#or your brain will implode from the self-loathing

[sphacelating]

i can’t say i’m surprised that these people will continue to twist canon, reject the core of the story and bastardize characterization to cling to their own piss poor interpretation of the source material, because it takes a special kind of willingly delusional to babygirlify andrew fucking graves even prior to episode 3: decay.

Okay, that's it.

If there's people still defending Andrew after playing chapter 3, then they're simply beyond saving.

Although I won't deny that I find it funny that it takes the game itself to say that Andrew isn't innocent at all for some people to understand it.

[chanfictions]

Go to someplace you enjoy. Take a long deep breath and say to yourself out loud. "I am only human" take just a moment to exist. Simply exist. I'm not saying this will heal your depression I'm not claiming this as a cure to anxiety, but understand, you are you in fact only human and there is only so much you can do to fight your own brain.

I genuinely hope I do not sound preachy, I just want you to give yourself some time to breathe and just...be.

Hey anon -- it doesn't sound preachy at all. I appreciate the message.

I wish I had more time to just breathe, but life and bills and dogs wait for no one. The issue with even taking this vacation is that all it did was delay and compound the heap of shit I've been struggling to deal with at work because I can't focus and fail to see the point in doing anything because the world is on fire and the country I live in seems like it's just going to implode. I struggle to take time outs like this in general because all it does is delay whatever impending disaster I feel is coming.

The world doesn't care that I can barely get out of bed most mornings. Companies don't care that my depression is kneecapping my ability to work. I can't even bring myself to metion it to them because I fear it will put a target on my back. Falling apart as an adult isn't the same as it is when you're in high school and college -- and I know, because I did that too. Many times. Concessions aren't made -- compromises on work and study don't exist. Delays aren't acceptable. There is only the death machine, hungry for workers. If I bow out to take care of me, all that's going to happen is that I'll lose my job and likely end up somewhere worse, and then we'll do this whole song and dance all over again, but I'll have a heap of debt to contend with on top of everything else.

The world I live in is cold and uncaring. There's a whole lot of "suck it up, buttercup" when you're grown, on your own, and struggling to exist in an environment not designed for malfunctioning brains. The social awkwardness of a shy, depressed teenager wasn't outgrown. In my case, it just grew into a bloated beast that has kept me from being able to do anything because I'm just fucking paralyzed. All. The fucking. Time. I'm drowning in doubt and self-loathing, but all I can do is stuff it and put on that fake fucking smile for Zoom meetings because I need this job.

I'm going to the doctor again to try yet another cocktail of shit to try to convince my brain to function normally, but I don't think that anything is going to work at this point. Maybe back to a shrink or a therapist, but I have doubts about that too. I can tell you everything that's wrong with me and exactly why I am the way I am. I don't need to pay someone $250 an hour to tell me that. I know what broke me on those levels. But my brain was defective straight out of the factory, which makes this all so goddamn complicated.

I do all of the things you're supposed to do to deal with depression on a physical level. Exercise, eating, sleeping right, mindfulness. It doesn't fucking help. Maybe because I do things to the extreme. I don't know. Being anxious, depressed, and struggling to contain the monster of an eating disorder that nearly killed me is a lot to deal with. Eating right makes that monster twitchy, as does exercise. Everything must be perfect. I must be perfect. Sleeping "right" makes the inky creature of gloom and despair slither out from under the bed and into my head to fill it with noise and visions of wooden dolls with straw hair and Glasgow smiles. I feel like I just can't fucking win.

Ugh.

Fuck, this turned into another word-vomitty rant. Sorry, folks. I'll be back to writing again and acting like an actual fanfiction blog soon. Almost done with the next prompt anyway.

[redstarwriting]

Period Pain (2nd Edition)

Avengers x Reader(s)

Request: “This is a specific request but could I have a story where the reader has their period (A bad one, heavy and painful) and the Avengers (Anyones you want) take care of them. Please make it extra fluffy.”

Word Count: 2,759

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: swearing, period, mention of Ibuprofen

A/N: The first one of these did Really Well so I decided to write for the rest of the people I didn’t write about. I still have to do the Guardians, Loki, Valkyrie, and Carol, so keep your eyes out for those ones, too! I hope you enjoy this one!

───────────────────────────────────

Mother Nature must really hate you. You can’t move, your cramps are restricting you from functioning like a normal human being. The only time you got up today was to go to the bathroom to make sure you didn’t ruin your clothes and the sheets. You’ve been curled up in a ball for the past many hours, and even snapped at your significant other earlier. You feel bad deep down inside, but the pain you’re feeling overrides your remorse right now. You’re in the middle of your self loathing and hating being a female when in walks…

…Rhodey.

He walks slowly and quietly, making his way over to your bathroom. “Why the fuck are you walking like I’m a feral animal that will literally leap up and maul you to death if you make a sudden movement you fucking weird ass?” you say, louder than intended. He freezes, looking at you. “Did you not hear what you just said? How you just said it?”

“I did. Your point?”

“I just proved my-”

“What are you doing, James?” you look at him, your expression completely unamused. He’s actually quite scared and begins rethinking the idea he had. But he clears his throat and straightens his back. “I was just going to run you a bath so you can relax a little. I heard heat helps with the… girl pains?” You stare at him, raising your eyebrows. “They’re called cramps,” you say, and he smiles apologetically. “I heard heat helps with the cramps,” he repeats, and to his surprise, you smile. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?” He gapes at you, amazed at how your mood went from bloodthirsty to loving that quickly. “I try my hardest?” he replies, obviously very confused. “Let me know when everything’s ready, okay?” You sound very excited and happy and he smiles at you, “Of course.”

…Pietro.

Well, it’s more like you see a flash of blue, then have a weighted blanket covering you, then nothing. About two minutes pass before you see the flash again, and a heating pad is next to you on your bed. Then after another two minutes, some chocolate and your favorite food gets plopped down on your nightstand. You appreciate everything your dear loving boyfriend is doing, but goddamnit. Can he stay still? You just want him to hug you and stop. Moving. For. Once.

Before you know it, he’s sprinting in the room again, and you announce his name loudly, and it is quite possibly the fastest you ever said anything in your life. Much to your surprise and happiness he stops dead in his tracks. You can’t help but laugh at the expression on his face and the four bottles of water with a container of Ibuprofen in his hands. “Why are you running around like that?”

“Well, uh… you see…” he begins, slowly setting the things in his hands down next to the food he brought. “I know you are on your period right now and having a sister I know what that can entail,” he starts, and you stare at him with an amused expression. “Uh-huh…”

“And, well, I know what helps Wanda, but I do not know what helps you. So… I asked Wanda what I should do and now I am… doing all of what she suggested along with a google search. But I did not own all of the things I wanted to get for you, so I have been running back and forth from the store this whole time. Also, you are scary when you are mad. Especially when you are mad at me,” he finishes, and you burst into laughter. “Pietro, that’s adorable. Also, I was only mad at you because you gave me a reason to be mad at you. So, don’t give me another reason,” you say, and he smiles. His smile, however, turns quickly to a scared expression as he hears you say, “Now if you don’t get into this bed and cuddle with me and don’t leave, then I’ll be pissed!”

He has your favorite cookies baking in the oven. What is he supposed to do now?

…Stephen.

“I brought you some more Ibuprofen,” he says, walking over and setting it down next to you. “I hope it helps.” You glare at the back of his head as he leaves the room again. Dealing with this with medicine and heating pads works, yes, but you’d much rather have the warmth radiating off of Stephen’s body to make you feel better. Sadly, it doesn’t look like that’s about to happen.

He may be book smart as all hell, but boy is he dumb when it comes to dealing with literally anything else. He of course tries, but he is so clueless sometimes. This is one of those times. He knows that certain over the counter medicines will lessen your cramps, and that typically applying heat also helps with the pain that accompanies one of your organs genuinely attempting suicide inside of your body, but he really doesn’t know what to do to actually comfort you. He of course thought of laying down with you, holding you until you felt better. However, that wouldn’t be very efficient for him. He needs to make sure the universe doesn’t implode, after all. He can tell, though, that all you want is for him to be around because of the way you’ve been snapping at him all day. Luckily, he thought of another plan that he hoped would work.

You sigh into your pillow, the pain nowhere near stopping when suddenly you feel quite the cozy sensation. You turn your head, curious as to what just wrapped around your body, when you get a big whiff of your boyfriend. You giggle, realizing that the Cloak of Levitation has just wrapped you up in a little burrito. “Cloak, what are you doing?” you say, amused. That’s when a note appears next to you, and you pick it up. “Dear (Y/N), I really do wish I could keep you company right now and make you feel better, but I have quite the workload right now. Instead, I sent Cloak. I hope that’s okay for now, if I get any free time I’ll be there. I love you, Stephen.”

You smile to yourself. As much as you wanted to be mad at him, you couldn’t be. He was really busy after all, and the fact that he did think about how you felt was enough for you to know that he wasn’t as stupid as he seemed. Oh, and he did get some free time, but he didn’t want to interrupt yours and Cloak’s little nap. He just took a lot of pictures.

…Scott.

“I was thinking, maybe I can shrink up and go inside of you and see just how bad this uterus is acting and then give it a stern talking to,” he says, trying to lighten your mood by joking around. You think. He’s not serious right? “You’re not serious, right?” you ask, just to be positive that he wasn’t being a dumbass this time. “Oh no, your brain must be suffering from blood loss. Your humor is fading! Whatever shall I do?! Oh, what a cruel, cruel world,” he drops down to his knees, beginning to fake cry which causes you to giggle at him. “Calm down, Scott, my humor isn’t going anywhere. I just honestly never know when you’re being serious,” you tell him, and he gives you a grin. “Well, I can’t blame you there. I do have something that will cheer you up though.”

You give him a questioning look when all of a sudden Cassie runs into the room, hopping up next to you in bed. You smile as she snuggles into your side, giggling the whole time. “Hey there sweetie,” you say as Scot takes a seat on the bed next to Cassie, sandwiching her in between you two. “She’s been asking for hours to watch a movie, I kinda figured it would be better if all three of us watched it instead of just me and her.”

“You’re absolutely right,” you say and hear Cassie shout a “yeah” in agreement. You and Scott chuckle at her reaction before he picks up the remote to the TV in your room, scrolling through Disney+ to find the right movie.

…Peter.

Well it’s more like he came through your window. “Karen said that I should get you these things,” he starts saying as soon as he touches down in your room. You glance over to his right arm full of medicine, a heating pad, lots of chocolate, and various feminine hygiene products. “I didn’t know which… things… you used so I bought all of the ones that I could carry, I hope that’s okay. Oh, and uh… I brought a lot of chocolate! I don’t really know why Karen said it might help, do you know why it helps? I mean, I obviously wasn’t like, ’No Karen, I don’t see how chocolate could help anyone in this situation,’ because I mean I don’t really know anything when it comes to this stuff but Karen’s a computer, so obviously she would know. Oh yeah, I brought a heating pad! Heat helps right? Or is this one of those things hear heat helps sometimes but the cold helps other times, oh crap, should I have gotten Icy Hot instead? I was right there next to it when I got all this other medicine… God I’m so stup-”

“Peter!” you make him stop rambling and one of the medicine bottles he’s holding falls out of his grip, and when he tries to save it, the rest fall. You laugh at his floundering to pick everything he just dropped back up. He rips off his mask and sighs. “I was just trying to help, you know. A now it’s all on the ground and-“

“Pete, just because you dropped it doesn’t mean it’s all useless.”

“I know, I know, I was just supposed to come in here all heroic and be like, ‘I’ve brought you what you need to feel better!’ and now it’s just…. it’s on the floor,” he says, and the disappointment in his voice is only the more endearing. “C’mere, Pete,” you say, opening. your arms so he can come hug you. “I’m all sweaty, (Y/N/N),” he mumbles, and you roll your eyes. “I need to take a shower anyways Peter, right now I just want cuddles,” you say, and lay on the puppy dog eyes. Those make him ridiculously weak to you. He just grins and jumps into bed next to you. You used the things he got you, but only after Peter himself made you feel exponentially better.

…Miles.

“Knock knock,” he says, walking into your room holding a stack of comic books. “Miles, why do you have so many comics?” you ask, turning to look at him. “Well, I know you have all the things you need to feel better with this whole… bleeding… thing?”

“This is true, I am prepared.”

“I know, but I figured the one thing you don’t have that you’d want is some good ‘ol Mile Morales loving. I also know that you kinda like the sound of my voice, even when you yell at me, so I decided I’d bring these comics and read them out loud. Oh, we can also play a little game where I describe the picture to you and you can tell me if it’s any good or not, I thought that might, y’know, take your mind off the pain,” he says, walking over to you and plopping down on the bed. “Miles I don’t think this bed is big enough for the two of us,” you say, but before you can even attempt to tell him to use your computer chair, he picks you up and moves you so you’re lying on top of him in a very comfortable position. The warmth radiating off of his body also makes you feel a little bit better. “Oh, okay, well this works perfectly,” you mumble nuzzling your face in his chest. You can feel the vibrations through his body as he laughs at you.

“Sorry for snapping at you earlier,” you say, and he just smiles. “It’s okay, I know how unbearable I can be at times,” he jokes, and you grin. “Now, how about I start with… well uh… I have a lot so…” he trails off, holding up all the comics he brought so you can see them. “which one of these is your favorite…?”

…Gwen.

“Do you wanna bang on my drums? Banging on my drums helps me,” she says, leaning against your door frame. You roll your eyes and throw a pillow at her to which she catches in one hand and tosses back. “I think you should bang on my drums,” she says again, and you sigh. “Gwen, baby, even if I wanted to do that, I can’t move. My uterus is really trying to end itself right now, and I swear if it doesn’t succeed, I will end its life for it by ending my own.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the edgy one in this relationship. Are you coming for my brand right now?” she asks, walking over to you. You narrow your eyes at her, causing her to grin and sit at the foot of your bed. “Okay, well, how about this. The newest season of that true crime show came out today…”

“No fucking way, I thought it was supposed to come out Friday?”

“It was, but then they said, ‘fuck it, let’s release it early.’ And I got all of my homework done. So, I’m totally free to sit back, rub your stomach, and get my fill of murderers and how corrupt bad police officers are. What do you say?” she gives you a sincere smile, which causes one to break out across your face as well. “Come here, woman.”

…T’Challa.

“Can I just say I have fought many a warrior, but you are the most ferocious person I have ever met,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Is this because you were being annoying earlier and I let you know that you were being annoying earlier?” you snap again, and he points at you. “There it was. Terrifying.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him. The truth is he wasn’t doing anything annoying at all. You just really wanted him to stay with you for an hour or two and make you feel better with his presence, but he had some “Kingly duties” he had to attend to, so you’ve been alone. Dying.

“I have finished what I had to do today, you know,” he says, and you roll back over to face him again. “Oh really?” He chuckles at your immediate response and nods, walking into your shared room. “Yes, it seems I am completely free for the rest of the day. I have no idea what to do, honestly. I guess I’ll just-”

“Just stay here in bed with me? Yeah, damn right you will. Get over here yOuR hIgHnEsS,” you say, quite obviously laying the sarcasm on your highness to which he smiles at. The rest of the day was spent with the two of you just talking and you eventually falling asleep in his arms as he told you stories about when he was younger.

…Shuri.

“Even though you can be a bitch on your period I invented a new kind of heating pad for you because you are a spoiled brat, you know that right?” she says, walking over to you and dropping down the heating pad next to you. You give her a cheesy smile before thanking her and picking up this new heating pad. “The way it works is that it adjusts to your cramp pain. I’ve put a censor in it that can detect how severe the cramps are and then it administers heat accordingly. Also, you don’t have to worry about it catching on fire or anything, if it begins overheating it automatically turns off.”

“How did I end up with the best and brightest girlfriend of all time?” you ask, placing the pad on your stomach and letting your girlfriend’s technology take it from there. “Because she took pity on you,” she responds, and you laugh. She rolls her eyes, but a smile appears on her face none-the-less and she begins walking out of the room again. “Excuse me, but where do you think you are going?” you ask her and she turns to you, raising her eyebrows. “I am going to get us some ice cream so we can relax for a little bit. Is this a problem, princess?”

“Hey now, you’re the princess, I’m just your girlfriend. And no, carry on. Me and your dope ass heating pad will be waiting for you when you get back.”

“Mhm,” she says, and walks out of the room mumbling something about how you’re too spoiled, when in reality, you’re just the luckiest person in the world.

[majesticnerdynerd]

For the questions: 14, 28?

Hello Summerfly! :3 There are such good questions tbh!

14. Would you want to be reincarnated? - This is something I’m pondering at least once a month. There are moments in my life I loathe and those that I love and like to revisit in memories and think that maybe this life is enough of an experience. But. I guess I’d be curious what I’d be reincarnated as. A horse? A man in Nepal? Or something completely different or alien? I mean, there’s so much to life 1 person won’t get to discover in their lifetime, the world’s that big. Hmm. I guess yeah, I’d like to be reincarnated. Despite the trouble I may go through at times, it’s a learning process I know I can get out of one day, hopefully, and there’s so much to do and enjoy that for a while, I can forget all about the past and enjoy the moment~ and I also really like eating food and watching TV shows while ignoring the dumpsterfire of global politics! heh  I think I’d like to reincarnate again into the next life, yeah :D (I won’t be opposed to being a dragon, tho, note to self)

28. Would you want to live forever? How about for a billion years, a million, a millenium, a century? - This question had popped up in my mind a few times. I mean, the idea of immortality as a whole seems nice, doesn’t it? You don’t age or succumb to sickness or injuries, if we’re talking full-full immortality with no ‘but’s’, and you get to live and experience everything you desire, possibly. But at the same time, while you don’t age with time, time moves the rest of the world forward and you can’t stop that from happening, can you? I think the psychological drawback would be quite impractical, because if you’ve been born into human society, you crave that close contact. And if you’ve grown up with friends you’re close to and have known for all your mortal years, it’s quite hard to watch them wither, isn’t it? Sure, you can make new connections as time goes by, but will it ever be the same? The cycle will only repeat, and unless you meet another immortal, you’re pretty much stuck alone, in a way. (but you could also be stuck with a frenemy/arch-nemesis that grinds your gears to infinity and beyond because they just can’t FUCK OFF, yes, I’m looking at you, Jim >:I)

On one hand, immortality sounds cool as fuck, and lemme tell ya, to live long enough to see space travel become possible? I’d sign up, an immortal could be beneficial in some way for sure. But on the other hand, it seems incredibly lonely. And I don’t wanna tag on the journey with only Jim hounding my ass. Which brings me to this trope I read some time ago that immortals could perhaps choose 1 companion the whole time. Welp, guess to whom I’d give it to? Either a dog, a cat, a ferret, or, uh, idk, yeah, pets.

A billion years somehow sounds scarier than forever, I can’t exactly explain how. Maybe it’s this existential fear that the Sun is going to implode in a couple billion years and this hits too close to home (and I also saw the DW episode, idk what year it was but was in billions and the last human was a stretched skin saying ‘moisturize me’?? Yeah i got fear). 

A million years gets me a meh vibe. I kinda connecct millions of years to dinosaurs and well, extinction? Not my cup of tea, even though rn we are going through a big-ass wave of species going extinct (free depression!). Don’t ask me why I feel this, my brain works in mysterious ways~

A millenium sounds plausible to me, enough to fuck around with history and become a local cryptid for sure. That would be fun, heh. I’d sabotage some corrupt ppl or factories and try to make a silent impact maybe. I mean, you could do this over longer periods of time with immortality or more time, but a millenium is enough to fuck up locals and corporations, perhaps!

A century is achievable even without having a deal like this, minus the young bod, I feel :D a century feels long and short at the same time, but compared to the rest it is very short. However, you wouldn’t stay along for long, huh? 

Overall, I think this is very dependent on the social circles, and mine are quite small irl, which I don’t mind. My view of living for long is a bit obscured, because if someone offered me immortality or something longer than a century, I could take it if I were asked at 3 a.m. Or if they promised me an immortal cat and provide me a way to piss of Jim, yeah. 

In conclusion, I’d most probably take a millenium, just t fuck with people. I don’t know how much sense I make, so I hope the answers are coherent :D I am writing this between online classes, so hopefully I didn’t babble too much!

Thanks for asking!! <3 :3

[whentommymetalfie]

The more we find

Edit: Seen above, I had to insert a picture of the summary and so on because Tumblr is being the worst. Sorry about that! The story itself is not blurry. 

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142465

Tommy claims he doesn’t blush.

That time in his office, when he came to Alfie in an absolute rage only to minutes later throw himself in his arms. That first time they kissed. I don’t get flustered. And I don’t blush. That’s what he said, wasn’t it?

Alfie doesn’t believe Tommy for a second. Because Tommy has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, has he? And he seems like the type who’d blush in the bedroom: so fucking uptight. Something about that pristine exterior, those high collared shirts that are always buttoned the entire way… how he holds himself –that straight posture… yeah, Alfie recons it’ll shake him up a bit, if he says something along the lines of ‘I’d like to bend you over this desk and fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week-“

He figures that when he starts running his mouth, Tommy will blush like a fucking virgin on their wedding night. He looks forward to that, admittedly. Because some pink would look pretty on those sharply cut cheeks. And maybe Tommy will avert his eyes, and those long eyelashes will flutter a bit … Right, so Alfie may be a little smitten, what of it?

He doesn’t say anything too bad to begin with, because due to reasons yet to be figured out, he finds himself not wanting to scare Tommy off. So he gives it a few weeks, spends his energy on more important things. Like keeping Tommy from wandering off in the middle of the night, or make sure his brain doesn’t implode from overthinking every single little thing. Keep him from drowning in that self-loathing, that he’d sooner shoot himself in the knee than admit suffering from.

Tommy is so riddled with issues that it makes Alfie appear sane in comparison.

Alfie strangely enough finds himself wanting to make it better.

So he spends most of his energy just trying to reassure Tommy that he’s not about to fuck off. Figure out a few ways to soothe some of those demons constantly trying to claw themselves out of his chest. And in the bedroom, he just wants to make sure it’s good for him. God knows what Tommy’s been through to make him this way, Alfie hasn’t figured that part out yet. But he can’t risk anything: Tommy needs someone considerate and perceptive in bed that much is clear. Alfie tries to be all that and more. And it turns out, that the bedroom is one of the few places where Tommy doesn’t mind talking.

When it comes to fucking, Tommy is utterly shameless. And he’ll plead and order Alfie to have him all sorts of different ways, without missing a beat. Any filthy thing Alfie says is just met by a quirked eyebrow or a slight smile, as if Tommy is challenging him to prove it. Or spurs him on; encourages him to moan just a little louder, or beg Alfie to take him harder…

Alfie fucking loves it.

Though it leaves him wondering: What exactly is he supposed to do to throw Tommy off, just a bit? He's yet to be successful at this. But Alfie isn’t one to back down from a challenge.

They’re tangled up in bed and everything is perfect in that surreal, dreamlike way only a bedroom filled with warm morning light can be. Tommy's eyes are all soft, his hair is dishevelled, and Alfie gets to hold him close as he basks in the afterglow of some absolutely amazing sex.

And they say you can’t have everything…

He’s talking about nothing in particular, letting his mouth run as usual. Because Tommy likes it. Seems to ground him a bit. Just as being held soothes those intrusive thoughts.

Suddenly, Tommy laughs at something he’s said, and Alfie stops rambling to look at him. It’s probably not quite the first time he’s heard him laugh. But Tommy’s laugh is often this quiet little outlet of breath more than anything. And every time, he chokes it back just as quickly. Alfie always relishes it none the less, because for just a second, it makes him look childishly happy.

And this time, it’s an actual laugh. The kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corner, and his teeth show in a wide smile that lights up the entire room.

“Now that’s a beautiful sound,” Alfie says without thinking. It’s just an immediate reaction.

Tommy stops laughing and blinks. “What?”He honest to God looks surprised.

“Fuck, you oblivious bloody person, the laugh.” Now it’s Alfie’s turn to chuckle. “Never heard it like that before.”

“You’re so full of it,” Tommy scoffs and looks away, without finding an actual spot to focus his attention on.

And a deep shade of pink tints those pale cheeks. Finally, he’s got it figured out. Alfie is very pleased indeed.

“But would you look at that-” he grabs Tommy’s jaw and admires his handiwork with a smirk “Of all the filthy things I’ve said to you, who would’ve thought an innocent little compliment would do the trick?”

“Fuck off-“ Tommy scowls and grabs his arm, only to be pinned completely as Alfie rolls on top of him and presses both his wrists down onto the mattress. Tommy glares up at him without averting his eyes, doing his very best to assert non-existent dominance in the situation. His cheeks are still red.

“You have a beautiful smile, too, you know that?” Alfie’s toothy grin softens to an affectionate smile, as he leans forward until the tip of his nose touches Tommy’s. “See, your eyes light up. And you get these little dimples in your cheeks, right here-“ he places a light kiss on the mentioned spot.

For once, Tommy loses at his own game and lowers his eyes, lips tightening as he quite clearly bites back a smile. He’s quite unsuccessful, and it makes for just as beautiful a sight as Alfie knew it would.

Tommy looks vulnerable like this, eyes downcast and lips forming a soft smile. It does strange things to Alfie. Fills him with this viciously protective instinct. And it’s sort of worrying, because feelings like that usually leads to trouble. Does all kinds of strange things to the head…

“You know that’s why I’m always talking your ear off, right?” He whispers and rests his forehead against Tommy’s. “Because sometimes, I manage to say something that makes you smile.”

“You’re such a fucking sap,” Tommy declares, but he’s still smiling.

It’s a beautiful thing indeed.

Alfie only wishes Tommy would do it a bit more often. He decides that from now on, that will be the number one priority.

Over the following months, Alfie discovers that Tommy does in fact blush quite easily. Not when Alfie makes dirty jokes or innuendoes. Not even in public, when he leans in and whispers in his ear just how hard he’s going to fuck him once they get home… All of that is just met by that smirk. But longwinded compliments, things that no-one else dares pointing out about the so intimidating Thomas Shelby, that does the trick. Tommy retaliates, stating it’s because he’s pale. It’s got nothing to do with anything else. Well, he can tell himself that all he likes. And Alfie doesn’t really care why he blushes, he just enjoys every instance of it.

They’re walking along the Thames, and the sun is shining from a sky almost free of clouds. The air is filled with that mood only spring can bring after a seemingly endless winter, this sudden optimism that just surges through the city.

It’s nice, being out during daylight, Alfie muses. Hasn’t been much of that these past few weeks; either they’ve been cooped up in some office until late afternoon, or the sky has been covered by thick, grey clouds. But this day has brought something so unusual as sunlight, so when lunchtime rolled around, Alfie firmly stated that a walk was in order, ignored Tommy’s protests and ushered him out the door.

“Not a too bad idea, this, eh?” Alfie nudges Tommy’s ribs with an elbow. “Just look at that, actual sunlight. But take that thing off, bet it’ll do those pale cheeks some good.”

Alfie snags Tommy’s cap and shoves it into the pocket of his coat.

“You’re on thin ice, Solomons,” Tommy says without much conviction and turns his face toward the sun in an instinctive response to the warm light. His mouth twitches too, another one of those reactions ingrained in all humans.

Those mid-day walks become a regular thing the following days, when the sun continues to shine an unordinary amount of light over the city. And one morning when they’re sitting by the kitchen table, Alfie notices the freckles on Tommy’s cheeks. He’s looking up from the newspaper, watching him over the edge of his glasses when the little dots sprinkled over Tommy’s cheekbones and nose catches his attention. Tommy is busy reading something from the previous day’s paper.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get more beautiful,” Alife says, shaking his head. “Fucking hell. I’ll have to start taking little breaks from looking at you, won’t I? Or I’ll never get any work done ever again. Maybe I’ll put up some sort of wall around you at the office-”

Tommy glances up. “What are you on about?”

“I didn’t know you freckled.” Alfie smirks. “Should’ve figured though, what with your fair complexion. It’s bloody precious.”

As always when he’s lacking a witty response, Tommy is silent and focuses his attention elsewhere, namely back on the article.

“People will start just dropping dead at the sight of you,” Alfie goes on. “Won’t even have to carry around those razor blades.”

Grumbling something in Romani, Tommy attempts to hide behind the newspaper, but Alfie folds it down to reveal two quite red, freckled cheeks and a scowl.

“You’re just saying shit like that because you like watching me suffer,” Tommy states.

“I’m deeply offended,” Alfie gasps with feigned indignation. “That you would accuse me of such manipulative tactics.”

He reaches over the table and grasps Tommy’s hand, kissing the palm lightly. Tommy’s expression softens. “I always find something new to marvel at with you, love.” Alfie mutters against his skin. “And then I’ve got to point it out, don’t I?” He runs his thumb over his knuckles. “That you blush a little is just an added bonus.”

Tommy lets out a defeated sigh, but grants him a slight smile.

And when Alfie lets go of his hand and goes back to the paper, it only takes a few minutes before it finds his again, reaching across the table to absentmindedly stroke his knuckles.

Right then, Alfie thinks about just how much things have changed for the better over the past months. Who would’ve thought then that Tommy, who couldn’t even bear to share a bed an entire night, would casually take his hand at the breakfast table?

He’s a lucky man, alright.

It’s a strange feeling, realising that someone else’s home has also become yours. Mostly hits you when you go inside without knocking first, and no one attempts to shoot you in the face for it.

Alfie opens the door to the Shelby household without giving it a second thought. And it’s not until he’s stepped inside that he realises it.

He finds Tommy in the kitchen with Polly, engaged in a conversation of unspecified nature.

“If it isn’t the light of my life, just sitting there by an ordinary kitchen table!” Alfie exclaims when he enters the room. Tommy’s entire face lights up, as if they haven't spent a week apart, but an whole year... and it’s such a thing, innit? To get that reaction. Alfie’s chest fills with warmth. He continues- “My reason for getting out of bed in the morning, the man of my dreams, whose beauty is beyond compare-“

“Will you ever just calm the fuck down?” Tommy shakes his head, smile unwavering and gets out of the chair.

Two long strides, and Alfie has his arms wrapped around his waist and is kissing him with almost feverish intensity. He lifts him off his feet, and this is one of those rare occasions when Tommy doesn’t demand to be let back down. Instead he wraps his arms tightly around Alfie's neck as he kisses him back.

It’s just been one week. But it feels like a fucking eternity.

Instead of thinking about how this is going to be what finally does him in, Alfie revels in the feeling of having Tommy in his arms again. Where he's supposed to be.

It’s such a cliché, but for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world just fades away. And all that exists is Tommy’s soft lips against his, the hands that tangle into his hair, the warm breath against his skin-

Someone clears their throat quite loudly and the sound breaks him out of the blissful haze. Tommy pulls away and blinks as if he’s just woken up, and Alfie is suddenly very aware of his surroundings again.

Polly is giving them a look over the edge of her teacup.

“Oh, no worries Solomons, pay no attention to me. Just keep trying to devour my nephew in my kitchen,” she says, not without amusement. It probably has something to do with how Tommy looks.

Tommy has never, to Alfie’s recollection, blushed when he’s kissed him in front of any of his siblings. With the possible exception of Finn, if the kiss happens to be coupled with some groping.

But now it very much looks like he wants to sink through the floor.

“My deepest apologies Miss. Gray, where are my manners…” Alfie reaches over the table, takes Polly’s hand and kisses it in a theatrical gesture. “How is the Shelby family's matriarch on this beautiful day?”

“Just go upstairs you two,” Polly shakes her head, but a smile crosses her lips. “You’ll give me cavities.”

Tommy opens his mouth to protest, but Alfie is already dragging him towards the door.

“Better do as told, love. Terrible dental care in this fucking town, I’m sure.”

“Remember to lock the door,” Polly calls out after them. "And that the walls are thin. I'd like to finish my tea in peace."

One of all the things Alfie enjoys about waking up together with Tommy is getting to see him dress in the morning. Something about the way his hands look, when fastening all those normally so obnoxious buttons... Or tugs at the shirtsleeves to make them sit right under the jacket-

He likes watching Tommy get dressed almost as much as he likes undressing him.

Alright, maybe that’s not entirely true. But it’s pretty high up on the list.

Tommy is standing by the mirror over the wash basin, adjusting the collar of his shirt. Deciding that he’s done with his own clothing, Alfie comes up behind him and runs his fingertips up along his ribs. It’s a gesture he’s done a million times, but maybe the touch is a bit different today, or in just a slightly different spot, because Tommy suddenly flinches. A thought crosses Alfie’s mind.

“Are you ticklish?”

Tommy must notice the grin on his face, because a sudden look of dread comes over his face for just a moment.

“No,” he then says firmly.

Without giving him any sort of warning, Alfie grabs him by the waist and pushes him down onto the bed, straddling his thighs and pinning his wrists against the mattress. The movement is swift and well-rehearsed, and Tommy doesn’t even bother struggling, he just stares murderously at him.

“Really? So it’s fine if I do this?” Alfie experimentally pokes him in the ribs, causing him to twitch.

“It’s fine,” Tommy states, but he’s very soon about to regret those words. Because Alfie makes use of all his fingers, and very soon, he’s got Tommy shrieking and pushing desperately against his hands to no avail.

“Alfie, I’ll fucking kill you-“

“Maybe if you beg a little, I’ll stop."

“Stop it, for fucks sake-“ Tommy is gasping for breath, squirming and kicking in a futile effort to get away. ��Alfie, stop- I swear I’ll shoot you- Stop!“

“Oh you can do better than that,” Alfie digs his fingers into Tommy’s sides and tickles him until he’s on the verge of tears and making sounds that are closer to cries than actual laughter. Writhing like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox, he grasps Alfie’s arms and tries to pry them away. Alfie rarely takes full advantage of the fact that he can physically overpower Tommy, but now he does, and refuses to relent.

“Please, please stop-“ Tommy pleads, finally giving up as he’s out of both breath and strength to fight back. “Alfie, please-“

“Solomons! What’re you doing to my brother?” Someone bangs violently on the door. “What’s going on in there? Tommy, you alright?”

It’s Arthur, of course. Who else?

“Fuck off, will you,” Alfie barks, and sits back on Tommy’s thighs. Coughing as the air gets caught in his throat with each harsh breath, Tommy attempts to gather himself.

“It’s fine, Arthur,” he croaks between gasps, sounding extremely unconvincing.

“Solomons, open this door or I swear I’ll break it down and smash it over your fucking head!”

Letting out a very displeased grunt, Alfie goes to open the door before Arthur actually does attempt to kick it down.

Arthur is fuming.

“Good morning Arthur, what a lovely fucking surprise,” Alfie says amiably. “I thought we were past this whole thing by now. But apparently not.”

“Well, it sounds like there’s a murder happening in here!” Arthur snaps and looks over his shoulder at Tommy, who’s sat on the bed trying to straighten his appearance a bit by smoothing his hair back. It only makes matters worse, and it stands on all ends.

“How thick do you think I am, eh?” Alfie retorts. “Why would I kill Tommy in your fucking house? Bloody hell, I can’t even get a moment of peace to fuck him. Let alone commit murder. I’d do it back in London, obviously…”

Arthur ignores his little rant. “You okay, Tommy?”

“Sure-“ Tommy rubs an eye with the back of his hand in an attempt to clear it from tears.

“He’s just a bit ticklish, that’s the whole thing,” Alfie declares.

There is a moment of silence.

“Ticklish?” Arthur looks between them, eyebrows raised.

Alfie hums and Tommy just stares very firmly at the floor to avoid his older brother’s eyes.

“Your face is all red.” Arthur eventually tells him gruffly, before stomping off, muttering something about ‘bloody children, the pair of them, fucking hell…’

Alfie turns back to look at Tommy, smiling brightly again. How can he not, when Tommy is sitting there looking so utterly adorable?

“I will get revenge for this,” Tommy gets up and starts to readjust his dishevelled clothing. “Mark my words.”

“How about I make it up to you instead, hmm? Tonight in bed.” Alfie tugs him closer by the lapels of his jacket and places a kiss on his warm cheek. “I’ll do some of those other things with my fingers... Make you beg for entirely different reasons.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Tommy braces his hands on his chest. “But any more of this behaviour and you can look forward to night on the couch.”

It’s an empty threat, and they both know it.

It’s another one of those blessed mornings in bed, when the world is quiet and the sun shines in through the curtains.

Tommy is curled up mostly on top of him, arms resting on his chest, cushioning his head and legs tangled with Alfie’s. He props his chin on his hands and looks thoughtfully at Alfie, who eventually stops talking.

“Something on your mind, love?” he runs his hand thorough his sleep mussed hair.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Tommy says, fingers tangling into his beard like they so often do. “Was just thinking about that.”

Alfie, for once, doesn’t know what to say. It’s unlike Tommy to be so straightforward with things like this.

“I think you’ve got me confused with yourself,” he finally says and much to his annoyance feels heat creep up his neck. “See, your eyes- I’m pretty sure entire wars could be fought over them. Have you heard that story about Helen of Troy? Something like that-“

“Don’t make this about me,” Tommy laughs and looks very pleased. “You have beautiful eyes. And a beautiful face. Live with it.”

Alfie feels that he is definitely quite red in the face now, and attempts to derail the conversation.

“Did you know that the Trojans, yeah? They built a wooden horse. A fucking wooden horse. See, because they had this plan-“

Tommy kisses him and Alfie has to stop talking. For once.

[sadsaltspeck]

Oh hey while I'm remembering im a sack of shit here's some fuckin annoying things to get off my chest and the wonderful conundrum that is being hyper aware of your illness while still suffering from it When you dont self harm because you hate pain with all your heart and soul and have more fear than self loathing. And then your depression tells you that you don't really have depression if you don't want to self harm or commit suicide and youre just a piece of shit whose faking it for attention. But youre mentally aware that, no, depression doesnt work like that and not everyone has the urge to self harm and that doesn't make my depression any less real. And then my depression is like "Yeah yeah, but worry about it anyway. Also try to self harm just to prove to yourself that your brain is broken, which will in turn, make you hate yourself even more because you're only self harming for the attention u fuckin whore. So you won't cut yourself out of feeling like youre insulting to those who do and actually need help and we can have this conversation over and over again until your brain completely implodes." "Brain what the fuck man" "Kys lolololol"

[chalkboard-musings]

2017: A Lackluster Memoir

Prefacing this with: I don’t have a whole lot of sentiment towards this whole “new year” shebang. From the get-go, you have a bunch of societies writing their own version of a calendar year (I.e.- Sumerian, Athenian, Babylonian Cal.. you get the gist). In true narcissist fashion, when they realized their calculations were a bit skewed - they just sweep it under the woven rug and obliterate a month every couple of years*. Speaking of narcissists - we still abide by Julius Caesar logic of a “leap year”. But I digress, I just don’t really get all the pizzaz around balls dropping (in context of both NYE and Bar Mitzvahs) and blowing... never mind. Society is just funny, is all.

But I’ll force a little nostalgia because the oven’s pre-heating and last year’s resolution of “practicing patience” was, needless to say, a bust. I’m starting (after 6+ years of cyclical “new year, new you” cynicism) to hone on a trend of most of my send offs to the year in the rearview exuding a message of “good riddance, kiss my ass”. Which is forcing me to come to the abrasive realization that I’m the relatively fat kid on the track team that hits the 100M mark and think my eternal organs are going to implode, so I slow to a mosey and wait for the next gun to go off to try it over again. More literally - I’m hitting the May mark and throwing in the towel with a shit “better luck next year” attitude and spending the next 7+ months rolling around in a field of Twinkies, self-loathing, and existential dread. The “literal” segment was short lived.

So I ask myself, while the oven painstakingly hovers around 195 degrees, what is this complex that’s looming overhead year to year, and how do I make it tangible enough to bash over the head with a rock once and for all? (Could be literal or metaphorical, read it as you will). 

So without further ado, here are the non-resolutions - let’s call it a creed instead so I don’t feel like I’m succumbing:

1. Learn your sphere of influence - I admittedly spend < 7% of my energy/ brain waves here. The bulk of the pie chart is spent throwing duraflame onto the cynical fire. 

Ex. “I spent 8 minutes reading this Elite Daily click bait article so I can affirm I have the right to be sad about my generation”, 

“Genocide is bad, so I’m going to sit here with an eyebrow furrow and ponder on all the reasons humanity is cruel while staring at a blank wall for 24 minutes”. 

24 minutes elapse, my attention span taps out, I relax my scowl and go take a nap forgetting why I’m tired. If I’m not the poster child of the problem at hand, I’m at minimum exacerbating it. Getting my head out of my ass is a fair starting point.

2. Practice discipline - I want to change a lot of things. Bad habits, broken paradigms, broken cabinet doors in my apartment.. but (reference #1) it’s hard to see the bigger picture when your head is cozied up your butthole (it’s dark in here - let me pause to complain about that, too). I also, conveniently, violently resist practical solutions to problems. 

Ex. Lament: “Work is an inescapable black hole, mercilessly eating 85% of my waking hours” 

Practical suggestion: “Why don’t you turn off at 6, the world won’t burn down and it will be right where you left it the next a.m.” 

My solution: *roll up in fetal position and accept my fate*

There are these astoundingly simple, hyper logical ways to react to thoughts. Think involuntary responses like the knee reflex test: get knocked in the knee, violently hyperextend your knee kicking Dr. in face, blood everywhere, etc. 

It should, in theory, be that simple; miss someone? Make time for them. Want to not be Jabba the Hutt shaped? Eat mindfully. Want to learn Khoisan click language? Click away until your roommate punches you unconscious (if not unconscious after 1st punch, persevere - click some more). If shit matters to you, have the discipline to do something productive about it. And floss your damn teeth. (I am indeed, talking to myself, in case that was unclear).

3. Stop being a dick to yourself - it’s more or less irrelevant whether I deserve the abuse or have an affinity towards masochism. When you hit the point of: “I should give myself a swirly as a symbolic representation of my worth”, thinks get peculiarly dissociative (Hey.. I’m Dan). You lose your moxie when you forget you’re supposed to be in your own corner, and leave yourself pretty stripped down of defenses as a repercussion. 24 years of failed attempt at social interaction later, apparently it’s also not endearing to use your personality flaws as conversational segues. 

Don’t really intend to close this out with a “POW” because the oven is preheated and I signed this creed in blood.. I’m not sure of the sanitary implications of continuing to type. 

And so it goes.

*I don’t know if any of this is historically accurate but it helped the theme