#generally fuckary

[ind0mitablesw0rdsmen]

more dmc funnies 

[lucyhaswings]

A special sort of torture comes with being an extremely passionate individual while also not believing in the idea of “true love” that’s been sold to us sense the beginning in this reality. It’s needing to be fucked in a way that doesn’t even exist in the here and now. It’s remembering the feeling from past lives, in other worlds where love was still bound by energy instead of social constructs. When it was easier to meet somewhere in the after. When love was understood on a soul level. Before we got the idea that love means owning one another. Before love was built on the idea of many. It’s a funny thing to long for something that doesn’t exist in this life. For things from a past life. Besides this, there are these peanut cluster like things from one of my more recent lives that I miss dearly in this one.

[storiesbyrhi]

what are your thoughts on the Catfish situation??

Oh boy.

I am usually of the belief that the general population isn't owed personal information about an artist, but at this point, the fanbase absolutely deserves to know what is happening. Catfish's fans are SO loyal. We sold out shows without the promise of new music. We've kept defending them when all this fuckary has happened. And to be treated how Dublin and Sydney were treated? Soooo fucked IMO. We deserve to know what is going on.

The issued statements about the cancellations not coming directly from the band felt really cold and gave the impression that the band didn't actually care. Not a vibe.

This has got to be one of the most chaotic mishandlings of a band's return to the scene I've seen. It has to be a combination of multiple people making cooked choices, and other people not doing what they're meant to? Like, this could not have been the plan? Honestly, even if there were no cancelled shows, it still seems so messy and mishandled.

I don't like speculating publically about issues like mental illness, addiction, etc. I also don't like assuming I know the inner workings of friendships and working relationships. I'm leaving it at that.

The more we know, the more that happens, the more confused I get about the whole thing.

I think the only way forward is to rebuild the trust. I don't think Van needs to sit down and explain every single detail of the past five years, but... How has it come to this?

I don't think I am being dramatic when I say the whole thing is messy, suspicious, rude as fuck, and cooked.

I can't imagine how it must feel for a lot of the fans right now. I'm lucky, I've seen them a bunch, and met them when it was all easy breezy top of their game. And now I feel a little disconnected. Like I'm watching people I used to know do something wild on the other side of the room.

I am still hopeful for new music that is good. Shows that go ahead and are solid. Van giving some context about it all. I mean, we never thought Oasis would perform again, and yet... So, you never know.

xoxo Rhi a.k.a. storiesaboutvan lmao

P.S. I am happy to keep talking about Catfish and the Bottlemen, but for the sake of not clogging up the dashboard, I'll delete Asks that are about the same thing.

[bloodblossomtree]

Seeing real people’s faces on tumbler without the context of cosplay or some kinda simp reference throws me through a loop everytime

cause I’m one hand-

Yay cute alt with cool hair and outfit

And on the other hand-

That’s a real human person…on tumbler…the place of memes mental illness monster fuckary and general simping…why are you here…being normal (to an extent)

[seesgood]

legacies really said “let’s make both caroline and alaric shitty parents in their own right instead of asking lia about her expansive list of Chaotic Co-parents Ca(r)laric headcanons” so i’m telling you guys instead because i can and because frankly in my biased opinion it is better than canon:

they literally just adopt any kid that doesn’t have a family of their own and it’s not even a question it’s just like “hey i’m bringing this other kid to thanksgiving dinner ( that neither of us know how to cook so really it’s thanksgiving dinner that’s just chinese takeout )”

neither of them has any chill when it comes to defending their kids, caroline has probably told PTA moms to fuck off, alaric has probably done something similar

there are crossbows and other remnants of alaric’s hunter days stashed throughout the school, it’s a running thing. it annoys caroline Constantly. whenever he fucks up she confiscates the crossbow ( for good reason )

they bicker pretty much constantly about everything bc they probably can’t agree on anything to save their lives but at the end of the day they definitely back one another up on the important stuff

on the non-important stuff it’s a lot of “yes you can buy that thing but don’t tell your mom/dad”

both of them being entirely grief stricken over the loss of jo and stefan and knowing the ins and outs of one another’s coping mechanisms and actually being supportive and knowing when to push and when to close the door and restash the alcohol supply

any and all threats to the school and to the students and to their daughters and to hope have to go through them first and hahaha good luck bc you’re (1) going to have to get through a very irritated mama bear vampire who is REALLY annoyed that you just crashed through the wall that she JUST repainted and who will give you a lecture about it and (2) alaric who is very human and literally just has a crossbow and it takes like 15 seconds to reload every single time and it’s the most illogical thing ever why can’t they just give this man a gun for fucks sake

knowing all the drama that goes on at the school and regularly gossiping about it / placing bets on what they think will happen

venting about the twins and how hard raising teenage girls is ( regular midnight conversations that go along the lines of: “she’s just so MEAN i was NEVER that mean” ‘you were definitely that mean’ “i was NOT that mean in high school i was driven---” ‘you blackmailed the cheer squad’ “they dESERVED it” )

if legacies wants to be all tongue in cheek comedy about shit that’s great but you missed out on a GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY

[cutthroat-coquette]

Ohhh you're bored?? All the odd numbers then!!

🐇

Sometimes I forget that you’re the brattiest lil thing I ever met and then you remind me @hunny-bunnny 😏 You’re lucky we go back like four flats on a Cadillac 🤣 Here you go, bc how can I deny you on the day you join me in fuckary? Previously asked Q’s omitted. 

1. What is your aesthetic?

Bitter, overworked professional meets hyper sexual femme fatale ft. cuddly teddy bear bitch. 💁🏽‍♀️💃🏽🔪🧸

3. Your most essential make up product/piece of clothing?

Makeup:

Armani Beauty Eyes to Kill Classico mascara/Caffeine 5% + EGCG Depuffing Eye Serum by The Ordinary

Piece of clothing:

All my summer rompers right now but come autumn it will be lots of sheer black stockings.

5. Is there an afterlife?

I kind of believe that we are energy and once we die the energy travels and ends up somewhere else - maybe in a plant or another person or another planet. I’m not sure there’s an afterlife, but I think my energy will definitely be somewhere once my physical body is gone.

7. Current obsession?

Laughing at horrible dating app bios. They are so terrible. I legit want to start a consulting firm to offer assistance and help these poor men pull some bitches. Case in point:

9. Who do you love the most in this world?

My mom. She’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. I get my fierce passion for independence from her. Plus, if I look like her at her age, I’ll be really happy. My mom is a total baddie. 

11. What’s your drug of choice?

13. Your sexuality? Describe your type?

I’m bisexual. My type varies but generally, be really passionate about what you do or what you’re into and tell me about it. I love that shit. You don’t have to be a genius, but hold a conversation with me. A real conversation. I like a person that’s real. Respect my boundaries and be chill. My type.

17. Your favorite book(s)?

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine by Alexandra Kleeman

The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene

This is How you Lose Her by Junot Diaz

On the Road by Jack Kerouac

How to survive the end of the world as we know it By James Wesley Rawles

19. How’s your relationship with your parents and siblings?

It’s the best it’s been in years. I do have to ignore my dad‘s recent political bullshit, but it’s OK. My stepsister and I are closer than ever. 

23. A story from your childhood?

🎶When I was little, my father was famous. He was the greatest samurai in the empire, and he was the Shogun’s decapitator. He cut off the heads of 131 lords. It was a bad time for the empire.🎶

25. The story behind a scar of yours?

When I was 15, my mother had made me a hair appointment. As usual I fucked around and was late for it, but I still wanted to look fly, so I took the shirt I was wearing off because it was wrinkled and proceeded to start ironing it while in my bra. Because I was distracted, I pressed the edge of the hot iron against my stomach while I was trying to retract the cord and sizzled the skin right off my tummy. I still have it. Looks like my appendix has been out.

27. how do you think you’ll die?

In my sleep, with a smile on my face.

[rmjagonshi]

In For A Penny, In For a Pound - Chapter 4

On AO3

They had fallen asleep in Stan’s bed in the wee hours of the morning. Neither one willing to move away to sleep on their own. Ford had clung to Stan like he was afraid Stan was going to disappear. No mention of Stan’s “little accident” was made. Well, If Ford wanted to sweep it under the rug and pretend it hadn’t happened, he wasn’t going to argue.

A light touch breached the barrier between unconscious dream state and the comfortable fogginess of awake but drowsy. It felt surreal. Nothing ached. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, so there were no bad feelings that came with waking from a nightmare or irritation from waking from a great dream. Just bliss. He didn’t open his eyes yet. No need. Ford would wake him if there was something he needed to do. They might even head out a bit later than intended. Have a nice, lazy morning. They weren’t really on a schedule yet. The migration of Ford’s weird dolphin thing wasn’t for another two weeks. They had a few days to kill.

The twitch in his boxers reminded him that having that extra time was a God send. They’d stay the night in port and he’d find someone to get his rocks off with and end this damn Freudian shit. It never used to be a problem, never used to gut punch him. Sure, he got hard every now and again, and he’d dealt with morning wood, but it never used to be so prevalent. He used to go days without getting horny over something. But over the past month or so, he’d had to wring one out nearly every day. And with his most recent dreams, well…it was best he dealt with this soon.

Stan groaned. He’d destroyed his blissful half sleep with thoughts better left buried. Well, he might as well get up and see what they had left in the pantry. He tensed his shoulders, raised his hands above his head and pointed his toes. Not the best morning stretch, but eh. He was lazy. And it still felt good. His body felt looser and the thought of getting up didn’t physically hurt. Stan opened his eyes to blink up at the ceiling a few times before rolling over to reach for his glasses resting on the headboard.

A pair of bright brown eyes blinked back at him from the other side of the bed. His heart hammered in his chest.  

“Ahh…” Well, he was certainly awake now! Ford didn’t react. Face soft and unreadable, just blinking back at him. Stan cleared his throat, tilting his head to project his morning breath away from his brother. “How…ah…how long’ve you been awake? You could’a woke me.” He was carefully avoiding Ford’s gaze, focusing on the ceiling instead.

Ford hummed and nestled further into his stolen pillow. The silence made Stan uneasy. Ford was always high activity in the mornings. He was always the first one up, making coffee and making lists or detailing their course for the day. Maybe he was still shaken up from last night. Stan swallowed. Maybe it was…Shit!

Ford hadn’t said anything about it, so neither would Stan. If Ford was wanted to talk now, well, too late. Stan stretched again, just for something to do in the awkward air between them. Unclipped fingernails dragged over his side and chest, leaving little white trails between the grey hair. Ugh. He was used to it by now, but sometimes he ‘noticed’ how hairy he was. It made women uncomfortable. Some men too, come to think of it. Maybe he’d better shave or wax or something. Maybe Ford had something to help with that. Who knows?

But Ford was still not talking. And still staring at him. It was really starting to get on his nerves. He shifted, about ready to crawl over Ford to get up and make coffee, when he realized he was still hard. Usually his morning erections would deflate if he ignored them. Not enough biological gusto to maintain it unless he was thinking or doing something. No hot babes were dancing around in his mind and he wasn’t tugging at it, so what the hell was going on? His eyes darted back to Ford, meeting his eyes and keeping it. Tingling rivers shot up and down his spine as his cock throbbed. Stan barely suppressed a shiver.

Oh.

Oh Fuck.

There was that unmistakable thrill to being watched like this. Of being so hard and the other person not having a clue. Wait. Stan’s eyes flicked down to his crotch, the ceiling, and back to Ford. Okay, so maybe Ford had some clue Stan was hard. Kinda imposable to miss the hideously obvious tent in the sheets. He must have kicked his borrowed boxers off sometime in the night. He could feel some cloth wrapped around one ankle that, upon focusing on, may not have been the sheet Stan thought it was. He braved another glace at Ford. Stan bit his lip as another pulse caused his cock to twitch.

Okay. Yeah. Stan was man enough to admit he had a bit of an exhibitionism kink. He liked showing off for a lover. It gave him a thrill to watch someone get hot under the collar for him. But he’d been so long without a lover, he’d kind of put that on the proverbial shelf. No sense in putting on a show unless there was an audience.

There was an audience now. And that audience wasn’t exactly disinterested.

Why wasn’t Ford saying anything?! I mean, sure, he didn’t except Ford to be traumatized or anything. They were brothers, they’d gone through puberty together. They’d been unwilling witness to each other getting hard before and it wasn’t that big a deal. But in the past, they’d also leave the room or distract themselves, or at least not fucking stare!

What was worse, was Ford’s eyes were so fucking dark and half-closed, Stan didn’t know where he was looking. Least not without his glasses. Ford was wearing his. Stan closed his eyes, taking a deep and slow breaths to calm himself down enough to get up and get away from this crazy shit. He counted to thirty and thought about safe things. Like the kids, and the pig. How much getting old sucked and how much Gideon’s “widdle me” shtick riled him up. His heartbeat slowed and his tapdancing heart fell into an easy waltz. His cock flagged, marginally, and the tent sagging. The pressure in his bladder helping to expedite the process. Good enough.

“’M gonna piss and make some coffee. Up.” He shooed Ford and rolled to get up, but Ford didn���t move. Stan, fully expecting his brother to get out of bed to let him do the same, found himself leaning over Ford, invading his space and sharing his air. Ford simply blinked up at him. He looked like some damsel like this. Hair, gown out from not bothering to cut it, splayed out on the pillow, eyes wide and shining and face soft and near expressionless. A virgin who didn’t really know if they were ready for anything and had left all decision making to their partner. And that was a train of thought he didn’t want to follow. Especially when he wasn’t completely flaccid yet. Nothing else for it.

“I’m gonna piss on ya if ya don’t let me out.”

Ford’s nose scrunched in disgust, pushing against Stan’s chest to roll away and sit up. “Eeeugh! Alright! You are objectively disgusting sometimes.” But Stan didn’t care. He was too busy sliding out of bed, kicking off the boxers tangled around his foot, and getting to the bathroom as quickly as possible. “Not that you’ll be able to piss with that.” But the last part was mumbled, soft and meant not to travel. A jolt of fear snapped Stan to attention for a moment, but his bladder was starting to scream at him. And Stan didn’t think he had the mental fortitude to teach his brother the social etiquette around noticing another man’s boner.

*~*~*

The rest of the morning went like clockwork. Coffee was brewing by the time Stan stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and clean. Ford had already mapped out their route to a little place in Ireland. They’d get supplies and stay the night. And Stan would get laid. By a supermodel probably. Ireland was home to a disproportional number of supermodels. Maybe he’d get two, make it a threesome! Scantily clad runway models gyrated their hips in his mind and he had to adjust himself more than once to keep it from being too uncomfortable.

Most of the work was done by autopilot. Small adjustment required as they went, but they were free to go about their business and work on other things. Stan busied himself with making a list of groceries and making room in the pantry and their tiny fridge. Ford did the same, but for any of his nerd stuff and general ship supplies. Stan did his best to not make it obvious he was avoiding Ford. Not that he was. But the last few days were a bit weird. And not the normal kind of weird for them. Heck, he’d take a sea monster or two single handed if this damn fuckary would go away and stay gone. Every time he caught a glimpse of Ford out of the corner of his eye, or heard Sixer mumbling to himself, his fucked-up mind just had to go an remind him that ‘Hey, you’re horny and there’s someone attractive.’ Pointing out that Ford was his brother only made the shit voice in his head respond with ‘He’s like you, you know what he likes.’ Stan hasn’t been able to cum twice in a day in a few years. This keeps going, and he might break that streak.  

So, when Stan ran out of things to do below deck, he went to check their fishing gear and nets. Then he checked the condition of the barnacle colony growing on the underside of the boat. And the condition of the name plate. And the guide wires for the antenna even though he knows Ford checked them already. When he found himself re-checking the crab-traps for the third time, Stan knew he was in trouble. Forehead connected with random blunt metal object several times, but no amount of forceful beatings was going to empty his head. His hands were cold. His face was cold. His nose was numb. He’d been sorting a half-chub all day and he’s ready to jump in the fucking ocean and swim to Norway at this rate, when the auto-pilot alarm broke through his thoughts like the signing of Heaven’s angels.

“Got my hands tied, at the moment.” Ford’s voice rang out from the open door. A clang of metal and something like a book or stack of papers falling over echoed after him. “Think you can navigate the rest of the way? We should be close enough to see the coast.”

Stan was more than ready to have his mind on anything else. “Got it.” Stan flicked the autopilot off and grabbed hold of the wheel. Driving a boat was like driving a car that was perpetually hydroplaning. Though that made sense, ya’know, with the water and all. Either way, Stan took to it easy, skills honed by years spent living behind the wheel of his car. Of course, now the ol’gal was the size of a matchbox car and mounted in a plastic[CJ1]  box.

Lifting the pair of binoculars hung beside the wheel, Stan eyed the horizon looking for the the Norway cost Ford was talking about. Stan squinted into the lenses and refocused them before spotting the telltale disruption of the perfect horizon. About ten miles to go. They’d be docking within the hour, give or take time to maneuver into the harbor and wait their turn.

Six-fingered hands took the binoculars from Stan’s own. Ford leaned in close to use them, not bothering to lift the chord from around Stan’s neck. Stan stood ridged, eyes wide and unfocused. His hands a death grip on the rungs of the wheel and trying desperately to think of anything but Ford’s warmth at his side.

“Closer than I expected. I’d say we’ll be there within the hour.” After far too long in Stan’s opinion, Ford let the binoculars fall back against Stan’s chest. Stan just nodded and grunted in agreement. He didn’t trust his voice right now. “I’ll take over. We’ll need passports and cash, but I suspect we’ll find one of those Teller Machines somewhere.” A pat to his shoulder was the only signal Stan needed to let got the wheel and put as much distance as he could between his brother and him.

Keeping his back to Ford, he darted below deck to pack up what they needed. They couldn’t dock fast enough.

*~*

Stan was just finishing packing Ford’s overnight bag when he called down that they were ready to dock. Stan grabbed both bags and their documentation and climbed the steps to help his brother. Ford pulled up to the aged wood and metal dock so Stan could make the leap to tie the ship down. Two ties on dock and dropping the anchor was more than sufficient to keep the ol’girl in place.

Stan had climbed back aboard when Ford lifted his overnight bag with a raised eyebrow. “Planning to stay for the long haul?”

Stan bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't above lying, even to his brother, but they had promised to not keep secrets anymore. Maybe a half-truth. “Though we could send the night on land. Warm up some before we head out again.”

“Why spend money on a hotel? The boat’s warm enough. And we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning anyway.”

Stan blanked for a second before a lie rolled off his platinum tongue. “There’s a storm commin’. Saw it on the radar.” He hadn’t. But maybe Ford would let it slide.

He didn’t. Ford spun to the radar and flicked a switch, pushing two buttons and adjusting his glasses at the screen. “Hm, true, but it’s small. I suspect it’s just rain. No need to splurge.”

Stan laughed. Reactionary nervous laughing was his surefire tell. He could only bluff his way through it if the person didn’t know him that well. Ford was absolutely not that person. Stan wasn't sure if there really was a storm coming from Ford’s tone. Whatever Gods there were might have been kind to him, or Ford might just be playing along with his sad attempt at lying. He turned back to Stan with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes boring down on Stan with a skeptical look the envy of all skeptics.

“You’re not as good at lying as you think you are.” Stan bit the inside of his cheek and had the wherewithal to look ashamed. They had promised no more lying, yet here he was, unable to just tell Ford the truth. Of course, the full truth was not on the table. End of discussion. Not happening. How exactly would that go over? ‘Hey, Bro. I’ve been really horny lately and I’ve been dreaming about fucking you, so I need t find a hot babe to screw and get it out of my system before I bend you over the railing!’ Yeah, no. That was not ok. Of course, saying it might just wipe that egotistical ‘I’m disappointed in you Stanley. You know I’m smarter and better than you’ look off of Ford’s face. Stan would have one glorious moment of having blindsided his know-it-all brother before his world came crashing down. Come on, Stan. Think of something!

“What are you really wanting a hotel room for?” Ford had shifted, one hip cocked that really shouldn’t accentuate his backside from this angle, but most assuredly did and braced one hand on said hip. Stan covered his face, pushing up his glasses and massaging the the bridge of his nose.

“Damnit Sixer! Fuck!”

“Language, Stanley.”

Stan ground his dentures and mocked his prissy brother, a near perfect imitation. “’Language Stanley!’” But fighting was not going to help him. He sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck and avoided Ford’s gaze. Forcing the truth from his mouth was like pulling teeth. And he would know. “Just…I got…needs…okay.” Ok, half-truths. “Gimme one night.”

Ford frowned at him before rolling his eyes and hoisting the bag over his shoulder. He tossed Stan his own bag with much less grace and far more force than was necessary. “You and you’re ‘babes’. Fine. But you get to pay for separate rooms.”

“Done.”

*~*

“I’m sorry, we only have one room available tonight. There was a short notice cancellation this morning.”

Stan felt his heart hit rock bottom and punch a hole in the bottom to keep going. It wasn't the clerk’s fault. They had gone shopping and fought their way through crowds of people and sidewalk stands to just get the bare necessities. Ford had to actually pull Stan away from a near fistfight with some ass that had tried to grab the last six-pack of beer Stan recognized. Ford himself had gotten into a verbal tiff with another irate patron who was convinced Ford worked at the store and would not let up. A manager was finally called to settle the dispute. They had run with their groceries as soon as they were out of the store and hauled everything to the ship. Maintenance and minor repairs to the ship could wait.

Stan watched his future and sanity go up in smoke and confetti. One room. Thank God a double. Stan doesn’t know his he could handle being forced to share. They have in the past, but that was before Stan’s mind had to be a shithead. His chances of getting lucky tonight just went from slim to near zilch. Not with Ford rooming with him.

“Is there anything just for tonight? We aren’t staying long.” There was always a chance. Reservations only mattered the day of arrival. They could be gone before the room needed to be cleaned.

“No, I’m sorry. Every room has an occupancy. And the staff needs at least four hours to turn over the rooms.”

“What the heck is going on to book you guys up so much? The crowds at the store were insane!”

“Don’t know. Some sort of gala or event. We’ve been booked for months.”

Just their luck. Ford stepped up behind him, hand already going for his wallet.

“We’ll take it.” He sent Stan a look that said, ‘I do this for you, now appreciate it’ and Stan elected to ignore him and flipped though the rack of pamphlets.

They were checked in and, on their way up to the only empty room in the hotel when Ford just had to bring up what Stan was going to do if he found a girl to sleep with him. Well, what he actually said was “If you do somehow goad or coerce a woman to willingly copulate with you, how does this not become awkward for me?” but Stan liked his version better. His was at least in English. And less rude.  

“So, I’ll go to her place.”

“If she refuses?”

“I’ll text ya and let ya know I need the room. There’s a bar in the lobby. Or we could do a threesome.” Stan wanted to bite his own tongue off and never speak again. He knew he had no filter, but God Damn! He really had no filter.

Ford paused mid-step, looking at Stan like he had turned into an octopus monster or had yellow eyes. Quick. Joke. Make it a joke!

“Sixer, I’ve been celibate for ten years. Normally it’s not an issue and I can just ignore it, but I can’t now. Instead of having problems getting it up, I got problems keeping it down.” Stan unlocked their room and pushed in, tossing his bag on the nearest bed. Ford followed behind, now wearing a concerned look. A preferred upgrade from disgusted and shocked. If still unwanted.

“We’re on land. Did you want to go to a doc-“ But Stan cut him off.

“Not like they actually have a treatment for this kind of thing. The opposite, sure. Even comes in a rainbow of flavors. But not this. Not unless I wanna take a dose of Androcur, and I don’t think a doctor is gonna prescribe me any of that.”

“What’s Androcur?”

“Female hormones. Usually given ta woman with hormone disorders but can also reduce sex drive in men. And since I’m not a woman, last time I checked anyway, I’m outta luck.” Stan was already tugging off his shoes and shirt and rifling through his bag for something classy. It was late afternoon, still too early to really do any schmoozing, but he could get an eye for where the best place might be. Hell, he might have time to wander around the back alleys looking for a gay bar. Larger city like this might have one. Stan has some qualms about seeking out the company of other men, especially now, but he’s more likely to find a man that’s interested than a woman. He doesn’t fancy getting slapped or having a drink thrown at him. So, the question is, does he try for the better chance that he’ll hook someone and risk thinking of Ford, or does he go for the harder chase of getting a woman interested but being free from wandering thoughts? Decisions decisions.

“Haven’t you tried…” Oh, Ford was still talking. But his question trailed off and offered no meaning.

“Tried…?” Stan frowned as he tugged off his shirt and dug through his bag, looking for something appropriate. Yellow? No, too bright. White v-neck? Nah, disco would not help him tonight. Purple with pineapples? Was this even his? Ford cleared his throat and Stan glanced at him, stuffing the purple shirt to the bottom of his bag.

“You know…” Ford made a quick jerking motion with his hand around his navel. He even had nerve to blush and avert his eyes.

“Ya know, you somehow fooled everyone into thinking you’re ‘The Author’ and are this cool and badass scifi-pirate.”

“Stan!”

“But you’re still the socially awkward nerd I remember from high-school who had to build a robot to learn how to kiss.”

“Now is not the time to talk about the kissing machine!” Ford looked a cross between indignant, humiliated and livid. Stan laughed until he felt tears build in the corners of his eyes. “Just answer my question, Stanley.”

Stan sobered slowly, a few laughing coughs tumbling out before he could respond. “You think I haven’t tried? What do ya think all the ‘I’m gonna piss’ comments were for?”

“I thought you were doing what you said?”

“Jeezus, you really are hopeless. When a man says, ‘I gotta piss’, he’s gonna piss. When he says ‘I’m gonna piss’, he’s gonna go jack-off so don’t follow or expect him back soon.”

Stan swore he saw Ford’s eye twitch. “Those have the same meaning. The only technical difference besides your horrid pronunciation, is that one refers to a need or desire, and the other refers to a future action.”

“Yeah, see, no. It isn’t. Words can have more than their literal meaning. Like how pussy can mean the cat or it can mean vag-“

“I know what it means!” Ford had gone a brilliant shade of vermilion and Stan swore he could see Sixer’s glasses fogging up. He had turned away from Stan to stare at the painting the hotel had decided was decoration. Haphazard paint strokes that might have been a wheat field, with some grey and purple blob that might have been a mountain.

“Yeah, sorry for thinking ya missed some social cues. You are the one who didn’t understand the one urinal rule.”

“We’re been over this; If they weren’t meant to be used, they wouldn’t be installed. It’s not my fault if some guy is so worried he’s so attractive that I just have to stand next to him and look at his penis! All this homophobia nonsense is very egotistical.”

“Preachen’ to the choir, there. But I’ve been on the losing end of enough bar fights to follow it anyway.”

Ford braves a glance at Stan now that his face had cooled somewhat and gives him quizzical look. Stan becomes acutely aware he’s sitting on the bed wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and his trademarked (literally) gold chain with his pants undone. And doesn’t this scenario scream suggestive? He awkwardly clears his throat and grabs his toiletries bag before pushing passed Ford to the bathroom.

He calls over his shoulder before he closes the door, “Hey, who knows. Maybe you’ll find a lady to, how’d ya put it? ‘Copulate with’? More like finally punch your virgin card.”

Stan closed the door on the incoherent sputtering and protests his comment generated.  

 [CJ1]I am convinced that this is canon. You can’t tell me otherwise. Stan would not let go of that car if he could help it.

Part One

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[rainbow-hatted1]

Nik’s Asks

He gave them to me backwards so they shall be backwards

21) What’s your comfort spot?

Depends on where I am, I guess, or my mood. The combo really.

Generally speaking, at school I like to go to the kitchens, if I’m blue, or sit by the lake if I need a think. I also have been granted access to the care of magical creatures classroom when I want and I rather like to hang out in there with the creatures if I’m feeling over stimulated and people seem a bit overwhelming to me.

At home, my room if I wanna be alone, or if I’m feeling a bit blue I like to sit in the kitchen with my mum.

18) Ideal life?

It’s a dumb thing to say but I guess normal? Though, really who the fuck is normal? What’s normal, specially when there’s magic everywhere. But yeah, I guess a lot of my issues stem from a lack of normal... Ideally, I’d like my mates and I to be on the same page again. To be best friends without the awkwardness. Or maybe not seeing the ghosts that lay beyond what a normal wizard can see though, I mostly just hate the way people react to me when they stumble on me talking to them.

I dunno, it’s a difficult thing to think on because I haven’t been particularly happy or okay but I’ve not really got a thing on a silver platter on my head beyond having fun with my friends again like we used too even if everything else stays complicated. Just want to be less alone, I guess, even if I’m kind of crap with people in general.

13) What’s the worst grounding you got as a child?

As a kid? Some might argue that I’m still a kid but I’m assuming like less than 10. There were a lot of offenses back then but I think the worst one I ever got was oddly enough not because of Nik. Yeah, take that in. No, it was my own doing, I guess, I was on a kick of bugging/torturing my little brother Topher and my mother’s wonderful solution to that was to take my room away, give it to Topher and then make me bunk with my youngest brother (at the time) Terry who didn’t sleep until I said I was sorry “and meant it”. Wasn’t cool. 

8) Do you have a scar? If so, how’d you get it?

Sort of a silly question, think most everyone has scars, but yeah, I’ve got a few. Generally they’re not really from anything fun, more a collection of being a klutz and a knack for trouble.

I do have a set of lines on my left forearm from when my dad took me to the compound where he works with dragons. Well, they turned their back on me (mistake) and I ran off to play with a baby, one round my size at the time, so small-ish still and it didn’t much care for me just walking up to it. Swiped at me and I blocked the blow with my arms but it still managed to claw the back of my hand. Blood went everywhere but I, er, I turned round and decked it in the face and said, “That’s not nice!” and then the parents swooped in and tore me away but I swear the dragon wasn’t going to touch me again. He’s actually very nice he just didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

7) Favorite holiday memory?

My favorite memory is kind of more an ongoing tradition in our family so it’s not a specific moment in time but a loop of them. Specifically, during Christmas when we collaboratively make the decorations for the tree that year and it’s just a big mess of paper, cookies and old ornaments that have been passed down. Stories, jokes, all around fuckary is exchanged but it’s a good time. We play games after that and I dunno, it’s something I think of first when it comes to the holidays along.

[cyriusli]

To all the anons who left notes in my box, as well as everyone else: Those were really nice to wake up to this morning, so thank you. It was really nice to see that you guys aren’t expecting too much from me right now. I just feel bad because in the past I have been able to deliver and keep that brutal pace up.

I just... I can’t right now and it’s highly frustrating.

Ima make a cut so this doesn’t get overly long, but I’ll fill you guys in a bit more if you want to continue to read. If not, that’s cool, too. Just know that I really appreciate every one of you. Don’t be afraid to drop notes and say hi either lol

So, yeah, hey if you’re still here.

Anyway, long story short (or short recap if you’ve been here a while) It’s now been a year since I had my first surgery, was just the other day, yet I am still no where near to being over this crap. So, here’s the rundown: I had/have bilateral cubital tunnel and yes, it’s just as annoying and obnoxious as it sounds.

I have had to have surgery on both of my arms (the shorter surgery where they go in and release the nerve and move it. Only takes, at most, 2 hours) and my kids friends think I am weird because I know longer have funny bones. I guess that’s kinda neat, I can slam my elbows on things and it doesn’t DO anything -_-

Anyway.

Left arm (March surgery): Some nerve damage in my pinkie, but overall, good to go. Scar is fading and shit looks about as okay as it’s going to get. Awesome cause I am left handed. Can still write. Double bonus!

Right arm (May surgery): Hand is fine, nerve function is 100%! Awesome news right?! Well, not exactly. While the surgery was a success, the nerve didn’t quite stay were it was supposed to and so now every time I move my right arm, the nerve rubs against the muscle of my upper arm. (My doctor explained it to me, but there were colored markers and shitty drawings, so I am sorry for my shitty explanation here) So even though the wound healed and the surgery was technically a success, it wasn’t. The swelling just won’t go down and the scar is still red and inflamed.

This means more surgery and this time they have to go in and do the more complicated surgery where they will lift up the muscle of my arm and put the nerve under it so that this kinda thing doesn’t happen. This is a less common surgery and a bit more extensive because the first surgery usually works.

So, here’s how this entire thing has gone. First I am about twenty years TOO YOUNG to even get this crap; it usually doesn’t start to appear until the mid fifties. Second, I am in the 1-2% of patients, that despite showing and having all the external symptoms, the pain, swelling, numbness, the nerves themselves show no sign of deterioration. Go figure. And on top of all that, I am in the like 1% that needs the more complex surgery. It’s so uncommon that even though my surgeon knows how to do it, he’s never actually done one and wants me to get a second opinion and possibly have the surgeon who trained him do it.

Oh. Yeah. And it’s all through Workman’s Comp.

Have you ever had to deal with them? Don’t ever get injured at work, I tell you what. It has been a major headache the entire time and I ended up having to hire a lawyer. My WC worker actually said to me at one point, “You’re telling me you can’t go run a cash register?” Yes; yes I am. The injury I have is from REPETITIVE STRESS AND MOTION. What do you do when you run a cash register?

Having the lawyer is nice because I don’t have to deal with WC directly, but it’s still very frustrating and things that should be done are not getting done. Like it took almost 3 months for me to get an MRI done and 5 months for me to get my FCE (Functional Capacity Evaluation) from Physical Therapy. And they are stalling yet again on my referral so I can (unfortunately) get more surgery done.

And this morning I had to go see the doctor that WC appointed a second time and he’s an asshole and despite also being an orthopedic surgeon, he is completely ignoring the issue here and is like, but you can lift up to 50 pounds. Yes, yes, I can. That as never been the issue. It’s the amount of times I lift the 50 pounds that’s the problem. But he doesn’t care, he scribbled on his paper, like fucking dismissed me like I have no idea what I am talking about and left the room. It took me about an HOUR to drive to this guy for him to talk over me for 15 minutes. Like, seriously, my appointment was at 8, I was back in my car by 8:20.

Then, of course, there is my daily life, my kids, my dog, my cats, school, homework, the fact I can’t seem to sleep, not having the time or want to write and just the general fuckary of getting ANOTHER 22 inches of snow in less than 24 hours. And I can’t seem to fucking beat the blight ganon of Naboris!

I want to do more, I really do. I want to write and interact with everyone, I just, something has to give and unfortunately it’s been Tumblr. And I am sorry.

This got longer than I wanted, but yeah, that’s my fuck show of a life right now.

[onlyblackgirl]

Reminder: if you need to get away from the fuckary for a minute, i keep general happy things in my Self Care tag. Feel free to indulge if needed. 

[seesgood]

things that, as i get older, i get steadily more upset by ( upper middle class american education edition ! ):

they literally never told us anything about the aids crisis in school. literally nothing. i know there was an aids crisis, i know many ( many ) people died, but do i know literally anything about it? literally nothing. no.

um????? literally after the small section in our history books about the trail of tears no one ever mentions native americans ever again hello yes i would have liked to know about the continual struggle and amount of un-investigated sexual assaults and missing persons and general fuckary that they never taught us in school?

sorry but what the fuck why did no one ever teach us how fucking much women did during wars? ‘oh yeah they took over factory jobs uwu’ NO FUCK THAT ( i mean that was great but FUCK THAT ) tell me about the women rebelling during wwii and how many helped hide jews from nazis TELL ME THAT YOU MOFOS

i literally give zero fucks about who signed the declaration of independence i’m sorry i just give zero fucks 

im not even gonna touch on sex ed bc that in itself is a monstrosity of anger yet to be released

they literally make you think that the whole  period between slavery being abolished and jim crow was gr8 for black people ( SORRY WHAT?! ) 

would you know that i know literally nothing ( NOTHING ) about the history of the rest of the world? literally nothing. and when we were taught about it it was like EYYYY mesopotamia  r e p r e s e n t 

again i cannot explain how bitter i am about learning about only the straight white male version of history and that’s it that’s the tea for today i. am. bitter.