#do five goddamn fucking minutes of research

[ehlnofay]

still thinking about the upsetting npc I had the displeasure of meeting yesterday. fuck the shivering isles

[lethalhoopla]

imagine you're getting a rare research-and-liquor-based sleepover with your bestie after you've had to split ways across the continent to further bear the responsibility of entire nations/peoples when your other best friend and the love of his life/literal Champion of a city-state bust in and inform you that yet another Big Bad is in fact Bad At Staying Fucking Dead

or, I finally came up with an excuse to riff on this post:

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

One of my big executive function struggles is feeding myself.

I live alone (apart from the cat). I lose track of time when I’m involved in a project, and I don’t feel hungry so much as tired a lot of the time, which tends to lead to the wrong solution.

I hate taking five minutes to make myself food. If I have energy, it feels like I’m wasting time that could be spent writing or researching or whatever. And if I don’t have energy… FUCK. Even peeling a banana is beyond me.

When I drove to work, pre-pandemic, this often meant Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast, Burger King for dinner, maybe head over to the bakery for a sandwich at lunch. I’d try not to do all three on the same day, but… I never had the patience to make food.

But now I work from home in the suburbs. There’s not a lot of places in easy driving distance, and only a few of them deliver. Food I get through Uber Eats or Grub Hub arrives cold. Always. I’m signed up to one of those weekly meal delivery services but they keep raising the prices and now I’m down to 4 meals a week.

I’m not asking for money, btw. I can afford to feed myself, I just don’t have the energy.

Now, in today’s society, this is considered lazy. Inefficient. How many times have we seen people saying working class people waste their money on fast food, and don’t they realize it’s cheaper to buy and cook healthy fresh foods? And you can say over and over again about the cost of exhaustion, but there’s still this sense of “no, you should be able to do this, just like everyone always has, this generation is just lazy…”

Not just from other people. Got that voice in my head, too.

And whenever it starts to get abusively loud, I just remind myself:

Working class apartments in Ancient Rome didn’t have kitchens. Apartment blocks (insulae) had shops on the ground floor, especially bakeries and places that sold quick hot food you could eat on your way to work, maybe with a few seats along a bar where you could rest for five minutes on your break.

Not just a few. These were goddamn EVERYWHERE.

We’ve known for two thousand years that people who work all day don’t have the energy or resources to cook for themselves. Longer, because Rome didn’t invent this, it’s just well-known there cuz Rome.

Anyway. I think if as a society we just accepted that “people don’t have the energy to cook but still need healthy food” is a real and valid issue, we could find some affordable fucking solutions. And step one is to stop blaming people (and ourselves) for not having that energy.

[eviesaurusrex]

“ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴛ.” | ꜱ. ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ

Doctor Stephen Strange x Surgeon!Reader

summary: What about seducing your workaholic boyfriend Stephen to a snack, a cuddle and massage session and neck kisses, cause he NEEDS a break and some love?

word count: 3.3k

warnings: workaholic behavior, stress, exhaustion, fluff, curse words, mentions of smut at the very end

author’s note: This is another request I’m really looking forward to write! Have fun :3

Sighing deeply, YN pushed open the door to leave the scrub-in room of OR 3 while pulling the cotton cap off her head. A long yawn escaped her opened mouth which she hid behind the unlocked tablet, and strolled over to the nurse's desk right opposite the OR schedule and heavily leaned against the wood. The tablet found its spot in front of her so she could quickly finish up the surgical report to be added to her patient's file, so she could finally have her breakfast break at a decent time for the first time in months. She loved her job, really, she did, but sometimes she hated it with her entire being. Not the part where she could help people with her vast knowledge and skills, but the part where her pager constantly woke her up in the middle of the goddamn night, even though she wasn't even on-call. But being the head of a department brought its consequences which rarely were gradually positive.

"Doctor LN!"

Groaning, the called surgeon propped her elbows on top of the nurse's desk and started to massage her temples with the tips of both pointer and middle finger.

"Stop shouting as if a helicopter is right next to you in the middle of departure," she scolded one of the interns - ducklings, as most of the attendings called them - but took the brought coffee nonetheless. "Sorry, Doctor LN." He seemed crushed, and YN sighed a second time within the last few minutes. "Whatever. What's on it today?" Even though she stepped into this hospital five hours ago, she hadn't started with her usual duties in the slightest. The next long day ahead of her was something she loved but envied at the same time, and this feeling of utter conflict in her mind wasn't very pleasant. "The ER paged you for a council, Doctor Macy-..." YN took a sip of her coffee before snapping her fingers and pointing one in his direction as a thought occurred. "PEDs, right?" The intern nodded. "Yup! She wants a second opinion on her CF patient and specifically requested you." It didn't surprise her because, during her med studies, YN had published a paper about cystic fibrosis - as one of the youngest in her field of studies. Her future research had recently gotten the approval of the FDA, and as soon as the funds were here, she could finally start to find a (long-lasting) cure.

While her intern for today rambled over more points on their agenda - she already had forgotten his name, but that was the case with every newer face in her life - her gaze shifted back to the OR schedule, which had just got updated for the next upcoming surgeries. And something on it didn't quite fit with her.

"Are you fucking kidding me."

It wasn't a particular question, just a shoutout, an expression of her thoughts and feelings at this exact moment.

Her eyes moved over the whiteboard again, looking for the one name in question, and the displeased expression on YN's face deepened even more, if that was still possible. She put the barely half-drunken coffee cup next to her tablet, the report still not written. "Go ahead and tell them I will be in the pit in a couple of minutes for that council," was all she said before the cardiothoracic surgeon grabbed the bunched-up cap from the desk and crossed the hallway with a purpose and mission in mind.

"Is everything alright, or do we have to prepare ourselves for the biggest earthquake this century has seen so far?" Doctor James Chamberlain asked the confused intern while Doctor Nicodemus West cackled behind his tablet. "Someone is in trouble," he almost sang, and James laughed snortingly, sitting with half of his bottom on the nurse desk's edge. "He can count himself a lucky man if he leaves this OR standing straight." Now, both doctors cackled in utter amusement, but the intern was more confused than ever before because he definitely never expected that his favorite attending dated someone as cruel as Strange.

;

The soft tunes of Feelin' Happy by Lee Oskar echoed through OR 1, in which Stephen had just wrapped up an eight-hour surgery with the energy of a man who could've slept the entire night but was actually awake for longer than he thought.

"Edges are looking perfect - what a surprise - and the tumor is officially gone. The counter is rising up to... what? Thirteen successful tumor removals after four different councils by four different doctors?" Jack - the nurse present at most of his surgeries - scoffed softly. "It's tumor fourteen now, sir." Stephen let his head fall back and raised both hands, still holding his instruments. "Feelin' good!" He exclaimed before another voice entered the conversation: "I don't believe so, Doctor Strange."

The neurosurgeon moved his gaze from the ceiling to the arriving woman who had just put on the face mask, but her eyes told him everything he needed to know. He knew he had done something to offend or displease her - and his entire surgical team knew it as well. Jack turned down the music's volume and cleared his throat awkwardly, disrupting the dense silence suddenly covering the OR. The only sounds were the beeping heart monitor and the oxygenator.

"Doctor LN."

Everyone greeted her with the utmost respect - some even with a hint of fear - even though she was younger than most of the attendings and heads of departments throughout the hospital. But she had earned every title, nomination, and prize she had gained or won so far because everyone knew what a hardworking and intelligent woman she was.

"How can I help you at this fine early morning, Doctor LN?" Stephen's almost mocking question was first answered by a scoff. "It's almost noon if you haven't noticed, but of course, you didn't because you've been in here since last night when I left." The displeasure was now very vivid to hear for every single soul inside the room. Stephen looked up from the pulsing brain in front of him and the lamp attached to his head blinded her for a second there. "Well, an emergency came in," he defended himself though the shock pulsed through his entire body. He hadn’t noticed how the time had moved past him and his intention to leave not later than two hours after her, so he could get at least one round of cuddles before she would be dead to the world in his arms.

You fucked up good, idiot.

Yeah, he noticed that now.

YN wasn't impressed in the slightest. "An emergency aneurysm clipping doesn't take five hours. I'm not stupid, Stephen, so don't treat me as if I am. This tumor removal you just did there got scheduled last night - on a whim, might I add." She probably sounded crazy, but she worried for him more than it was probably good for her sanity because the Strange was a lost cause in this aspect of life. The doctor shrugged under the light blue operation gown.

"I saved his life."

"You risked it too in that egoistic move after you decided it would be wise to try your hands on it after a twelve hours shift without any sleep or a proper lunch or dinner. You are way out of line, Stephen, and I am obviously the only one who dares to mention it and kick your ass out of this freaking OR." She spiraled into this feeling, she knew it, but YN couldn't help it. Not when it came to Stephen's health and wellbeing. It was her duty as a girlfriend to care about these things, especially if he didn't do it himself—one of them had to. "So, move your ass out now, or I will drag it out myself. Your choice." She cocked both eyebrows in mock anticipation, preparing herself for the latter because she knew him, but Stephen slowly put down the delicate surgical instruments back on the surgical tray and stepped back from the patient. "You can close up, Hawthorne, but don't let your stitches get sloppy," he told his favorite resident of the week and stepped out of the OR, passing his glaring girlfriend with a mockingly cocked eyebrow as if to say, "See? I am a responsible adult."

Back in the scrub-in room, YN waited until Stephen had discarded the gloves and OR gown and finally turned to her while he ripped off his face mask. His face wasn't furies as she had anticipated. Instead, his signature cocky smirk graced his lips before he pulled her into him, pressing their bodies against one another. Her confusion was soon changed with a playfully annoyed roll of her eyes. "You can boss me around in those dark blue scrubs as long and often you want, Doctor LN," he smirked and laughed softly as her flat palm hit the back of his head. "You're an idiot, you know that, don’t you?" Stephen cocked a brow, never going to admit that he, indeed, was sometimes an idiot when it came to the woman in his arms. "And it's not as if you're not seeing me in those like every day of the week for the past six years," she reminded him, and now he shrugged. "I can't change the effect you have on me, but not only in them, of course." Rolling her eyes again, YN tucked at the shirt of his scrubs and looked up to him with a pleading glim in her eyes.

"You work too much," she whispered.

"I do god's work, darling," he whispered back and pecked the tip of her nose with the softest of kisses.

YN hit the back of his head again. "You can't do god's work when you're not rested and on the top of your game. I only ask for a healthy snack, some carbs, something to drink, and a nap. Nothing more, nothing less. I can reschedule your next three surgeries and put them up for the next few days, but today will be a day full of rest and stupid rounds, okay? Please?" Now she loaded her gun and looked up at him with those big pleading eyes he could never resist. "Pretty please? I will be there too. I can provide cuddles if you like." She played dirty now, they both knew it, but Stephen couldn't resist the tempting offer.

He already had been hooked after the promise of her company in one of the on-call rooms.

He bent down to give her a gentle kiss, cupping her face with both hands. "What do I have to do for your famous neck massage?" His request was whispered in a husky tone, and YN started to smile before kissing him again. "You don't have to do anything to get what you want, but I'm not opposed to more kisses," she grinned, and the surgeon pulled her into his side to leave the surgical floor to find one of the less frequented on-call rooms in their hospital.

—

Outside, still leaning opposite the surgical schedule, waited West and Chamberlain, and the other neurosurgeon groaned at the sight of the still happy couple leaving the floor together. Chamberlain chuckled and closed his fingers around the given ten-dollar note. "Thank you for your service," he grinned victoriously, and Nic rolled his eyes. He should have known that these two were each other's endgame and nothing could ruin their peace, not even themself.

;

Taking one of the tablets with them so YN could finally get that surgical report done as soon as Stephen would be dead to the world, they entered their preferred on-call room. It sat between the PEDs wing and the supply closets, so rarely anybody ventured in here, and the room was all theirs.

The couple took the single bed under the windows, and while she closed the blinds to keep the sun out, the neurosurgeon plopped down onto the new mattress the hospital had bought recently—and groaned. YN chuckled at that sound and situated herself behind his back after kicking off her sneakers, kneeling on the soft mattress, and pressing her legs against his hips.

She may be a bit clingy sometimes, but gladly, Stephen never objected to it. Instead, he reveled in it.

Propping her chin atop his right shoulder in order to see what the man in front of her was doing, YN hummed, interested. “And there I was thinking you’d let work be work for at least an hour. Silly me,” she whispered, breath fanning over the sensitive skin under his ear, and the doctor groaned again, raspier now. “You are an evil one,” he returned, and with a chuckle, she kissed the spot right under his ear. “I know.” But then, she grabbed her pager and paged one of her interns to get some food and some liquid at the cafeteria, so Stephen could finally rest.

“Food is on its way,” YN informed him and intended to start the promised neck massage, but another look over his shoulder showed her something she really didn’t like. The newest brain scans literally screamed for her attention.

“Stephen, no.”

Her hands shot out over his shoulder and tried to grab the tablet out of his, but the doctor held it further away and turned it so that she could see the beautiful scans of an even more beautiful nail in it. “Look at it!” His demand fell on deaf ears. “Give it to me, now.” YN almost got it. “Stephen, no! I mean it!” With one last effort, she leaned over his shoulder and grabbed the device, but the workaholic chuckled. “Stephen, yes,” he returned and acquired it again out of her tight grasp.

Only hell knew how he had done it.

With an exasperated sigh, YN took matters into her own hands and put her fingers back on his neck and upper back muscles, and started to massage. She applied the perfect amount of pressure—it wasn’t their first time she had to practically drag him away from work—and let her thumbs work through the taut splenius capitis muscle, directly followed by the levator scapulae muscle and the trapezius muscle.

With the beginning of the first overworked muscle, Stephen let his eyes fall shut, the tablet long forgotten in his hand, and a deep, rumbling moan escaped his parted lips. A satisfied sigh followed right after as the doctor felt the soft lips of his girlfriend on his skin, peppering loving kisses all over his neck where her hands didn’t work their magic.

“You must be a sorceress,” he groaned at a particular taut spot which soon was smooth as butter, and the tension slowly dispersed out of his tense body. He knew now that he worked too much and started to make plans to work less and spend more time with this godsend of a woman, but they both knew that those thoughts would be short-lived. He loved what he did too much for it—and that was okay because she was there to remind him from time to time to take it easy. “Don’t flatter me too much, love,” she whispered shortly before pressing another set of kisses onto his neck, her thumbs still working effortlessly through the muscles.

His next moan followed a hesitant knock at the door. “Uhm… Doctor LN…?” The voice of her intern asked, and YN had to chuckle but continued her work. “You can come in!” She had to raise her voice because Stephen moaned particularly loud this time but seemingly didn’t notice the arrival of his food. The door opened as hesitantly as his voice had sounded, and a head looked around the door to check if the situation was at least PG13. “Sorry, Doctor Strange, for interrupting,” he mumbled, but the neurosurgeon didn’t even acknowledge his presence. “Here is the pastrami sandwich, the chips, a package of carrots, and the water. The ER has paged me again for the consult, but I told them that you’re preoccupied, so they admitted the CF patient, and you can see her on the PEDs floor as soon as you’re… done.” His eyes shot to the sighing neurosurgeon before clearing his throat awkwardly and putting the food next to the two doctors on the mattress. “I… will handle anything else, Doctor LN, until you’re done here.” And with that, her intern turned on the spot and almost ran to leave this room behind.

Chuckling, YN kissed the spot underneath his ear another time, and Stephen sighed somewhere deep in his chest. “How do I deserve you?” His voice came out as a breathless groan, and the woman would have to lie if she said it didn’t do anything to her—quite the opposite was the case. But now, the man in front of her needed her more than she had to cave to her needs and desires. “That’s my question to ask, love,” the surgeon laughed softly before reaching down to get the sandwich. She reached over his shoulder and let it fall on his lap. “Eat,” was all YN said, and Stephen groaned another time. “Did I ever tell you how irresistible you are when you boss people around and shout orders? It’s bloody enticing. Could watch you all day…” He bit in his sandwich as told and YN continued in massaging his neck and working her hands down to his shoulders and upper arms.

“You always know a way to a woman’s heart.” Stephen hummed while chewing. “Well, I managed to find a way into yours. It’s all I ever wanted, darling, ever since meeting you for the first time.”

You really are a lucky woman, the voice in her head whispered, and she only could agree. Yes, sometimes Stephen was a pain in the ass, but nothing came without flaws, and she loved every single of them. It’s what a good relationship was made out of, she supposed.

“I recall a different reaction to the first sight of my face, but that’s a topic for another day,” she grinned but squealed at his sudden movements to grab and drag her onto his lap, the sandwich now forgotten on the small table next to the bed. “This was my not so thoroughly thought-through attempt at masking my real thoughts about the stunning woman entering the lecture hall and choosing the spot next to me because it was the spot with the best acoustic. But inside my head? My former self constantly screamed for your attention,” the Strange revealed in a hushed whisper, their faces only mere inches apart. His nose brushed against hers before Stephen dove for a hungry kiss; her magical hands had let desire boil up in his body, and he never could keep his hands off her.

Giggling, YN tangled her fingers in his dark hair and softly moaned as Stephen maneuvered her body so she could sit on his lap with spread legs, feeling the ever-growing bulge in his scrubs rubbing against the apex of her thighs. “Is the door locked?” His voice was strained by lust, and the doctor moaned against her soft lips as YN let her hips circle against his. “I don’t care,” she breathlessly whispered and laughed as the man underneath her became impatient—as he always did—and turned them. Now she was lying on the mattress with Stephen on top of her—his hair already deliciously tussled and pupils blown by the appetite for the woman pressed against his body. “Are we risky today?” Stephen teased her as his hands ran under her scrubs and pushed the shirt slowly up to reveal naked, soft skin inch by inch, his lips following his skilled fingers. YN moaned at the tickling but burning feeling of lips against skin but buried her fingers in his hair again to pull him upwards and back to her hungry lips. “Stop talking,” she demanded, almost muffled by his attacking mouth. “Impatient as always.”

Stephen grinned into the kiss. This was most definitely his preferred way to start the day.

;

This one took so long (I don’t know why), but now I’m happy with how this turned out. Hope you liked it too! As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

Taglist: @harpywritesfic @strangeions @meeksmusic83 @apple-and-berry @ben-er-ino @multifandomrandomgirl @lucimorningst4r @samisubi @hunterofshadows04 @y-napotat @lejuveinlegroove @ohchoices @jyessaminereads

[soleminisanction]

Have I ranted before about how the Devil's Square makes no fucking sense?

So I'm trying to write the next part of Batgirl, Repentant, and more fool me, that means I need to go back and re-read parts of Batgirl (2009) for research. And like what always happens when I do that, I noticed yet another detail that stops working when you stop to think about it for even a moment.

Because see, on the second page of the third issue, we get these two moments in rapid succession.

Scarecrow's hideout is in "Gotham's Western Quadrant, the Devil's Square," established in the previous issue as a bad neighborhood, quote, "Otherwise known as 'Thunderdome.'" This place is treated like it's a Big Stinkin' Deal for the first two arcs (maybe the first year? I don't remember clearly and I don't want to go any further down this rabbit hole than I have) of this series, but nothing about it makes sense.

We are never ever given a clear reason why this neighborhood is supposedly such a uniquely terrible place, but it's supposedly so bad that it's worth making a whole terrible philosophy lecture out of why criminals would choose to stay there.

But the closest thing we get is that, at one point, Professor Exposition describes it as "a demilitarized zone."

Which does not make any goddamn sense because that would require Gotham City as a whole to be the location of an ongoing military conflict. Y'know, like the one between the Koreas.

I can only assume, given Brian Miller et al's tendency to do zero research on even the most basic of plot elements (see also: labeling all of Stephanie's obviously freshman-level college classes with 400-level designations intended for seniors or grad students) that what he actually meant here was autonomous zone. Like the CHAZ, as imagined by your Republican uncle. The implication being that this is an area of town that's been completely abandoned by police and emergency services, reducing it to a lawless wasteland where criminals roam free. (A no man's land, you might say. 🙄)

EXCEPT. APPARENTLY. LITERALLY ONE ISSUE LATER. We get the panels I started this post off with, where Steph arrives at Scarecrow's hide-out in the Devil's Square and we get EXPLICIT confirmation that the police will be there in five minutes.

That's all to say nothing of the fact that it being "Gotham's Western Quadrant" that's been cut off makes zero sense on its face. Besides implying that's an entire QUARTER of the city that's just been completely abandoned, Steph at one point describes it as being "on the west bank of the Gotham River."

There is no west bank of the Gotham River. Gotham is on a series of islands off the coast of New Jersey. The west bank of the Gotham River is the MAINLAND where Bristol and the suburbs are.

Gotham's geography is super fluid and can change from book to book, but it being on an island connected only by a series of bridges was a big deal in this era and the only reason the No Man's Land concept even worked. If you're gonna rip that plot off, Miller, you gotta use an eastern neighborhood. Or a northern one. Or even a southern tip. Anything but west. That's like saying there's an east side of Chicago.

[tobiasdrake]

It's over, Erlina. Bring me Aephorul.

Oh, there he is. Good job. Thanks.

HEY. RUDE. Did no one ever teach you that it's not polite to killsteal?

I had a whole pre-mortem speech prepared about how she and I aren't so different in the lengths we'd go to for the people we love, and you ruined it. Ugh, I want to break your neck so bad.

Oh. There you are.

You're not about to tell me I can't wring this guy's neck, right? You were there for my Statement of Intent. You knew what this was about. I will go through you to get to him. I am nowhere near as attached to you as I am to Garl.

No, it's time for him to die, is what it's time for. I want my pound of Fleshmancer.

...what final surprise? Your big thing was Erlina and we beat her. What more could you possibly have--

Oh, fuck me. I got vengeance in my eyes and somehow I completely forgot about Strife. Shit. Right. Fused with the Acolytes to become a whole new kind of thing. A World Eater, I'm guessing.

UGGGGGGH I hate this fucking guy so much.

I'm neurodivergent. I get that being bored can be the most insufferable agony in the world. But get a fucking hobby, man.

Yeah, yeah. Come on, Zale. Let's go god-fight the apocalypse.

Not if Strife has anything to say about it, you're not. *sigh* It never ends. It never goddamn ends. I am not looking forward to whatever immortal eternity vigil we're going to have to perform after this.

Once this is done, I am taking a long-ass vacation and y'all are coming with me. That is not a request.

If you guys could, like, research ways to get my hands around Aephorul's neck while we're gone, that'd be great. Maybe dedicate part of your civilization to it or something. Maybe with a statue of me while we're at it.

Oh, but that is just a friendly request, not some sort of god decree. I'm not going to Great Eagle this shit. Just. If you could. For me.

I don't know why you needed both of us when we've never been apart for more than five minutes, but we love you too, Teaks. Have a good life.

And maybe put those skills to work helping us figure out how to murder Aephorul, because I trust you more than anyone when it comes to deciphering obscure lore.

But don't let that take you away from the most important calling in your life: Writing better fucking tomes. I want Zenith Academy stocked with Teaks Originals of all--

Oh, shit. We're leaving Zenith Academy completely unstaffed. Well, we cleared out all the Dwellers and chased the Acolytes out so hopefully they won't need any more Solstice Warriors ever again. Otherwise those kids will just have to do with an empty school, a bunch of books, and a plank of wood that reads "GOOD LUCK".

I can't speak for Zale but you'll be hearing plenty from me, bestie.

But I really can't delay any longer or else your planet's going to be devoured by a cosmic monstrosity.

Alright, Zale. We're gods now. We must conduct ourselves as such. Dignity. Decorum.

CHOKE

ON

MY

RADIANCE

FUCKWORM

Like gods do.

Come on, Zale. It's going to be a long vigil.

But first: Back down to the planet. Because it's party time.

[wiltf]

you’re five minutes into filling in the headline with a pen, when your phone buzzes.

twice. three times.

and you are determined to ignore it, because you are. not stubborn, but insistent. researching. intently reading the necessary magazines and were in fact busy studying the local lineup, thank you. definitely, absolutely, not being stubborn and ignoring your phone.

god, you can’t even convince yourself that you’re not being a dick.

phone flipped over, and there are too many notifications for the shit brick to deal with. clogged up and awkwardly glitching over each other, but the lil rain cloud is still apparent. stupid lil icons and stupid lil messages and you’re opening them anyway, because you’re a dick and a sook and plant your cheek on your desk, holding the phone in front of your eyes.

threatening to go cross-eyed.

ah, fuck it. phone rings, screen turns on, and you look like shit. it takes about five rings for seven to pick up, and he looks equally fucked up. bleary-eyed, cheek on desk. a line in his forehead that doesn’t look right.

you’re not sure what to even say.

“so.”

“so.”

who said it first? second? god. shit. fuck. girl, help. you barely showered and your hair is still damp and you can still remember the way he held you. the way you literally broke rule number one of being in a band.

but on the other hand, you totally got why fleetwood mac was able to produce the music it did. would that also be a dick move to write — y’know what, thought for later.

right now, you’re just holding seven’s gaze, until he’s sinking his teeth into his lower lip and. he’s in the same way. you know that look — you know that look — and it’s all about reaching through the screen and kissing him and going back in time and shaking yourself and towelling down your hair and hanging up and,

and,

you bite the bullet. “how’s your morning been?”

“bit cold when i woke up…”

yep, that was a really noticeable wince from you. well you didn’t mean to run out. you panicked! a normal reaction. totally normal for someone who blurred that line of friendship and sexual (and maybe romantic?) because she had a big dumb mouth and he had a big dumb—

hm. no. stop that train of thought. “seven, i just—”

“we can go back to before, if you want.”

it was always wild to you that people thought seven was cool and calm. he had those big baby doe eyes that gave far too much away, especially when they were turned on you. got you doing all kinds of stupid shit growing up, because seven was. is.

“i don’t think i know how to. only so many friendships survive seeing each other naked.”

you mean for it to come off as a joke. it doesn’t land. sure, you’d seen each other in whatever over the years but there was a difference between outright seeing that like last night. and touching. and kissing. and putting your lips on him the way you did.

“jen, do you—do you not want to—”

loud swallow. adam’s apple bobbing. the bruise is visible, the one you left there. but his eyes are going red and you’re torn between it all. because you fucking loved last night and you got all those fantastic feelings rushing through you and it was seven but then you woke up and realised. you fucked up. you crossed that line and you don’t know how to go back because he looks like he’s gonna cry and your hormones were sitting right there with you. going crazy.

“i fucking love you, dude,” you say, all thick and heavy and his lips were looking a lil bruised too. goddamn. “i shouldn’t have… i ruined it.”

because you were horny and in love and riding off a high from the last gig and seven was there. always just in reach. and you’d noticed him from day one but something about last night just. “i shouldn’t have asked you to fuck.”

“saying like i didn’t want to.”

you snort, despite the situation. “yeah, you made that pretty obvious.”

his turn, corners of his mouth jumping just a fraction. “i meant what i said last night, too.”

“i know.” pause, before you exhale. sit upright. “me too.”

“i know,” seven says in a way that is definitely threatening on repeating yourselves into a cycle of ‘me too’s. and last time you did that, it got very close to a few tears and wails and throwing yourselves at each other.

actually,

“what are you doing now?”

puff of air that hits the curls across his forehead. “honestly? was gonna spend all day thinking about calling you, so that’s as far as i got with planning.” there is that slip of a smile now, all sexy and cute and tempting you through a crackly screen.

but you know. that underneath it, in the corner of it, was that anxiety you felt. it’s not quite gone from your chest, and the regret is still heavy. it’ll probably keep you up at night for far too long, because it’ll be that little worm in the back of your mind, about whether you should’ve crossed that line.

“wanna come over? i have new face masks and like four bags of popcorn going out of date soon.”

“you always know how to treat me right.”

seven is all a blush high on his cheeks and curls framing his face in all the right ways. looking at you like he had last night. maybe you’ll talk about it. maybe you’ll put it into a song. put those words in a bottle and throw it into the ocean.

“see you soon?”

“always.”

man, you were so fucking in love with him.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

dialogue prompts

so there’s this thing I do every so often where I put out a list of quotes as a prompt list, because as someone once told me, I live in a goddamn sitcom. anywhom, send a number and a character/ship/whatever and I’ll do what I can with that

“Some of you know where I live which means the threat of one of you setting my house on fire is very real, so it would be in my best interest to be careful.”

“Open up jackass, I need my glasses.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” “Like in general? No.”

“It’s Tuesday. I need at least a full cup of coffee in my system before I start dealing with being alive.”

“Can I ask what’s up with the box of Polaroid cameras?” “The what?” “…do you not know about the Polaroid cameras?”

“Are you committing satanic rituals in there? Like if I gave you a doll, would you stick pins in it?”

“I will recite an entire monologue outside your office, and don’t think I won’t!”

“Don’t twist my nipple, dude.”

“Did you know that some figs have dead wasps inside?” “I did, actually.” “Of course you know, you’re so hot.”

“Which came first, the chicken or the bat?”

“You were a wanted man?” “Yeah, that was a weird week.”

“So you know camels?” “Where is he going with this?”

“Stop objectifying my massage therapist.”

“Go save him from himself please.”

“Girlboss in a way that makes sense for you.”

“Son of a…” “Bitch.”

“I don’t know if you know, but your dad-” “Oh no, I know.”

“Hey! You are not preschoolers. Wait your turn.”

“I love watching Gen Z kids try to figure out millennial technology.” “Hey I got the cassette player to work!”

“I’ve gotten to break the news to two people that Waffle Houses are closing in Florida and I kind of love it.”

“So we agree, right?” “Oh I don’t have a doubt in my mind.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re still basically a child.”

“Hold on.” “Oh they're going to kill him.”

“Hey are you busy?” “Yes.” “Ha! Get fucked.”

“Okay, something just gave me gender euphoria, but if I try and explain it it’s not going to make sense and it’s actually going to sound really bad.”

“You look insane, what’s up?” “Guess what came in the mail.”

“If I gave you a prompt on American cheese and asked you to write a research paper on it, what would you do?”

“That was a long sigh.” “You try dealing with assholes all day.”

“Sophomore year? What happened- no.”

“Do you know who that was?” “Are you kidding? Of course not.”

“You look like shit.” “Thank you for that.”

“I don’t like the way you just implied you couldn’t legally drive in the state of Illinois.”

“Is that okay?” “Yes.” “You’re still going to be anxious about it aren’t you?” “Also yes.”

“I really appreciate you not just straight up calling me a lesbian.”

“So I learned a thing or two about myself this weekend.”

“Important question. Have you watched the Vampire Diaries?” “No? Do I look like someone who would?”

“Mom, my pants broke!”

“I was gone for not even five minutes, where did the hedgehog come from?”

“Oh no you don’t. You three! Wait a minute. I need you little shits to help me with something.”

“Looks like I’m ruining Christmas this year.” “Why?” “Thanksgiving is taken.”

“Hey.” “Again?”

“Go to the doctor.” “No.” “Why not?” “I don’t like doctors.” “I don’t care. Go.”

“I won’t lie, you seem like the type of person who could get away with murder if you really wanted to. Like you’d only kill someone for a legitimate reason but no one would find out.”

“I feel like under different circumstances, I also would have been a bisexual whore.”

“Well fuck me in the ass.” “No thanks!”

“No really, I have it right here… hey what’s today’s date?” “It’s the __, why?” “Look. This is the second time this has happened.”

“If you have your gay awakening to Cara Delevigne, I’m disowning you.”

“Do you have a graphing calculator?” “Why would they have a graphing calculator?” “Yeah I do, hold on.” 

“It is 3pm on a Wednesday. Could they not wait?”

“So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go down to the football field, you’re going to find the head coach, you’re going to find a tackling dummy. Tuck your head, lead with your shoulder. I believe in you.”

[emphasisonthehomo]

📓 i'd like to hear some of your au ideas!

BOY HOWDY, I’D LIKE TO TELL YOU

I think the gang should be able to do some criminal crime. As a treat.

So here’s a vague Leverage-esque AU where, after leaving the navy, Steve decides to use those SEAL skills for chaos. And profit. They still call themselves Five-0 because they started out ruining rich assholes in Hawai’i and soon expanded to an international clientele.

They’ve been asked to Teach a Lesson™ to the entitled son of the CEO who’s gotten a VP position handed to him. Let’s call him Brad. Anyways, Brad is a nightmare to work with and a huge irredeemable asshole. Kono’s doing some research into what their In is, and wow. Turns out Daddy’s also getting sick of his son’s antics. Brad’s on a shorter leash than usual, and as a result has been given a hard-ass PA who’s basically a baby sitter.

Enter Danny Williams, who is being paid an exorbitant amount of money to Not Quit, and please maybe try to get Brad to behave like a reasonable human being while he’s at it. Danny’s starting to think he’s still not being paid enough for this shit. He’s cranky and irritable, and basically the perfect person to target as a way to get in to Brad’s inner circle.

And so, Steve rents a condo on the same floor as Brad’s, puts together his backstory as a Wealthy Hedge Fund Manager or some bullshit, and proceeds to engineer a meeting between him and the PA.

Timing it so he’s on the elevator with Williams is a piece of cake. Getting Chin to fuck with the power and shut down said elevator is a no brainer. Unfortunately, Williams spends the entire time on the edge of a panic attack, because WHOOPS turns out he’s claustrophobic.

Danny meanwhile, is mortified, because this very attractive stranger just had to spend thirty minutes talking him down from a full meltdown. After just moving in too. Jesus christ. Danny’s an adult. What the fuck is wrong with him? The least he can do is offer to buy the guy a drink afterwards.  

John’s too fucking tall for his own good, and shredded too goddamn. What type of Wall Street asshole is in such good shape? A sociopath, probably. And he is a dick, but he’s got a wide smile, and gives as good as he’s got when they talk, and looks at Danny with hot eyes and bites his lip and –  

One drink turns into two, turns into three, turns into Danny sucking him off sloppy and dirty in the bar bathroom. And listen. Danny’s just a guy, okay? Sure, giving a blow job to his executive’s new neighbor wasn’t a great idea, but it also wasn’t the worst.

Danny’s trans in this also. That’s the only reason he didn’t invite ‘John’ in to fuck him through the mattress. Danny doesn’t make a habit of telling strangers he gives impulse blow jobs to about his gender identity.

Steve, meanwhile is in a bit of a pickle. 1) He’s genuinely disappointed Danny didn’t let him return the favor 2) Deeply Uncomfortable w/ the realization that he’s also disappointed that Danny thinks his name is John, thinks Steve is someone he’s not.

Shit.

And then uh. Shenanigans? Drama? Mistaken identity? Angry yelling? Yes. All of the above.

[sardonic-the-writer]

Heyo, I’ve been having bad Eczema flares recently. I saw your ask about the tics with the Markiplier crew (+ Jack.) Is it possible for a Eczema!!reader, headcanon request (Markiplier crew again)? Obviously, if you don’t feel comfortable (or ain’t vibin’) don’t write, fam. Though, it’s not a widely written about common, chronic illness.

In case you’d like more information, Eczema is just basically dry, irritated (sometimes hivey) skin—a weakening of the moisture barrier. Gets worse in the heat or if the air is too cold (thus drier:) Lots of lotion to stay moist—Otherwise, your skin will start to crack and get rather painful to move. Worse are nights (for most sufferers) b/c the lack of distraction and daily hormone shifts (*hisses*  cortisol.) Very, very itchy and uncomfortable during the night. Like, you want to scratch into oblivion…but that’s going to hurt later. Not to mention, if it’s on your face like mine…Yikes on bad days. Don’t even want to look into the mirror.

Like I said, if you don’t feel comfortable, don’t write! I also get plenty of joy from your content either way!

Love and fluffy hugs,

—Anon 😊👍♥️

Oooh I live for writing about common things that don't get discussed a lot. (I.e Asthma, chronic pain, people who get triggered by touch, religious trauma, ect ect.) Lots of people look at and read fanfiction so I do the best I can to spread awareness about those sorts of things and how to deal with them properly; even if I deal with little to none of them. I do my research for fics.

But enough rambling. I'm sorry you've been dealing with that, but just know that I think people with flaws are fucking sexy. You got scars? Whether that be from pimples, self inflicted, or other, goddamn you look awesome. Shows how badass you are. And that isn't limited to having eczima or pigmentation. I've never seen an un-pretty/handsome Sardonic follower.

Sorry for the lecture lemme give you your headcanons now gjsnfjdn

Collectively all of them don't see a single fucking problem with how you look becuase of it. Anti might tease you a bit, but he shuts up when Dark and Engineer smack him upside the head for it (and if he dosent stop them Dark uses some of his powers to glue his mouth shut)

If you run out of creme or lotion and ask one of them to go get you some more, Wilford just leaves the room and comes back five minutes later with an armful of things that you need. Turns put he has a stash hidden away in case something like this happens. They all contributed to it a little in their own ways to! Anti supplied the fancy lotion, Anti threw junk food in there for comfort, ect ect

[dirk-rider]

TT: I’m here.

TT: I knocked for like five minutes and you still didn’t come to the door goddamn.

TT: Are you taking a massive shit or something?

TT: I bet you’re on the toilet going “Aw damn Dirk’s coming over and my toilet smells like a horse’s asshole right now”.

TT: That’s totally what you’re saying to yourself.

GT: Sorry im on my way to the door right now!

GT: I was just putting dinner in the oven my apologies!

TT: Dude it’s 13:00 why are you making dinner already. You probably just finished eating lunch.

GT: Well yes but im making ham! You cant undercook ham or youll feel ill and have to go home early and i dont want you leaving so soon!

TT: I don’t particularly mind being sick. I’ll just vomit all over your grandpa’s fuckin’ bearskins.

As Dirk sent his message, the door swung open in front of him and he was quickly pulled into a tight hug.

“Dirk, it’s so good to see your face! I’m so glad you could make it this early!” Jake said, giving Dirk a rough pat on the back.

Dirk coughed a bit into Jake’s neck at the force before replying “Yeah man, you said this series was long as hell. Figured we should start early.”

Jake let go of Dirk and stepped back. “Yes it is! Downton Abbey is quite a cinematic marvel, it’s a wonder it went on as long as it did!” He gestured towards the door. “After you!”

So Dirk stepped inside and looked around, still not entirely used to the… odd decor Mr. Harley used. He didn’t particularly dwell on it, though - the kitchen was already wafting out scents that made Dirk feel hungry. He felt his stomach rumble and put an arm around it reflexively, blushing a bit at the noise.

“Didn’t eat lunch again?” he heard from behind him, and spun around quickly to face Jake.

“Um,” was all he managed to reply. Of course he hadn’t eaten lunch, who has time to eat lunch? He was a busy guy and he didn’t need food, anyway. His mind had been occupied with other, more important things, like researching the best way to use a hydraulic system in a partially animated stuffed animal, as any normal guy would.

“It’s alright, I figured as much,” Jake chuckled. “I set out some snacks for you in the living room.”

“Uh thanks man. You didn’t have to do that, though,” Dirk tried saying, before his stomach let out another sharp growl. He grimaced. “Fine, I’ll eat something.”

Jake smiled. “Sweet! Well then, go make yourself comfortable! Just wait one moment for me to finish what I’m doing, and I’ll be right on out to join you!”

Dirk nodded. “Alright, see you in a minute.”

He made his way down the hallway until he found the living room, and was admittedly quite grateful for the sheer mount of snacks Jake had piled up.

He flopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote, quietly mumbling to himself as he turned the television on and started flicking through streaming services looking for whatever the fuck Jake wanted to watch. Some show about British people, that’s about all he knew.

Eventually he got to Jake’s watchlist and began scrolling down, looking for anything vaguely British looking. Jake was the only person he knew who actually used the watchlist feature, but hey, someone had to.

As he was scrolling he reached down and grabbed a handful of potato chips from one of the bowls Jake had laid out, leaning forward a bit as he shoved them into his mouth. He was really quite hungry, no matter how much he denied it. And he’d do pretty much anything to make the embarrassing noises from his midsection go away before Jake got back.

Finally he found the show and squinted his eyes to read the description.

“This historical drama follows the lives of the Crawley family and their servants in the family's Edwardian country house.”

Goddamn this sounded boring already.

Oh well, Jake seemed pretty excited to show this to Dirk, so he figured it’d only be nice of him to bear through it.

Especially since there was food.

He blushed a bit again but didn’t stop shoving chips into his mouth, only hoping he could eat enough before Jake got back so he didn’t have to embarrass himself.

After about five minutes, Jake came waltzing into the room and plopped himself down on the seat next to Dirk. He smiled when he looked at the television.

“Oh, good, you found it already!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands a bit. “You’ll love it, I just know it! Maybe in a sort of ironic fashion, but love it nonetheless!”

Dirk snorted. “What do you mean I’d enjoy it ‘ironically’? This shit looks so fucking real. Real as shit,” he said sarcastically. “Seriously though, I’m already asking myself why you’re so into this. Is it really that exciting?”

Jake grinned wider. “Oh, heavens no! It’s the most boring shit I have ever seen!”

Dirk sighed, then laughed a bit as he said, “Well turn it on already, I’m so damn excited you don’t even know.”

So Jake did just that, and Dirk leaned back a bit as the show began. And yep, it was pretty much as good as he expected.

As they watched, Dirk would make occasional comments and jabs at the characters, and soon he became so preoccupied with this that he hardly noticed how much he was eating. He only really went quiet when his hand reached the bottom of the bowl.

“Is everything alright?” Jake asked, looking to face Dirk.

Dirk quickly looked away before replying, “Uh yeah, sorry. I just, uh, finished that entire thing. Heh.” And lord, had he really?? Admitting that was almost… arousing.

No, it was definitely arousing, and Dirk knew it.

“Oh, that’s alright!” Jake replied. “There’s more, you know! One more bowl of chips and a box of cookies, all storebought but still quite good!”

“Uhh yeah. Thanks, man.” Dirk flushed a bit. God, he really wanted to eat all of that.

Really, the only thing stopping him was that he felt Jake had started catching onto what he was doing.

See, Dirk had began playing this little game with himself. He’d known since he was young that something about food was incredibly arousing to him, and when he realized how oblivious Jake tended to be, he began challenging himself to eat as much as he could on their dates. It made him incredibly flustered, but also incredibly aroused. Knowing he was doing something he would regularly get off to, right in front of his oblivious boyfriend, was like some sick kind of foreplay to him.

Recently, though, he got the feeling Jake was catching on. He’d ask questions, like “how much are you planning on eating today?” And he’d offer him more and more food, and he was just acting… different. So Dirk decided he had to cut back around Jake, at least for the time being.

At the same time, though, he didn’t want to be rude and just ignore all this that Jake had set out for him…

He grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved that into his mouth, too.

About five episodes in Dirk had gone through another bowl of chips, a bowl of popcorn, and an entire box of cookies. Jake had also gotten up momentarily to “check on the food”, and had come back with an orange soda, which Dirk had downed as well.

His stomach was already gurgling quietly, but after so many months of regular sessions similar to this, he knew he could still get more food in there if he wanted.

He noticed Jake occasionally looking over at his stomach, but he never said anything, so neither did Dirk. Instead, he would fill space where they should be talking with admittedly less and less ironic rambles pertaining to the characters.

As he was cursing out a character named Matthew for not making any moves towards a girl named Mary (holding quite a few parallels to how he used to feel towards Jake, though he’d never admit it), he heard a bell ding.

“Oh, dinners almost ready! Alright, Dirk, I’ll be back in a jiffy to grab you!” Jake exclaimed, getting up.

Dirk looked up at him. “Man alright, take your time.”

“Will do! Should be about ten, fifteen minutes, give or take,” Jake said, flipping the light switch on. “I’ll see you then!” And he was gone.

Now that Dirk was alone on the couch, he felt safe pulling his shirt up a bit and admiring his stomach. It was shaping out nicely around his jeans, and he had a slight bloated muffin top, but he exercised enough that he still had a nice set of abs beneath it.

He pulled out his phone to take a quick picture, then went to scroll through his social media feeds while he waited for Jake to come back. As he was scrolling, he rested his free hand on his stomach and rubbed small circles around it, knowing this would ease the bloating at least a bit and make it easier for him to eat dinner without looking exceedingly stuffed. He patted his stomach and forced out a short belch to clear out some more space that was filled with gas bubbles from the soda he’d downed, and sighed.

God, he wished he could absolutely fill himself to the brim with good food, but he knew he couldn’t, not without fear of Jake calling him out. So instead he just continued on readying himself for the next meal and tried to distract his mind through reading mindless drivel.

Eventually, he heard his name, and looked up to see Jake standing over him. He quickly pulled his shirt down, hoping to look casual while doing so.

“Dinners ready!” Jake smiled down at him. “And I hope you’re hungry, because I made a lot!”

Dirks face reddened and he hoped to god that Jake didn’t notice as he replied, “Alright, I’m coming.”

“Swell!”

So the two walked down to the dining room, Jake leading the way.

When they got there, Jake pulled out one of the many seats for Dirk before heading to sit on the opposing end. The table was one meant for large gatherings, so the two sitting across from each other without anyone there made for a slight dissonance, but Jake seemed used to it by now. He’d already placed dinner on the table, too - half of a glazed ham sat in between the two, alongside a large bowl of assorted fruits (most of which Dirk couldn’t even name), and a few toasted bread buns.

“I hope you like it!” Jake smiled, resting his hands underneath his chin.

“Wow, man, this is… this looks so good. This smells so good. …You’re really spoiling me, huh?” Dirk chuckled lightly, and Jake looked very pleased with himself.

“Of course I am! I am your boyfriend, after all!” Jake smiled back at him. But there was a slight malicious undertone that Dirk wasn’t sure he was imagining.

To distract himself, he cut out a chunk of the meat and laid it on his plate. And as he took a bite, his eyes widened.

Dear lord if this wasn’t the best thing he’d tasted in a while.

He quickly cut out another bit and shoved it into his mouth, too, and then another, and another. And this time, he wasn’t even intentionally doing this to get off - it was genuinely amazing food.

As he was reaching for more of the ham, Jake’s voice came from across the table.

“Make sure to get some of the other things I’ve set out as well! I didn’t put all of this work in for nothing!”

Dirk nodded and took an admittedly large portion of the fruit plate (much larger than he’d intended, it was a really big spoon) and one of the bread rolls.

“Sorry I didn’t have too much variety in this meal, by the way! I figured you’d be more comfortable with something I know you like, so I really only set out things we’ve previously discussed.”

“Are you kidding? This shit slaps, man! You’re fucking fantastic!” Dirk replied, looking up and across at Jake. And he really meant it. Despite how he felt in situations like this, the sexiness factor was currently almost entirely replaced by admiration. It meant a lot more than he could ever put into words.

“Oh thank you, haha! I just wanted to make sure you could get good and full!” Jake replied.

Shit now the sexiness factor was back.

Dirk blushed a bit but said nothing, instead just going back to his own plate of food.

As the two ate they chatted about the series they’d been watching moments earlier, Jake going on a bit of a monologue quite a few times as he explained how “the narrative really almost plays second fiddle to just how much they put into this camerawork!” and stuff like that. And Dirk didn’t mind, honestly he was just relieved he didn’t have to say too much, as his stomach began filling out more and he couldn’t focus on too much else.

The pressure in his gut was becoming a lot if he was honest, and he was trying desperately to not find arousal in this, not now. He had to stop soon, he told himself, before his feelings made themselves known.

So Dirk put his utensils down and leaned back in his seat, hoping to say without words that he was done.

Jake noticed, though, and quickly interrupted his own ramblings.

“Aww, come on, Dirk! I’m sure you can fit just a little more food in that stomach of yours!” he exclaimed.

Shit if that sentence wasn’t enough to pop a boner.

“Sorry man, I’m stuffed,” Dirk replied, closing his eyes for a moment.

Next thing he knew, though, Jake was at his side, putting another few slices of meat on Dirk’s plate, alongside two more bread rolls.

“I bet you can at least eat this much,” he said. “I made all of this for you, you know! Would be a waste if someone didn’t eat it!”

Dirk opened one eye to look up at him.

“Can’t you just leave it for leftovers?” he mumbled, furrowing his brow and hoping to god Jake didn’t look down at Dirk’s pants.

Jake chuckled a bit. “Well of course I’ll leave some for a later date! But it’s still best fresh out of the oven, you know?” He patted Dirk on the shoulder. “So eat up!”

Dirk groaned slightly. If Jake would stop saying hot shit he might be a little more agreeable, but he knew he’d just keep pestering him until he finished what was on his plate, so he picked up one of the rolls and brought it to his mouth. Jake seemed pleased by this and went back to his side of the table.

As Dirk continued eating, he looked over at Jake. “Why don’t you have more? You’re real insistent on getting me all good and stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey, but you’ve hardly eaten half of what I have.” He forced a laugh to hopefully sound more playful.

Jake smiled smugly. “Dirk, you have a stomach of steel! I don’t think anyone could fit nearly as much in there as you can!”

Dirk let that run through his mind. He couldn’t find any counterarguments, so he just continued plowing on. The pressure in his stomach only became more and more noticeable, though, and with it so did the pressure in his pants. A few times as he was eating he had to stop to let rumbling belches into his fist, which only really made the problem in his pants worse. And then Jake would give his own plaudits on each one, which really cemented it all.

After what felt like forever, Dirk’s plate was finally empty, and he sighed as he slouched forward to put his head in his hands.

“Okay, man, I’mmrrUurp - fuck, sorry. I’m done.”

Jake grinned as the eructation forced itself past Dirk’s unwilling lips, and Dirk’s face heated.

“Oh, goodie! And look at you, too, all nice and filled up. You did extraordinarily, I’d say!” Jake told him, getting up from his seat and taking his diningware in one hand. “Oh, dear, apologies - could you slide that over to me?” he then asked, nodding towards Dirk’s plate, and Dirk nodded back as verification.

When he tried to get up, though, he realized his stomach was much heavier than he had previously thought. His brow furrowed, and he huffed as he got up to hand the plate to Jake. The table was wide enough that he couldn’t really reach Jake’s not-so-outstretched hand, so he had to lean forward. And leaning forward had the side effect of making sure the edge of the table cut directly into Dirk’s distended gut, forcing out a lengthy belch.

“bwoooOOAAaaaarrrphhh!!”

Dirk’s eyes shot open behind his shades, and he clamped the hand not holding himself upright over his mouth. Sick fuck that he was, of course he enjoyed the feeling.

“Oh, wow, Dirk, that one carried some absolute heft! I didn’t think you’d have room in your stomach to even hold that after such a dense meal. Nice work, bro!” Jake took Dirk’s plate from his outstretched hand and began walking back to the kitchen.

“Be a dear and go turn the telly back on?”

Dirk once again nodded, unwilling to open his mouth until he was alone once more. Jake was fucking with him, he just had to be fucking with him, there was no way he wasn’t fucking with him.

As Dirk made his way back to the living room, he found his second trip there much slower than the first due to the weight he held internally. He used this time to mull over whether Jake was finally certain one hundred percent in Dirk’s kinks. The way he complimented him wasn’t too far off from how it was when Dirk had first started, true. But it also felt as though Jake was now indulging Dirk, trying to get him to a point that he couldn’t deny his interest if his life depended on it. He was cooking larger and larger meals, feeding Dirk more and more, and now he was becoming pretty damn insistent, too.

When Dirk entered the living room, he took a precautionary step and took a blanket out of the basket (of course the English-Harleys had a blanket basket) to hopefully cover his arousal.

After he plopped down on the couch, he placed it atop himself in a way he hoped looked casual, as though he was totally not hiding anything at all. Because what was there to hide. Nothing, that’s what. Or, that’s what he told himself, at the very least.

He used one hand to hit the “on” button of the remote as his other hand ran through his hair, and he allowed himself a shaky breath out. He had to go full on denial mode, not allow his thoughts even a taste of arousal.

To do so, he went back to scrolling through his previous mindless online drivel, and it worked for the most part. His gut was still gurgling, and the sounds would pry his focus away from his distractions. But only for a few seconds, before he’d remind himself that now was most certainly not the time, not if he wanted to keep up the charade.

By the time Jake joined Dirk, Dirk had managed to get the majority of his blood back where it belonged. He looked up at Jake.

“Back so soon?”

“I told you I’d be no more than two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

As he said this, Jake gave Dirk another pat on the back, which forced out a bit more gas than Dirk would have liked.

“Oopsadaisies, I nearly managed to forget your overburdened state. My bad, heheh.”

The tone he used, though, made it quite clear he had not forgotten. Not in the slightest.

“Well. Make yourself comfortable, I’m ready to continue where we left off if you are.”

“Right-o!”

So Dirk hit the play button and the two quickly got back into the swing of things, Jake pausing every so often to go on rants and rambles, restating his own marvelings, and Dirk swinging right back with his own disses.

At some point while the two were talking, Jake had managed to wiggle his way beneath the blanket as well, scooting a bit closer to Dirk as he did so. Dirk would have commented on this move, but he didn’t want to risk having anything thrown back at him, any questions asked about the reason for the cover in the first place, so he instead continued his speech.

“So. We can agree that there’s an absurd contrast between the A plot and the B plot, right? Like… they’re expecting us to take a flower show as seriously as a real, honest to god murder coverup. What the fuck.”

“There’s also feminism!” Jake added.

Dirk laughed at this, and the exhalation allowed another small burp to follow. “‘Scuse me, goddamn-“

As he excused himself, Jake placed his rough hand against Dirk’s abdomen, only for Dirk to reflexively grab it.

“What are you do-oouurp- what are you doing??”

Jake put on an apologetic face, but there was a smile threatening to break out from beneath it.

“What, can a guy not give his good pal a much-needed tummy rub?” he asked, fluttering his lashes. “Your eructations are becoming interruptions, I figured I’d try to get things settled so we could enjoy the show-!”

“The only show you’re enjoying right now is taking place inside my abdomen, English,” Dirk interrupted before he could think through his own word choice. He let go of Jake’s hand, though, and allowed it to fall back atop his distended middle.

Jake fell silent for a moment, before he began softly moving his hand against Dirk’s warm flesh.

“…I’m only enjoying it because you seem so enamored by your own gluttony, my good man.”

Dirk nearly choked on his own tongue.

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He felt his face return to the bright red he was becoming used to tonight, but kept his mouth clamped shut.

“Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you! Really, I find your games quite charming.” Jake hit pause on the television.

“But you didn’t seriously think you were hiding it, did you?”

Jake’s ocular attention was now entirely directed towards Dirk’s face, and he looked away, unable to face the guy.

“Hiding what?” he asked, strained. Dirk suddenly felt the need to take a drink, his throat absolutely parched by nerves.

Jake’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment before he began once more.

“Your arousal, I suppose. That’s how this all appears to me, anyway,” he chuckled. Then he leaned in towards Dirk’s ear, as though he were readying himself to tell a secret.

Instead of a secret, though, Dirk’s senses were flooded with the sound of one of Jake’s own gaseous outbursts.

“There’s no use in denying it, Dirk. I see the way your fists are clenched, your breaths labored. I can feel your heart beating against my hand. You are loving this, Dirk.”

He leaned back a bit and thumped on his chest once more, then followed with another low belch. As he let it out he grabbed Dirk’s hand and guided it lower, then lower still, before he took the blanket off of the both of them and was met with a rather unsightly bulge on Dirk’s end.

“Peekaboo! Would you look at that, Dirk, hardened by eructations. Be they yours or mine, you enjoy the sound regardless.” He let go of Dirk’s hand and palmed around Dirk’s crotch, humming a bit.

“Oh, look at what I’ve done to you, Dirk. You’re bloated beyond belief and still have the capacities to get hard. You only have so much energy, and right now it all seems centered in one area.”

Dirk grunted at the touch but said nothing.

“Dirk, were you ever going to tell me how you felt about all this? Or did you enjoy the thrill of voyeurism too much? Has this all been a part of some sick ritual I’ve been forced to help indulge?”

“…When did you figure me out.”

That was all Dirk could really muster at this point. He’d been stripped down to his barest desires, exposed for the pervert he was, and it was driving him wild.

“Ohh, hmm, what a toughie… let’s see here.” Jake made a big display out of counting his fingers, and Dirk’s brow only furrowed further as he did so. Eventually Jake looked back up and grinned at Dirk.

“Well, I guess I’ve had an inkling for quite some time by now. I can’t quite pinpoint when I became certain, but the evidence just kept piling up until it became hard to say that you WEREN’T getting off to this, haha!”

Dirk groaned.

“Fuck, Jake, I’m. I should have told you. I guess it is pretty fucked up of me to get all hot and bothered, work towards my own pleasure, and not clue you into that fact. I just- you’re- you kept making it so easy, so hot, and-“

Jake cut Dirk off with a peck on the lips.

“Oh, hush, you,” he giggled, “I find the whole thing rather endearing.”

Dirk finally met Jake’s eyes. “Real- really, now..? You aren’t just saying that, rrrooUuurph… ngh, fuuuck.”

As he spoke, Jake hit a rather tight spot in Dirk’s gut and forced out another small belch.

“If I minded so, I wouldn’t be so eager to indulge you, now would I? I wouldn’t be making such meals, caressing your bloatation, allowing your crass noises to continue, now would I?”

Dirk sighed shakily.

“I- I guess not, no. Probably not.”

Jake grinned and began unzipping Dirk’s jeans.

“So why don’t we do something about this?”

[pearwaldorf]

This is the same as the previous post. I locked it down to prevent incorrect information about the circumstances of Damar Hamlin''s injury from spreading. Please keep reblogging.

(content notes: traumatic injury, head injury, gross negligence by a powerful organization)

Hey everybody,

I wanna talk about something really important. You might not follow sports or American football so it might not come up in your social feeds.

There was a game tonight between the Buffalo Bills and the Cincinnati Bengals. Bills player Damar Hamlin suffered cardiac arrest on the field. was hit extremely badly, enough that They did CPR on him for nine minutes. As of writing this (1/2/23 at 20:05 Pacific) he is at the hospital and not breathing on his own.

[edit 1/3/22] The Bills issued a statement saying Hamlin suffered cardiac arrest after I wrote this post. The rest still stands.

Even before Hamlin had made it to the hospital(!!!) the NFL called for the players to warm up in five minutes. The coaches said "ABSOLUTELY NOT" and refused.

It took the NFL an hour to officially cancel the game. Equipment operators were packing up before it was officially called.

So you may have heard about former NFL players with "chronic traumatic encephalopathy", or CTE. That's a medical way of saying "you got bashed in the head a lot and it fucked up your brain". 99% of former NFL players who donated their brains for research had it.

Here are some of the symptoms of CTE:

The team found that—whether the men’s brain changes were mild or severe—all experienced mood, behavioral, or cognitive symptoms associated with CTE. These included impulsivity, depression, apathy, anxiety, explosive rages, episodic memory loss, and problems with attention and higher order thinking. Nearly all donors whose brains were diagnosed with CTE (96%) experienced progression of their symptoms during life. Men found to have milder brain pathology died younger, at a median age of 44, and suicide was their leading cause of death. The men with more severe pathology died at a median age of 71. Their leading cause of death was dementia or trouble with movements like swallowing.

I'm telling you all this because some of you might think professional sports is a niche subject that doesn't affect your life. Or you think that athletes, like actors or other people who make much more money than you, are protected from exploitation by the amount of their income.

The average career of an NFL player is 3.3 years. Average salary is $2.7 mm. You don't need to do the math to see that's not exactly big bucks. Until I read that last article I did not know that the NFL has a pension plan. Also it's really not great. Additional detail?

The new CBA also outlined… a plan to establish a program that guarantees former players without insurance receive mental health services, orthopedic care, preventative care and other health interventions at no cost to the player.

For emphasis, because this is really important: THE NFL DID NOT HAVE A PLAN TO PROVIDE CARE FOR UNINSURED PLAYERS UNTIL 20-GODDAMN-22. A plan!! It hasn't even been established!!

No amount of money will make up for fucking up your physical and mental health. It especially will not if you don't have a healthy way to deal with those fuck-ups.

It is now nauseatingly crystal clear the NFL is another facet of the system that allows police to kill (Black men) with impunity. You do not treat people you think of as human this way. And because all this stuff is connected, we have to be aware of the ways people try to get us not to care.

I regret that it took Hamlin's terrible injury for me to understand this. The NFL's response is the reason I absolutely must remember it.

[moregraceful]

I would love to see the house, I'm a slut for fic research+ tidbits - 💖

LOOK AT THIS SHIT, 💖 ANON

every five minutes i'm like ok, i'm cool, i'm calm, i can move on with my life. then i look at the fucking rug and scroll down to the basement and i lose my goddamn mind all over again. i was just doing some research into what houses looked like in various parts of new jersey bc i wanted to give him a historic home for reasons! and then i stumbled onto this house and my life changed forever and sorry to mr hamilton but this is your life in newark now.

[snellyboi]

I just wrote a whole fanfic in two days and went to do some basic research for something at the end of it and I realized it took place 20 fucking years after I thought it did

So now I need to rewrite swaths of the whole thing because of course OF FUCKING COURSE it has to do with FRANCE in the 19TH CENTURY and those FUCKING FREAKS couldn't go FIVE FUCKING MINUTES WITHOUT A GODDAMN REVOLUTION

I HATE IT HERE.

Anyway HOPEFULLY a new fic is coming soon!

[ophelianated]

have i ever talked about how much i looooove working in customer service (contact centre agent, to be exact)

to all the entitled bitches out there who treat us like servants at best and dirt on their shoe at worst on a daily basis, please for the LOVE OF GOD:

take five minutes, just five minutes out of your life to do some research by yourself before bothering us. we're not fucking google, and being treated as such gets real tiring real fast. we should be your last resort

we're not therapists either. i repeat, We. Are. Not. Therapists. we understand that you're frustrated, but our job description doesn't include emotional labour. we're here to help you, not listen to you vent. if you need a minute, hour, day to get yourself together enough to shift your focus back on problem solving, you can just contact again later. don't take your anger and desperation out on us. all telling us how you'll have to tell your children now that they can't see their favourite team play because you can't afford to pay a fee will accomplish is make us upset too because we're not allowed to make exceptions - "gesture of goodwill" is not a concept all companies support. all yelling and cursing at us will do is earn you an abusive customer badge and make us feel like shit. one would think that this would be a no brainer, yet here we are. here we FUCKING ARE

nor are we complaint forms. take your spiel where it belongs so it can arrive in the hands of someone in the correct department specialized to deal with more complex issues, like ones that require an official investigation for instance. believe it or not, we have a complaint form for a reason. describe your problem as concisely as you can and don't waste our time, especially because some of us are micromanaged down to how much time we spend with each customer, and we WILL get in trouble if we go over a certain limit

exercise some patience and understand that Rome wasn't built in a day. some processes take time, and no, in most cases we have no way of expediting them, especially if we're escalating something to another department. adding "urgent" at the end only serves to piss people off

if we say we can't do/don't know something because we physically don't have the method or authority to execute what you want us to/access the information you seek, believe us. unless you're being particularly rude, i promise we're not trying to pass you off, we genuinely have no way of helping you

on that note: if we say that our company policy forbids us from doing shit, believe us. and ask yourself if YOU would risk YOUR job for a random stranger before demanding that we do it anyway and getting mad when we say no

if we say that our supervisors can't do anything about your problem either, BELIEVE US. so many of you mfs think that supervisors are above company policy for some reason. i'm telling you, they have waaaaaaay less authority than you think, and if they actually gave us the go ahead to kiss your asses to high heaven and do whatever you ask, them and us would be fired at the exact same speed

if we tell you where you can find the information you seek and more, don't be a lazy piece of shit and actually check it out. if we spell an entire process out for you so it's clear what you have to do and how, don't ask if we can do it instead. you're adults. exercise some goddamn self-reliance. i've had customers asking me to cherry pick and send them via chat only the relevant contents of the page i literally had just sent them the link to a few seconds prior because they didn't want to click on said link and spend TWO MINUTES skimming the page to find what info they needed and within what article. why don't i chew your fucking food for you as well while i'm at it. tie your shoelaces. wipe your ass maybe. this also gets old real fucking fast

if we're communicating via email or chat, read what we send you. yes, even if it's a wall of text. so many conversations could take half the time if you people just fucking read shit*

don't waste your breath. threatening to sue the company will not intimidate us into doing what you want. we get threats like that every day and (unfortunately) they never go anywhere

understand. process it on a cognitive level. make it a part of you carnally if necessary. but i'm begging you please find a way to get it through that thiccc skull: we don't know every single one of our fellow employees personally. neither do we have access to the complete list of people working for the company. i have no fucking clue who the blond guy who was rude to your mother yesterday three countries away is, nor do i have the power to get him fired (refer back to the point about complaints on how to proceed in this situation)

if YOU are the one who fucked up royally and the situation is beyond saving, THAT'S ON YOU. entirely on YOU. don't blame us for not having a solution to any and all mistakes you bitches make. we clean up your messes more than enough as is, because some of you apparently can't even spell your honest to god child's name right. given of course that you don't just forget about them entirely (both true stories)

read the terms and conditions. i don't care if it's long and dry and tedious. it's also sneaky and elusive and contains a shitton of info companies don't shove in your face, which is why you should study that shit like it's holy scripture before you do anything

no, you can't get a refund for everything. life doesn't work that way. deal or die

understand that we don't make the policies of the company we work for. yes, we're aware that some (or even most) of them suck, but we gotta eat somehow. we're not the company, and we're not the enemy. i repeat, we are not the company, and we are not the enemy

on the same vein: make peace with the fact that most of us are not malicious. we don't sit around rubbing our hands, coming up with different ways to fuck up your day and steal your money. we're trying to make the best of what we're working with. if you don't like the answer we give you, chances are we don't either, but there's nothing we can do and we feel horrible about it. i know it's easy to feel like we don't help you because we don't want to when you're being told no over and over, but resist the temptation to make us the big bad in your head. i promise most of us would love to help you, and it feels incredibly shitty if we can't, especially since helping people out is the whole purpose of our job

our training can't prepare us for each and every scenario we face on the job. it's just not possible. be reasonable and patient if yours happens to be an extremely tricky case that even our most experienced colleagues haven't encountered. we are people, and we are doing our best

*actual conversation i had with a customer (kept vague for security purposes):

me: We can't do x because the other people with you don't have the necessary thing y. We in the contact centre will have to give them y by [insert explanation about the process].

customer: But they don't have y.

me: Yes, that's the problem. They will need it before we can proceed.

customer. Oh. How can I get them y?

[tobiasdrake]

So, this is Yakou's wife. No name's been given for her yet and I don't remember if we got one for her before but I like her already.

That's one thing to call homunculus experiments, to be sure.

I want so badly for her ghost or homunculus or whatever to be the one to cure the ferals. Her genius intellect stabilizing the defective homunculi would be the ultimate posthumous mic-drop on her shitty fucking boss.

Neurodivergent people are brilliant in their own way but lousy with information classification. I struggle constantly to remember what I am and am not allowed to talk about with my own work.

The chemistry between these two is fantastic. They had the whole goddamn game to make Yuma/Kurumi happen and I'm already more invested in this romance than I ever was in that one.

I mean. If this is for something as benign as a job offer, then there's no reason for Yakou to turn down a cool mil.

Of course, just because he's probably from the UG labs, doesn't mean his intentions are as simple as that. If she's on the cusp of brilliant research that could change the course of the homunculus competition, then this could be an assassination. It could also be an either/or offer. Work for us OR we'll have you killed.

And now she wants Yakou to claim incompetence.

She's not exactly hard to find. She's not bunkered down in a safehouse somewhere. She works at the biggest megacorporation in town and then goes home.

I'm tentatively with Yakou on this.

She doesn't know what's happening on his end of things. But. Like. He's supposed to have his leg broken by mafiosos for failure to pay his rent, so that she can avoid being mildly inconvenienced for an hour?

If we're meant to believe the guy's dangerous then this conversation shouldn't have started with her going, "Oh, he just wants to offer me a job. I'll go see him right now, let's go." Something broke down in this dialogue exchange.

Protecting you from what? Having to say no to a job offer? One you were entirely willing to go turn down in person five minutes ago?

Cool. You come with me, we'll tell the client that, and then he'll pay me my million and we bounce. I don't understand why this is suddenly such a big deal.

Unless he is sketchy as fuck but you were the one who said it's fine, he's harmless, this is no big deal at all. What changed between now and one cup of coffee ago?

This conversation took a huge tonal shift without any accompanying shift in the stakes. What is happening right now.

Sell her out to what? Do we both think that he's going to kidnap her? Or kill her? Or something? Because it's plausible but it hasn't been raised in conversation as a likelihood. Again, she was willing to go five minutes ago. She's the one who said this was fine.

And then Yakou takes the worst of both worlds. I will not collect the million for finding you but you should still take the job anyway.

What is happening in this conversation. T_T

Despite the weird turn this conversation took, their chemistry is still great. I like this ship. I hope it saves Kanai Ward.

Well, let's get--

While Yakou whines about losing out on his payday, MOTHERFUCKER FOLLOWED US HERE. He knew we wouldn't complete the job. That's a bad sign.

THAT'S WORSE. THAT'S A WORSE SIGN.

ASSASSINATION. I HAD IT AT ASSASSINATION.

Well, at least now we have an established threat so Yakou's efforts to protect her won't feel so out-of-the-blue.

KICK HIS ASS, YAKOU! Not words I ever expected to say out loud but this is a decrepit old man. He's probably even more pathetic than Yakou.

No, physics. That cigarette definitely fell straight into the guy's mouth while Yakou was gloating.