo go off, having bad cop and worse cop playing out. Carol stops Daryl for killing Lance before they find out any information and in that return she gets Lance to talk. They leave the cell guards come. And Daryl tells Carol to leave ' Not without you ' is her response and Daryl tells her ' I'll figure something out ' and that longing look and she's leaves. Lord. Carol leaves with Lance and they start to walk and in a very Lance fashion he finds Carol pressure point. Which is Daryl. He says 'You were right to leave him behind, he was slowing you down' hitting that point and afterwards stating ' You aren't like most people you alway thinking ten steps ahead, it's what makes you special '. Still playing on this Carol is a lone wolf trope, but she is always ten steps ahead. Lance is giving her praise but also hitting that pressure point to see if anything can budge if he can squeeze anything. Like he did with Maggie with Hershel. He's finding that 'weakness' and using it to manipulate. While manipulating while praising he plays into 'caring' stating ' I hope dixions okay' even though he literally tried to kill him a few episodes ago. Carol sees through his bullshit. But as Lance has pushed this point he uses her family too not just Daryl as his way to stay alive. While going into the tunnel Lance goes back to that pressure point and using his own relationship with Pamela to try, again to push futher.
' I meant what I said back there, about hoping Dixions alright. It's hard to find someone like that, someone you'd do anything for. I felt that way about Pamela once. Thought I could make her feel that same about me. Helping her build the Commonwealth, run it. Having her take all the credit. Even by bringing in your communities, which I admit was mishandled. But it was never enough. I know there was nothing I could do to change how she saw me.'
He goes onto talk about the future about the children future. And so on. But like I said a lot of mirroring going on. Lance compares his unrequited love for Pamela to the situation that Carol and Daryl have. But to me, just like Leah and Daryl, Lance and Pamela had all those secrets all those walls all those power dynamic plays of which one is more powerful and more in charge than the other. Lance touches on if Pamela falls during the CW take over what would happen then. And him telling Carol before hand she is always prepared always 10 steps ahead feel like a hint to her to be the leader. That he veiws her as such. That she in a way is the Lance to Daryl Pamela. That Carol does everything, every plan, every idea, but Daryl takes that credit. Take it for granted. That not matter how much Carol does it won't be enough for Daryl to ever see her the way she would like to be seen by him. While Caryl current tention in this season is annoying to us. It's interesting having that mirroring as Carol current mind set of having to fix things she had done wrong during Alpha, like the cave, she had to find Connie. Which she thought would fix her and Daryl. She had to help fix Alexandria. To prove she isn't running off that's she's there for the long haul to prove to Daryl she's staying. Pushing Daryl back to Connie again. Trying to give him better. Trying to fix what she broke. But while trying to fix her and Daryl at every point she tries. In CW trying to fit in, she lands in with Lance, trying to get the upper hand and make a deal helping their people, he asks her ' What have you done ' so accused. It's never enough. Like with Lance and Pamela. But when they exit the tunnel unlike Pamela with Lance making him take the fall. Having him be the blame for all Sebastian done. Having him be bate to die. Daryl doesn't do that. When Lance and Carol exit the tunnel trooper are there. Daryl could of let them be taken but he didn't killing every trooper in site. For her. Again and the damn fucking look he gave Carol. LORD HAVE MERCY ON ME. Carol is shocked you can see as much. And she looks back to Lance in a mockong way of ' ha ha I wasnt left out to dry. It's enough '.
In their finale scene with Lance Carol and Daryl again play a good cop worse cop ( also side note to that whole scene can I just say that through the EP Caryl were hot right but that scene. Lord that scene. Had me foaming. Like they were just so hot thinking on the same page same wave length I couldn't with it. And the eera music that shit was dark ) but this time they play the mind games. They find the pressure point to find their family. Lance spills his guts. Because he thinks he will gain his freedom. He won't. Carol and Daryl tell him this. And in that moment I think he sees that actually they aren't him and Pamela. There is no power dynamic shift there is no walls, no secret (there is we know that) there is one soild thing. Their trust. Between them both. From Carol idea to use Lance, to her leaving with Lance, to Daryl killing the guards. To that moment. There have been no games between them only trust. And another interesting lime Lance says for the new CW campaign I like as the camera pans to Caryl is " Here, you aren't defined by who you were, but what you cane become" going back to Judith voice over introduction to the episode as it shows moments of Caryl trust and growing relationship. Carol and Daryl give Lance an ultimatum to run and survive then. But he doesn't take it. Well he does but you know Carol takes her shot with that.
The mirroring between these two relationship to Caryl I feel is so interesting because. Both of those relationships had a power dynamic shift they were never as one. Both would use each other for another purpose. To gain more. And both would kill each other if given the chance. Unlike Caryl. Who as Judith put it ' Having the strength to put someone else life ahead of your own '. Caryl dynamic has always been them working together, being honest (to an extent still got some past shit) to each other, to hold no judgement and count on to hold. To be that one person in a dying world to finally be living. To not have walls up around just leave all the piece out in the open. Carol and Daryl bond started in a broken world and grew into something beautiful. The other they are being mirrored to, compared to. Their bonds were broken before even starting.
#caryl#daryl dixon#carol peletier#carol petelier#twd#carol x daryl#thewalkingdead#twd s11#twdspoilers
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What if Bella had met the Volturi's as a child? What would it change and what ties do you think it would have?
It’d change a fair amount, as in, the entire plot of Twilight would have been derailed. Or, that is, it might change nothing at all.
So, we have three options here.
Nothing Changes
Bella is an extraordinarily delicious child visiting Italy and the small medieval town of Volterra.
If Bella doesn’t happen to be on the tour, probably whoever’s looking at her sighs, looks longingly at her delicious blood, and then walks away. The Volturi do not lose control in their own city.
Bella goes on her merry way and Twilight presumably happens. Except maybe Bella goes to Alice, “Oh yeah, Volterra, I went there once. Nifty place, nice buildings.” Alice stares.
Bella’s Eaten
Bella’s an extraordinarily delicious child whose mother thinks it’s a great idea to sign them up for the tour of Volterra castle. It’s a very exclusive tour you know! Bella’s eaten almost immediately, she’s probably fought over, Jane gets one limb and Alec gets another.
Years later, Edward arrives in Forks, his personal purgatory where he listens to the banal thoughts of teenagers. Bella Swan does not arrive. Edward continues to be miserable and depressed.
The Cullens have a game of baseball with James, Laurent, and Victoria. Unfortunately, James recognizes Alice, and is intrigued enough to come after her. Unfortunately, Alice is a vampire and not a human with human relatives to hold hostage. The Cullens murder him, Laurent flees to have sex with the sexy Denali ladies, and Victoria swears vengeance upon Jasper.
Unfortunately, her gift tells her that any attempt to murder Jasper will end up with her dead. Jasper doesn’t give her the time needed to plan. He hunts her down and murders her in cold blood.
Carlisle has the world’s worst weekend.
Edward is still depressed and concludes this is why vampires are abominations without souls. Irina gets to keep her boyfriend, he cheats on the diet and leaves within the year. Irina drowns herself in rebound sex with pretty mortals to try and feel better abou tbeing dumped. It doesn’t work.
Aro Discovers Bella
And this is probably the route you were thinking of.
Perhaps Aro’s taking a midnight stroll with Renata, perhaps he catches Bella on the tour, but somehow he manages to meet her and happens to brush her hand. Suddenly, eating Bella is off the table forever.
Bella’s gift isn’t game changing in the way Alec and Jane’s were, necessarily, but it is something Aro does not want falling into enemy hands and something he may one day need.
He’d probably do something similar to what he intended to do with Alec and Jane. He’d leave her to live her mortal life, keep close tabs on her, and turn her when she’s a young adult (probably around twenty).
Which means Bella returns to America, probably tailed by Demetri, and has no awareness that she is at some poing going to become an immortral blood drinking creature and move to Italy to become a member of an ancient vampire sect.
Bella moves to Forks, she has a run in with Edward Cullen who very nearly eats her, Demetri calls Aro to say “we have a problem”. At first, Aro isn’t too concerned, he’s delighted to hear that Carlisle’s alive and well and my god he has a coven now. Given Edward is Carlisle’s progeny, Aro is probably sure Edward will leave the city completely to avoid temptation and the others will quickly move on.
Edward’s back within the week. He attends school. He sits within a foot of Bella Swan in Biology class.
Demetri at this point probably summons Bella out of school in the middle of Biology with no warning, gets her the hell away from Edward, and has to come up with the world’s most ridiculous lie of why she should never enter within 20 feet of Edward Cullen ever again.
Demetri is a federal agent and Edward is under suspicion of being a sexual predator and serial murderer. Here are all the women who have disappeared in various towns the Cullen family have lived in.
Bella is of course horrified and shocked, but given Edward’s reaction in that first Biology class and his weirdness in the second one...
Aro calls Carlisle. It’s a very awkward talk. Carlisle apologizes for not writing in forever he got... distracted. Aro says it’s fine, no big, CARLISLE MISSED WATCHING THE MOON LANDING WITH HIM. But regardless, Aro is calling to ask him what the fuck.
Aro tells him about Bella, Carlisle is very uncomfortable with this girl having no choice but to become a vampire and no idea what’s going to happen to her, but there’s no talking Aro out of it. He’s even more uncomfortable that he has been begging Edward to skip town but, for some unknown reason that is perhaps pride, Edward is refusing.
“All these worlds are yours,” Aro undoubtedly says, “Except Europa, attempt no landing there.”
In other words, hands off Isabella Swan.
Carlisle tells Edward. Edward is appalled and conflicted. At this point, he’s unwillingly fascinated by Bella but has not yet decided he’s in love. He doesn’t quite have her Carlisle persona crafted yet and so she’s not the saintly figure deserving of worship. Right now she’s just this plain, boring, girl who dared to smell delicious.
So, a part of him thinks it serves her right. Now she will suffer for all eternity as he does. More, he can save face, the monster inside him can go back to sleep for her days are number and he can pretend he’s the wonderful person everyone thinks he is. Everything will remain as exactly as it is. EDWARD IS FINE, THIS IS FINE.
Another part of him panics. First, this girl is condemned to the worst future imaginable. Not only is she becoming a demon, but a blood drinking demon at Blood Drinking Demon HQ. More, if she becomes a vampire, no blood for Edward. And remember, this is a scent he would scour the world for. Edward salivates over the thought of her blood, obsesses over it constantly, and fantasizes over how he will devour her. Suddenly, Edward may not be able to eat her. In canon, the option of eating her is always on the table, and some part of Edward is always thinking about it, always leaving it open. Here, it’s soon to be gone.
Edward probably sneaks into her room at night to watch over her sleep. Telling himself he’s protecting her from meteors but also realizing that he’s there to test his own will power and ponder over the future in which he quietly eats her in the middle of the night.
Now, this can go two ways
Bella wakes up, and that guy Demetri said is a sexual predator targeting her is IN HER BEDROOM LOOKING SCARY AS FUCK. Bella undoubtedly screams bloody murder and tries to hit Edward with something.
Edward panics at the noise and eats her. Then when Charlie comes running he eats Charlie Swan too. The house is an utter blood bath, Edward stands there in a daze knowing the monster inside him has won. He no longer looks anything like Carlisle Cullen (this is a thing Edward does).
Probably though, Demetri is there. Which means Edward has heard his thoughts from the beginning. While Edward has the overconfidence of Gilderoy Lockhart, and tells Bella things like the laws of physics not applying to his driving or that he could beat Jasper in a fight with both hands tied behind his back, usually when push comes to shove he knows where he stands. (He tries to fight Jane in Volterra, it doesn’t go well, and he acts very meek at being confronted by Jane, Felix, etc. When he fights Victoria, he doesn’t fight at all, but just blathers nonsense and it somehow works out for him.)
So, while Edward will tell Jasper later that he totally could have taken Demetri, he’s not going to try.
So, instead, Demetri goes, “Hey buddy, looking for a midnight snack?” and Edward shuffles and petulantly asks, “Aren’t you looking for a midnight snack?!” Edward’s here to protect Bella, you see. Demetri just nods, of course, Edward’s here to protect Bella.
They stare at each other.
Neither leaves.
Eventually, Edward slinks away, feeling very disgusted with himself, angry and Demetri, and internally raging that he didn’t get to eat Bella.
Demetri calls Aro and notes that they’ve got to turn the girl. Demetri cannot watch her 24/7 and this boy is 100% going to eat her. Aro hops on a plane in record time, bringing Renata, and makes an awkward visit to both Carlisle and Bella.
Aro tells Bella the truth about Edward which is... a little different but also pretty scary, the truth about what’s going to happen to her and why it’s important, and anything else she wants to know.
I imagine Bella quietly and stoically accepts her fate.
Edward doesn’t get to eat Bella Swan. He feels very conflicted about it and is filled with self-loathing that he’s conflicted about it. I imagine the Madonna complex he holds for Bella blossoms at this point, and he later comes to Italy with the intent to free her from the Volturi clutches.
This doesn’t work out.
Knowing Edward, his attempts increase in desperation until, finally, he does something very illegal in an attempt to free her and make up for damning her to this life.
The Volturi are forced to execute Edward.
Carlisle gets yet another awkward, terrible, phone call from Aro.
#twilight#twilight meta#twilight headcanon#twilight renaissance#aro#the volturi#bella swan#demetri#carlisle cullen#edward cullen#anti edward cullen#anti edward/bella#meta#headcanon#opinion
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The Last Gauntlet & Kara
i have... thoughts:
- first off, the episodes were inappropriately named, especially 6x20
- and the way they have made alex so insufferable these past few episodes, like why do they turn everything they touch into garbage
- acrata and andrea in general were so underused this entire season. does she even have 20 mins worth of screentime if you add them all up? she deserved more but good for you julie, collect that pay cheque and give them the bare minimum
- i do like that lena has reached a point in her life where she can advise someone like andrea without it feeling hypocritical
- lena was the only one with a brain cell. can't believe they were actually willing to siphon the sun's energy and fuck over the planet for 6 months. "i'll fix it" fucking how kara
- the way lena was so resigned about kara's reckless plan and she just decided to go to the bridge with kelly and alex. it's almost like she didn't want to be around to witness kara do something so stupid
- lex is just a fucking man. a man with no powers mind you. why is he so hard to beat? why is it that the superfriends, 5/7 who have actually powers, can't beat him and his stupid arm canon? why is he the ultimate big bad instead of the very powerful imp with reality warping abilities?
- most of the first half was just filler if you ask me, unnecessary danvers sister tension, alex being an intolerable asshole, nyxly going from lex loves me to lex is "like my father" and brainy vs the army cuz why the fuck not
- but seriously, alex willfully endangering the ENTIRE WORLD to get esme back when during 6a she gave lena whole lecture about wanting to do the same to save kara. and you know what's worse? at least lena had a guarantee of finding kara, alex had none about getting esme back from lex
- i have to admit, even the esme and nyxly scenes were cute. this child has charisma with everyone
- please explain how one cuts out 5th dimensional magic from a small child with a regular kitchen knife
- but also, all this screentime to a couple NO ONE FUCKING ASKED FOR and it all immediately went to shit. copy and pasting supercorp moments to this troubled het couple and how am i not going to feel attacked by such blatant disrespect
- lillian jumping in front of lex and taking that blast and all i can say is WHY DID THEY NOT GIVE THAT SCENE TO LENA??? her sacrificing herself for fucking lex just diminished it
- i suspected that the writers were gonna pull this "lillian and lex knew about lena's powers all along" out their ass but it was still triggering to me. it was a half-assed explanation as to why lena's powers never manifested before and tbh, her powers weren't as big a deal to the fight against nyxly as it should've been
- as much as i hate the idea of lena losing ANOTHER parent, im glad she got some closure. she's so much lighter now and i love this for her
- still not sure why nyxly and lex became lizard people but kara didn't
- sigh. the legion's unnecessary assistance, especially considering that the super friends were handling shit on their own
- they brought mon-el back for what exactly? to placate karamel fans? all it did was further the truth most of us have already accepted: that he was never and still is not kara's soulmate. but thanks for shouting it out for the kids in the back
- idk if y'all remember but lena did say in 6x03 to lex that he'll self-destruct because of his own hubris. and that's exactly what happened but im loathed to think that the writing is that deep.
- lex deserved a BEATDOWN. phantom zone banishment was too easy
- nyxly deserved a better resolution tho
- william's funeral was somehow even less impactful than his death. why did he have to die exactly?
- that cutaway to lena's foundation and dreamer's outreach center, etc felt so...odd. idk it just felt out of place to me
- calista thank you for agreeing to make an appearance in this dumpster fire. i was so happy to see her version of cat grant again. it's about time someone was firm with kara about her life and her wants and needs
- okay the wedding was beautiful. everyone was beautiful, brainy coming back cuz fuck the future yes i love it!
- also don't think i didn't see lena and winn walking arm in arm!
- kelly and james moments. james walking her down the aisle and im already a mess. kelly looked so breathtaking in that dress
- j'onn officiating, alex and kelly's vows. i did cry, it was perfect ♥️
- nia just snatching that bouquet lol
- i mean we got a brainia kiss which was great but like, after seasons of barely anything romantic, i kinda felt robbed
- so it's implied that j'onn reunites with m'gann at some point but im still salty that the writers basically acted like she doesn't exist
- not even one sam and ruby reference. do they not exist on earth-prime?!?!
- lena as esme's godmother i love it i love it I LOVE IT
- james giving esme a camera. stop it, it's too much. super fam is everything and this child is gonna be so loved and protected
- og super friends scene was nice but the way i was denied any karolsen crumbs. damn, the cw really does hate them don't they?
- and of course, the elephant in the room. the last supercorp scene was nice, emotional, moving. km and mb really tried as per usual. i already knew they wouldn't take that final step and just make them canon (even tho they have nothing to lose if they had). but the way they couldn't even give us an "I love you" between the two of them, holding hands. the hug was nice but nothing we haven't seen already, the commitment to working together with their fam was nice but again, nothing new. the cw had an opportunity to give us more. they chose not to and that is precisely the problem with the final scene
- but can we just talk about this theme of living an "inauthentic life". it's used twice, by alex in her vows and by cat grant when she's talking to kara. and it seems like this is what kara needs to finally do: live her life as her authentic self. she needs to do that first before she can do anything else and it's kinda sad that they waited until the last like 5 mins to do that. didn't feel like a satisfying ending truthfully. even that last glance at supergirl coming out to the world as kara didn't slap as hard as it could have. too little too late
all in all, it wasn't terrible but it wasn't good either. a handful of touching moments, nostalgia with the og super friends, kara finding peace with her identities. those were nice but not enough this late in the game. i am grateful for what we did get but that doesn't erase the fact that potential was greatly squandered and the queerbaiting continued on without shame. the writing was bad, the character arcs nonexistent and storylines questionable.
its sad that in 2021 homophobia and racism coexist in a show where an interracial lesbian couple got married. and that unfortunately will be part of the cwsg legacy
#supercorp#dansen#brainia#supergirl#fan fic writers please fix this mess#because i honestly doubt the writers would've done our girls right even if they had made them canon#and andrea deserved more
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Chapter 21 - Hero Name
Chapter 20
After the sports festival, Iida's big brother was all over the news. It turned out that he was attacked in Hosu City, Tokyo. The person responsible apparently already killed 17 heroes in the past, and hurt 23 heroes so badly that they were beyond recovery. He is known as the elusive hero killer, Stain. The first thing Y/N did after reaching home and hearing the news was to send him a text about her concerns. But Iida soon called her, telling her not to worry about it at all.
She knew it wasn't fine. It was the tone he was talking in. There was something different. He was upset but she couldn't push him to talk about the issue. They weren't that close and she thought that he needed some time. As if it wasn't enough that he was going through such a hard time, that the media was speaking about it daily. But that wasn’t all that they focused on.
In the days after the sports festival ended, Y/N wasn't left so alone by the paparazzi after the revelation of her identity and her family background. They were there whenever she was out with her friends, or with her family - all eager to get some reaction out of her about the viral picture of her and Todoroki. She was just glad that it wasn't as inappropriate, as she feared. But well, some of the media was ruthless as usual and so was some of the comments. While most articles about her were positive, some of them were used mainly to slander her brother and family's image. That was their target anyway. To find some kind of dirt in the entertainment industry, especially an idol that the public adored. Y/N might've been kept away from such things by her parents but she knew all about how media worked and what would make people click on their content.
But she was glad that her brother also had some really good number of fans who criticized the articles. Although her parents did have the power to take the articles down because of defamation, they didn't do it. According to Y/N's own words, she didn't want her parents to interfere or take any steps on behalf of her. That will give more ideas to the media about how "her influential family were making sure to shut them up with their power". And besides, she wasn't under their company that they will file "defamation" against them.
The next day after the sports festival, Y/N woke up in the afternoon and the first thing she did was to check the social media, ofcourse. Her phone was blowing up. She gained a good number of followers but then she did notice the viral pictures and videos.
Todoroki was melting the ice stuck on her feet and holding onto her waist and balancing her weight. After a moment when the ice was halfway melted, Todoroki hugged her close, making sure she didn't fall on her ass and cause anymore injury. Her head slowly moved forward and rested on his chest. When he was done melting the ice, the medical team came and took her in.
Oh, these pictures and videos had some creative headlines too.
'Endeavor's son and Y/L/N's daughter gives off a cinematic ending!' , 'Todoroki melts ice for Y/N, along with our hearts! ' , 'A new bubbling love in hero course.'
And ofcourse, the comments under it. Some were really nasty - nitpicking on her physical appearance, her flaws, how she's not cut out for hero course, how she could've been better as an idol like Haruto. But some were really good - appreciating her powers, her incredible moves on Iida and Shiozaki, how she was the only girl on the top three position.
She avoided meeting with Shinsou in fear of getting him dragged in another controversy, but they did start talking. Although, she knew she had to give a statement about all the rumors and she was more than ready to give a piece of her mind. She talked to Todoroki about it and apologized for involving him in anything like this. One thing that she learned from her attempt to befriend Shinsou for her benefit is that "communication is the key" and apologizing helps lighten the burden of carrying a guilt.
And obviously, class 1-A group chat was filled with her classmates teasing both of them except for some like Tokoyami, Momo and Bakugou.
After her little bold statement on her way home, she felt a bit shy to talk to him again. Yes, she did look at him with her cheeks going red but she knew she needed to do this. So that Bakugou couldn't suspect anything. He would be suspicious if she avoided looking at him completely.
But the thing is...it felt like even Bakugou was avoiding speaking to her. It just became awkward. She didn't know how to start talking and he had no idea what to talk or tease her about when he knew the kind of reaction he had on his face, the time she left.
He was blushing, but he wasn't sure if she noticed it. If she did, it would definitely feel awkward talking to her. And for Bakugou to feel like this was a first for him. He never felt awkward to talk to someone. He always had one outburst and it was enough for the other person to talk back to him. They were always fighting and teasing each other, sure, but it turned out to be difficult when both of them spoke their minds for the very first time to each other. They spoke sincerely with each other and he was aware of that.
When Y/N entered the class, her friends weren't teasing her about the incident anymore when they learned how it upset her. She looked at her seat and the blonde sitting before her, who was looking out of the window, his face resting on his hand.
She quietly walked and sat down with a sigh leaving her lips. Kyoka along with Midoriya joined to talk to her.
"So? How did it go? What did you say to the reporters?" Kyoka asked.
"When I came out of the house, some of the reporters were already there, so I just decided to listen to them for once. Besides, it looked like some of these reporters were rookies. And I just said that he is a friend and because I was in a bad situation, he just decided to help me out. And that was what any hero would've done in their situation. If he is going to be a hero, then he will help millions of people out there," Y/N said, "And I said, instead of following around an idol's sister for a topic that most of the public won't care about unless it involves my family, they should concentrate on other news. They would never get a hot topic out of me."
"And that's it right? You didn't go overboard with your rant right?" Midoriya questioned her nervously.
"....No."
"You fucking did, didn't you?" Kyoka sighed, furrowing her brows.
"Look it wasn't too harsh and they did infact leave me alone. I just said that all those companies that made articles like this are all listed by Haruto's agency and they know now exactly who are after to slander their image or make money out of misinformations. It would take them one word from me and my parents to file a restraining order against all of them and get police protection if they further continue to follow me or are seen anywhere near our neighborhood. I was polite."
"Darling, you need to understand that you are pretty fucking rude even when you talk politely. You'll be lucky if they don't hate you after that." Kyoka said.
"Nah, I just asked them to work on something they are genuinely passionate about. Not only would they enjoy it, they will also make sure it is done perfectly. And I am sure their news agency would appreciate the work when it's done. I just gave them some pep talk and support, that's it. Besides, I'm sure they didn't become journalists to stalk some celebrity's sister."
"Does everyone in our class talking about themselves getting famous bother you?" Midoriya asked.
"What? No, ofcourse not. Dude, even I enjoy some attention. You know, about my abilities and stuff. But not this much where they'll follow me everywhere. That shit is annoying."
The door opened and Aizawa walked in saying, "Morning."
"Ribbit, Mr. Aizawa you don't have bandages anymore. That's good news." Tsuyu said.
"The old lady went a little overboard in her treatment. Anyway, we have a big class today on Hero Informatics," Aizawa replied, "You need codenames. Time to pick your hero identities. This is related to the pro hero draft picks the last time we were in class together. Normally students don't have to worry about their draft yet, not until they're in the second or third year actually. But your class is different. Infact, by extending offers to first years like you, pros are investigating on your potential. Any offers can be resended if their interest in you dies down before graduation."
"So what you're saying is that we've still got to prove ourselves after we gotten recruited?" Toru asked.
"Correct." Aizawa said and turned around, "Now here are the totals for those of you got offers."
The board didn't have everyone's name. Ofcourse, Todoroki and Bakugou got the most with 4123 and 3556 offers respectively. And then there was Y/N Y/L/N with 1812 offers. She didn't expect much because of the recent rumors and fainting during the fight, but half of her knew some would contact her in the hope of getting exposure and fame.
And she just needed some information from her parents about which hero agency is associated with which other companies, if she wanted to work on her skill. Oh yeah, Y/N wanted to work on her quirk control. She needed to know more about her quirk.
"In past years it was more spread out. But there's a pretty huge gap this time." Aizawa said.
"Todoroki got the most ahead of Bakugou?" Kyoka commented.
"Yeah, it's the opposite of how they were placed in the festival." Kirishima said.
"They probably weren't eager to work with a guy who had to be chained up in the end." Sero said.
"If I scared a pro, they're just weak!" Bakugou yelled, as expected.
"Nah, I think most of them just find you hard to deal with." Y/N muttered.
"I can hear you bastard!" Bakugou said, looking at her. She looked back up, trying her best to suppress her smile, relieved that not much has changed between them. Bakugou looked at her expression and it reminded him of what they talked about. Within two seconds, he whipped his head back and was staring at Aizawa.
Aizawa continued, ignoring the comments, "But every single one of you have to work under a hero. Eventhough you have an idea of how villains attack, working alongside of proheros is good for experience and knowledge how things work. And for that you need hero names. Keep in mind, this these hero names are going to be temporary. But take them seriously, or -"
"-you'll have hell to pay later." Midnight completed his sentence and walked in the class.
Aizawa took out his sleeping bag and said before getting in, "Midnight's going to have final approval over your names. It's not my forte."
Y/N looked at the white board passed on to her by Bakugou in front of her. She took it and passed the rest back. Looking around the class, she observed some done in seconds while some staring at the white board. She knew that if she named herself something awful, it might be stuck with her forever, especially when media has a few eyes set on her. A number of people went before her, but she finally found a name. Something that described her quirk and, well, she heard a conspiracy theory about it. Slowly, Y/N raised her hand as Midnight called her.
She blushed looking at the whole class staring at her and said, "I-I like the name - Europa." She immediately heard Midnight's enthusiastic voice reacting to her choice of hero name, and felt relieved.
"Excellent choice! You named it after Jupiter's moon which has an ocean of liquid water beneath the ice?"
"Yes ma'am." She smiled in contentment and went back to her seat.
She peeked from behind Bakugou's shoulder trying to look at his name. He immediately shot his head back and looked at her with a frown, feeling her presence. He was finding it difficult to come up with a name.
"What?" Y/N asked with an innocent face.
"Don't put that crap in front of me grandma."
"...I told you to stop calling me that." Y/N smacked his shoulder lightly.
Bakugou didn't react to it and got up to present his hero name, King Explosion Murder, which amused Y/N and she hid her face, trying not to laugh out loud. He was told to change it but once again, he just changed the word King to Lord.
Aizawa got out from his sleeping bag, and rearranged the forms saying, "Now that everyone has decided on their hero names, we can go back to talk about your upcoming internships. That will last for one week. As for who you'll be working with, those of you are mentioned on board and got offers will get to choose from them. Everyone else will have a different list. You've a lot to think about. There are around 48 agencies around the country who've agreed to take on interns from your class. Each agency has a different specialty that it's heroes focus on, keep that in mind. So think carefully and turn in your choices before the weekend. You're dismissed."
After putting much thought about what agency to join, she decided to take on the offer from the Aquamarine Agency near Tokyo Bay. She did some research and found out the kind of agency it was. Since Tokyo is a busy city, there are agencies that handle small parts of the city. And the biggest agency working to keep the waters of Tokyo Bay safe was this particular agency. Since it is a big city, there's also a few murders and deaths that the agency has to inform to the police. And often they have to fight villains to avoid such instances. The risk was high, but if Y/N wanted to put effort on controlling her quirk and learning about strength, offensive techniques as well as the defensive ones, she had to work here.
It wasn't so surprising for her to find that Bakugou joined the No.4 Hero Jeanist. She figured, he would join something that was top dog, something that dealt with more fights. Midoriya got one offer from someone and he wanted to join, because he trained All Might as well. Kyoka joined Death Arms Hero Agency and Todoroki joined Endeavor. She guessed it was Midoriya's influence that made him finally be able to handle stuffs about his father maturely. But the one that bugged her the most was Iida's choice of agency. She didn't know whether it was just a coincidence but she had every reason to doubt considering the location of the agency was Hosu City.
Maybe she was just overthinking, but Y/N felt something was going on with Iida. Midoriya and Ochaco told him to talk to them when everyone was at the station with their luggage, leaving for their internship. He replied with just a 'yes' and left.
His smile should've been enough to convince them, but it wasn't. His body language was screaming the exact opposite.
Chapter 22
SEASON - II
Ignite
MASTERLIST
tags: @captncappuccino
#katsuki bakugou#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#mha bakugo katsuki#bnha katsuki#mha kirishima#mha fanfiction#mha tenya#mha hitoshi#mha headcanons#mha x reader#bnha#bnha uraraka#bnha kaminari#bnha eijiro kirishima#my hero academia#izuku mydoria#my hero academy fanfiction#boku no hero academia#boku no hero imagines#shouto todoroki#todoroki x reader#mha shouto#Iida Tenya
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When do you think/ how do you think the Kids Conversation™ goes? I'm mostly curious about Noah, but do you have hc for the others too? Also I replayed s1 to end up with Jake and in the fucking christmas party the gane told me I was with Levi, LEVI! Yikes
Big yikes babe. From what I’ve heard, that glitch is pretty common. Thankfully I never got it because I always finish with my girl Talia💖🥰😍
Bobby: If MC tries to sit down with him and have a big discussion, Bobby would be surprised she feels it needs to be so formal and be like “well yeah, of course I want to give you a baby.” He doesn’t mind putting it off/timing it right, because those are all details. He just wants to have a family with MC, doesn’t much mind how it happens. He’s a lot less stressed about the details of career/finances, and always says “no one feels ready. When it happens we’ll make it work.”
Carl: Carl will be surprised at the suggestion, and tease MC about being a housewife, but will readily agree to it to make her happy. He’s not opposed to kids, per se, especially because he’s not home super often. He always kind of assumed he’d have kids, so it seems like a natural next step.
Gary: I know I always paint Gary as a clueless simp, but this is the funniest thing: I think Gary’s catholic, so he doesn’t believe in protection once they’re married. MC doesn’t mind and they stop using condoms around the time he proposes, but she gets an implant/IUD. So after they’re married, maybe like a few months after, MC broaches the topic of “do you want to start a family”. Gary responds of course, and MC says, “ok, well I’ll get off birth control and we’ll have to start timing it out.” And Gary’s like???? “Babe we don’t use birth control. What do you mean timing it out?” MC’s confused, and Gary explains that he’s been trying to knock her up since they got engaged. Once she explains that wasn’t possible, Gary’s absolutely shocked and a little offended they didn’t talk about it. But I just think the idea of Gary being like “??? … Um yeah I want to have a kid, but it hasn’t happened yet. When God wills it-” and MC being like 😐😐😐 “yeah… Um… So the reason it hasn’t happened yet is….”
Henrik: MC brings it up over dinner, randomly blurting out “I want to have a baby.” and Henrik is like “Oh. You... You wanted to do that… Like now?” MC laughs and says not right now, but soon. “I want to start a family with you. Henrik nods and says “dope.” MC gasps a little bit and is like “Dope?! That’s all you can say?!”, and Henrik grins, “Yeah, of course I want to have a couple of kids with you. Just… What’s changed now?” MC thinks for a bit, they’d been married for a year and a half now and it wasn’t like their finances were more in order with Henrik freelancing and MC being a charity worker. “I don’t know, I just feel ready.” Henrik nods and holds up his glass, “to the next great adventure, then.”
Lucas: Lucas does not want to have this conversation and will change the subject/refuse to talk about it unless cornered. He’s loathe to talk about his trauma of being neglected as a child, and refuses to call it trauma, and he’s terrified of doing that to another kid. The only way you’re having a kid with Lucas is if it’s an accident.
Marisol: If MC wants kids when they first get married, Marisol’s really flippant about it. Absolutely not- both of their careers are too new and they don’t have the funds or time for a baby. She thinks MC’s insane for even asking, and absolutely will not seriously have that conversation. But like 15-20 years later? When they’re both in their forties? I know I’d go to her and say, “listen. We’re both in a really good place financially, and I want to share that. I’ve wanted to be a mom for awhile now, and we’re finally in a place where we can do that. Maybe a baby isn’t right for us, but we could foster? I’d want you to also be mom, but if you can’t be home any more than you are right now, that’s fine. I want to make this work.” After a really long talk about their futures and what they want to do, Marisol agrees- it’s much easier for her to conceptualize an older child in need as opposed to a baby. They look into foster-to-adopt programs, and maybe they foster a kiddo who’s around 8 years old. They fall in love with her, but adopting falls through as the kid’s mom gets out of prison and earns back custody. As they’re looking into just adopting (because they can’t take that heartbreak again), they meet a 15 year old who’s in fostercare and agree to take them in. The teenager definitely has a lot of behavioral/mental problems, but they pour their hearts into helping him and end up adopting him a few months before his 18th birthday. They go on to adopt several more kids who are close to aging out and make their home a refuge. A bunch of their kids are able to go to college, and their family christmas parties are amazing. Sorry, I got really carried away in this fantasy I want this so much oml.
Noah: With Noah, it’s not really one conversation. As time goes on he and MC have a lot of really open communication about the future. If Noah’s considering moving positions, when MC goes to a physical and considers replacing her IUD, definitely when they were buying their house. I think a lot of it is “I really want to have a family but right now is not a good time in my career/financial life/social life”. It’s probably a year or so into the marriage, when they’ve settled into their house and been dating for 2 years before that, where MC sits him down and says “let’s talk.” He raises his eyebrows and nods, “should I make some tea?”. MC laughs and kisses him, “it’s not that kind of conversation, love.” She has to take some deep breaths before she says, “I want to start our family.” He takes a really shaky breath and laughs, “You got me really worked up.” “So what do you think?” “What do I think?” He’s stretching his arms and exhaling loudly. He shakes his head and brushes at the tears in his eyes and then he gets up to hug you. “Of course. Of course. Nothing would make me happier. I love you so much. Come here.”
Rocco: Lol. You’re trying to have kids with Rocco? Do not. Don’t get me wrong, he could be a good dad in like 10 years, but he’s way too focused on himself right now. Having kids with Rocco at this stage would result in him abandoning yall and then showing up 5-10 years later feeling bad and wanting to reconnect. The baby conversation would start with him being surprised, and then end with him being creepily excited about getting to raw you. 0/10.
#litg#headcanons#ask#rocco hcs#noah hcs#bobby hcs#marisol hcs#lucas hcs#henrik hcs#carl hcs#gary hcs
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Gypsys, Tramps and Thieves Part 1 - Mister John Acton
Thursday, 8th of May, 1817.
Pemberton, Kent.
Another week, another village to perform and be gawked at. If there’s one thing I know to be true after 20 years in this life, it’s there are two types of attention: good attention and bad attention, and all me and my family have ever gotten in our lives is bad attention. It was bad enough to come from an Irish family born in England, where we’re treated like second-class citizens. It’s funny how even the poorest, baddest people feel as if they’re superior just because they were born English, and are even treated better by others! As if being born Irish wasn’t enough of a bad situation to be in, me and my family are travellers! While I’m proud of my heritage, and I suppose my lifestyle as well, I know that it’s not an ideal combination to have. So all my life, I’ve only ever been seen as the poor, uneducated Irish gypsy, to be laughed at by the kids and looked down on by the adults. Sometimes I think to myself how nice it would be to just live a normal life, in one place I can call my home, respected by my peers, where I don’t have to worry abou-
‘Bradán, will you get your head out of that book and get out here. Your brothers and I have been busting our arses to set up for the next show and you’ve been sat in here, doing fuck all’, my father, Seamus. He and I never really seemed to get on - he says that I think too much of myself because I learned to read, and I’ve never been good enough in his eyes.
Begrudgingly, I got up with as little visible annoyance as I could muster, with an obedient ‘yes father’. Now you know what I do for a living, me and my family run a travelling show. We can do anything! We can read your palms, contact your loved ones beyond, and can even control your very own mind. Yeah, we basically go from village to village scamming people for their money. We each have our own roles to play, my mother’s our ‘psychic’ she can tell your future and speak to the dead - for a steep price. My sister is the typical ‘gypsy beauty’, meant to draw in horny single men and entice them with her dancing. My brothers are the ‘strongmen’, they can lift anything, break anything and seduce any woman they want. My father preaches from the bible, and sells various concoctions to cure any ailment. And as for me, I’m the stage hypnotist, I get the pleasure of hypnotising people to act stupidly, a small moment of relief from my day.
Unsurprisingly, our reputation always seems to get to each village and town before we do. We always have someone telling us that we’re crooks and hethons, doomed for eternal damnation. But desire and curiosity always win out in the end, so we never seem to go without at least a decent amount of money. Horny men will always want to see the half-dressed girl shaking and gyrating on stage, and the older variety of said men will always waste their money if it means that they can have a chance of growing their hair back, before listening to the preacher, to atone for their night of sin.
As I was helping my brothers set up the stage for the show, two men, seemingly the village’s most eligible, and dare I say attractive, bachelors were having a walk together, and were heading right towards us. Of course they never approached us directly, they would never risk damaging their status by being seen with us. But I could hear them talking amongst themselves as they walked past.
‘Lord! It seems those menaces have decided to plague our village with their dastardly tricks’ One of the three, a shorter man with a decent build, but who had a nice and round bum.
‘John, don’t be so loud, they may hear us. These aren’t the kind of people we want to provoke’ another man said, in a distressed whisper. He was also fairly attractive, with short, straight blond hair, somewhat shorter than the first man, with a less muscular build to him.
‘Mark, don’t worry. They can’t understand a word we say, they don’t speak English. They can only speak in that barbaric Irish language. They never had that hideous tongue bashed out of them in school, because they never went to school. You have nothing to fear’, said one of them, who seemed to be the leader of the group. He had dark, curly hair with a beautiful bone structure and build. He obviously was every woman’s first choice for a husband in the village. And with that, they fell out of hearing distance. Twats.
Nothing else really happened that day, other than a few of the local women coming to stare at my brothers’ muscles, with them reciprocating by putting on a little for the women. But I couldn’t get what those two had been saying about me and my family. They were talking about us as if we were wild animals. The nerve of them to act as if we couldn’t even speak English, how insulting could they get! And they were meant to be the gentlemen of the village! But there was nothing I could do except daydream about what I could do to them.
Saturday, 10th of May 1817
Pemberton, Kent
Well, today’s the beginning of our week-long freakshow. The show hadn’t even been on for an hour before we got our first naysayer. It was one of the men who had been insulting us during their walk. As luck would have it, our little John fellow was the local priest in this parish, and had taken offence to our heathen practices.
Normally we would ignore this type of people and continue with the show. And that was what I was planning to do, until a truly ‘dastardly trick’ popped into my head.
I walked over to the gentleman, putting my plan into action. ‘Excuse me, Mister?’
‘Acton, Mister John Acton, the priest of this parish. And as priest of this parish, I can’t stand by and allow my flock to be tempted by your unholy deeds’. He replied, rather aggressively, but that was to be expected.
‘Of course, Mister Acton. I can perfectly understand why you would be inclined to think that way. But that’s not necessarily what we do around here. In fact, I use my hypnotism to bring people’s inner soul and spirit out, so they can be brought closer to God. We’ve always been of the belief that we can never truly know the wisdom of our creator, but with an open heart we can begin to understand it. I can give you a demonstration if you’d like’ Absolute rubbish. All of it. But I needed him to believe it had something to do with God for him to agree.
‘All right. I’ll try it if it can help me understand God’s power and wisdom, but not here, I can’t let the parishioners see me agreeing to this.’ He gave in. Perfect. The fly enters the spider’s web, unaware of what’s in store for him.
‘Of course not. We’ll do it in private, besides, only God should know of your devotion to him.’
We began walking to the family carriage, and couldn’t help but get semi-hard at the idea of enslaving the first of the many attractive men in this village’.
‘Alright, Mister Acton, if you would sit yourself down there. Very good. So to begin I’ll just ask you to keep close attention to his pendant, as I slowly swing it from side to side, not breaking your gaze from it. Very good’.
Now it begins, and I want to bring this man slowly to his downfall, as a bit of revenge for the insulting words he said yesterday. This is something I’m taking great pleasure in.
‘Now, as you concentrate more and more on the swinging of the pendant, your mind will be left more and more open for me to communicate with, and soon enough, God’s wisdom will be within sight’. This continued for a while, until I could clearly see that he was beginning to go under slightly.
‘Alright, I can see that your mind is opening more and more to my words, so I shall begin opening it. I will begin to count down from 10, and with each count, you will become more and more relaxed, and at 0, you’ll fall into a deep trance’.
‘10, getting more comfortable in your seat’
‘9, your body feeling almost weightless’
‘8, your breathing is getting deeper and deeper’
‘7, you’re beginning to sigh with relaxation at each breath’
‘6, your mind is beginning to lose control of your body’
‘5, you can’t help but increasingly hard from the relaxation’
‘4, you can’t help but rub your bum across the chair, for stimulation’
‘3, you’re slowly getting addicted to this relaxation and pleasure’
‘2, you’ll do anything to feel this relaxation and pleasure’
‘1, you’ll serve me in any way I command, to continue feeling this pleasure’
‘0, now sleep!’
And with that, the priest’s short, thick frame slumped over slightly in the chair, with a hard cock and arse on display, with a small, dreamy smile on his face.
‘When I snap my fingers, you’ll awaken and do anything I ask. I will also be able to bring you back to this state whenever I utter the words ‘butt boy’. Do you understand?’. Now that he was firmly under my control, I was going to have some fun with this man.
‘Yes’ he replied in a sleepy voice.
‘Yes Master, you need to say’ My cock instantly sprung to life with that command, realising the commanding potential I have.
‘Yes Master’, he replied in a pleasurable voice, no doubt because he obeyed my command.
‘Very good, slave. Now the first thing I want you to do is strip. God never intended for us humans to wear clothes, and thus to prove your faith to him, you must show him your rejection of such an unnatural practice’. Well, that and because I wanted to see that juicy arse in all its glory.
‘Yes Master’. With that, my newest slave began to strip down to his bare body. He then sat back down into his chair, but not before I got a glimpse of his perfect bum and decently-sized cock, pity it will never be used however.
‘Now, John. As you may be aware, the penis is the source of all human life. It is thus the closest to God we will ever come. Therefore, just as God should be worshipped and adored, so should the human penis. Luckily for you, I’m willing to let you do that on mine. You don’t have to fear anyone finding, it’ll be our little secret.’
‘Yes, penis must be worshipped’ He repeated, sliding down onto the floor. He then proceeded to pull my dick out of my trousers before lovingly gazing at it.
‘In fact, it’s been said that one of the best ways of showing your adoration of the male penis is to use your mouth. So go ahead, start licking it.’ Unsurprisingly, he obeyed. His licks began small, only using the tip of tongue for short licks. However, as he continued, and began to enjoy it more, he started using the whole surface of his tongue, licking from the tip to base, up and down.
‘Very good, you’re making it very happy indeed. Another way to show how much you love the male penis is to wrap your whole mouth around, and like how you licked, go up and down. I can promise you this will make the penis very appreciated.’ And with that, I began to get comfortable in my chair as the once zealous priest began blowing me.
Even though he was new at this, the young priest showed a lot of promise in giving head. I have to admit, my cock has never leaked this much from a first timer’s blowjob. I could certainly get used to this. Although, after a while my mind began to wander to his thick arse, and I suddenly felt the urge to fuck something, and with that mind, I gave my next order.
‘Stop slave, I have one more thing to share with you. My penis is feeling so good because of your worship, and it has decided to give you a gift. Now, the penis is the source of life, and it has been known to give life and purpose to a select few boys who choose to dedicate their lives to its service. I’m perfectly willing to bestow this gift onto you, should you choose to dedicate your life to me. Do you accept?’
Now was the make or break moment. It’s one thing to get a boy to give me a hummer under hypnosis, but another thing entirely for him to surrender his life to worship it. Even though he is firmly under my control, I’m not even sure if he’ll accept.
‘I do, Master.’
Sighing in satisfaction and victory, I began to strip my clothes, showing my new servant all he has to look forward to. I ordered him to crawl over to the bed, taking the opportunity to watch his arse moving as he crawled.
Now is the part I’ve been waiting for, ever since I saw his big bum yesterday afternoon. After days of lusting after the young priest, I’m finally going to have him all to myself.
Although my dick was fully lubed with my slaves spit, and would be perfectly adequate to slide between those cheeks, I couldn’t resist tasting him. I ravenously began eating his arse. His hole tasted divine, I could have spent the whole night licking it, getting more and more addicted to the taste. But I had to stop myself, so I could enjoy the feeling of his hole wrapped around my dick.
If I thought the taste of his hole was divine, it was nothing in comparison to the feeling around my dick. It was a tad too tight, but that problem will soon be dealt with. As soon as I could fit my entire dick up there, I went into a horny craze. Soon, all that went through the both of our minds was fucking. I didn’t care if anyone could see or hear, I just needed to fuck this boy’s brains out.
This went on for what felt like hours, until finally, I came. My cum felt so nice and warm in his arsehole, and I could tell he enjoyed the sensation, and would soon be wanting more, which I’ll gladly give. I knew right then and there that this power over men is far too addictive for me to give up, and I made a resolution to myself that before the month was through, all the men in this village, both single and married, would feel the pleasure of my cock in their arse.
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Whole Again Chapter 24
Whole Again on AO3
Getting their passports stamped should, theoretically, be simple. It was unlikely that there were too many people around at his time of night. Stanford checked his watch; roughly eight in the evening. Maybe the office wasn't open. But with the storm they sailed through, it was unlikely that the Port Authority was closed as ships were likely seeking refuge. Stanford wanted to move forwards with this…circumstance. He still hadn’t made up his mind about what was happening. He wasn't sure if he could make up his mind. But his sailing partner no longer wished him any harm. This was an experiment. Empirical testing. What would his partner do when exposed to others? The unicorn necklace prevented him from doing any real harm beyond basic human action.
It wasn't as if they actually could avoid people forever.
Stanford waited as he watched the body of his brother walk along the dock to the office of the Port Authority. He watched even as he tethered the ship to the mooring piles, following him out of the corner of his eye. It was also a test for himself. Could he let…his partner…go off on his own?
Stanford barely got the ropes tied before he leaped off the ship after Stan.
He caught up to the body of his brother in front of the Port Authority Office. The lights were dim, but on, and Stanford could just see the silhouette of a man sitting at the front desk through the front window, the light from a television flickering in the corner.
Stanford placed a hand on the back of his partner’s shoulder, eyes snapping to the rainbow threads around his neck. He hadn’t even realized how tense he was until the sight of the necklace released it. His mouth twisted into a false smile as he peered into his partner’s face. But Stan didn’t look at him. His eyes were wide, mouth a tight, white line.
He was frozen.
It didn’t take Stanford long to figure out why.
He read over the bold letters fastened to the side of the building. It didn’t read ‘San Juan’.
They had missed Puerto Rico by several hundred nautical miles.
“We have to leave. Now. Sixer, we gotta go.” Stan had turned to him, gripping his bicep in a bruising grip and trying to pull him back to the ship. Stanford held firm.
“We can’t. We’re out of supplies and our electrical is out. We’re lucky we actually made it to port.” He was used to being the voice of reason. And if they had any hope of leaving Colombia, they needed to have their electrical repaired. Stanford could do it himself with enough supplies, but he wasn’t the engineer Fiddleford was. He would like to have some assistance just so he didn’t electrocute himself.
Stan shook his head, muttering strings of words that Stanford could just make sense of.
“Why here? It HAD to be here, didn’t it? No other fuckin’ port we coulda hit? Not safe for us. I LEFT IT! I left it here. Fuck you, Sanchez. Two years, I ain’t going back.”
“Hey. Breathe. You…we look different, now. Two days. Tomorrow we get food and supplies, and the day after I’ll fix the wiring. We’ll lie low.” Stanford gripped Stan’s arms, holding him steady.
Stan’s face was ridged. Eyed narrowed and jaw clenched. His jowls twitching in time with his rapid pulse.
“There isn’t really an alternative, is there?” But Stan wasn’t really asking a question.
There was. There was an alternative. Stanford’s eyes snapped to the fibers peaking out of the white shirt collar. But that wasn’t really an option either.
Stan’s eye found his, following Stanford’s gaze to his exposed collar. Stan gritted his teeth and gave one firm jerk of his head. NO.
Stan took a deep breath, hands going slack on Stanford’s biceps. His eyes steely and piercing.
“Fine. Two days. But you do what I say. Keep yer head low and follow my lead.”
Stanford nodded once, jaw tight.
Stan gave one last squeeze before releasing him.
The the glass door wedged against the floor as Stan tried to push it open, a screeching filling the front room and covering up the ding of the overhead bell.
The man at the front desk startled, feet slamming to the floor from their position on the side table. The television was blaring some action movie.
Stan’s posture changed the instant he crossed the threshold. His shoulders rose and squared, mouth twisting into a smirk, eye flashing. Stan was a showman, though and through. Stanford had refused to go on one of Stan’s ‘Mystery Shack” tours, despite his brother’s goading. He still felt that the museum was a mockery of the real paranormal, but he understood the appeal of false danger. Seeing Stan flip his appearance so completely was a marvel. A mask so flawless, Stanford would have never known otherwise.
A trait, it seemed, he had always had.
Stanford shook his head to ride himself of the thought. It was creeping. Slowly creeping like vines or a plague over every happy memory he had. Days of beach combing, riding their bikes on the board walk, birthdays and Hanukkah celebrations. All of them tinged yellow, black veins worming their way into every memory.
Later. I can deal with this later. Focus on the ‘here and now’.
The man at the counter eyed them warily. Pulling out a log book and flipping a switch on the register.
They logged the ship, but their passports gave the man pause. Twins from America on a dinky refurbished fishing vessel were not the most common of sights. Apparently, they were odd enough to warrant a second look as the man passed a scanner over the back page of each book to verify their authenticity.
“You don’t have eyepatch in photo.”
Stan gave a half-hearted laugh and flipped up the novelty eyepatch, now real, for the guy to see.
“Boating accident. Cable snapped. Still healing.”
It was still healing, technically. The skin knitting together rapidly and causing puffy scars to lace across his eye and bridge of his nose. The patch didn’t cover everything, edges of scars peeked out from behind black cloth. The man looked ready to be sick, but accepted the passports and stamped them. After some negotiation and a substantial bribe, they paid their tourist and mooring fee. And there wasn’t much left over.
Stan was still grumbling about the bribe as they left the Port Authority office, grimacing as he thumbed through the few bills he’d gotten back after exchanging what money they had.
“We’ve got just enough for a taxi and one night. We’ll have to hit a bank tomorrow. Looks like we’re eatin’ whatever we can get from a gas station.”
They had walked back to the boat to collect their bags. Stanford had pulled out his phone and was attempting to look-up a map of the area, but was struggling to find a signal. The battery indicator blinked and turned red. Less than 20% left.
“Don’t bother. I snagged a map as we left.” Stan tugged the folded map from his sleeve and handed it to Stanford. ‘I’ll get us packed. You call a taxi. I don’t fancy walking more’an a quarter mile ‘less we have’ta.” Stan was starting to slur his words again. It was best for them to get rest soon.
Stanford called the taxi service listed on the map, speaking in slow and formal Spanish and asking the man on the other end to slow down and repeat himself a few times. In the end, the man had simply shouted at him in broken English, “Port Authority. Two old gringos. Got it. Ten Minutes.” Stanford frowned at the phrasing, he’d have to ask Stan what this word meant later.
After nearly half an hour sat waiting in the parking lot, the dull mustard yellow car pulled up beside them. Popping the trunk so they could load their bags. Stan pulled open the passenger door to talk with the guy as Stanford took the backseat, unfolding the map to locate the nearest exchange bank.
Stan the the driver talked back and forth in Spanish, laughing occasionally as they rode. Stan flipped up his eyepatch again and their driver just whistled long and low at the scars. He thumbed back at Stanford a few times, and the driver gave a wide smirk. Stanford tuning them out. Streetlights and headlights from passing traffic rhythmically illuminating the inside of the car. Stanford, once again, regretted not receiving the bionic eye implant in Dimension St-34M_P4nK. His eyesight had always been bad, but the years were catching up to him and his night vision was going faster than he was comfortable with.
“Ya know, I like yuz. You’re good people, eh? Not like them snooty gringos that come through on them yachts.” The man was speaking English for Stanford’s benefit. Stan just laughed. “Tell you what, Flat rate. And I’ll take ya’s ta the The Sanctuary. Fancy, but safe for gringos. Don’t want ta get caught up in any cartel shits. They been pickin’ you gringo tourists up fer ransom more an’ more. Damn fuckers practically run e’erythin’. But ‘cuz they gringos, poliza don’ do nuttin’ abou’ it. Ahe, ma English is bad. But you know.”
Actually, Stanford didn’t. He had no idea about the current politics of the world. He hadn’t bothered to do much research before they set off. He knew the U.S. was currently in a sort of war with Iran, but that was the extent of his knowledge. No wonder Stan was uncomfortable being here. Stanford felt sorry for the people that had to live through it.
He was starting to see the byproduct of that kind of criminal activity. Everything from store fronts to parking lots had gates and bars. The windows on some second-floor buildings were also barred. Fire escapes if they had any, stopped short of the ground by about eight feet. The sidewalks were sparse. No benches, only the occasional bike rack. All empty. There was hardly any greenery. No lawns or patches of grass. No plants or trees. Not even piles of leaves from the changing seasons. A claustrophobic cage of concrete and steel.
They pulled up to a concrete wall on the river side of the street. Stanford could make out the tops of spindly trees and the top of some peaked roof building. The gate was closed, but a gentleman in the guard station flipped the leaver without giving them much notice, pulling the gate back. The area beyond the gate was radically different from the one they had just driven though. The grass was green and lively, even in late December. The trash that had lined the road was gone, instead there were the plants and trees that were common in city sides in the U.S.
Their driver pulled up to the front building, flipping a switch on the meter box so that the numbers rolled down. Stan paid as Stanford pulled out the bags. He checked his inside pocket again, thumbing the glass vial through the fabric. The RV and El Diablo, and a few choice weapons were safely tucked inside in case of emergency. They had separated the size changing crystal and flashlight, the crystal now hanging from Stanford’s neck on a loose cord, tucked inside his sweater.
“’EY, Stanley! You call me if you need more rides, OK? I give you discount.” The driver called out from the window, waving at them.
Stan called back from the entrance. “Will do, Maxi. Thanks for the ride.”
The entry for the Sanctuary was like walking into a cathedral. Tall arched ceiling, and tiled floors lined with plush rugs. Chairs and sectionals were pushed against the wall and in little clusters, decorative plants hung from wall hooks and sat on end tables. A brief sniff of the air told Stanford that they were real.
Ain’t no way we can afford this. This is gotta be a five-star hotel. Fuck hotel, this is a resort!
Stanford was inclined to agree with his partner, but before he could respond, they heard shouting from across the room.
As they approached the front desk, a man in a silk robe that easily cost more than the Stan O’ War II was complaining loudly to the clerk about the humidity in his room. Both brothers stopped a good distance from the volatile man.
“The air is too stale! Now I’ve been waiting for half an hour for someone to do something about it, and you say he already came!”
“Sir, I sent someone up but…”
“That homeless looking man?! Of course, I wouldn’t let him in. So he can rob me? Are you crazy? Can’t you send someone more respectable?”
Stan frowned, mouth grimacing and nose wrinkling at the level of disrespect the man exuded. Stuck up snob!
The clerk sighed, looking defeated. “I’ll see if someone is available.”
“Oh, I know how you people are. That means you won’t do shit. Fine! Here. Twenty U.S. dollars. Worth a fortune to you people. Now send someone to fix the humidity in my room!”
The man slammed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and marched away, furiously wrapping his robe around himself and stuffing his hands in his pockets.
A flash of white dropped in his wake and fluttered to the floor. Stanford ran over to it without thinking. It was silk, soft as sin and running over his fingers like water. The corner was embroidered with a gold curl and the initials M.B.
“Sir, you dropped your handkerchief.”
The man paused, hallway to the elevator when Stanford called out to him. He turned, red faced and scowling. His eyes scanned Stanford’s appearance and sneered. It wasn't the first time Stanford felt self-conscious about his looks. He was dressed in a weather-beaten blue jacket, his classic read cable knit and salt crusted jeans and boots. He also hadn’t shaved in several weeks and was finally starting to grow a beard.
The man sniffed, wrinkling his nose as some imperceptible smell and reached out to take the handkerchief back, but paused when he caught sight of Stanford’s hand. Even after all these years and though countless other dimensions, nothing quite put him on the defensive as someone noticing his hands.
‘Mutant!’
Stanford felt his stomach clench, and the age-old fear crawled up his spine again. But he wouldn’t run. Not this time. He didn’t need to.
“Ford…”
He ignored his partner’s call, choosing instead to smile at the man as he held up the handkerchief. Just far enough from him to be offering it, but close enough that the man would have to enter his space to claim it.
The man said nothing, simply marched up to Stanford, snatched the silk square from him and bolted to the elevator doors.
He heard his partner give and audible sigh when the elevator doors closed with a ding.
He turned back to Stan, tucking his hand in his pocket and adjusting the bag strap on his shoulder.
Stan just gave him a soft smile before turning to the counter and the much-relived desk clerk. Poor doll.
Stan spoke to her in Spanish, soft and pleasant, with a slight air of flirtation. The woman gave them both an amused look. But when she named the price of a room, Stan’s smile disappeared.
They didn’t have enough. The taxi ride, even with the discount, had eaten just enough into their cash that they were short. Even the smallest room available was out of their budget. Not to mention the late check-in fee and registration fee for not having a reservation.
Stan groused, reluctantly pulling out his bank card and handing it to the clerk. They had wanted to keep their profile low, paying in cash left an electronic trail. The clerk scanned the card, the machine beeped, then buzzed. The card had been denied. This was a problem.
But the clerk felt sorry for them. She walked them over to the entertainment plaza building and unlocked the doors so Stan could use the ATM. There were several lined up against the front wall of various banks. Stanford was quite fond of the Automatic Teller Machines and the bank cards that came with them. They were infinitely more convenient than carrying around large wads of cash, but they also were left open to electronic errors. The credit chips in used in the multiverse were better; they were tied into your unique genetic code so that even an alternate universe version of you couldn’t hack into your bank account.
But the ATM also denied Stan’s card. Their account had been frozen. Suspicious purchases bought in Iceland. With all that had happened, neither one had thought to check-in with the bank to let them know they were in Iceland. Now they were stranded with little more than $50 U.S. dollars in a very dangerous area with a ship with a fried electrical grid and no food.
“DAMNIT!” Stan kicked at the wall, swearing again as the concrete absorbed the impact and a wave of pain rolled up his foot and leg.
“Wha’dd’ya wanna do, Sixer? Suppose we can go sleep on the boat, but that won’t do nuthin’ for food. An’ we don’t have enough to get ‘er looked at either.” He sighed, flopping against the wall and giving Stanford a tired look. “Suppose we could try and give’em a call, but I don’t suspect we’ll get an answer this time a night.”
They stood in silence a few moments, the poor clerk standing by awkwardly, fiddling with the keyring and hoping these old men would make up their minds so she could go and do her job.
Stanford glanced at her from the corner of his eye, frowning. He pulled his phone out and called the only number he could think of. “Hello. Maxi? Stan’s brother. You know anywhere we could make some quick cash?”
*~*
Stanford had been hoping for a late-night pawn shop, maybe even an advanced loan establishment, just enough to cover the night until they figured out their bank account. Maxi had gladly driven back and picked them up, taking them further into the city and following back roads filled with trash and broken wood pallets.
Stan and Maxi had spoken so rapidly and so hushed that Stanford didn’t bother keeping up. Maxi dropped them off a few buildings away from an old storage building located behind an animal feed storefront. Maxi leaned in close to Stan, whispering something urgent. Stan only nodded in reply before reaching for his wallet. “Not this time. This time on me. You call me when it’s over.”
Stan patted Maxi’s shoulder and got out of the passenger-side door, Stanford following after. They walked silently to the old concrete building before turning down the side ally. A red glow from a burning cigarette emanating from the darkness. Warning bells were going off in Stanford’s head, signaling that this was all kinds of wrong. That they were much safer heading back to the ship and fishing off the dock, but Stan grabbed his jacket sleeve and tugged him forwards. He tried to catch Stan’s eye, but was only met with worn matte black.
They could hear shouting and the clanking of a cowbell from inside. The barking of a hound echoed after. A fighting ring. Dogs, cocks, people. It didn’t really matter which, all that matted was that they should keep walking and find someplace safe.
But Stan wouldn’t let him go, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and thumbing the Vegvisir band wrapped around Stanford’s wrist.
Fat lotta good it’s doing! Leading us here. Should just chuck it.
Don’t. It looks good on ya. Besides, you like it. You wear it all the time.
Stanford shook his head, ignoring Bill’s words and instead focusing on where Bill had led them.
“Best be moving on grandpa. Ain’t nothing here for ya.” The bouncer regarded them briefly before flicking the ash off his cigarette.
“Here to make a bet. Word is the money’s good tonight.” Stan responded, unswayed by the size of the bouncer.
“Got any cash?”
Stan pulled out a few bills from his breast pocket, flashing them briefly. The bouncer nodded, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his heel before leading them inside.
“Ya need to check in your bags, gramps. We ain’t a bunk house.” Stanford’s grip tightened on the strap of his bag. They weren’t carrying anything valuable. Least not in bags. Stanford resisted the urge to check his pocket for the glass vial again.
The low bark of a bull mastiff drew Stanford’s attention. The hound had a muzzle strapped to its head, but it didn’t look like the metal was going to stop it if the dog was determined to bite.
“Aie, Aie, shut up. Stupid mutt.” The bouncer unlocked a side door, more a closet than anything, and held out his hand for their bags. With some reluctance, they handed them over, pausing a moment in front of the hound’s nose before they were tossed unceremoniously on the floor and the door was locked again.
“You wanna bet, go see Mitch. He’s at the front table.”
Stanford could just make out the man muttering as they walked, “Stupid fag gringos.”
It was only then that he realized he was still holding Stan’s hand. He let go, tucking his hands in his pockets a moment before Stan leaned into his side and whispered harshly in his ear. “Don’t do that. They’ll think you’re gonna pull a knife or somthin’. No one’s gonna care about your hand here.”
Stanford did as he was told, smoothing the cloth of his jacket instead.
They reached the front table where a short balding man sat smoking a cigar and thumbing through some bills from a metal cash box. A chalk board sat propped against the wall to his left, a few names and tallies etched on its surface; odds ratios in bold under each match-up. There were four matches written up, the top two crossed off, already taken place. The third was raging on beyond the doors, passed the crowd. The fourth had been X-ed out. A single name in one column and a blank space where the challenger should be. The odds for the named fighter were 4:1 on.
“’Ey. Match just started, you wanna make a bet, you do it here.” The man flicked his cigar into a plastic cup on the table. “Won’t be much money ta be had tonight. Newbie dropped out. They’ve been lookin’ fer someone ta take his place, but ain’t no one step up yet. All too scared of Pedro. You still wanna make a bet, you can. But this is the last match of the night. Neither one the house favorite.”
Stan took a moment to contemplate the scoreboard before answering. Even if they bet everything they had, they wouldn’t make very much. It might get them into a room with a mattress on the floor, but nothing in the way of supplies. But who to bet on? Stanford peeked in the open door to watch the fighters. There wasn’t any indication which one was whom. The shorter fighter looked like he had the advantage, but it was the first round and neither looked outclassed. He still thought this whole idea was stupid, but the next words out of Stan’s mouth cornered sensible in a dark alley and beat it for its pocket change.
“How much to enter?”
Stanford whipped his head to look at his partner, even more convinced that Bill had lost his ever-loving mind! Not that he’s ever had any sense, but at least he wasn’t this irrational. No one Stanford had ever met had ever had such a lack of common sense. No one but Stan.
He still hadn’t decided on what to call this…hybrid person. Partner seemed the best fit now. Stanford ignored the shit-eating grin that reverberated down their mental connection.
“Hah, funny grandpa. I like you. Tell ya what, you bet on Antonio, he’s more likely to win. Still only 3:1, but it’s better than nothing.
Stan just grinned wider. He cracked his neck, rolling his knuckles and squaring his shoulders.
“How much to fight?”
*~*
The money guy had called down the owner, realizing Stan was serious. No amount of protesting from Stanford dismayed him. The owner was enormous. Easily over six foot and built of solid muscle. He wasn't thin either; torso thick and bulky and arms as wide as Stanford’s neck. An ex-pro boxer by the looks of it. He was intrigued by Stan’s request, but had laughed at him too. Telling him he could enter if he wants, but they would just throw his carcass out in the back alley when he died.
“I’ll be fine. Just let me in the ring and I’ll show ya what I can do.”
“You’re outta your mind gramps. But sure. You wanna fight, go ahead. Tell ya what, you survive, I’ll pay out $100,000.”
Stan grinned, dollar signs glittering in his eye. “Dollars?”
“Pesos, grandpa. Pesos.”
Stan let out a dark and dry chuckle. “And If I win?”
“Jackpot’s sitting at 2,350,000 pesos.”
Stanford had called him crazy when they shook hands, Stan just shrugged him off.
Stan had gone back to the check in closet to pull out a pair of loose-fitting shorts from their bags. Stanford had followed him, closing the closet door behind them. An audible click echoed in the tiny room.
“This is crazy. We can still get out and get back to the docks. We can think of something else.”
“Nope. Mind’s made up. I’m doing this.” Stan didn’t even bother turning around as he undid his jeans.
“You’ll die! You can’t use magic anymore.” There wasn’t much space in the side closet. It was only big enough to store the patrons’ stuff, if they had any. “Not unless you expect me to take that off you. Is that what your expecting? Goad me into…”
“No!” Stan shouted, head snapping up. He took two steps to stand closer to his brother. “I don’t want that.” Stan’s hand thumbed over the scar on Stanford’s cheek, still visible though healed. He frowned at the memory, of straining to seal the wound closed even as his magic dwindled. Apology dying on his lips. Instead, he simply smirked and patted Stanford’s cheek. “I don’t need magic to win this. We need money. This will get us some.” He stepped back to pull his jeans off, tugging his socks and shoes off along with them.
“You’re being reckless. You’re putting yourself needlessly in danger to...” He flapped his arms looking for the appropriate wording, averting his eyes and trying to keep the blush from his cheeks, “To show off, apparently.”
“Maybe.” Stan…winked…maybe, but his face soured with his next words. “But if we’re going to argue about ‘needless danger’, we should talk about how you walk headlong at anything even remotely out of the ordinary. You have no idea if things might be friendly or not, but no, you just have to go study it.” Stan had pulled on his shorts and was stuffing his clothes into Stanford’s bag.
“That is the inherent danger in field study. And I understand and calculate the level of danger before I approach. This is just suicide! I can understand gambling, Bill, but this?! Do you have any idea how illegal this is? How much danger we are really in?”
Stan’s shoulders tensed at the name, hands stilling on the bag he was hunched over. His knuckles turning white as he clenched and unclenched his hands.
Maybe Bill was just looking for a fight. If that was all, Stanford could oblige. But Stan’s voice cut through the building tension.
“Yes. This isn’t my first round in a cage fight.”
Fine. If Bill was going to play Stan’s history, he’d bite.
“You aren’t young anymore. You haven’t kept your body in peak condition for decades.” But Stan had stood up by then, turning and shedding his shirt in one swift motion, letting it drop on top of the bag. He held his arms out, loosely set on his hips and he straighten his back and flexed.
Looking at Stan now, Stanford picked up on all the little things that reminded him they weren’t young anymore. His hair was the most prominent. Gray. All of it. Stan was always hairy, even back in high-school, but it had only gotten worse with time. At least his body hair had. Stan was balding. The hair at the back of his head only hid the skin beneath in the faintest of light. Next, his gut. Stan hadn’t aged well. Though, now with the understanding of what Stan had been doing the past forty years, Stanford can’t blame him. But there was no question that Stan was packing more weight than could be hidden. Pecks more flab than muscle. And without the help of his girdle, it was, for lack of a better word, ‘hanging’ out there for everyone to see. Stan’s face carried so many lines now. Lines zipping back and forth across his forehead. Creases bordering his eyes and puffy eyelids. Forced laugh lines from his years of being a wannabe carnival barker. Lips chapped from the salty air. Pockmarks and discoloration around his jaw. Skin sagging a bit around his neck.
He was a dead man walking if he followed through with this.
“Let me fight instead.” The words were out of Stanford’s mouth before he could stop them.
“No way.”
“I’m fitter than you. I may not have the raw strength you do, but I can hold my own.”
“Not happenin’ Stanford. I can put myself in danger. I won’t put you there.”
Stanford’s eyes blinked before a dark laugh passed his lips, brought forth from decades of grief and hate.
“’You won’t put me in danger’, huh?” He snarled, ripping back the fabric of his jacket and sweater to show the scarring on his wrist. A dark band with radiating veins to his forearm and the back of his hand. Two more on his other wrist and neck. Permanent burns. Charred tissue beneath the skin. Courtesy of the torture he’d endured to keep the world safe from Bill. “What about this then? What about after I shut down the portal? You’re so worried about putting me in danger, you weren’t then.”
“I’m not that person anymore!”
“Bull shit you’re not! I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You act just like you always did. Selfish and self-serving. I was just too blinded by your flattery to notice!”
“Stanford, I…”
But there was a knock on the doors seconds before it snapped open.
“Hey gramps. Boss wants ta know if yer ready?”
Stan walked past him, reaching the door and walking into the entry way.
The owner led them back into the tiny side room with a sink and drain in the center. Stanford stood to the side and watched as the owner and another guy inspected Stan’s physique. The owner’s eyebrows jumping in surprise at Stan’s muscle mass despite his age. It was clear Stan was a boxer, or used to be, with the way he carried himself. It was something the owner of this little underground boxing ring had picked up on. Stan flexed when asked, jabbed at the air to show off his form, and tested his grip on the owner’s fingers. Even Stanford caught the slight wince and creaking of bone when Stan squeezed. Stanford’s fingers twitched with every touch, eyes trained on the rainbow fibers, now visible, resting against Stan’s collar bones. The two men left after a few short minutes to draw up the odds, mumbling about how tonight was going to be interesting.
“You can still back out.”
“Can it, would’ya. Win or lose I get somthin’. And I intend to win.”
The door creaked open and a kid pokes his head in the gap. He glances over at Stan a moment before tossing Stanford a roll of tape, shaking his head. They could hear shouting and something like glass breaking. “Pedro ain’t happy he’s going against an old man. I’d say your goodbyes, amigo.” The kid slipped out, closing the door quietly. Stan was standing in the middle of the room doing some light stretches. Shoulders rolling back and forth in their sockets, trapezius shifting under surprisingly tight skin.
“He was impressed. Ya see that look he gave me? Like he found a gold nugget where he thought was gonna be dog shit. Ha!”
“Bill…”
“Stop with that! I ain’t him!”
“You aren’t Stan either.”
“More now than I was then. Just let me do this.” They fell into an awkward silence as they waited.
The owner came back, trailed by what Stanford assumed was ‘Pedro’. Pedro was short, bit shorter than Stan’s height, but he was stacked. The kid was hardly older than 20, abs sculpted and hips thin. His muscles visibly shifted with each movement, veins popping up on his skin. His jaw was chiseled and smooth. He looked like a poster boy for some band or car magazine. On the surface. But there was something there rippling just beneath the surface that clawed at the air between them. A beast barely restrained by a thin rope. The veins in his neck and face pulsed. Teeth looking more like fangs in the dim light.
Stanford did not like Stan’s chances against Pedro. Hell, he didn’t like his chances against Pedro and he was in better shape than Stan. The kid, and he certainly was compared to the two of them, exuded so much testosterone that Stanford could smell it. It was obvious why this kid was the house favorite. His eyes held a level of rage Stanford was unfamiliar with. The kid wanted blood. He’d been denied a challenge and now he was going to take his anger out on Stanford’s partner. He gulped.
The kid turned to the owner, speaking in rapid Spanish, gesturing to them both. Stan shouted above the bickering, “¡Oye! Como el infierno, te dejo tocarlo a él!”, standing in front of Stanford, pushing him back a step. But the owner shook his head and stood firm. “Fine, gramps. I’ll fight you. Kiss your fag boyfriend goodbye, cuz you ain’t walking out of that cage. I’m gonna kill you.”
Stanford gaped at the kid’s words, but Stan just grinned and held out his hand. “I look forward to it.”
The kid scoffed, reaching out to squeeze Stan’s hand, hoping to feel the bones break under his grip. Stan returned the grip in equal measure. Bones not breaking or creaking, but instead, clamping around the kid’s hand like steel. His grin split his face in half when the kid flinched.
Pedro pulled bag, and strutted back to the main room, likely getting ready for the match.
The owner, who’s name Stanford had neglected to remember, watched Pedro go, turning back to them both with a shrug.
“Last fight’s still on. I suspect it’ll be a long one, so you got time. We’ll call you. And you’ll have to take the eyepatch off. What name you wanna go by? Gotta call out something when the match starts.”
Stan thought about it for a bit, humming as he twisted the question in his mind. After a moment, he smirked, ripping the eye patch off and letting the boss get a good look at the healing scars covering the empty socket.
“The One-Eyed Beast.”
*~*
They weren’t allowed gloves. No protective gear. Not even shoes. Just tape. Stan’s glasses tucked into the collar of Stanford’s sweater.
“Too many people trying ta sneak in weights and blades. Bare hands means I can’t hide nuttin.”
Stanford’s hands shook even as he meticulously wrapped each of Stan’s knuckles. The white tape stood out against the tanned skin. Cool and textured verses warm and soft. The contrast cut through Stanford’s psyche. Like he was replacing the smooth flesh with something inhuman. Weaving the tape around each finger, stabilizing his metacarpals and wrist. His fingers slipped on the tape as he tried to tuck and tie it off. Once, twice. His hands wouldn’t cooperate.
His mind kept flashing back to Stan’s opponent. He didn’t know why, but the kid scared him. Something about the kid…man terrified him. His eyes weren’t human. The man was an animal. Stanford could see it in his movements, the way he sized them up. He was no more tame than the bull mastiffs being walked around on lead, snapping and growling at any perceivable threat.
Stan wove his untapped hand through his fingers. Clasping them tight and squeezing. “I got it. It’s ok.” Stan pulled back to finish the knot before starting on his other hand.
Stanford bit his tongue until he tasted blood.
A knock on the door came far too soon. They were preparing for the last match of the night.
Stan was up and out of the door in a few short strides, Stanford trailing along behind him, a bundle of nerves.
The chalkboard propped up on the wall had been altered. ‘One Eyed Beast’ in the challenger column beside Pedro. 10:1 odds. He’s surprised it wasn't lower. People were lined up to place their bets, ecstatic that Pedro was going to fight tonight.
They followed their escort to the main room, weaving in and out of the people lingering and milling about. Guard dogs growling and barking as they walked past. They were standing in front of the cage now, Pedro already inside and looking ready to tear the head off the next person who crossed him. That next person, unfortunately, being Stan.
A brief hush swept across the crowd. They had seen who was up. An old favorite against a newbie. An old newbie. Stanford didn’t let their age bother him much, least not when they were running circles around dangerous anomalies. But here. Around other people. Their age was distinct. They were in their sixties. Wouldn’t know it for how easily they kept up, but they were getting older. Stanford woke up with twinges of pain he didn’t remember having before. And Stan had apparently been fighting back pain since his late forties.
But the man standing in the cage wasn’t the man Stanford had been helping to wrap his hands. No. Like crossing the cage threshold had changed him. He stood taller. Stan’s biceps pulled taut against the skin, curving and accentuating his arms. His gut was still there, but he’d lost weight in the months at sea, and the top level of flab hid a strong torso. Stan was thick. Had always been. He’d been a heavyweight since those first lessons all the way back in middle school. His legs were still as thick as ever and had grown more definition as they became accustom to the sea. The overhead spotlight gleamed off the sweat already forming on Stan’s skin. He was practically glowing. A force of nature now stood where his brother once did. He held himself steady on the uneven and unstable elevated cage. More a plywood slab braced on random stacks of cinderblocks. Chain link fencing weaved around the structure and was attached to the ceiling and floor. He didn’t look scared or nervous. Hell he looked downright gleeful.
A thickly accented jeer echoed from across the room.
“The hell is this?! Get this gringo grandpa outta here.” Angry responses and jeers erupted in waves through the crowd. Stanford felt the hackles rise up on the back of his neck. He and Stan could handle being out-numbered, but not like this. There were well over a hundred people clamoring for a chance to make a bet. But despite the jeers, Stan was calm. His face plain, perhaps even a smirk, as he eyed his opponent.
A deafening clang rang in Stanford’s ears. The cage door had slammed closed. A ‘referee’ was locking the heavy padlock and chain. Too late to make a run for it.
This was insanely foolish. Even more so than restarting the portal. At least Stan had the misfortune of not fully understanding the ramifications of opening the link to other dimensions. This, Stan had full knowledge of the consequences. And he was still standing there. The unicorn necklace still sparkling against Stan’s throat. The spell was supposed to be a protection against Bill. Against his powers to manipulate the world. He could only hope that wasn't the only thing it protected against.
Stanford flexed his hands repeatedly, eyes trained on the two fighters. A speaker mounted somewhere overhead crackled and sputtered, announcing the beginning of the next match. Cheers and boos echoing from everywhere as the fighters were introduced. Stan seemed to relish in jeers and heckles. When he didn’t react, the voices grew louder, bottles and crumpled paper cups being flung at the cage to bounce off the fencing.
Stan just grinned.
The clang of a cowbell broke through the crowd’s noise. The match had begun.
There weren’t rules in underground fighting. Anything went. The winner was the one who could walk out.
Pedro came in with a flurry of punches, aiming for Stan’s torso and head. Stan braced and took the beating. Blow after blow to ribs and arms. Stray fist connecting with his face. But Stan hadn’t faltered yet. When Pedro pulled back, readying a roundhouse, Stan’s left fist connected with his jaw. Pedro stumbled back. He wiped the sweat from his face and glowered.
A scream, pulled from the bowels of hell, clawed its way through the kid’s throat. He dove to grab Stan’s torso, but he shifted, trapping Pedro in a headlock and pulling him off balance. Fists wailed on Stan as the kid tried to free himself. An arm wound around Stan’s leg. A knee to the kid’s jaw. Pedro was released. Stan taking four steps to the other side of the ring.
He was using the kid’s rage and confidence against him.
Pedro recovered quickly, eyes blazing at being humiliated by an old man. He charged again. Fists low. Stan sidestepped, but Pedro anticipated the move. His aim struck home.
Stan doubled, gut and chest taking the damage. Quick and light jabs countered some of Pedro’s blows, but not many. Stan took a step back. Then another. He was being backed into a corner. A second later, the kid dropped to the floor, legs pulled out from under him was a subtle sweep.
Stan danced around him, putting distance between them.
Downed twice by an old geezer. Pedro was livid.
But the clanking of a cowbell singled the end of the first round.
The guy taking bets was walking around the crowd, calling out odds and taking more cash from eager patrons. He passed close to Stanford, notebook and a spool of tickets in hand. Stanford watched him, eyes flicking back and forth between Stan and the man collecting bets.
It couldn’t hurt.
A second ring of the cowbell started the next round, but Stanford had lost his place near the front of the crowd. He could see flashes of movement over the tops of people’s heads. Shouting and grunts. A dog growled and barked from somewhere to his left.
Stan’s voice rang above everything. A sharp grunt of pain. Stanford pushed people aside, knocking over drinks and scattering empty bottles. He was prepared to climb the damn cage when a strong arm looped around his waist and pulled him back. One of the bouncers. He was let go and shoved back behind a faded red line drawn around the ring. A man at his side, drunk off his ass, stumbled with him.
“Hey, gringo. You gotta stay back, or they’ll kick you out. Don’t worry, your money’s on Pedro, you’ll win.”
Stanford just turned back to the cage.
Stan was winded. But so was Pedro. The kid had an arm wrapped around Stan’s neck, free hand flying repeatedly into Stan’s chest and gut. But Stan jerked Pedro’s leg to the side, sending the kid wobbling back. Sta was on the defensive. Only fighting back when the kid caught him. The kid was trying to get him in a headlock, but Stan weighed more. He leaned and threw them both to the floor. He used the opportunity to pin Pedro’s arm. The kid had no leverage. Stan’s elbow came down on the kid’s nose. A sickening crack. Stan let go and stood with a stumble, taking position again.
Pedro charged, leaning away from Stan’s swing and barreling headlong into Stan’s left side. His blind side. Stan’s back connected with the cage. He was cornered. Pedro pummeled him, fists flying to any place they would land. Face, neck, chest, gut. Stan sagged. And audible crack cut through the fervor.
Stan’s knuckles connected with Pedro’s temple. It was the window he was waiting for. Stan returned each blow with one of his own. Four more to the temple. One to the left side of his jaw, then the right. A swift uppercut to the gut. Stan alternated between high and low jabs, leaving Pedro little opportunity to block. One punch to Pedro’s jaw slid further, cracking across the bridge of his broken nose.
The ref rang the bell, but neither fighter stepped back. Punches flying every half second, Blood dripping from noses. Neither one was bothering to block anymore. Fists came undone and fingers clawed at skin. Nails scratching gouges.
A hand wrapped around the rainbow threads and jerked. But a flash of pink light pushed it back. Shouts from the ref called forwards two man with cattle prods. The poles were slid through the gaps in the cage nearest the two fighters. Stan turned, pushing Pedro into the sparking pole. A scream. The smell of searing flesh. But they just backed further into the center of the ring. Just out of reach.
Fingers dug into a throat and clamped down. More retaliated with pressure to an eye. Knuckles connecting with teeth and jaws.
Bets had stopped. No one knew who to bet on. Shouts and barking and camera’s snapping pictures.
Stanford’s heart was in is throat. He couldn’t swallow, let alone breathe. His ears rang with white noise, not comprehending the sounds echoing in the dingy warehouse. Blood and sweat flung off the two fighters. Four men with cattle prods circled the cage in hopes that they would come close enough to break it up. Every so often the ref would walk around and ring the bell. He may as well have been waving a banner for all the good it did.
But it was nearing the end now. They weren’t going to last much longer. One last punch. One last connection between knuckles and bruised tissue. It was over.
A body hit the floor with a sickening thud. The crowd fell silent. Blood filled wheezing could be heard from the lump on the floor. The referee shouted something in Spanish, smashing the bell against the cage to amplify the sound. The victor pulled away from the lump to stumble back to the center of the ring. Huffing. Knees weak. Blood flowing freely from his nose. That fucker gave him a hell of a beating.
Stanford was beside the referee in seconds, pushing past him the moment the lock was disengaged. He ignored the shouts from the referee even as the man tried to grab him and pull him back. He twisted out of the grip on his hood and entering the cage. Two steps in, he was beside the lump. Blood splattered around it on the wood dais. The wheezing was intense so near. It was wet, blood and saliva dripping from the parted mouth.
Stanford spared barely a moment beside the lump, racing past and across the ring to his brother. Stan was hunched, legs shaky and hardly holding him vertical. Stanford’s arms were around him instantly, wrapping him in a crushing hug.
“Fuck! Fucking hell! I thought you were dead for sure. God! Don’t ever do that again, you sick bastard!”
Stanford’s words were mouthed against Stan’s jaw and ear. His fingers threading through the sweat damp hair at the back of Stan’s head. He felt more than heard Stan chuckle, the rumble of his voice sending little vibrations against his jaw.
“Heh…I’m alright…nerd. Not outta…the game yet.” He huffed. Stan’s laugh dissolved into wet coughs. Stanford held him tighter, bracing as Stan hung onto his body for support. He only pulled back when Stan winced. He wrapped Stan’s arm across his shoulders, doing his best to hold Stan’s weight. Stan leaned into him, ignoring the blood dripping from his nose smudging over the blue fabric of Stanford’s jacket.
The ref just stood, dumbfounded, holding the cage door open as they stumbled down the steps. The crowd parted and Stanford’s eyes zeroed in on an empty bench. He pushed Stan towards it, ignoring the stares and hushed murmurs following him.
Stan let gravity do the work as he sat, leaning back and to the side to ease the pain in his ribs. The dim light hid much of the damage. But it was bad. Even Stan’s latent healing was going to take time to fix this. That was if his injuries didn’t kill him first. Stanford was running his fingers down Stan’s sides, feeling the cracked ribs and wondering if they needed wrapping when someone tapped his shoulder. A young kid, far too young to be in a place like this, held out a water bottle to him, wide eyed and awestruck. He took it with a nod, squeezing it to check for leaks and tampering. He smiled at the kid when the lid made a crack when he opened it. Stan snagged it from him, hand only partly unwrapped, and downed it in four large gulps. They ignored the men climbing into the ring to tend to Pedro.
The owner was ecstatic. Nearly everyone had bet against Stan to win, and the house had raked in a killing. He’d come over to them after the match to congratulate Stan on his marvelous victory. “Beast you are, huh? Haven’t seen a fight like that in a while. Think Pedro’s out for a while. I’ll send someone over with your money.”
A man and an armed guard approached them while Stanford helped Stan back into his shirt. He spoke to Stan in rapid-fire Spanish, going back and forth a bit before he pulled out a fat envelope from his jacket. The man counted it out slowly, enunciating each bill amount as he went. $1,000,000 pesos. Just over $300 U.S. dollars. Substantially less than what was promised. But Stanford wasn't going to argue with a rifle hung at low ready. It seemed Stan wasn't too keen on it either; he grumbled, but took the envelope and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.
Stan raised an eyebrow when the money guy handed Stanford a second envelope stuffed with crumpled bills. $10 U.S. dollars pick-pocketed off some snobby tourist bet on a 10 to 1 odds became $333,325 pesos. It wasn’t much, but was enough to get them supplies and to get Stan the hell out of Colombia. Not bad for a night’s work.
Stan shot him a devilish grin when he tucked his own winnings away. But there wasn’t much time to discuss anything as their bags were tossed at them and they were promptly escorted out of the back door. A voice rang out after them in both Spanish and English: “Get the Fuck outta here! You come back, you die!”
Stan just waved. Leaning heavily into Stanford and limping as the bruised muscles in his side spasmed.
“You bet on me? Thought you said it was a stupid idea.”
“It was. You can barely stand. But it wasn't like I was going to bet against you.”
“Where’d you get the money?”
“Remember the man from the inn?”
“No, you didn’t!”
“You aren’t the only one with quick fingers.”
“HA! Knew you had some rebel in ya!”
“Yes, well, we can celebrate after we get someplace safe.” Stanford fished out his phone to call Maxi again. The cab driver was quickly becoming their new best friend.
“Yeah, think the only reason we walked outta there was because the house won a shit ton.”
*~*
They didn’t go back to the Refugio El Santuario. Not willing to explain how they had come into so much money so quickly. Instead, they had Maxi drive them to the Ribai, bit further south on the main strip along the coast. Not as ritzy, but hey, a pool and room service were classy enough.
They paid in cash. Stanford excusing his ‘drunk brother’, claiming the blood was caused by an overzealous bar fight. The clerk just shook his head and passed them the key card.
There was an elevator, Thank Christ, that took them to the third floor. Stanford unlocked the room with the provided keycard and stepped in, nudging Stan to wobble to one of the neatly made beds. The soft white sheets and mattress give under his weight as he flops back.
“Ow. Ow Ow Ow. Everything hurts. Bathroom’s yours first. I don’t think I could shower just yet. You signed us in using pseudonyms, right?”
“Yes. I am aware of…your…history. I felt it was appropriate to use a bit of caution.” Stanford walked the perimeter of the room, fiddling with the mechanism strapped to his wrist.
“Hey, Nerdbrain. I get you wanna ‘secure the area’ but you haven’t slept in almost a day. Door’s locked and there’s a secondary lock. Only thing we’re in danger of is getting bedbugs.”
“You’re right.” Stanford’s shoulders slumped as his body lost much of its tension. He removed his jacket, draping it over the nearest chair and sitting down on the free bed to remove his boots.
The sweater came next, black sleeveless undershirt covering his torso. A quick use of the crystal and flashlight and Stanford was opening his medical bag. He cleaned off the blood dripping down Stan’s face. Something he had done more often over the years than he was willing to remember. The suture kit put to the side when the cut on Stan’s cheek closed on its own. Instead, he spent the time cleaning and disinfecting the scrapes and gouges left behind from Pedro’s attack. Stan hissing as the alcohol touched his skin. But he said nothing. Neither of them did. Stanford worked meticulously, smiling faintly when he eyes caught Stan’s. His glasses and eyepatch still tucked in Stanford’s jacket.
He was cleaning the blood from Stan’s hand now. Working the alcohol-soaked cloth under his fingernails. Stan shook it loose from his grasp and ran his fingers over his cheek. Once again tracing the line branded there.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
“I’m sorry I scared ya.”
Stanford sighed at Bill’s words. “No, you’re not. You were going to do it anyway.”
“Yeah, but I still didn’t want to scare ya. And I wasn't gonna let you try either.” Stan’s fingers had drifted lower, passing along his jaw and resting, curled, against his neck. White skin stark against the faint dark band.
“Bill…”
“I’m NOT him, Stanford.” Stan sighed; all fight draining out of him. He was too tired to fight about this anymore. He just wanted to sleep. “I use ta be. Not anymore. Don’t wanna be anymore. Don’t wanna hurt ya.” Stan swallowed down his next words. He wasn't sure if they were real. They felt real. But there were a lot of things that had felt real that turned out to not be.
“How can I know that for sure? You’ve tricked me before.” Stanford was still looking at him. Eyes still soft. He hadn’t left yet. And that gave Stan hope.
“I guess ya can’t. But I’m still askin’.” He shouldn’t. It was too much to ask of his beautiful Sixer. But Ford was right, he was selfish. He wanted things to be alright between them. They’d been friends. More. He wanted that. He was sure Sixer wanted that too. But trust. Trust was a hard thing to piece back together once broken. It wasn't like Stan had broken it intentionally. I wasn’t even his fault this time. Just some memories old and dusty memories from a dead life that he didn’t want to be a part of anymore. He was past that. He wanted to be past it so badly.
“Let me prove it. Give me a chance ta prove it.”
Stanford lifted the hand by his neck, holding it between his own. Fingers curled loosely around each other. Fingerprints tracing over black scars.
Soft, salt chapped lips brushed against Stan’s jaw. Forehead pressed to his temple. Stanford breathed.
“Okay.”
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The thing is...
I learned self-harming ideas/“truths” growing up... And it’s been SO HARD to let go of them.
First I have to recognize that something doesn’t add up, and that is not an easy task.
I learned that certain medications were “cheating” and for “weak people”; when my psychiatrist offered to prescribe sleeping pills, I shaked my head. “Addictive; don’t work; cheating” went through my head faster than I could keep up and analyze them.
Then I blinked... I have never really tried them, so I don’t really know if they work or not. I know for a fact that not all sleeping aids cause addiction. And cheating? I can’t go on like this, sleeping 2-3 hours at night. I’m beyond cranky, I feel like the world is about to swallow me, I’m lashing out for no reason.
I took a deep breath, then another; I took another just for safe measures. I could not even look at him, I was beyond embarrassed. I asked the wall & the floor if we could try the medication, if he could prescribe it.
“Sure! I think this will really help you feel better!”
And you know what? It did. I’m laughing like I haven’t in years, I have some energy, enough to make breakfast for most of the household.
And the most amazing thing? I’m hungry. I haven’t been hungry in a consistent “normal” way in over 20 years.
I also started a medication to loose weight, because 700 calories a day + 4 hours of martial arts 5 days a week = gain sizes (and weight).
Fuck dad and his “cheating; easy way out; you need to work it off”
Fuck embarrassment and fear.
If nothing is working, take your fucking meds, it does not matter what others think.
You know your body, you know your limits, you know how you feel.
Do something abou it. Now.
@satsetekh
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A Thousand Words
Tuesday, August 24, 2010. 9:34PM
So I sit here wondering what to write. I find myself starting to write, “right” instead which makes me smile and think, ‘There we go again.” I like the wordplay. The supposed mistake that fit and supply what seems to be a truer meaning. Before I began typing I was thinking of what JG said in writing class of what makes for boring writing and not. It was similar to a recent event that involved Rock goddess Pat Benatar and Robin Leach They were both on Howard Stern’s radio show, and after Benatar recounted her family-centered, scandal-free life, Stern suggested booking her for a “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” segment. “She just spent 20 minutes telling you how boring she is,” Leach countered. “Why would I do that?”
Write from the deep voice. Write from what you know. Right now I know “right.” Right from the deep voice. Right from what you know.
I began writing this as friend of mine, hearing of what happened between Renee and I, suggested that I write about it. I thought it was a good idea and began to do so. I also began to wonder was I telling everything. Should I ask the other members of the team to help remember what went on? Would people get weird about me writing what had happened, at least from my perspective?
If I wrote from my heart as to what I felt was going on, would it be accepted as such?
I hear the writing teachers and critics say “boring” I hear as to what is write and what is wrong. And soon there are contradictions. It makes me begin to think how words are tricky. How a lot of alcoholics, drinkers and pot smokers I know seem to have an excellent facility with words…controlling, manipulating the space. It’s confusing. So clear and so fucked up. So orderly. Is it to get another drink? Another hit? Attention?
I hear what I herd 20 years ago. 40 years ago. See, I have to go backwards into a past. My past. Which in a doing and changing Universe seems insane. I am off track says the writing teacher. Milk the deep voice. I have a history that is irrelevant to look back upon and source for material. I have marked the moments that stood out. Those that were relevant. I am going with that story. These events are alive and reenter consciousness when a moment asks for it. Each time the event is slightly shaded, as it has come through having completed its orbit. Slightly worn. Evermore wise.
I felt that once. Ideas seem to be sent out to space among the stardust, orbit and return. I don’t know what the writing teacher would think of that. The moment where I felt and became aware that everything was happening the way I wanted it. The moment I felt and became aware that everyone is living a life of grace and elegance and that they are doing it there way. What would a writing teacher think of that?
So Renee was my beloved. She has since then made her presence known to me in my dreams. Our 5 months together seemed like a lifetime. After she left her body, this passage together also felt expanded, expanding, and expansioned.
I look at the word count. 551 words. The goal is to get to 1500 tonight. Much I’ve written so far is the “what happened” during Renee and my physical relationship. There has also been some event that happened previous to our being together that related to us. I am reticent to go back to those times. Who cares. My ass is put on the line. In front of critics, writing teachers, suffering addicts and more. And I will be criticized for being unspiritual for saying even that.
Well gang. This is a story of love. This is a story of there was, is and will be enough to go around for everybody. This is the story of Jesus. Of dreams coming true. Of healing. It’s a story of discovery. Expansion. Calling. Vision. It’s a story of suffering vanishing as one discovers learning. It’s a story of transcendence. How love is a driving force in Universe. It’s a story about magic. Timing. What one can do above and beyond what one ever thought was possible. In the name of love. It’s a story about warrior caring. Of how we are constantly expanding whether we like it or not.
Early on doing a yoga practice. I am breathing and feeling energy/sensation moving into, through, and out my body with each inhale and exhale. I cannot deny this. I say to myself, “I am not going to wait around until science proves this. I am not going to deny the dreams with Blessed Mary, Native American grandfathers, Timothy Leary, Ken Kesey and Buckminster Fuller. I am not going to deny the dream of people who who have left their bodies coming back in dreams to finish what was needed to be finished or to make their presence felt. I am not going to deny the serendipity of larger events being a backdrop to then current events in my life. I am not going to deny waking up and finding myself pouring energy through my arms into my lovers’ body next to me probably to keep her cancer in remission until she discovers the lump in her breast a year later.”
Renee loved me. I loved her. We woke every morning and individually blessed each other, ourselves and the relationship itself.
I would finish with, “may the channels of communication between us remain open. May the playing fields remain clear.” Our senses are so sure of themselves with their existence shaped over millions of years. I wonder if they have been shaped as a means of keeping our bodies in existence and survival. And now, like it or not, in an age of abundance, our senses continue to be shaped in ways that are more accepting, more receptive, more use-full and more response-able.
It’s 10:48PST. I’ve reached a thousand words. I am tired. I am going to bed.
Posted 9th June 2012
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Chapter 7
He woke up to the smell of beef stew and red wine, the comfort of his own bed alerting him to the fact that he was back at Jin and Joon’s place. He opened his eyes slowly, groggily, his gaze landing on Joon reading a book, sitting on a chair next to his bed.
“Oh, you’re awake.” Joon closed the book gently, leaning forwards, a concerned look on their face. “How’re you feeling?”
Hoseok swallowed with difficulty, tears forming in his eyes. Panic and guilt and too many conflicting emotions making him cover his face with his hands and start sobbing, curling in on himself and not seeing the panicked look on Joon’s face.
“Woah, hey, come on now. It’s all good, we’re not upset.” They placed the book on the bedside table and reached out to touch Hoseok’s shoulder, a cold stab of sadness running up their spine when he flinched away. “Aw fuck.”
Hoseok heard them stand up and leave the room, and he tried to stop crying but everything was far too much for him.
“Hoseok, love, I’ll just sit here and talk. Please don’t feel like this is your fault, because it’s not.” Jin’s voice was soft and rough, given how much he’d been crying since yesterday. “I met Joon about 4 or 5 years ago, when they still went by Namjoon. We met Jungkook about two years later, and we had been dating for almost a year.” He sighed, a soft, gentle sound. “We’d actually had a fight about Jungkook back then too. We almost broke up over it, actually.”
Hoseok managed to get his breathing back in order, and he sat up, wiping at his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Jin continued talking.
“... It’s not as complicated as we’ve made it out to be, but it’s so easy to get into your head about being monogamous and only having one partner that we ended up distancing ourselves from him until this year, when he started working at the bar.” A dry chuckle escaped the elder. “I thought those feelings would disappear after almost two years of distance, but they just bubbled up like a clogged fountain and we handled it poorly once more.”
“Jungkook gets infatuated so very easily and we saw it happen while distancing ourselves from him. You know how close he was with Taehyung, but they were just friends, and then Jimin came into the picture and Jungkook fell head-over heels for him. There was some semblance of courtship for a while, but Tae and Jimin just clicked when they got to uni. Jungkook was so broken about it, he started distancing himself from us.” Joon had walked back in, a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of the delicious-smelling stew in the other.
“So… You guys like him back?” Hoseok finally piped up after like a minute of silence in which the stew and the water were placed on his bedside table.
“Yes.”
“Then why? Why would you do what you did?”
“We met him when he was 17. I was 20 and Jin was 22, I was already in my second year of uni and he was barely in his first year of Sixth Form.” Joon sighed heavily, running a hand through their loose hair, long purple tresses falling haphazardly. “He was riding the waves of a terrible breakup of a terrible relationship, and at first we just thought it was infatuation of the people he confided in. He’s still so young.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand how relationships work, or how to fall in love. He’s a good kid, and he’s already been through so much, it seems. Give him a chance.” Hoseok’s voice turned into a whisper at the end, tears threatening to spill once more.
The other two shared a look, and a small, sad smile.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Summer was inching closer and closer and the weather was fucking unbearable. One day it was a nice cool 17ºC and the next it was a daunting 25ºC. Today was one of those days.
“Fucking kill me, Minnie.” Hoseok was dressed in black shorts and a burgundy tank top, with a black and red snapback holding back his hair. “I don’t want to go to Oxfam today.”
“We need supplies, Hobi. You wanted to learn how to make your own swing outfit, so you’re walking to Oxfam in 25º heat and getting the slacks and the dress you wanted.” Jimin was washing the dishes, the small flat where he and Taehyung lived homely and cool, because they had a good AC unit.
“Don’t let me melt, Minnie, please.”
Jimin shook his head. “It’s now or never, Hoseok. Now go out there and get your clothes!” He ushered the taller out of the flat. “Oh, and get me a pair of pink pumps. I have a new idea for an act and it requires a lot of pink.” The door slammed in Hoseok’s face and he groaned, clomping down the stairs and looking up at the sky.
Working weekends at the bar, Wednesdays and Fridays at the studio and now Monday to Thursday at L’Eto was finally bringing in a good amount of money. He could help Jin and Joon with their rent, and he could get his own clothes for shows, which was a good thing. He was indeed looking for a set of trousers and a dress to alter in an Oxfam, when he bumped, or more like crashed, into a certain short someone.
“Oh, fuck, sorry.” Hoseok hissed, squatting down to help the other guy stand. “Are you alright?”
Soft grey hair, oversized purple and grey hoodie over black ripped skinny jeans and purple canvas shoes, small, pretty hair clips on his bangs and shimmery pink lip gloss. The hair clips, upon closer inspection, were small, cartoon skulls and bats, drippy pastel purple eyes and bones. When the shorter guy looked up, it was as if time had slowed down to allow Hoseok to take in every detail. Smudged purple eyeshadow and delicately drawn eyeliner, making his dark eyes stand out on his pale skin. A matte black septum ring adorned a dainty button nose, a simple hoop in the middle of his lower lip (which Hoseok couldn’t help but notice were pouty and plush), a dripping pink heart sticker on his cheek, and the jewellery around his neck was witchy and pastel purple, small ouija planchettes hanging from silver chains, bats and ribcages, all a pretty shade of purple and black. He looked so goddamn soft.
But that didn’t last for long.
The other guy grunted as he stood up himself, swatting Hoseok’s hand away. “Yeah, I’m fine. Would’ve been be’er if you looked where you were goin’, buh, wha’ever.” The thick North London accent mixed with the raspy depth of his voice brought Hoseok out of the pastel fantasy he was wearing. He barreled past Hoseok, who tipped over to fall flat on his ass, having stayed crouching through the short introduction.
“What the…?” Hoseok stood up slowly, his brain still trying to tie the soft exterior with the voice. He shook his head and picked up the black lace dress and white slacks he’d grabbed before crashing into the other guy, every little detail burned into his mind.
Fuck, he was cute.
Hoseok made his way around the shop, sweat beading on his forehead as he scoured the shoe section for Jimin’s request. Finding bright pink pumps was harder than it seemed, but he finally found a pair and he made his way to the checkout, placing the items on the counter and fishing around in his shorts’ pockets for his wallet.
“Seriously?”
Hoseok looked up at the sound of the pastel boy’s voice, sunny smile breaking through. “Oh, hey! I’m really sorry I crashed into you, man. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”
“If y’hadn’t been textin’ while walkin’ ‘round a crowded shop, then we would’ve never crashed into each other.” He grumbled, a whispered addition soft enough that Hoseok almost missed it. "Fuckin' chav."
“Yoongi, be nice to the customers!” An old woman’s voice rang out from the room in the back, and the pastel boy, who now Hoseok knew was called Yoongi, rolled his eyes, a small, amused smile on his face. It certainly changed the aura around him, the smile, long gone was that exhausted frustration and now there was a fondness that Hoseok would love to see more of that smile. Maybe even a grin, just to see how much Yoongi would light up.
“That’ll be 67 pounds.”
Hoseok bit back a scowl, shaking his head slightly. He hated how expensive charity shops could be, but it was for a good cause so he relinquished his card with little resistance.
“Is this for like your mum or something?” Yoongi remarked, raising up the black lace dress to fold it neatly and put it into a bag.
“No, but it does look like something she’d wear.” Hoseok chuckled brightly, pulling his snapback off to fix his hair. Jimin and Tae had convinced him to dye his hair the same bright red as the wigs he wore for shows and around the bar, and to be honest it looked good on him. A sudden sharp intake of breath and the subsequent coughing fit made Hoseok look up to find Yoongi, cheeks bright red, coughing. “Are you alright, mate?”
Yoongi waved a hand dismissively, coughing fit residing and calming down so he could breathe properly. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just choked on my own spi’, don’t worry abou’ it.” He cleared his throat and finished packing up the clothes and shoes, handing Hoseok his card and the bag with a serious face. “‘Ave a good day.”
“You too! Hope to see you around, Yoongi!” Hoseok waved his goodbye and walked out of the shop, snapback on his head once more. Suddenly the blazing sunlight and god-awful heat weren’t as bad as they were before.
Any criticisms or feedback are greatly appreciated, and it really does motivate me to continue. Also please let me know if you would like a series of one-shots about how Jin and Joon met, how they met Jungkook, how Jin and Joon's first date went, or any other anecdotes you'd like to hear.
#the arcane escape#bts fanfiction#namjin#namjinkook#vmin#yoonseok#pastel goth yoongi is a mood and I love he
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Can I have all the numbers for all the things?
First of all, I’d like to say that you are dead to me and that I hope thy end is with the end of the universe. I hope that you ] watch as all of creation fades from being and all of your friends and family are dead and gone so long beforehand that their existence means nothing to something as eternal as you. All is empty and nothing matters. Slowly, as everything collapses, you welcome the release of not existing at all only to learn that you are all that is.
On to the questions! I’m somewhat tipsy so this should be interesting
1.First kiss?
I suppose the first kiss I had was on a dare so some random dude I don’t give a shit about. Actual first kiss would be with my first partner and it was rather nice as we had just started dating that day and they asked if we could kiss then immediately after that we made out. I’ve gotten sorta better at it since then but I guess being taught that is just sort of how I kiss now. A lot of fun that was.
2. First time masturbating?
I think my first time was in about 5th grade. Details here are unneeded but were milf-y in nature.
3. First sex toy?
Never had a sex toy. Hands work well enough
4. First kink tried?
Ummm. I don’t think I’ve tried anything particularly kinky although I have been sort of dom or sub at points.
5. First time doing oral?
With my first partner. When I was like 18 or something. Good experience all around. Still sort of curious about their thoughts on it though I can’t imagine it was mind-blowing.
6. First time having sex?
Same as above
Turn Ons
1. Biggest turn on?
The person being into what I’m doing. So basically validation that I’m good at what I’m doing but genuine and not just to appease me.
2. Biggest turn off?
Opposite of the above. Also probably a lack of effort on their part. I don’t wanna do everything.
3. Quickest way to get horny?
…..
Surprise me in a good way
4. Weirdest thing that ever turned you on?
Watercolor paintings that were just really well done
5. Top 3 places to be touched?
Umm. This is like tmi even for me. I’ll leave it out at just make out with me really nicely. Passionately but not urgently. Nice and slowly.
6. Ultimate fantasy?
Don’t have one in mind.
7. Do you like the idea of a three or moresome?
Not particularly. If I were intoxicated I’d be more open to the idea
8. Do you send nudes? Do you like receiving them?
I do send nudes and I really like receiving them especially if I’m not expecting it.
Preferences
1. Sex or masturbation?
Sex by far. Up until recently i’d say masturbation but the feel of comfy sex and the dynamic of another person is so much more fun. At times I’d say about even however. It depends. Sex is preferable however.
2. Spit or swallow?
I have like no opinion on this as I do neither.
3. Cut or uncut dicks?
Aesthetically cut
4. Rough or sensual sex?
Sensual. Its much more fun when sex is occasionally rough. But normally I prefer sensual.
5. Oldest person you’d sleep with?
About a year older than me. I thought it’d meant oldest person I’d slept with but I’d probably sleep with someone up to like a decade older than me.
6. Loud or quiet partners?
I do like loud but quiet is fine as well. I just like to know when I’m doing something right.
7. How much foreplay do you like?
A decent amount but not a huge amount. I dunno. It depends on the partner.
8. How much teasing do you like?
I’m rather impatient so I don’t per se like too much teasing but in doses it can be nice.
9. What is too big for you to take?
I don’t take anything sooooo… 0 inches? Experimentation would probably have a prerequisite amount of alcohol.
10. Do you do hookups or only sleep with a partner?
I can hook up with a partner although I’d say that’s more rare than standard
11. How much kissing do you like during sex?
Honestly a hard question. I really really like intimacy but that can be sacrificed if something feels really good or is really hot. So it depends on the situation.
12. What’s the most attractive part of the body?
That’s highly variable but I’d tend to say the face.
Location
1. Favourite place to have sex?
In a bed.
2. Would you have sex in public?
Yah probably. Already have.
3. Last place you had sex?
In a bed
4. Where would you most like to have sex?
Still in a bed. I suppose a really nice rooftop would be a lot of fun.
5. Do you like spontaneous sex, or do you need to be in the mood?
Spontaneous sex is really fun sex. It doesn’t take too much to get me in the mood
6. Could you go through with a hookup at a strangers house?
Yah I probably could. I mean if I’m having sex with them chances are I have a rather good opinion of the person and know them to some extent. I think I’d have to be pretty drunk to just sleep with someone out of nowhere.
I just fucking stopped caring about formatting and might fix it later.
Kinks
What’s your biggest kink?
I don’t really have specific kinks. More like I have vague ideas of them and don’t care enough or feel comfortable enough to say them.
What’s your limit?
I don’t like pain that much
Are you okay with name calling in bed?
Name calling is alright I guess?
Would you do any BDSM?
Yah. I can do some light domination or be a sub but with just domination not pain.
Do you prefer to tie somebody up or be tied up?
Either. i don’t think I have a preference
Favourite type of bondage?
Don’t have one
Do you like orgasm denial/forced orgasm?
I think I would.
Do you like overstimulation?
Sort of. It’s a little much sometimes.
Do you like having pain involved?
No
Do you like biting/being bitten?
Lightly
Have you ever been made to/made somebody beg for it?
I’ve sort of made someone beg for it and that was a lot of fun. I think its fun in doses but if it was regular it might make it less interesting
Do you have any strange or extreme kinks?
No I don't
Have any roleplaying preferences?
Nope
Send a kink with this number. Do you have that kink?
What? Also I really have to say tumblr has some incredibly shit formatting and it really bothers the fuck out of me.
Masturbation
Do you own sex toys? How many?
No.
Favourite Sex Toy?
Don’t have one
What do you masturbate to?
Porn.
How often do you masturbate?
Probably at least once a day
How often do you use sex toys to masturbate?
I dont
Do you masturbate with penetration?
No
Do you go for multiple rounds or settle at one or no orgasms?
When i’m having sex I can go for up to 3 rounds. Masturbation generally ends at one. with a protocolary session.
Oral
Do you enjoy giving oral?
Sort of.
Do you prefer giving or receiving oral?
I think I like receiving more.
What makes you orgasm the fastest when receiving oral?
I have never orgasmed from oral
Do you have a preferred technique for giving oral?
Licking out the ABCs has worked pretty well. I like also licking out circles or just aggressively up and down. Thats sort of the extent of my oral tbh. i do have some variation
Can you deep throat?
I don’t think so
For people with dicks…
How long and how thick is it?
Above average length and thickness. About 6 inches and magnums work better cuz of a lil above average thickness
Do you do anal? Top or bottom?
I do not.
Are you circumcised?
yes
Do you like your balls being played with?
Lightly yeah
Do you enjoy prostate stimulation? Ever came from it?
Have not had it done
Where do you like to finish?
Inside if I can honestly. Otherwise just outside.
Sex
Favourite position?
Missionary or cowgirl.
How often do you do unprotected sex?
Like most of the time at this point
How loud are you in bed?
Not very
Do you enjoy having nipples played with?
Yeah
Do you like/dislike/love/hate cum?
I mean its always mine so pretty indifferent
How good are you at dirty talk?
Mediocre if I had to guess
Do you get sleepy after an orgasm?
Sometimes
Other
Do you like wearing/seeing people in lingerie?
Yes
Do you masturbate or have sex with clothes on?
Occasionally
What’s your favourite style of underwear?
Lacey
Are stockings/thigh highs a turn on?
Yes
Ever had somebody say no to a kink you suggested trying?
Nope
Do you trim, shave or leave pubic hair untouched? How do you prefer partners?
I trim. I prefer partners trimmed or shaved
How many orgasms can you have in a day?
Like 4 or so within a short period
How many other people know your dick/bra size?
Like 3 or so I’d say
What do you wear to bed?
Just underwear or nothing. Occasionally pajamas
Do you eat ass? Do you like having your ass eaten?
i’d eat ass and have never had my ass eaten
Try to describe how orgasm feels for you.
A little tingly and my mind goes a little blank for a bit.
Have you ever been to a strip club? How was it? If not, would you?
I have not and I would although I’m unsure how much I would enjoy it
Fun questions!
Do you name your genitalia?
No
What would be your stripper name?
I would never be a stripper
Any funny sex stories?
Not really
What food if any would you use during sex?
Whupped cream or honey
Would you give somebody a sex toy as a gift?
Yes
What’s the weirdest porn you’ve ever seen?
Umm. Probably extreme anal insertion
Do you often get horny in public?
No not really
Ever used something that isn’t made for sex in the bedroom?
I don’t believe I have
Have you ever walked in on somebody or been walked in on?
Nope
Do you have any friends you’d sleep with?
Probably all of the ones that are female that I have. Unless i find them unattractive which I don’t think has happened yet
Some real creepy shit, get your fix.
1. Think of the last person who said I love you, do you think they meant it?
I would certainly hope my girlfriend meant it
2. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now?
Yes considering that I’m only 20. I’d obviously have to find them mature enough
3. When’s the last time you were aggravated and happy at the same time?
With an essay that a teacher graded where I didn’t like the grade but agreed with the commentary and was happy about it. The grade made sense with the commentary although I wanted more.
4. Would you ever smile at a stranger?
Rarely
5. Is there someone mad because you’re dating/talking to the person you are?
I suppose frustrated or aggravated probably.
6. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today?
Nothing at the current moment
7. What exactly are you wearing right now?
I am wearing a grey Tulane sweatshirt, navy hanes boxers, and black speckled sort of shorts with gold zipper pockets
8. How often do you listen to music?
Fucking often
9. Do you wear jeans or sweats more?
Jeans for sure
10. Do you think your life will change dramatically before 2013?
This post must be dated as fuck
11. Are you a social or an antisocial person?
More antisocial just out of mild social anxiety
12. Have you ever kissed someone whose name begins with the letter ‘A’?
I have not
13. What about ‘R’?
Also have not
14. Can you drive a stick shift?
I straight up can’t drive
15. Do you care if people talk badly about you?
I’m sort of vain so yeah
16. Are you going out of town soon?
In about a week
17. When was the last time you cried?
I think its been a week or two
18. Have you ever told someone you loved them?
Yes
19. If you could change your eye color, would you?
Probably not but green or a stormy color would be cool
20. Is there a boy who you would do absolutely everything for?
Nah not really
21. Name something you dislike about the day you’re having.
Well i’ve technically started this day tipsy sooooo… Not the healthiest way to start a day
22. Is it cute when guys kiss you on your forehead?
It would really depend on the guy
23. Are you dating the last person you talked to?
Nope
24. What are you sitting on right now?
A fucking chair
25. Does anyone regularly (other than family) tell you they love you?
Yes
26. Have you ever wanted someone you couldn’t have?
Yeah
27. Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night?
Um. My room mate
28. Do you get a lot of colds?
Not particularly
29. Where is the shirt you are wearing from?
I’m not wearing a shirt. I’m wearing a sweatshirt and thats from my university’s website
30. Does anyone hate you?
Probably but I also don’t care about them
31. Do you have any empty alcohol bottles hidden somewhere in your room?
I thankfully do not.
32. Do you like watching scary movies?
Not really honestly. With other people more so
33. Do you want your tongue pierced?
No
34. If you had to delete one year of your life completely, which would it be?
None of them
35. Did you have a dream last night?
Probably
36. When was the last time you told someone you loved them?
Yesterday
37. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years?
Perhaps
38. Do you think someone has feelings for you?
I know someone has feelings for me and I know of at least two other people that did
39. Do you think someone is thinking about you right now?
Maybe my room mate but probably not
40. Did you have a good day yesterday?
I think so
41. Think back 2 months ago; were you in a relationship?
Why yes I was
42. In the next 48 hours, will you hang out with a girl?
Yes
43. Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you?
Probably
44. What’s the best part about school?
The people
45. Do you have any pictures on your Facebook?
I have very few but I do.
46. Do you ever pass notes to your friends in school?
No
47. Do you replay things that have happened in your head?
Annoyingly often
48. Were you single over the last summer?
Nope
49. Is your life anything like it was two years ago?
Sort of
50. What are you supposed to be doing right now?
An essay
51. Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with?
No
52. Are you nice to everyone?
No
53. Have you ever liked someone you didn’t expect to?
I think so
54. Do you think you can last in a relationship for 6 months and not cheat?
Definitely wtf
55. Are you good at hiding your feelings?
Pretty decent
56. Do you think you like someone?
I know I do
57. Have you kissed someone whose name starts with a ‘J’?
I have
58. Do you prefer to be friends with girls or boys?
Girls. I just find them more attractive and easier to talk to in general
59. Has anyone of your friends ever seen you cry?
Yeah
60. Do you hate anyone?
Yes
61. How’s your heart?
Physically and emotionally fine I think
62. Is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about?
Probably
63. Have you ever cried over a guy?
As a result of a guy but not over one
64. Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?
Don’t know don’t care really
65. Are your toenails painted pink?
No
66. Will your next kiss be a mistake?
Most certainly not
67. Girls love it when boyfriends cry; correct?
Depends on what and how often I’d say
68. Have your pants ever fallen down in public?
Thankfully not
69. Who was the last person you were on the phone with?
My stepfather
70. How do you look right now?
Probably fine
71. Do you have someone you can be your complete self around?
I think so
72. Can you commit to one person?
Yes
73. Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to?
Yes
74. Have you ever felt replaced?
No. I have felt sort of used or abandoned though
75. Did you wake up cranky?
I certainly have
76. Are you a jealous person?
Not particularly
77. Are relationships ever worth it?
Definitely
78. Anyone you’re giving up on?
Yeah
79. Currently wanting to see anyone?
Yeah
80. Name something you have to do tomorrow?
Write a pretty lengthy essay
81. Last person you cried in front of?
My roommate’s girlfriend
82. Is there someone you will never forget?
Probably
83. Do you think the person you have feelings for is protective of you?
Yes
84. If the person you wish to be with were with you, what would you be doing right now?
We’d prolly be cuddling
85. Are you over your past?
No I don’t believe I am although I hope I can eventually be
86. Have you ever liked one of your best friends of the opposite sex?
Hell yeah
87. Is there anyone you can tell EVERYTHING to?
No I thik not but it’s a possibility
88. If your first true love knocked on your door with apology and presents, would you accept?
No as we both have different things we’re doing right now and different focuses and obligations
89. So, the last person you kissed just happens to arrive at your door at 3AM; do you let them in?
Yes
90. Have you ever liked someone who your friends hated?
I don’t think so
91. Will you be in a relationship in 2 months?
Probably
92. Is there anyone you know with the name Michael?
Yes
93. Have you ever kissed a Matthew?
No
94. Were you in a relationship in January? How was it going?
I was not
95. Were you happy with the person you liked in March?
Yes
96. Don’t tell me lies, is the last person you texted attractive?
They’re cute
97. Who do you have texts from?
A bunch of people
98. If the person you like says they like someone else, what would you say?
Have fun with that. I’d be pretty fucking sad though
99. Have you ever kissed someone older than you?
Yes
100. Who’s in your profile picture with you?
Myself
101. Ever kissed under fireworks?
I don’t believe so
102. Has anybody ever given you butterflies?
Yes
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Tickling fake and real
Fake but real Warning: deep This is a long post / story and probably a serious one in a way, however I'll try to keep it as entertaining as possible. I just want to see what people think of this and these places are probably going to be the only response I will get from people who at least halfway understand me. I am a male in my 20s and I have had this fetish as far back as I can remember. To be honest with you it completely dominates my fantasies, its the only thing I've ever been aroused by. I've always had an obsession with tickling before it was even possible for me to find it sexual, I remember there was one cartoon that I used to play over and over again because it had a tickle scene in it, and that was one of my earliest memories, so obviously somthing in my mind was always attached to it. I am not ashamed of this fetish in fact I feel somewhat bad for people who don't have it because they don't know what they're missing IMO. However it has its dark side. When I was young and even in a way kind of now, I dispised the feeling of being a lee. Don't get me wrong it still arouses me tbh somtimes even more than lering but it can be extremely unpleasant at the same time and even as involuntary as the laugh response itself. Even though this may make me sound pathetic, it hurt me somehow internally, in my mind when this happened to me when I was young. (I have been mugged in my life to the point I had to go to the hospital , I have been through hard withdrawals, sure I'm not the biggest victim in the world but the point I'm trying to make is that I'm not a complete pussy either) I've been through my share of pain but that particular feeling stuck with me. Either way eventually I discovered tickle porn and not long after that I figured out how to masturbate. It was the best feeling in my life. It was literally like the gates of heaven opening. The first video I remember was just of a random woman loling while her feet were tickled. I remember it felt so good I did it again straight away. That day I changed internally it was like a lot of bad feelings just went away. Not all bad feelings but a lot of them. I only ever had one relationship andonly had one nights with two other females. All of that happened in the space of one year and it wasn't until years after I'd already discovered tickle videos. I tickled a few times during my relationship (she did to me as well) it didn't bother me though cos she was ticklish / acted as if she was if i tickled back and that made me feel ok. At the time though I didn't really fully understand women like I think I do today, and I've not been with a female since I I figured them out. Not because I dont like them, but because my life has become far to busy ATM to be dealing with men or women that I dont have to deal with. But my whole life I still had this feeling that there was something about women that didn't make sense. I had somthing of an inner feeling of paranoia and fear directed at women. I always had this feeling from an early age that the ticklish reaction from women was fake. The idea was not somthing I liked the thought of, my dream of being in a relationship had been being with a Lee. The idea of a woman faking or not being ticklish made me feel insecure because that means that she doesnt share my weaknesses and therefore wouldn't understand me. This depressed me at an early age when I thought these things because it made it seem like there is nothing to aim for in life, which is a pretty cynical view. It is just such a weird feeling and as far as I'm concerned its true. When I was in college I learned about eye movements and lying. You can tell if someone is lying by their eye movements. I decided to put this to the test with that question hoping that I could shake the feeling but it turns out that women really are faking being ticklish. Whenever I saw a female answer the question "are you ticklish?" if she answered yes her eyes would go in the lying direction and the truth direction if she said no. I think I noticed it by accident at first but I kept digging deeper until I was checking videos online of females answering that question. The eye movement always match up, too many times for it to be a coincidence. So after a long time it all starts making more and less sense at the same time. In a way this knowledge confirmed my fears but at the same time it evaporated them. It's like a huge weight off your shoulders to figure out the thing that your brain has been subconsciously saying your entire life but your conscious brain doesn't want to believe it at least not without proof. Then like I said I got proof. The truth is in the eyes and I found it. As much as this launched a string of depression in my life when I realised it, it ended eventually, and now even though women are not allperfect and a lot of them can do bad things as can a lot of men, I have to at least say that some of them I have developed a sense of empathy for and even respect, which some of them deserve in my opinion, because the fact that they're willing to laugh is in my opinion a sign that they've devolped respect or at least empathy for men. There is a difference between men and women when it comes to this fetish because women are by default of nature the natural dominants when it comes to this activity, however some of them have proven they have empathy and risen above it. Even though they cannot feel the mans pain when it comes to this, some of them still laugh, meaning that every time I have ever watched a mf or ff video, every time that a woman has lold at my touch in the past, it has been of her own will. Even if they do it for self gain a lot of the time e.g. money (in videos) it's still nice to know in my opinion that some of them are decent enough to actually be willing to be submissive and pretend to be ticklish even though they're not (I still respect / empathize with them and appreciate them if they do it for money, its fair exchange and they deserve money for laughing while being tickled on video, it still requires effort for them to take time out of their day to do it). I can't imagine how empty my life would have been if I'd never had the good times with tickle porn. I'd be a far more miserable person today if it wasn't for porn. At the same time I feel that women need to take value in the fact that this activity is somthing that requires exra sympathy for men, and personally I think i could tolerate being a Lee as long as I also get to ler when it's my turn even though I know its fake, it still feels good in my mind. In a way it makes it better , because it's like telling reality to go fuck itself. My fantasy was to be with a woman that shares my ticklishness, god has made women not ticklish, but some women still let me live out my fantasy by playing Lee / loling by choice and giving me the feeling of being a ler. In one way, when you get this knowledge you realize that no women are lees, but at the same time you realize that all women are lees, if you get what I'm saying, any of them can be a Lee if they want to be, they can consciously decide to be a lee. To the women out there that act in these videos, I am extremely greatful for these in ways I cannot possibly explain. I dont even think all men are ticklish, or at least some of them are barely ticklish, but I know from what I've figured out using science and even just the feeling in my head, that women are not ticklish without deliberarley laughing on a whole. This may seem depressing at first but the more you think about it the more you realize how much a female Lee is a person that doesn't really get credit for how cool she is. If it wasn't for these women, I'd have never seen a woman be ticklish in my entire life, but because of porn I've seen it no end of times. But not just because of porn , also because of the surprising good nature of what appears to be a lot of women. At the same time I feel its somewhat unfair that tickling isn't really addressed as potentially abusive a lot of the time and also it seems weird to me that why has a scientist not figured this out yet? This is Somthing that is unique to men with and its not even common knowledge that its only men that go through it. Even though I'm extremely greatful for all of the women lees (and when I say Lee I dont mean a woman that neccisarily acts ticklish all of the time, even if its just one time it still counts) I think that women still need to be sympathetic to some degree with men when it comes to tickling because they really dont know how bad it can be. If you're going to tickle a man I dont think its much to ask just to laugh if he tickles you back. It doesn't even matter if he knows you're laughing deliberately, if anything he'll just appreciate you more. Personally I think I'm done with relationships even though my experiences with women in the past have mostly not been negative, I'm just happy with porn and women dont throw themselves at me anyway and I CBA to out of my way to try to impress them. When it comes to the fake thing, yes women's ticklish reaction is fake, but that is what makes women so awesome, cos if it wasn't for them I wouldnt have all the good memories and experiences I've had of being a ler or watching porn with women tickling each other (f/f is always the best IMO) I dont know how many men or even women are aware of this I just find it strange that its not common knowledge? If you are a female reading this that is a lee, my message to you as a man is I really appreciate that there are women out their like you, but please take some sympathy in the fact that some men can find being tickled unpleasant and unless youve experienced being truly ticklish, then you really have no idea how bad it can be. if you lol if he tickles you back if you've already tickled him I think that stops most or all of the bad feelings at least for me. Anyone else had any similar experiences? I hope this helps anyone that is cofused about reality like I used to be. Peace.
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i spoke it out loud.
i spend like.. alot of time in my head now. no one cares to hear things without giving their dumbass opinion. sometimes i just need to say it out loud and today i opened up to a friend ive bonded very close with but havent been in alot of contact with which meant i had to explain scenarios from start to finish - not brief blips of anxiety fueled thoughts about details.
today i felt publically embarassed. it really, really bothered me that for all ive heard and listened to from him he bailed on my show that he volunteered to be apart of two fucking months ago. it wasnt like i forced him to be involved. i didnt even ask him like i wanted him to do it. it was very casual do you want to be apart of it - sure.
i dont think you understand. under all the shitty men ive stuck it out with being treated like a lesser human while building a reputation and skill in my field FROM FUCKING NOTHING while people fucking died and break ups i id nothing but GET FUCKING BETTER. not a god damn thing stopped me because i kept my personal life seperate.
but this didnt start seperate. and like i think he sees this as nothing when its fucking everything to me and im fucking tired of people seeing it as some junk hobby i do because im “unemployed”. and look - even i can see how fucked up it can be sometimes but people enjoy what i do. i give back to MY community which is compromised of atleast 100+ more people and giving back to a community is not defined in lare fucking numbers like i have to contribute to the whole of society. maybe i fucking am.
and i am really... im angry. im just straight up fucking angry and these things never even came up. none of this is questioned. he didnt insult me. he fucking BAILED which is probably the biggest insult of them all. like... i even brought up the fact he coul be about to cheat on me and i’m more pissed that he insulted me in such a way. do i have a fucking degree? do i pull a paycheck? no. but this is fucking valuable. i see it everytime my miserable piece of shit ass pulls together a gathering or event. the fucking city approached me because i created a product they wanted and for the fucking INTEGRITY of the community i stood up and offered my professional reputation on the line to do better. and you cant show up to a fucking 16 person event and read a god damn story? really? that is an embarassment on my behalf to my personal colleagues and god damnit i fucking live here and i have no choice but to work with this because i want better now not 5 years down the road when im all settled and everything is just a thing i do on the weekends. why cant i contribute now. why cant i build myself this way.
so even if you thin these colleagues are unworthy - you stepped into my fucking realm and you so deeply disrespect something i have built from nothing. my professional reputation is associated with your piece of shit fly by night ass and you know what? my fucking bad. i would never in a million years put up with this shit from anyone not puttin gtheir dick in me so this is absolutely ridiculous. i cant even tolerate this in myself any longer and i hope - honestly - i fucking hope you used this as a leaping point into your big break up because this is what’ll make it stick. right. because you “cant fuck someone else” to solidify an ending but you can assault me in multiple ways.
and we both fucking know. we both legitimately fucking know what happened and thats why were not fucking and thats why youre not trying. this - this is all just natural now. and when they ask me ill have to act dumb - oh i have no idea why hes just this crazy guy its what he does when we both know and this sick twisted brain turned to fucking shit. who rehashes such shit. i was with a guy for way fucking longer than almost any of my current peers and i am not fucking with him but you dont think we didnt grow up together? we ha a whole fucking lifetime together, really. i shared an entire thing that no one else fucking knows about but us but you think i ned to rehash that shit with him? fuck no.
ironic right. i wanted to say how toxic it is to be addicted to the past but i would know. i would fucking know the most and we’re all matthew mccougnhey in dazed nd confused addicted to the past to the nostalgia care free late teens early 20s but we’re fucking old and everyone else has grown up but us and we’re here in the ghettos of the wasted suburbs, drinking and smoking weed to numb the fact that we hit our peaks at 16.
do i even give a fuck? like i give A fuck. clearly. im thiining about it. but not in the sense that im hurt. like its some deep offense that he would do such things. i have never believed a word he has said about our relationship. i believe any mention of long term past next week is a fucking joke. but he’s also incredibly kind to me. an i dont think at all that he would carry on some “affair” in private - THATS not our deal.
i dont care that hes talking to her. the grief process is hard and this is a fucked up situation. that doesnt bother me. i think its super wrong to carry on a relationship with this person in close measures but finding a path through grief - whether 2,3,5 years; i get it. does he need to fuck her? nope. and i have had a strange enough relationship - i am not interested in carrying on one tht is knowingly false.
he told me he didnt love me a few weeks ago. before that in another major blow up he mentioned how that particular fight woul lead to a “scar” that woul sit on the relationship. not that it woud be brought up again but acknowledging that he was and is creating real scars emotionally and mentally. it’s not manipulative - i’m here of my own freewill, i deal of my own free will. and this happens not often enough to be a malicious attempt at control. and we dont talk about things. ever. an entire year where we have never spoken about the details of these things we both COMPLEteLY KNOW ABOUT. like we both know he kind of sexually assaulted me for real. and isay for real because of the nature of our relationship but we both strayed from the necessary things for such a relationship that wouldve led to this not even happening and i dont “blame” myself. i absolutely did not want to have sex with him. absolutely did not. i said i did not want to have sex with him. i said no. i did not physically stop him in any way because of the nature of our relationship and the disrespect of my own body as well as maybe a need for approval from him because i associate sex in an intimate romantic relationship as an expression of love from a sexual person. and its hard because i do legitimately feel asexual; i have no interest. i have actual no interest and i feign interest or find ways to be interested to a degree but i dont care. so i am in a position where i am frequently disconnectin from the physical act happening to my body because i may not even be necessarily enjoying it on that sexual level. to me its an appendage inserted in a hole and it’s kind of invasive and a really od experience with someone. like its just odd to do that with a person and share eachother like that - TO ME. but this is like fighting homosexuality. i cant argue a sexual persons desires.
so i enter a relationship already essentially to a technical definition being assaulted. im never truly having consensual sex because i have no desire but i guess i do consent to the invasion of my body. i dont disagree with it happening because if i love you i dont really care if thats your thing. its not that big of a deal. brushing your teeth, taking a shower. all just things you do. this is what a majority of eople do.
but we both fucking know. no matter how many times we had sex where it started with a playful no we both know i absolutely did not want this. my body did not even want it and he still kept going and i was not even making noise and he still kept going and the air was not right when it was over because he STILL KEPT GOING. i was not upset. i did not cry. i didnt lament for hours on it. i turned over and went to sleep because he didnt hurt me. he broke my trust. i’m not traumatized by the experience, i wont put him on the “bad boyfriend” list and make him out to be a predator because hes not. i dont know why he did this. maybe he thought it was okay and he convinced himself it was okay when it wasnt.
we didnt talk about this. we didnt mention it at all but when he heard no next time he immediately stopped. when he heard it again, he immediately stopped. and everytime after, his hands immediately dropped from my body. we both know. can he apologize? we both know. i know he knows. there is zero reason for this change in behavior.
the last time i saw him he drove me to his house so i could smoke weed because of period cramps. and then he dropped out. hes too far in the dog house now and hes not even going to try to get out. this is tooooooo far. on top of everything else when im literally doing nothing but existing in my own shit life. i already look at him now and i dont see the same thing and i want to. but i keep asking myself what the fuck is this where are we going. and ive asked it for an entire year. i asked it so much his face changed and im still the same because i have a need to not give up even when its time.
and you know. had he called me and said im tired/got home late/too much traffic /tried & failed on story and made a genuine effort to seem apologetic on a personal level to me id probably be okay. but instead he just said “sorry. not going.” and ignored all further calls and texts. thats disgusting and like im trying and have been trying really hard to mentally be a better person and this was one of those times he had an opportunity to not do this and he did exactly what i would expect him to do following a stupid message like that.
now what? now hes created a thing. now i gotta wait the fucking 2 - 3 days for him to think i forgot about it or am not as angry so we can sit in the same room, not talk about it and carry on as normal.
but you know what? i was pissed. and i ruminated. but i didnt act. i sent a succinct few messages less than 160 characters asking him to call me and asking if there was any way to get a ride and moved on because all i know is that he’s never goingt o be involved in any of my professional shit ever again. hes totally disbarred from this project and even though hes been a big supporter in the past i dont need this emotional drama involved. totally ot worth it an not valuable to anyone so i dont need a long message because im just going to do whatever i want an not involve him. he doesnt need a big dramatic thing about it. and fuck you that i cant even get a ride. why even waste the energy involved in the dramatic message. thats my message this time. my message is the time he absolutely 100% expects me to send the ramatic message.
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