#punishment and rehab go hand in hand that's the point

[viceroywrites]

better than drugs

pickles x fem!reader

the two of you meet in rehab; him being a metal drummer punished for drinking while operating a hovercraft and you being a recovering alcoholic and drug addict who recently relapsed.

in the short weeks you spent with him, you came to two realizations; he was more addicting than any drug, and you never wanted to quit this drug.

ao3 version here - first two chapters are rewritten on tumblr and the rest will be the same moving forward.

content warning: this story involves discussion of alcoholism, drug usage, and drug addiction. reader is a recovering addict. suggestive sexual themes in this chapter.

chapter three - surrender and soul searching 

You let out a yawn, making your way into the large group therapy room. Your first few days in rehab had been surprisingly uneventful, meeting with your one-on-one counselor and the psychiatrist who to your surprise did not make any changes to your medication, and attending groups, breathing  a sigh of relief as the doctor that was at your second stint was not present. 

You end up running into Cecilia on your way into group therapy and sighed as she gave you a lecture after seeing you with Pickles in the cafeteria the previous day.

“I know, Cecilia, I’ll stay out of trouble. He’s not that bad once you get to know him.” You admit before wincing as she gave you a stern look.

“Alright, I know he’s been causing a lot of shit but he promised me he would tone it down. You just gotta know how to wrangle him in.” You put your hands up in defense and Cecilia sighs, shaking her head.

“If you say so, I gotta see it to believe it, kid. As long as he doesn’t drag you into his chaos, do what you want. You’re a grown woman.” Cecilia shrugged in defeat but paused, “It’s interesting how you got so close to him. You’re usually a brick wall with people, no one gets through that thick skin on day one, I should know.”

You glance away, not understanding it quite yourself, “Well, maybe I’ve turned over a new leaf. Maybe I need to change how I do things here so it actually sticks this time.

Cecilia gives you a pat on the shoulder, “It will stick. Now go to group, I don’t want you running late.”

Your feet carry you over to the group room and you scan the room that seems to be filled with other clients but no Pickles in sight. You take a seat closest to the door, your eyes taking in the familiar setting before they land on the 12 Steps written out on the board with Surrender being highlighted in red.

“Looks like we’re missing a special someone.” The counselor hums, walking in the room and his eyes narrowing in on the empty chair next to you.

“Guess I should go get Pickles, he’s probably trying to make an escape again.” One of the guards sighs, about to walk out the door to grab the drummer. However, as he turns his heel, he’s greeted to the sight of the red-headed drummer walking in the room.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to drag me here.” Pickles mutters, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His grouchy demeanor shifts slightly at the sight of you, a tired smile spreading across his features as he points to the chair next to you, “This seat taken?”

You stare at him in surprise, considering the first few days he had skipped the group entirely, being chased around still by the guards. ‘Guess the scolding I gave him last night worked…’ You think to yourself before  giving him a playful grin, “Yeah, it is. Guess you’ll have to sit in the corner and cry about it.” You say as you lean back to prop your feet up on the chair.

Pickles’ smile turns into a smirk, “I think I’ll have a seat, if you don’t mind, doll.” His cold fingertips wrap around your ankle, picking your feet off the seat as he takes a seat. Your cheeks grow warm as he places them right back down onto his lap.

You noticed the confused and curious stares of the fellow patients as well as the lead counselor and quickly retracted your legs back down to the floor.

“Alright, let’s get started then. Today, we’re talking about Step 3 - surrender. Now what does that mean to you all?” The lead counselor begins the discussion, eyeing the two of you carefully.

Pickles mouths a ‘Sorry’ to which you shake your head, smiling back as a silent way to signal that you were good.

-

“Okay, let’s take a 15 minute break and we’ll reconvene in the group room for the last hour.” The white haired counselor announces, getting up from his seat.

The rest of the group gets up to get coffee or water in the corner of the group room  or go to the bathroom. You stay in your seat, still zoning out from the lengthy group discussion that was only disrupted by an unruly patient that currently lays on the floor after getting tased by a staff member.

A nudge on your shoulder snaps you out of your trance, your eyes flicking up to see Pickles standing next to your chair. He leans over, his warm breath caressing your ear to whisper in your ear, “Wanna take a quick smoke break?”

You blink up at him, your heart beat picking up at his proximity before shrugging with a grin, “Why the hell not?”

Getting up from your chair, you can practically feel the counselor leading today’s group staring at the two of you down with some scrutiny. He was the same counselor you had during your stay in rehab in college, Dr. Hammettt. Feeling some embarrassment with having to face him again, you take up Pickles’ offer immediately, stepping over the body of the patient to escape the doctor’s judging gaze.

“God, I swear he can go on and on for hours about this stuff. Makes me wonder how he doesn’t run out of material.” Pickles snorts as soon as he’s out of ear shot.

“It's the same old spiel, I’ve heard it before when I was here in college. The steps have been around for decades now, no need to rewrite the script.” You chuckle, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your pants.

As you round the corner, you bump into Cecilia who’s making her rounds of administering medication to the patients. 

“You guys already done with group?” Cecilia questions, eyeing Pickles suspiciously as she directs the question more towards you than anything. 

Before Pickles can pour out an excuse, you already have one ready, “No, we’re on break. I was just heading back to my room to grab my sweater since it’s cold in the group room.”

“And you?” The nurse turns her gaze to Pickles, clearly suspecting the worst as he has been tearing the facility up every single day since he’s checked in.

“Just tagging along with her, got nothing better to do.” Pickles admitted honestly, though he recognizes that the suspicion the nurse has in him is valid, wondering how she knows you in the first place.

“I’ve got him on a tight leash, don’t you worry, Cilia. Come on, let’s get going, break time’s almost up.” You grin playfully as you grab Pickles by the collar of his black tank  and start tugging him towards the direction of your room. He lets out a yelp, “Alright, I’m coming!”

Cecilia watches the two of you walk away in curiosity, “Huh, never seen her smile like that here before.”

You close the door behind you once Pickles steps in, letting out a sigh of relief. “God, why does it feel like I have a target on my back? All the staff keep staring at me like they know I’ve got these cigarettes on me.”

Pickles flops down onto your bed, getting a whiff of your scent as he settles into the sheets. His back against the wall, his hands behind his head, he gives you a grin, “I’m sure that’s mostly because you’re hanging around me. You already know the kinda reputation I have here.”

You reach for the pack of cigarettes in your duffel bag compartment, grabbing the lighter and walking towards the bed, “You’ve certainly made a name for yourself. You know stirring shit up makes your stay longer, right?” You chuckle, sitting on the edge of the bed as your thumb flicks the lighter.

Cursing under your breath at a few failed attempts, you blink owlishly as the lighter is taken out of your hands. With the cigarette dangling from your lips, you glance up at Pickles who shakes his head in amusement, “Need some help again? Remind me to get you a better lighter when we get out of here, this thing is a piece of shit.”

Somehow, Pickles is able to get it lit on the first try, bringing the flame to the tip of the cigarette. You roll your eyes, inhaling slowly before pulling the stick out of your mouth, exhaling the smoke in his face, “Whatever, my fingers are smaller than yours.”

Pickles lets out a cough as the smoke fills his nostrils, wafting it away before smirking at your bold gesture. “Mind if we share? I  don’t wanna bum one of your stash and we gotta finish it quickly. We only got five more minutes before we need to head back.”

You pass the cigarette over to the red-haired drummer, your fingertips brushing as he takes it from you. You take note of how calloused his fingers felt, probably chalked up to his years as a drummer. Watching as he takes a puff, your eyes can’t help but linger on his lips as they wrap around the butt of the cigarette.

Your gazes lock as he stares at you with a shit eating grin, catching where you were staring, “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, grabbing the pillow at the edge of the bed and hitting the drummer with it. He lets out a laugh, taking the pillow to prop up against the wall to support his back.

You swipe the cigarette back, taking a few more puffs before finally passing it back to Pickles who mumbles out a question as the cigarette dangles from his lips, “So how do you know the old hag?”

You roll your eyes, shifting so your back is up against the wall, sitting closer to Pickles. Your legs brush up against each other as you did not leave much space in between you two. “The old hag is Cecilia. She’s been a nurse since my stay in high school. You could say she’s like my second mom here… if my mom was actually mom.”

Pickles chuckled, finishing the rest of the cigarette as only the butt is left, “You’re preaching to the choir if we’re talking about bad parents.” You extend your hand out to which he drops the butt into your palm.

“Oh really? I’m curious to hear some of your backstory, maybe I can sell it to the tabloids when we get out of here.” You chuckle, sliding off the bed to grab some tissues, wrapping the butt in a few before placing it carefully in your trash can. You remember to grab a sweater, actually needing it since the group room was pretty chilly.

“Oh shit, we only got a minute left.” Pickles mutters, glancing at the clock in your room. Your eyes widen, quickly grabbing a perfume bottle to mask the scent of the cigarette smoke. You toss it over to Pickles who stares at you like you’re crazy.

“Oh don’t be a pussy, just put it on unless you want to get into more trouble.” You huff to which he complies to your demand, spritzing the perfume on his clothes before tossing it back to you.

You both exit the room, shoulders tense as you make your way back to the group room just in time. You take your seats, staring at each other with wide eyes as Dr. Hammett walks back into the room, coffee in hand.

He steps over the body of the patient just like you and Pickles had done, taking a seat in his chair, “Alright, let’s continue. Since you’ve been through this before, tell the group a little about your journey with Step 3, Y/N.”

You blink owlishly at the doctor, still a bit on edge after just having smoked a cigarette and barely having enough time to mask the scent than you normally would. “R-Right…” You take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

“Well, surrender to me means acknowledging that we’re not in control. Not just with alcohol or drugs but with a lot of things in life. People, places, things. We just use drugs and alcohol to feel in control sometimes.” You begin to explain, looking down at your feet as you always found it hard to give a share while looking at the people in the room, feeling scrutinized.

Pickles watches you answer with surprising interest. If he was wrangled into group by the bodyguards, he would tune it out, waiting for his turn to give some sort of half-baked answer that normally would not fly and finally blurt out his honest thoughts after much pressing. Anything the doctor said would often go in one ear and out the other. Yet somehow, what you had to say had some truth to it for him.

“Where do you think you’re at with this step as of today, Y/N?” The doctor questions, satisfied with your answer as he notes how Pickles, who typically is checked out, seems at least slightly engaged. 

“I think I’ve worked through Step 3. I know I have a problem and I know I can’t control people, places, and things.. I think at this point, surrender is easy - isn’t that why I’m here?” You say with a shrug.

“Thanks for your share, Y/N. We’ll move on to you, Eric.” Dr. Hammett nods, giving you a sincere smile which he typically doesn’t do before redirecting his attention onto another patient.

You let out a deep breath, feeling the pressure being lifted off your shoulders.

The rest of group goes smoothly, everyone going around to share what surrender meant to them. Even Pickles gives  an answer without much pressing.

As the group wraps up, you get up from your chair and follow behind Pickles before being stopped as your name is called out. You look over your shoulder, seeing the doctor being the source and glance back at Pickles. “I’ll catch up with you later, see you at dinner.” Pickles nods, looking back in concern before walking out, closing the door behind him.

“Am I in trouble, Doc?” You ask, walking up to him with a hesitant smile. You’re convinced that you’ve been discovered and may suffer the consequences of it.

Instead, Dr. Hammett places his clipboard down, “Far from it. As much as it's sad  to see you back here, I’m glad to have someone in the group who actually knows the steps. I swear groups are going to be different now with you here.” 

You relax visibly, blinking owlishly in surprise, “Oh, well, I’m glad that I could help at least.”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to… well, you’re going to anyway in group but how’d you end up back here? Don’t tell me you went on another bender?” He asks, a mixture of concern and curiosity in his eyes.

“No, no… I’d like to hope my bender days are behind me. I ended up drinking a bottle of wine after a stressful day at work… roommate caught me, told my parents.” You admit, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly.

Dr. Hammett blinks at your answer, crossing his arms, “That’s it? Just one night? You could’ve just gone to more meetings again, checked in with your sponsor… you didn’t need to come all the way back to rehab.”

You look away, sighing, “Well, you know my parents. It was either rehab or move back in with them so they can ‘monitor’ my sobriety.”  Your fingers curl to emphasize the quotation marks to which he chuckles at.

“Well, hopefully, this stay will be a lot shorter than the others. You know your steps, just work them, participate in group and I think you’ll be ready for discharge in the next two weeks.” The doctor explains, “If anything, I’d love to have you here longer to kick these other guys into gear.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, “I’ll have to politely decline staying here longer. I have a job I have to get back to in a month.” 

“By the way… I noticed you’ve been friendly with Pickles. You probably already know the reputation he has around here.” Dr. Hammettt’s voice shifted into a more serious tone. “Just be careful. The last thing I’d want is for your recovery to be compromised because you’re hanging around him.”

Your eyes narrow, a bit offended at how everyone assumes you’ll be corrupted by the red-haired drummer. You reply as you cross your arms across your chest, “I’m fine, Doc. I told Cilia already I’ve reigned him in a bit so hopefully he won’t be too much of a ruckus for the rest of my stay. Can’t guarantee he’ll be the same if I discharge before him.”

“Don’t tempt me, Y/N. I might keep you around longer just to play babysitter for a bit.” The doctor chuckles, relaxing a bit, “Well I won’t keep you any longer, you’ve been listening to me ramble for the last three hours.”

-

Pickles finds himself anxiously pacing around his room, wondering if you got caught. 

Trying to preoccupy himself, Pickles reaches into his beat up, black duffel bag, pulling out  a set of drumstick and a practice pad. He grabs his headphones, hooking it up to his Dethphone. Sliding the earbuds in, he scrolls through the music files Nathan had sent him before he had been exiled to rehab for their upcoming concert in Australia. He figured he might as well practice even though it was still up in the air if he was even going to play.

Selecting a song, his hands move almost instinctively, drumming on the beat with exact precision. His eyes close as he attempts to focus on the rhythm that plays in his ears but his thoughts begin to drift.

‘Dude, you totally screwed her over. You’re gonna fuck up her recovery, she’s actually tryna to get clean for good reasons.’ The angel on his shoulder nags at him.

‘So what? She’s the one who brought the cigarettes in the first place. Besides, she’s just some chick you met a few days ago.’ The devil on his shoulder snorts.

‘Yeah, some chick that you seem to be getting pretty cozy with. Ya know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re starting to like her.’ 

‘Like her? I’m just horny, and she’s the only one here who isn’t walking around like they’re a freaking zombie. She’s a good fuck at best.’

‘Oh yeah, is that why you went to group today? Just cause she’s a good fuck? Not cause you just wanted to spend more time with her.’

“Fuck!” Pickles curses, tossing his drumsticks onto the ground as he loses track of the tempo, falling behind. He pulls the earbuds out and sighs in annoyance, catching himself wondering why he’s even concerned about you in the first place. After all, his main goal is supposed to be getting out of this hell hole as soon as possible so he can join his band again.

Before he can collect his thoughts, he hears a knock on the door and groans, getting up and opening the door, “Look, I didn’t do shit-” His words are cut off as he’s greeted to the subject of his worries, staring at him in confusion.

“Jeez, it’s just me, calm down.” You mutter, “Did I interrupt something? I could hear you practicing from out here.”

“No.. it’s fine.” Pickles sighs, stepping out of the way to let you in, “Wanna come in? I can’t focus anyways.”

“Sure, might as well kill some time before dinner.” You step inside, surveying the room that looked identical to yours. You see the drumsticks on the floor and pick them up, glancing back at Pickles, “It sounded really good, by the way. Well, until you got frustrated and got off tempo.”

“No shit, I’m in fucking Dethklok. Of course, I sound good.” Pickles takes the drumsticks from your hands and you stare at him as he takes a seat on his bed.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” You question him, hands on your hips.

“Just ready to get the hell out of here..” Pickles mutters, glaring down at the floor before his conscience finally weighs down on him. He finally surrenders and glances up at you, “Hey.. uh.. sorry if I got ya in trouble today. Ya know with the smoking.” 

Your eyebrow raises. The gears start to turn and you  put the pieces together, letting out a laugh, “Oh my god, you were all wound up over the fact that I might’ve gotten in trouble?”

Pickles glares up at you, flipping you the bird, “I was not! I’m not a complete dildo though… figured I’d apologize or whatever.” 

“Well you have nothing to apologize for, I didn’t get in trouble. Don’t you worry your pretty little drummer head about it. Dr. Hammett just wanted to catch up since he was my counselor during my second time here.” You chuckle, finally taking a seat next to the drummer.

“I wasn’t worried… but that’s good to hear.” Pickles sighs, tossing his drumsticks back into his duffel bag and laying down on the bed. 

“I get it though… being ready to get out of here. Days feel like weeks in here honestly.” You hum, looking down at Pickles as he lounges on the bed with his hands behind his head, “Listen, some friendly advice, you can take it or leave it. Keep doing what you did today. Don’t fight, just go to groups, even if you don’t pay any attention. Participation matters and the more you’re what they call ‘non-compliant’ the longer they’ll keep you here.”

Pickles digest the information you give him, closing his eyes before looking back up at you, “Fine, I’ll do it. You’ve done this 2 times already, you gotta know what works and what doesn’t.”

You’re pleasantly surprised at his reaction, expecting more resistance before smiling, “Well that didn’t take much convincing.”

“Ya know, that doesn’t mean, I’m not going to still make the staff’s lives a living hell, right?” Pickles gives you a shit-eating grin, “I’ll just have to find other ways to get under their skin.”

“God, you’re the worst.” You snicker, “So why were you practicing earlier? Aren’t you technically out of the band?”

“Only until I get out of here. We got an upcoming gig in Australia… where my douchebag brother, Seth, is. Hopefully, I’ll get to play then and redo that whole hovercraft bullshit.” Pickles explains, grabbing his headphones and Dethphone, “Wanna listen?”

Your head tilts in curiosity, glancing from Pickles to the Dethphone. Pickles chuckles at your reaction, shaking the phone teasingly, “Come on, ya know, you wanna.”

“Fine since you’re offering,” You groan playfully, taking the extra earbud and popping it into your ear, “I wanna hear the song you played during the hovercraft incident. I was kinda disappointed when it got cut off so abruptly.”

“Man, you really like torturing me, don’t cha?” Pickles chuckles cynically before pressing play, “I don’t blame ya, we worked hard on that one.”

You spent the rest of the evening, with a break for dinner, discussing the songs Pickles had shown you, and getting to know more about Pickles’ life with Dethklok, laughing yourself to tears at all the ridiculous stories he shared.

“So ya got a favorite Dethklok member?” Pickles teases as you two walk towards your room. You think over his question before shrugging your shoulders, “I mean you’re my favorite Dethklok member that I’ve met.”

“I’m the only Dethklok member you’ve met.” Pickles says in a deadpan voice and you giggle, “Well, I guess I’ll have an answer for you when I meet all of them.”

“Oh, that’s such a cop out and you know it.” Pickles groans as you arrive at your door.

“Too bad, that’s my answer for now! Though Toki is kinda cute.” You admit, grinning widely at Pickles’ offended reaction. “Alright, I’m gonna knock out, better see you in group tomorrow!”

You give Pickles one last wave and smile before disappearing behind your door. The drummer chuckles as he shakes his head, making the walk back to his room.

He quickly strips out of his clothes, ready to pass out, standing in just his tighty-whities. Since he had only packed a few pairs of clothes, Pickles had been rotating out most of black tanks, giving it a good old sniff test to see if it would be good for the next day.

He freezes as the scent of your perfume fills his nostrils, forgetting that he had doused himself in it earlier in the day to drown out the cigarette smell. His body feels warm from just your scent, imagining burying his head into your neck as he fucks you. Pickles looks down, groaning at the sight of a sizable bulge having formed in his briefs.

“Ah fuck.” 

[hazbinficsandstuff-eyeshadow]

Helluva hotel fanfic(what do you think I take constructive critisims)

Chapter 1:closing

Blitzo picks up the horse standee covered in gems that he had bought a while back and placed it atop a box with other things. Papers filled to the brim with really nothing of importance, mainly random horse drawings and the “research” he managed to recollect after it flew out the window. Millie.moxxie. And Stolas also helped him pack.

”Are you sure you want to give up on this?” Stolas asked. Moxie and Millie looked at blitz with sadness and grief in their eyes. While they hadn't been successful blitz had made a name for himself. They still lived in the low-class. Millie had to lie to her parents about how well freelance was going but nonetheless they enjoyed the adventures they had.

“I really appreciate you all helping, as much as I kid around about you being my family here, I mean it. I mean you all are the closest thing to a family I have so I really hope we all stay in touch. I also want to thank you Stolas especially since you don't really work at IMP unless you count supplying access” Blitz responds.

With happy tears in his eyes as Stolas gives a slight smile the 666 news channel comes on the tv with Charlie and Lucifer replacing the spaces and pushing away Katie killjoy and tom trench as they yell at them.

Charlie whispers a quick “sorry” before looking back at her dad. Lucifer begins hitting a stack of papers against the table while squinting through his glasses, mumbling trying to make out his chicken-scratch handwriting.

Charlie rips the papers out of his hand and throws them back. “ Me and my father have been talking and he originally wanted to force everyone-” Charlie says with a hint of anger and attitude.

Lucifer cuts her off and says “ But we decided that we won't force anyone, although I offered to do it as a form of punishment-”

“ Because we can't force people to redeem themselves they have to choose to and the hotel is to help not punish people, although he did pitch it to me like a parole office or being sentenced to rehab like on earth sense we don't have jail in hell”. Charlie looks at her father knowing he's probably about to cut her off again mainly because he gets too excited and blurts stuff out but he notices the look and keeps quiet while looking at his daughter. “ Anyway we’re getting off track. The main point is that white we are not forcing anyone to come, we highly encourage everyone to give redemption a shot and try to better themselves”.

“Isn't this basically free therapy?” Tom asked from the background right before the broadcast closed.

“Dang it, they're probably the reason we had to close, also why'd that woman sound so much like me?” Blitz asked.

Moxie replied “ Why are you blaming the business’s downfall on the princess again?”

“Because with all the sinners going there I bet no one cares about getting revenge on those who wronged them in the living world, they're too busy worrying about getting he redeemed” Blitz says in his usual all-caps screaming tone.

Stolas pointed a finger up and responded “ Uhmm I actually think her business isn't doing much better than yours although I don't think they actually charge people to stay there so if they're not even trying to profit I’m not sure if it’s still considered a business, it's been quite the topic of discussion recently”.

Blitz trying to find something to pin the blame of the businesses downfall on says “ I don't believe it! I sure they had something to do with us closing, were gonna go there and find out for ourselves”

“If that’s what you want, boss, we'd be happy to come along” Millie says.

“Millie can I talk to you for a moment, ya know in private” Moxie responds. Moxie and Millie head out to right outside the door. Blitz was listening in head against the wall, usually moxie would check but today everything was too hectic to do so.

“ We’re finally able to get away from Blitz, we can finally be alone. I think if we do this one thing with him we'd be stuck with him forever. Him constantly trying to get in on what we're doing” he told Millie. Blitz pupils became almost nothing in his eyes as they shrunk from listening in to what Moxxie had said.

“I love you Mox but, do you remember when we first met? The only thing you could think to talk about was yer best friend, blitz. I honestly thought you and him might have had something going on at first” Millie responded.

“I love you so much too Millie , you're what's important. I only thought he was meaningful in my life because I met him when I was in a tough spot but now that I know you I can see that he's not really of anything of importance” Moxie responded. Moxie then went back into the room with the rest of them. Millie although still seeming not Completely satisfied with the result of their conversation entered with him. Blitz backed away from the door right before they came through and continued packing up as though he heard nothing. Blitz pretended to be fine as he always did. Stolas couldn't hear what was going on I the other room however he could tell blitz wasn't taking it lightly. He wanted to comfort blitz but wasn't sure how especially after all that's happened. He nervously put his hand over blitz's hand trying to console him.

Blitz looked up at stolas smiling “ do you maybe want a hug?” stolas asked.

Blitz looked at his face and was riddled With guilt he immediately teared his hand away and held both of his own hands together nervously “ sorry I…”. Stolas interrupts “ no, no sorry I overstepped…again”. Blitz wanted to say something like “it's okay” but he wasn't sure the exact words. He couldn't hand the guilt. Him and stolas hadn't even talked after what happened. He didn't even know how stolas knew about them closing. He felt bad that even though he had gotten him hurt and then ghosted him he still showed up to help with such a simple task. Moxxie and millie saw them but didn't assume what was going om had anything to do with they Were talking about just another day them.

“Do you still want to go check out the hotel blitz?” Stolas asked.

“YEPPPP” blitz responds sounding super exited to cover up their previous conversation.

Millie with slight anger in her voice Said “I'm going with blitz and stolas you can come if you want moxxie”. Moxxie looks co fused with the sudden attitude but follows anyway

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

28 DAYS: CHAPTER ONE

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given the choice to go to rehab for 28 days, or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter Characters: Dean Winchester, (mentions) Gordon Walker, Victor Henriksen, Jo Harvelle, Casey (Wood), Sam Winchester

Chapter tags, warnings: sexually explicit, emergency action, fire, drug use, thoughts of death and dying, teen endangerment

Chapter WC: 3k

Author’s notes: Inspired by the film 28 Days and following canon themes from SPN, this is a fic about Dean, a firefighter who goes to rehab, not about Dean as a firefighter. Thank you to my brilliant and insightful focus puller and long-time friend @brrose-apothecary for making that distinction, and many more thanks to her and to @stusbunker for their unending support, readings, and conversations about things that matter.

If I use terminology related to firefighting, drug use, or addiction recovery, I will be sure to define it in the notes.

Triple V = vodka, Valium (diazepam), and Vicodin (hydrocodone)

K = Ketamine

text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER ONE

Everything’s hot and slick and right on the edge of falling somewhere even hotter. 

Every song is for you, every come hither look and sultry laugh, every praise, invitation, everything worth a fuck is for you.

Hands and lips and tongues, beguiling; teeth and nails, punishing — all the sensations of our earthly bodies are shards of crystal swathed in satin and velvet, tied with pure golden thread.

There’s a lustful cacophony, a symphony surrounding you, everything sounds like fucking, and it sounds like it’s coming from inside of you — like it’s part of you. 

No matter how loud it gets, it’s never too loud. Nothing’s ever too much or enough.

You want more, more, more, fuck yes, more.

“Winchester,” Dean mumbles, squinting at the incoming number and the time. His vision swims from side to side before he figures out that it’s 4:45 AM and the call is from dispatch.

“Chief, we have a conflagration at Midland High School, north on highway 59.”

Dean murmurs a swear as he rolls to his back and drags a hand over his face. 

He was at Gordon’s until 3:30 this morning, when he downed a Triple V and then walked six blocks back to his place to crash. He hasn’t even had time to dream, but his dreams aren’t usually the good kind anyway.

“A’right. Chief Novak in?” He swings his legs over the side of his bed and slumps upright as he slides the drawer to his nightstand open.

“Yes, sir,” replies the dispatcher. “All hands, sir.”

She doesn’t apologize for calling him on his morning off, and she shouldn’t. This isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last time that Dean’s called in on his day off. As Battalion Chief, it’s his duty to lead big jobs like conflagrations.

He’s fucked up, though; his brain isn’t firing on more than one single cylinder at this point, so he’s going to need an extra pick-me-up this morning.

“Thanks, Mia,” he rumbles before disconnecting the call and dropping his phone to his pillow. 

He lifts a small mirror from inside the drawer upon which lies a razor blade, a small amount of white powder, and a short, thin stainless steel tube. Dean deftly cuts two thin lines with the blade and quickly snorts them.

Before running out the door, Dean blasts himself with a 45-second cold shower while brushing his teeth and pockets a small vial of blow for later; there’s no telling how long this’ll last.

Dean and his team pull up to the school amidst a scene of first responders, police, and news crews. His most recent ex... whatever she was to him, Casey Wood, is the reporter closest to them. 

Dean drops from the driver’s side of the truck to his feet and throws her a wink which earns him an eye roll and a cold shoulder. Snapshots of Casey crying, throwing things, and slamming doors whirr through his mind, as he secures his gear.

“Casey, Casey, Casey,” Victor sing-songs as he joins Dean.

They always banter as they gear up, but Dean’s a little more on edge this morning than usual. Casey's name so casually on Victor’s lips raises Dean’s hackles in a way it doesn’t usually. He recognizes it and steels himself to keep up the facade.

“The things that girl can do with her mouth,” Dean says with a wicked smirk.

“Whoa-ho-hoooa!” Victor hoots.

It’s a cheap shot, and Dean knows it. Casey’s fucking smart and tough. She never faked anything in her life, she said what she said, and she loved him, too, if he’d have let her.

“Good morning, misogyny!” Jo hops down next to them, buckling her harness.

Dean feels unreal and unmoored, but they’ve got a job to do. He closes his eyes and breathes, then shrugs out an eye roll. 

“Aww, c’mon, darlin’, I appreciate her skill. That ain’t a hateful thing,” Dean slams the door shut, and Victor snorts beside him. 

Jo glares at him in disbelief. “You’re a fucking pig. Let’s go.” She turns on her heel and slaps her hand against the side of the truck as she walks, hurrying up the other two members of their team.

Dean blinks rapidly. He’s queasy and buzzing. He remembers the vial in his pocket, under layers of uniform and gear, and berates himself for not having better access to it. His mind starts to spin around excuses to stay back and dig it out before Victor claps him on the back.

“You heard the lady, boss.” Victor grins, and Dean flashes a tight smile in response. They’re fully suited up as they jog to catch up with Jo, Zeke, and Nick.

Under lights and camera, Casey tells the story of the day.

“Fire Chief Castiel Novak has informed us that a group of Midland High School boys has admitted to starting the fire,” she reads from the teleprompter to the camera. 

“One of the four arsonists was injured in the blast and is trapped inside the school’s chemistry lab with dangerous chemicals and potentially open bunsen burner outlets,” she continues. “The boy’s cries can be heard through an external window broken for ventilation. The other three boys are currently being examined by paramedics onsite. 

“Just now,” she pauses and motions toward the retreat of Dean’s team, “Battalion Chief Dean Winchester has arrived to lead the rescue team. We’ll provide more details as we receive them.”

Dean’s team is always the same. They know each other like they know their own selves. Some of them have known each other their whole lives, like he and Jo Harvelle. Dean and Victor Henriksen have known each other since middle school. Zeke Gadreel and Nick Iblis served two tours in Iraq together, and no matter how unhealthy or co-dependent their relationship may be to outsiders, Dean’s grateful for their bond.

He talks the way through even if he repeats himself because he needs it to stay grounded, and they need to hear his voice. This is where he shines, leading his team and making them feel safe.

Two corridors over from the lab, he stops.

“A’right, we’re gonna do this clean and sharp. Keep your eyes and ears open and listen to Cas.” He taps the com in his ear as the team triple-checks each other’s rigs. “We know there’s one kid in here, based on testimony from the other little fuckers who started this thing, but let’s not rule anything out.”

He makes eye contact with each and every one of them for final confirmation before he nods one last time and turns toward the worst of the smoke. 

“Like I said, eyes and ears open.” 

When they reach the lab, Dean makes a motion to hold, and his team complies.

“Cas, you there?” he asks.

“Hold in position,” Chief Novak states over the radio. “We’re going to try to cut through the roof for sightlines.”

Dean pulls a glove off to test the heat. “Door’s hot as an oven, Cas, and I can still hear ‘im cryin’ in there. Fuckin’ kid.”

Dean grits his teeth. His daughter Emma just started school at Midland this fall. She’s a freshman. This kid’s probably in her class. 

Not that he’d know; Emma hasn’t talked to Dean in five weeks.

“All stop,” the head chief states with new information.  “Dean, we can’t open the roof.”

“Fuckin’- of course not.” Dean sighs and pulls his glove back on.

“If we get too much oxygen in there before we know what other chemicals we’re dealing with, the explosion will blow the door and the rest of the roof off that lab with you and your team in it.”

Dean nods his head as the chief rattles off everything they all fucking know. He’s about to come out of his skin from the heat and urge to rip the door off the hinges all by himself just to be done with it.

“Right,” he mutters, rolling his neck and picturing the precious, unattainable vial in his pocket.

The boy’s screams roar over the din of the event, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut tight. His mind scrambles around memories of his baby brother crying in his arms as he ran from his home’s blaze more than 35 years ago. He shakes his head to clear it, which only serves to make his stomach lurch.

“Dean? You OK?” Jo asks, concern marring her soft face.

Dean doesn’t answer her. “Has anybody got eyes on the fire line?” he asks, assessing his gear for anything he can unload, anything that might weigh him down.

“Chief,” someone utters, and the uncertain eyes of his team are burning hotter than the fire. Zeke takes a step toward him, and Dean snarls.

Chief Novak’s voice cracks through the com. “Dean, I’m telling you, we couldn’t open the roof the way we opened the hallway. The oxygen will-” 

“Yeah, Cas, I heard ya the first time, and this ain’t my first fuckin’ rodeo.” Dean turns to his crew, dropping rope and gear.

“Dean, y’heard Cas-” Victor reaches for him.

“Get out,” Dean says, and Victor drops his hand and turns to Jo. “I’m goin’ in alone. Now!”

+

“All stop! All stop! All stop!” 

+

An invisible force pushes Dean from behind, and he lands on his shoulder. 

The kid rolls in one direction, and Dean rolls in the opposite. A boom sounds, and the smoke takes on a remarkably orange hue. 

On autopilot and half-conscious, Dean crawls to check the kid’s pulse before a rush of bodies, shouts, and lights knock him out cold.

“Fuck, that’s good, Case.” Dean brushes her hair to the side so he can watch his cock disappear between her stretched lips like a shining piston into a slick cylinder.

Casey hums, slowly bobbing her head, and twisting her fist around his girth. Her other delicate hand rests on Dean’s denim-clad knee as she kneels between his booted feet on her living room rug.

There’s still enough K in his system that every slide of her tongue feels like magic skittering along his dick. He slides a hand into her hair and twists it. 

Twenty minutes ago, Casey tried to slam the door in his face, but not before calling him a liar. He didn’t lie, though. He fully intended to be there for dinner with her parents; he just lost track of time. 

Besides, why in Hell would she want her parents to know she lets him in her house at all, let alone inside her body?

“I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” Dean mutters, gripping the base of his cock and gently lifting her by her chin. “Lemme make it up to you.”

He’s on call starting at 6 AM tomorrow, so it’s good he’s there. Casey won’t let him do anything stupid. Instead, he can sober up and fuck it out, go to the station fresh in the morning.

As he pulls her from the floor to lay her back against her couch cushions, she looks at him like he’s something extraordinary, and his belly flips. 

“You’re too good to me, Case,” he whispers, twisting his body and hers, sliding his hands up under her dress, and wedging his shoulders under her thighs. 

Her eyes soften, and he can’t stand looking into them so deeply. He brushes his thumbs up along the satiny edges of her panties before closing his eyes and dipping in to press kisses to the damp fabric. 

Casey moans, writhing under him with a smile.

She thinks he lied to her, but she still lets him in. Dean doesn’t lie; he just sucks at keeping promises. He’s better at apologizing.

He slips his fingers inside the leg of her panties to lightly knuckle her slit as he reaches around one long lean thigh to lace his other fingers with hers over her smooth belly. When he pulls the fabric of her panties aside to kiss and lick her bare pussy, he groans at her heat and taste.

He wants to dive in and devour her, but this isn’t about what he wants. 

Casey’s free hand lands on the back of Dean’s head, and she rolls her hips up into his face.

“That’s right,” he breathes and slides his tongue down one side and up the other of her clit. “Take what you want, princess.”

“Dean,” she whispers, twisting his hair in her fist. “I just want you...”

Dean wakes up in the hospital. He’s hooked up to machines and bags of fluid. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and painful when he tries to separate it. He draws a deep breath and immediately hacks, wincing from the pain that radiates from his shoulder, chest, and hips. 

“Fuck,” he groans in a broken whisper.

Dean hates hospitals. No one likes hospitals, but Jesus fucking Christ, Dean’s never had a single positive experience in one. He can’t breathe. It’s all in his head, but that doesn’t make it any easier to try.

“You dislocated your shoulder,” Sam speaks from somewhere in the room. 

Dean freezes and closes his eyes. He doesn’t bother to find his brother by sight. If Sam’s there, this is bad. 

“Broke two ribs and strained your hip. You’re lucky to be alive, and not just because of your injuries.” Sam’s voice draws closer with each word.

“You here to finish me off?” Dean asks, trying for a joke, but he doesn’t have much of a voice. He ends up sounding like he’s choking, which is appropriate.

Sam doesn’t laugh. “I’m here to tell you that you’re done, Dean.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his bed, increasingly agitated by the tubes and wires attached to him but without the energy or brain space to do anything about them. He clears his throat and swallows. 

“Done with what, exactly?” he asks, finally laying eyes on his brother.

He looks good — healthy and strong. Sad, though. Or maybe he’s mad, Dean can never tell anymore.

“Your bullshit, playboy, disaster of a life,” Sam replies with clear contempt.

Dean stares at him, waiting. He doesn’t have a comeback. He’s out of them. 

Sam starts to pace. “Your team got the fire and hot spots out about eight hours after you collapsed. Cyrus Styne, the 16-year-old kid you went in after, is in critical condition.” 

Sam stops no more than a foot from Dean’s bed, looking him dead in the eye. 

“You tested positive for marijuana, hydrocodone, diazepam, and cocaine, and your blood-alcohol level was .23. That’s almost three times the legal level of intoxication. I don’t even fucking know how you walked into a burning building-”

“Hmm. And did I consent to these tests?” Dean murmurs, derailing the very clear direction Sam was headed with his diatribe. 

For the first time since the last time Dean saw his brother, Sam is obviously confounded by how Dean isn’t dead already — so is Dean. 

Sam scoffs and shakes his head. His gaze is strained, and his jaw is tight. “Dean, I... I can’t get you out of this.” 

Sam has worked magic in the past. One of his greatest efforts was winning joint custody of Emma for Dean. Sam works by the letter of the law, but the best lawyers know how to make the law work for them and their clients.

Dean is suddenly very, very tired. He can’t remember the last time he did anything to make Sam proud. He doesn’t even know if he ever has.

“I need a cigarette,” he mumbles before looking up to study the ceiling.

“Look, the only thing I could do was get them to agree to 28 days in a rehab facility-”

“Ugh, Sammy,” Dean wails, sitting up and immediately tugging at the IVs and monitors. An alarm goes off, and Sam turns his back and moves toward the large window overlooking the parking lot.

Three men rush into the room, two orderlies and a nurse, to restrain Dean. He immediately gives up, feeling wasted, sick, and terrified.

“Your other option is jail,” Sam mutters from the window, and Dean’s stomach drops. His throat convulses as he attempts to swallow back the bile rising in his throat.

The orderlies stand back as the nurse assesses the damage Dean’s done with his little outburst. Dean closes his eyes and breathes as he re-fastens the patches and IVs. 

He won’t cry, he won’t cry, he won’t cry...

“You’re suspended from the department, probably indefinitely,” Sam continues quietly. “I can’t even get Cas on the phone. You endangered the lives of your entire team and everyone onsite. Your team, Dean. Jo. Victor. Casey was there.”

Dean burrows into the thin, lumpy bed, shivering from the feel of needles in his veins and the low vibration of the monitors attached to his chest. He doesn’t see when the nurse and the orderlies leave, but he can feel the shift in the air.

“I know.” 

He doesn’t know any more about the fire than what Sam’s told him, but he damn well knows what an absolute disappointment he is to his little brother. 

“Dean, why-” Sam sighs, sounding as weary and distraught as Dean feels.

Dean is silent as he stares at the ceiling, and Sam doesn’t seem surprised. 

“Forget it.” Sam grabs his jacket from the visiting chair and starts to shrug into it. “As soon as you can be released from here, someone’ll pick you up to transport you to the facility. Text me a list of what you need from your apartment, and I’ll make sure it gets packed.”

Sam draws a final breath before leaving the room, and Dean wills himself to sleep.

Chapter 2

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ's Masterlist

[lockandkeyhyena]

long anon again! I hope you don't mind me sending you so many asks, your story has been producing so many thoughts out of me lately!

Not sure if this is too personal but I do want to clarify that I am myself a victim of multiple occurrences of grooming / attempted kidnapping. My whole family is comprised of mainly women / children and while I am no victim to any sexual act myself, it is unfortunately very common among the other members of my family (my older sibling is a direct result of csa, our mother is still haunted by the trauma to this day, she turned to drugs and everything it is very bad). I'm for sure not offering my support without any personal say in the matter haha

I feel like, despite my support for your story, my own personal views are very different from yours (and from the other anons who have spoken their own personal support). While I enjoy exploring the humanity of horrible people in media, I feel like in real life, it only truly makes me hate them more. If that makes sense?

The way I see it... Yes, these awful criminals are human, but that only makes their actions worse. They are entirely capable of care and consideration. Of recognizing right from wrong. And yet they make the choice to hurt others in some of the worse ways imaginable, deliberately, sometimes repeatedly, and often for nothing more than their own personal pleasure. And by the end of the day, the crime is nothing to them. They are able to walk away and live their sickeningly normal, bland lives, they are able to work their jobs, and enjoy their hobbies, and hug their mothers like it doesn't even matter. No regret. No apologies. So pity.

They are human but they are just about the worst of what our species has to offer. Forgiveness is off the table and my hatred is something I will take to the grave, and beyond, if there ever is the possibility.

Do I think these criminals can become better people? Yes, but I don't think it really matters after the deed is done. If it were up to me those kinds of criminals would spend the rest of their lives behind bars, and while I don't advocate for *torture* I for certain believe in punishment; proper consequences for ones actions. Maybe I could even tolerate rehabilitation, but never freedom. Never freedom.

To me its just another case of priority. I think of things on a mass, wider scale. These criminals are human, but they are humans who make the deliberate choice to hurt others. Some of them even *enjoy* doing it. They are a legitimate danger to the people around them, and to me it is only the logical decision to put innocent people before criminals, and especially before child predators. I cannot in good faith release someone who chooses to abuse kids out into the wild, no matter how many times I put them through a rehab program, because I absolutely cannot guarantee nobody else will get hurt.

If I make the promise that a criminal is rehabilitated, and that criminal goes on to hurt more people, well that blood would -- albeit indirectly -- be on *my* hands, wouldn't it? Am I willing to risk the lives and wellbeing of innocent people, innocent children, for the possibility of a criminal to be good? I can't do that... Maybe it isn't fair, but it wasn't fair of them to ruin an innocent persons life to begin with. There's only so much a society can do to prevent these kinds of things from happening (even a hypothetical perfect society wouldn't be able to eradicate all crime), at some point you have to make the decision to just keep bad people away from their targets. Obviously that goes without addressing the flaws of the modern day prison system, but I will not go into that.... lol

That and, I don't truly feel like *being good* is enough to constitute a 'redemption' for child abusers, at least in the real world. To me a bad person, especially of that caliber, has to *do good* in order to earn any sort of redemption. If you abuse a child and you truly regret it, I fully expect you to save 20 kids from a burning building and donate charity to victims for the rest of your life. After some proper consequences of course. Loll. Anyways those are just my thoughts!

hello again haha! no worries whatsoever, your thoughts are really interesting to read!

i think your perspective is really interesting and honestly, necessary, while it doesn’t line up exactly with mine, i can absolutely see where you’re coming from.

i definitely agree with you on the ‘being a better person’ and ‘doing better things’ aspect. you better save those children from a burning building.

and your analysis of predators being human and that making them worse is something i’ve never thought about that way and is a perspective i greatly appreciate!!

ultimately, the aim for my story is not to tell you how to feel about these terrible people but to show you that some people *can* change, regardless of people’s reactions to that.

i would personally never forgive alvin, hell i might even never stop hating him, but i think that being the case and him trying to be a better person regardless is what makes the story important.

anyway, i greatly enjoy your anons!! thank you for your thoughts haha, everyone should be reading them- you’re extremely articulate and informed

[a-bucket-of-trash]

Make the Soldier Beg- Kelvin x Female Reader – One Shot

Prompt: Too wild to say. Dom lady and Sub Kelvin, Very XXX – Idea from @hubbelebubbele (I don’t make myself responsible for this lmao)

Tags: TW NSFW EXPLICIT AF BDSM (Contains consensual acts of stangulation, bondage, degradation, slapping, pegging)  

Being that you already knew Kelvin from some funny encounters between you two, it was a little weird for you to see him several months after he returned from his last failed mission, still finishing rehab from his ruptured eardrums and concussion. He worried you a bit, but he immediately reassured you, telling you that he was fine, just a little clumsy here and there at the moment. But that didn't take away from the fact that his demeanor had changed a bit too, for whatever reason. It wasn't that he was easy in bed, but he had come back with a couple of unusual requests, demanding a little more control, as if he was starving to feel at your mercy.

And the fact that he was now a little clumsier than usual was bothering you. You didn't blame him, but you swore he was doing it on purpose to get you a firm reaction against him, as if he wanted you to scold him and look at him with those acid eyes that made him giggle. The bastard had even broken your favorite mug.

"Oh really?" You looked at him reluctantly, seeing your mug on the floor, the scattered pieces.

"It slipped through my fingers, sorry..." He looked at you with tender eyes "I'm going to buy you another, I swear"

"If you don't have motor skills yet, don't start playing with fragile things, especially if they're mine, you big fool" You crossed your arms, sighing.

"I'm a... bad boy..." He looked at you more intently, cringing a little.

“Mhm, pretty bad.” You shook your head softly, moving closer to him, knowing he used those words as a clear cue to you, his words coded for some action “Lately you've been impossible, do I have to punish you a little? Mmmm?" You pinched his ass.

You saw him snort like a bull, his eyes looking at you as if he could butcher you. Pinching his ass was your way of telling him what you were going to do to him, only if he gave his consent: pegging. Something you'd done with him before, but lately he seemed to almost demand every few days.

"Yes... please..." He got so close to you that his forehead touched yours, charged with intensity, getting exaggeratedly horny.

“Mmmm…” You took his chin, looking up at him, licking your lips “How about we keep those clumsy hands out of the way? Hmmmm? Are you so bad that I have to tie you to the bed so that you learn to behave?"

"Y-yes" He trembled, with the anxiety of what you were going to do to him growing in his chest. You had never tied him up, but it was something he had been wanting to ask of you for weeks.

"Yes what?" You looked at him menacingly. "Did you lose your education too, you little clumsy?"

"Yes, please, Ma'am," He half begged, swallowing hard. "Tie my hands, please."

"Walk" You slapped his ass firmly to make him walk.

You saw him almost run into the bedroom as you followed him, laughing to yourself, since sex with that man was rarely boring. You watched him undress in a hurry, lying on the bed, waiting obediently, so aroused that it looked like he was going to finish before you undressed yourself.

With a happy face, he saw you undress, devouring your figure with his eyes, watching you look for the box of sex toys and things that he had been buying since he had gone back to his old ways with you. You approached him, getting on the bed, hooking his hands to the headboard, checking that it was okay, that it didn't squeeze him too much, while he looked at you with eyes full of love and desire. He loved the idea of being completely at your mercy, of letting you do whatever you wanted with him, even though he knew you, you never crossed limits, you were never overly rude, he never felt in danger with you, not even to the point of doubt.

You didn't even bother kissing him or touching him much, he was pretty much ready already, so you strapped on, lubed up the toy and himself, before slowly entering him, watching him immediately roll his eyes, moaning.

"Today you really came wanting to party" You smiled, moving deeply, your hands caressing his open thighs.

“A-aha…” He took a long breath “I want rough… Please…”

"Be more specific" You advanced suddenly, to the bottom, seeing him give a slight yell "How rude?"

"Very rude, very rude..." He asked, restless, growling "Treat me badly... I'm a bad boy... please" He begged.

"Then don't complain when I make a mess with you" You smiled.

If rude he wanted, rude he would have. Your movements became firm, holding his waist slightly raised by a cushion, the dildo outraging him without remorse, squeezing his prostate every time, while his high-pitched moans drilled into your brain and you watched him tug slightly at his tied hands. You loved watching him enjoy himself like that, he was your beautiful slice of porn, just for you. More when he was physically attractive, muscular, beautifully gifted, completely at your disposal.

"It's not fair, you know?" You didn't slow down in the slightest "You break my stuff and look at you, enjoying it..."

Remembering that he had asked you for an excess of rudeness, and knowing that he would use his safe word should he need it, one of your hands scratched his chest on its way to his neck, choking him slightly, squeezing his throat barely enough for him to notice. He moaned even more, his waist moving slightly against you so that each of your thrusts was firmer.

You bit your lip looking at him like this, he looked absolutely lost, and you wanted him to feel more.

"You like this? Mmmmm?" You purred at him, watching him nod, gasping slightly, rolling his eyes in pleasure.

"More" He growled, his voice lost in the moans.

"More what? I told you to be specific, bitch! More what!?" You took his hair, pulling a little.

"More mean!" He half sobbed, between the pain and the desire for more, maddened.

“You dirty slut.” You released him to firmly slap his erect penis, hearing him cry out from deep in his throat.

You didn't stop fucking his ass, firmly, but you looked into his eyes, looking for any indication that you had passed his limits, but his sweaty shaken face and lust-filled eyes were telling you to never stop.

"Remember the safe word, you pervert?" You questioned, just in case, knowing that the word in question was Gun.

"Aha..." He gasped, nodding quickly.

"Coherent and complete sentences, bitch!" You pulled his hair again, with a threatening air.

"I do remember, Ma'am!" He sobbed “I want rougher!”

 "God, you are really a needy" You pinched his nipples "I'm going to make you scream until the fucking police come here"

And if he had asked, you were going to comply. Your strap-on continued to be swallowed by him, firm and fast, your pelvis colliding loudly with his, while you kept your hands busy slapping him, focusing on his ass, his legs, without interfering too much with his balls and his dripping penis, which didn’t stop shaking with each of your thrusts.

He moaned, screamed and growled, getting louder, in tune with some reddish areas of his skin, the result of your firm slaps.

You heard him moan for a long time, his legs trembling slightly, his toes curling, you knew that way of making a fuss, he was absolutely close, it was a sound that turned you on a little more, if possible.

"What's up, bad boy?" You smiled. "What do you want?"

"Touch me!" He begged, rolling his eyes, "Touch me... touch me..." He stammered between moans.

"Na-ha" You teased him, licking your lips, accelerating a little more, knowing that being so close to the climax, it was fun forcing him to find some coherence between his moans "Not like that, not with that rudeness, sir... Tell me the magical words"

"Please! I beg you! Touch me! Touch me please! I want to cum! I want to cum for you! Please Ma'am, please!" He exclaimed, almost lost himself, eyes wide, trembling.

"Good boy!" You smiled at an enthusiasm that he rarely showed.

Your left hand hooked on his throat, squeezing it just firmly, while you masturbated him with your right hand, stroking his cock in unison with your rapid strokes against his prostate, listening to him give the most scandalous moans that had ever come out of his mouth, his eyes rolling, his muscles fully tensing as you accelerated even more.

He gave a short shriek that choked in his throat, cumming extremely loudly, his voice almost sobbing as the jets from his cock seemed non-stop, bathing his stomach, chest and even face, painting his skin sweaty with generous white spots.

You released him, stopping, somewhat tired of your own movements, seeing him sprawled, his arms hanging limply from the headboard of the bed, panting, breathing like a horse in full race, his eyes closed, still half flying in the cloud of ecstasy.

“How pretty you look when you cum.” You chuckled softly, bending over him, even your strap-on buried deep in his ass, to seductively lick his cum off his face.

His cock twitched at that, even though he was relaxing a bit, and his brown eyes widened slightly, absolutely filled with love, and he searched for your mouth as he whispered "Thank you" to kiss you softly.

"You're welcome, darling... Recover a bit, it's my turn later" You laughed, kissing him passionately.

Kelvin chuckled slightly, his tongue rubbing around your mouth, knowing it was true, now it was his turn to make you rave in bed.

[welcome-to-oslov]

What does Tilrey find most healing, later in life?

I still like the idea of an autobiography or Tangle novel 🥹 I liked the times he stood up for himself with Councillors: "Stop reminiscing about me like that in Chambers."

The convo he finally had with his Mom in the cell Thurskein was a good start, but seems like there were still so many setbacks in his mid-late 20s/early 30s that I'm not sure he was doing much healing, more just adjusting/surviving/figuring things out.

It is 🥺❤️‍🩹 to see some of the sex he has that's clearly working through stuff: Davita, the dude at the dorms, etc. He always makes a point to think, THIS time this person is *actually* caring for his safety. This time, HE actually has a say, and he *could* stop them.

To an extent he thinks he's just exploring his sexuality or cutting deals or even punishing himaelf, but truly what he's doing is revealing how terrifyingly unsafe he'd felt during his kettleboy encounters -- his pounding heart would wake him up in nightmares right after, his hands trembling the next morning, his body releasing the extreme stress he'd had to try to clamp down from fully feeling in order to survive in those moments and hours.

Now, he's trying to erase/replace those encounters with similar experiences -- except ones where he can now know he is okay, he's going to be okay.

I guess he never really talks through things all that much; obvi we know now therapy in Oslov sucks. But some of his convos with Gersha or Bror or Artur or Mom or Ceill or even Malsha were maybe helpful?

That’s a good question! In his 30s/40s, I think he’s at his happiest when he, Gersha, and Ceill can just hang in the villa in the Southern Range with Valgund, their houseguest of sorts who never left. They just vibe well together. Valgund spent years in moral rehab, so he also has some trauma to work through, and he understands Tilrey intuitively. He spends his days collecting plants, about which they probably all have geeky conversations, and he’s a good cook. Tilrey can take his kid skiing or hiking and come back and read by the fire with Gersha. All that’s missing is a cat. 😅

But when he wants that *other* kind of therapeutic relaxation… getting to know the Brothel workers is important for Tilrey. They’ve had similar experiences to him. They can help him work through his trauma with a full understanding of what they’re doing and why he needs it. Einara is a pretty messed-up person, but perhaps because their histories are similar, she has the ability to “smooth him out” and improve his mood. Her husband helps, too. Tilrey always comes back from there happier, and Gersha accepts it because he knows it’s necessary.

[16lies]

message: saw jin seulki in seoul. they were playing tennis and sipping overpriced cocktails. i think they’re a graduate law student now? a lot of people say they’re kinda ruthless but they seemed super ambitious to me, tbh. they really look like moon gayoung and remind me of blair waldorf though wtf. thought you might want to know because i remember your post about them that said there’s a leaked sex tape of her threesome with her ex-boyfriend and his best friend on the internet. still can’t believe that happened six years ago.

hi, everyone! max here, with your neighbourhood ruthless bitch, jin seulki! ‪♡‬ a relentless and incredibly petty overarchiever, with a shaky moral backbone~ blair waldorf DUPE!

anyways, you know the drill - like this if you're down to plot and we can exchange discord tags (my preferred channel of communication)!! onward we go!!

tw: mentions of unconsensual sharing of explicit material

; basics

jin seulki, twenty five years old, currently a graduate law student (i know that law students are busy and would probably not have the time to engage in illicit activities but please suspend your belief for her)

graduated with a degree in political science @ korea university, now a first year law student in snu

scorpio sun, cap moon, scorpio rising

inspired by gg's blair waldorf & georgina sparks, gg reboot's monet de haan, mean girls' regina george - basically any scheming manipulative mean girl

lawful evil, estj

the prodigy, the hellkite

gossipgate subplot, blackmail skeleton

; background

youngest daughter to a politician father and a socialite mother

her father is old-gen rich, to the point that he doesn't really need to work for the rest of their lives so being a politician was more of a passion project. something to keep his lives entertaining and fight for

her mother, on the other hand, was from a middle-class family (think tom & shiv from succession), so she spent most of her life learning how to fit in with the elite

honestly, seulki hated her mother. hated her pathetic and desperate she was - all she ever wanted was the attention and everything she had was dependent on her husband and his money

so she swore to never be anything like her mother. wanted to make sure that she would never be in such a powerless position

doesn't matter if people get hurt or someone else suffers as long as she gets what she wants, as long as people remember she's the one in power

she plays hard too though, because who wouldn't when you have life's finest things at your fingertips

it catches up to her, however, when she is fourteen and she gets caught grinning and downing tequila shots in that infamous gyeonggi girls’ high school video

honestly, most people (her elder sister included) felt vindicated when seulki had gotten caught. a taste of her own medicine, they whisper, about time she gets humbled

everyone celebrates a little bit more when she doesn't manage to weasel and scheme her way out of it, because her parents see and hear about the video before she does. as a punishment, she gets sent away to some rehabilitation center while her father attempts to do damage control

she's lucky she's just a freshman, and she plays up the i've never done anything like this in my life i just wanted to be part of the cool kids story and manages to avoid any criminal proceedings

(does, however, manage to conspire up a way to leave the rehab center earlier than planned, because she shows up at her father's event, with her half-brother - a secret her mother doesn't know about. continues to leverage that over her father for the next few years)

gossip girl truly terrorizes her life for the next five years, and seulki learns to play the game. uses it to blackmail others, sends false tips about herself to throw them off her scent. she doesn't, however, try to find out the identity of gossip girl becuse she knows a vicious bitch when she sees one and gossip girl is one fucking vicious bitch she doesn't want to mess with

she thinks that the drinking scandal is the worst that could happen, until she falls in love with a boy and after a particularly wild night, agrees to a threesome with him and his best friend. and agrees to film it.

the video gets leaked, unsurprisingly and seulki breaks up with him. pays someone to get it removed from the all corners of the internet but gossip girl finds out about it

she denies denies denies because there is no proof of the video but shes deeply afraid that one day someone will manage to find it. even bad bitches have their kryponite and for miss seulki it's this video, a living reminder that love causes nothing but trouble

anyways she celebrated wildly when gossip girl disappeared but now that she's back... seulki won't let gossip girl ruin her again. not when she's this close to achieving all that she wants. she's survived it once, she'll survive it again

; personality

positive: ambitious, charming, calculating, relentless, determined negative: petty, insincere, vicious, nosy, insecure

ruthless bitch

obsessive overachiever with a shaky moral fiber

will smile to your face and stab you in the back - she has no qualms about that

not a fan of attention, which is ironic because she is a frequent feature on gossip girl. is a fan of her reputation of being a bitch tho

deeply enjoys inciting fear in people - she lives and breathes the motto 'you can't make people love you but you can make them fear you'. gives her a sense of power, which is what she has worked for her entire life

can be very petty. the smallest thing can set her off, hates the feeling of not being in control. will take it out on others just to get that sense of control and power back lmfao a little bit more dangerous now

she's very deeply insecure though; when you base your whole life on whether you can control others... it's not a good look lol

passive aggressive as fuck - i wouldn't say that she's outright spiteful and mean but rather, a lot of fake smiles and "your skirt is so cute" "that is the ugliest fucking skirt i've ever seen"

always up in people's business just cause she likes to have an arsenal of information with her

she can get be charming if she wants to

her biggest weaknesses are (a) her insecurities - very desperate for love she has never known. doesnt know how badly she wants or needs it until she gets a taste of it and she loses all rationality. then regrets it. then does it again. ironic because she spends her whole life trying not to be her mother, only to be just like her (b) how tightly-wound she is; the moment she lets loose, she goes absolutely fucking wild. she's very extreme lmfao either she's poised and calm or she's going absolutely feral

that's how she gets caught in situations like a leaked s*x tape and the drinking scandal (normally, she has enough blackmail to clean it up but there are times where even she can't save herself)

; wanted connections

familial

older sister - i don't have their dynamics down but we could either have a fun rivalry going on OR something where the older sister is the dark sheep, seulki never stops to rub it in her face

younger half-brother - hced that her father had numerous affairs, one of which led to her secret half-brother. should be around four years younger than her, seulki used to threaten her father with his presence lol could potentially be the only person seulki feels ~ protective ~ and affectionate towards

friends

ex boyfriend who was in the video with her

ex boyfriend's best friend who was in the video with her - would be fun if he was like in love with her lolz

bestie - someone she actually loves and would commit crimes for ‪♡‬ (probably a childhood friend, only open to one person)

the plastics - fellow gossipgaters who ruled the school together! (not that seulki would be the regina george, she'd be a little bit too young)

fellow gyeonggi girls high school student who knows that seulki isn't as innocent as she keeps portraying herself to be, that she willingly drank and partied. thinks seulki deserved worse punishment

frenemies - give me a blair/serena, rory/paris situation! forced to get along but secretly always competing with each other <3

rivals - plz be in an academic/tennis rivalry with each other!! not a frenemy thing but a straight up i'll fucking destroy you kind of thing. maybe seulki even tried to do so too? but failed? and that makes her hate you even more lol

fwb - but in a transactional way. having specific timelsots for each other, meeting at specific places, no feelings attached hehe

someone who did something v small and irrelevant to her but she was having the worst fucking day so she.... sent in a tip to gossip girl (fake/real) with her name attached ‪♡‬

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary215

4/17-18/2024

wednesday - thursday

super-something, today, just don't know what.

well, i guess super busy is one thing, i worked and yadda yadda but wouldn't you know it i had it in me to record 3 little things for vocals, so these 3 songs, if when i listen back to these and like these takes, are basically basically done. and then when they're only just basically done, i can really make sure and then they'll just be regular done. and there's 3 more that need lyrics written for parts and that's kinda exciting. maybe something goof will fall out of my head. that would be nice.

reading was good today, it really is the end of the book, lots of stuff is being wrapped up and it i guess is focusing more, so it turns less general, less wide and more focused on the prison proper, and i am currently in his analysis of when chain gangs fell out of favor, the illegality and saturnalia which sprung up around the chain gangs where this desire to show, to make the public bear witness to what wrongdoing will do, this compulsion of power to illustrate itself, which this is the thing that does not go away, only reformulates, modulates, and so on, gives way to something harder to work with, situations out of power's hands take place as the chain gangs rove, not escapes necessarily, but instead expressions of pride, lack of guilt, attacks on the prisoners and their expression of hate, the scaffold's carnivalesque character here is revived where the seriousness of life exists, in such character that the weight of it gives one over to some delirium, laughter for the pain in the body. this emerges from what must necessarily be a weighing of all more, perhaps not evenly, but the fact of non-visibility, unpredictability, the introduction of non-surveilled actors who can take the words of the prisoners, reform, them, spread their songs, is one example. the prisoners speak of vengeance one day. there are points where he talks about the political nature of many illegalities, that they were formations against power and the norm, essentially ways of being to reformulate the surroundings.

the attenuation of prison comes by, the long tracks of history foucault describes, from school and hospitals, the factory, and the military, the development of the subject who is acted upon, the way power will move along this subject, the knowledges that enable greater penetrations, holding of liberty is one thing that enables these knowledges, but one can see this in schools, not just prison. this is how we come to know the delinquent, who by being described, sighted, is put to use, use being the subject that illustrates the necessity of power, of holding, and because of the creation of this subject in all institutions surrounding us, it becomes the assumption of anything that exists outside of the normal, perhaps even much of the normal is located there. it is by the development of the apparatus which can sight the delinquent that he flourishes, he multiplies not by 'nature', but instead by the humanist project's desire to categorize and rehabilitate, and the grounds of rehab is founded on power and normalcy.

as foucault gets into the fact that prison is frequently not really removing crime but in fact, multiplies it in many cases, one has to look at this function, the reforms it draws up, as something to view as not just a central tension in the prison, that the humanist reform was for something better and the prisons fail and are only these hideous arbitrary calculators of punishment, but instead that this tension is a motor which furthers prison as it is impossible to now discard as punishment, illustration of power and its necessity, has not disappeared. history has been odd stutter steps, it is an odd posture, it is not upright as we assume our spines are meant to be.

anyway i am sleepy so one last thing, watching these youtube analog horror videos, they're alright, i am liking this mckinney family home video one because they're really just kind of like decomposing urbex videos with people put in them places. these kinds of things are so interested in feminine victims, which to be fair i guess i am drawn to that sort of imagery myself but it feels handled oddly, i guess. mckinney family videos feel a little closer to like, laura palmer, which rings true while a bunch of other stuff is kind of just coming off as seeing women suffering as part of what horror is, and then men enter into the picture as the seekers of knowledge who suffer for wanting to know. it's odd, and i am being reductive here, because i know plenty of things are not like that, and that this is just also part of horror in many cases. still odd, interesting to think about.

but, i need to sleep now, so

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ljsstories]

Chapter Six: Jane

Lying entwined in the duvet for a very long time, Jane waited for the police to arrive...but they never did. She stayed an extra few days after Jensen Reed had left, in his bed which she found rather alarming and slightly twisted, just in case, but no one ever showed. The day she was ready to leave, she bundled the bed clothes into an Ikea bag, unable to wash the scent of him away just yet. As she pulled the final sheet that covered the mattress off, a whole bundle of papers slipped onto the ground. She looked down at them with astonishment, so this was where the paper she gave him went. She had forgotten all about that, out of sight and out of mind...or more appropriately out of sight and out of her mind, didn't he say that they were both crazy? She must have been crazy to take him in the first place. Some of the papers were chock full of scrawled paragraphs, one was entitled Miss Vapid and appeared to be a song. Some papers contained drawings, there was one of her behind the bedroom door as she slowly closed it, eyes down holding the door handle...it was very good and he had made her appear to be slimmer than she was. She looked down at some of the written papers; dear mom, dear dad, Juliet, Jonah...he had been writing letters to his loved ones. Jane didn't read any further, feeling she was invading his privacy and bundled all the papers up, shoving them inside the bag of bed clothes until they reached the bottom out of sight. After a deep clean of the room and throwing out anything that he had touched, she surveyed Jensen Reed's prison, she could hardly believe he'd been here...and she could hardly believe he was gone. Time to face the music, she thought to herself, it would be all over the news, maybe he was going to go to the papers about her rather than report her to the police. Maybe he was going to milk this for all he could get, maybe he was acting this whole time, maybe he had played her! It no longer mattered, he was gone and she had to face her punishment.

When she arrived home in Kilmarnock, everything seemed normal, nothing had changed even though her entire world had been turned upside down. She opened the front door and walked quietly through the hall past Eliza's room, her door flew open and she stood there with her arms crossed and her pretty face screwed up in anger as Jane spotted the shiner over her left eye. "Look what the cat dragged in!" She scoffed at her, "Do you see what you did to me???" Eliza pointed dramatically at her now blueish-green eye, it had been almost two weeks since the incident, but she was obviously still bitter about it.

"I'm sorry!" Jane mumbled and made her way to her room, climbing the stairs as quickly as she could before her parents got wind that she was back.

"JANE!" Eliza shrieked after her, "JANE, MUM IS GOING TO KILL YOU!" Yeah sure, maybe later. Jane had to hide Jensen's bed sheets somewhere, she still wasn't ready to wash them and she had no idea why. As she stuffed the Ikea bag into a large ottoman at the foot of her bed, there was a forceful knock on her door. She pushed her computer chair under the handle so whoever it was couldn't barge in.

"Janey? Sweetheart open the door! What have you been doing all this time? I've been so worried about you!" Her mother sounded concerned and she almost opened the door, but her sister's unmistakable cackle stopped her in her tracks, she was there too.

"Hey maybe she kidnapped Jensen Reed! They both took off and came back at the same time! Maybe she should have gone to the same rehab place he did!" Eliza laughed and stomped down the stairs as an icy chill ran down Jane's back, she was joking of course but she had no idea how right she was. Jane pushed the chair aside and opened the door.

"Oh Janey, thank God!" Her mother placed a hand on her heart and closed her eyes with a look of relief on her round face.

"What's she talking about?"

"Hmm? Oh you know your sister; she's obsessed with that boy!" Monica shook her head in disapproval.

"What's this about him going missing?" Jane eyed her mother up and down, terrified of the explanation.

"Oh, well he disappeared the night of that concert Eliza was supposed to be going to but she lost her tickets and then she was so heartbroken and..."

"Mum! What.Happened???" Jane interrupted her mother, who was about to go off on one of her stories that took a long road for a shortcut.

"It's been all over the news, nobody had seen hide nor hair of him since the concert and then all of a sudden he was spotted out with his mum somewhere the other day and all anyone can talk about is how good he looks. Eliza's been collecting all the magazines..." Jane pushed past her mother and raced downstairs as Monica's voice faded, but she continued to talk, "...put on a load of weight...think he's been in rehab for...used to be a heavy drinker according to your sister..." Jane battered on Eliza's door as Jensen's voice screamed over her iPod speakers.

"What the fuck???" Eliza threw the door open and scowled at Jane, "What is your problem freak?"

"Your magazines...about him!" Jane pointed to one of Eliza's posters of Jensen, "Can I read them?" Eliza looked at Jane with utter bewilderment.

"Wh..." Was all she could get out at first, "...why?" She blinked several times as Jane grew impatient.

"Just...can I see them? Please?" Eliza shrugged and picked up the gossip rags she'd collected over the past couple of days, as she handed them to Jane she saw the photos of Jensen splashed all over the covers. She saw the headlines and it made her feel sick. "Thank you!" Jane grabbed the magazines from her sister and hopped up the stairs. Throwing herself down onto her bed, she spread Eliza's collection out and stared at every photo of Jensen. He was wearing sunglasses, obviously in L.A., walking with an older woman who he was linking arms with...his mother? One headline read:

Jensen Reed spotted for first time since rumoured rehab stint!

River Monster frontman and Academy Award winning actor Jensen Reed has been seen for the first time in almost two weeks! He was seen leaving a grocery store in downtown L.A. with his mother, Stephanie, yesterday. A source close to the band has said that he recently fell off the wagon and had been drinking before shows. "Jensen had slipped during the European tour and his management had to intervene. Shortly after the UK dates, he booked himself into a private rehabilitation centre and he looks much better for it!" It's true that Reed is looking rather yummy, although he was pretty hot to begin with. He's looking healthier and happier than ever, putting on a few pounds of muscle. We reached out to representatives of Reed and River Monster but we are yet to get a reply. As well as the rehab murmurings, it's also rumoured that Reed is beefing up for an upcoming movie role. Whatever the reason for this dramatic change, Jensen Reed has never looked so good!

Jane felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach as she read article after article and looked at every single photo the paparazzi had taken of Jensen and his lovely mum, who looked so happy to have her son back. He looked like her, just like Jane looked like her mother. Jensen didn't appear to be traumatised in any way over his abduction, quite the opposite, in some of the photos he was actually smiling and laughing with his mother, as if he didn't have a care in the world. This confused Jane, she still expected the police to come and get her at any moment, why hadn't he reported her? What the hell was going on? Every article stated that they had reached out to Jensen's people and heard nothing back, they weren't confirming or denying the rehab rumours, they were just staying quiet. Jane was startled by a banging on her door, followed by Eliza's nasal voice, yeah Jensen was right. "Jane? Can I have my stuff back now?" Jane ignored her as she stared at one of the photos where Jensen had taken off his sunglasses and his blue eyes sparkled in the sun, he was very pretty, stop this! She gave herself a mental shake and gathered up her sister's magazines. Opening the door, she handed them over.

"Here, thanks!" Eliza looked at her as if she was an alien from outer space.

"Since when have you been interested in my Jensen?" Her Jensen? In her dreams! Jane knew for a fact that her Jensen couldn't stand her, and that gave Jane a small hint of satisfaction.

"I'm not I..." she struggled to give Eliza an explanation, "...I'm just nosey!" She shrugged and shut the door in her face. Jane could feel her cheeks flush, thinking of how happy Jensen looked, or was that all an act? He was smiling with his eyes, no one could fake that!

For the next few weeks Jane stayed in her room, once again only coming out for meals. The only day she got dressed and went out was on her birthday a couple of days after she returned home from Millport, she was now twenty seven, Louise took her to see a film at the local cinema followed by dinner at her favourite Chinese restaurant in town. Louise even stayed the night, but Jane didn't tell her best friend what she had done, she told no one. She tried so hard to pretend it didn't happen but the guilt sat on her shoulders every single day, she just couldn't shake it. It didn't help that Jensen Reed's whole rehab rumours wouldn't stop, then he disappeared again, it was the talk of Hollywood, nobody was saying where he'd gone and to top it all off the man that he had written one of his letters to, Bryan Whitaker, was no longer the manager of River Monster. Citing irreconcilable differences, Whitaker had issued a statement about Jensen's behaviour, blaming it all on him and how difficult he was to deal with. Jensen stayed silent once again, neither confirming nor denying his former manager's claims. Jane didn't believe it, that was not the Jensen she knew, before those ten days in Millport she would have totally believed it...but she knew better now! Jensen Reed was not difficult, he didn't misbehave, he was sweet and kind and caring. Jane couldn't believe she was sticking up for him, hell had definitely frozen over.

By Christmas time, Jane still had no job, no hope and was generally depressed. Her sessions with Doctor Anna Fisher had long since finished and she was left hanging by a thread. She couldn't afford to go private, she just had to suck it up and hide under her duvet. Her parents and Louise tried to help her, but they had no idea why Jane was so utterly depressed and filled with dread, there was always that threat hanging over her that Jensen Reed would inform the police and send her to prison for what she'd done to him. Jensen's disappearing act had lasted much longer than ten days this time, there were a few articles posted asking Where is Jensen Reed? But apart from that, nothing. Eliza was a little down, missing her fix of her Jensen, Jane couldn't take any more re-runs of his films but Eliza had them on some kind of loop in the living room, so Jane stayed in her bedroom and let her mind take over, all of her worst fears playing over and over like the Jensen Reed marathon loop downstairs. At her mother's request she came down to put up the tree and decorate the house, "You're so good at it Janey!" Monica had emphasised just how lousy she was in comparison, her dad was a typical man who couldn't care less and Eliza was so far up her own arse that she would probably start but never finish, which would leave piles of baubles and tinsel lying all over the floor.

***

Jane often found herself scouring the internet for a tiny piece of news about Jensen, just to know he was alright. She found nothing about him but lots about his brother Jonah, he was living up to the picture Jensen had painted of him, out with a different girl every night and falling out of nightclubs on a regular basis. Jane wondered how Jensen was handling this, she knew that he took his brother's behaviour to heart and it stressed him out. Knowing so much about the man she had despised a few months ago perplexed Jane, she had different feelings now but she didn't think she had the right to after what she had done. Her guilt took over the majority of her life, it was something she just couldn't shake, it was on her mind every single day. I abducted Jensen Reed and held him captive for ten whole days, chained to a radiator in our holiday cottage! She never said those words out loud, but she thought them over and over again, they sounded ridiculous enough inside her head, saying them out loud to someone would make them sound batshit crazy! It didn't help that she still had the unwashed sheets, duvet and pillow covers that Jensen had slept in inside her ottoman, his letters and his notes were there at the bottom of the bag too. Hanging onto evidence, like she wanted to get caught, she was off her head!

On New Year's Eve, Louise tried to get Jane to come out to a party she'd been invited to but she was still very down. "Look Jane, you're going to have to try and come back into the land of the living! Maybe even step out into the garden? Even that would be progress!" Jane was sitting on her bed in among the mound that was her duvet, in her pyjamas as usual. She could tell that Louise was losing patience with her, there was only so much that her best friend would take before giving up. At least that's what Jane believed, how could anyone put up with so much of her shit? Apart from Louise, only her mother would come upstairs to check on her.

"I just don't feel like it Lou, I'm sorry!"

"What the hell happened to you?" Louise shook her head sadly, "Ever since that time you went to Millport you've been...different!" Oh how Jane wanted to tell her why, but she couldn't tell anyone, not even her best friend who she trusted with her life. This secret, if the police didn't turn up, would be something Jane would take to her grave without telling a soul. Only Jensen Reed would know what she had done, only Jensen Reed would know just how insane she actually was.

"You go and enjoy your party, and Happy New Year when it comes!" Jane smiled half-heartedly and lay back onto her bed, pulling her duvet with her. Louise sighed, mumbled a Happy New Year back and left her to it. Yes, she was definitely reaching that point, the point where she could take no more of Jane's behaviour. A voice inside of Jane's head told her, you're going to lose her, but she just couldn't gather the strength to do anything about it.

***

Jensen Reed appeared out of nowhere during the awards season in Hollywood. He was nominated for a SAG award, a Golden Globe and an Oscar among many others. His last movie before Jane abducted him was Method of Madness where he played a psychiatric patient. Jane hadn't seen it but thanks to Eliza, she'd been exposed to numerous clips and she couldn't deny how good he was in it. Eliza was over the moon, she seemed genuinely happy to see her idol out in the public eye again. Jane came downstairs to watch the Oscars with her, just out of curiosity, she'd already seen photos of a triumphant Jensen holding his SAG award and his Golden Globe. He looked very handsome in his navy blue tuxedo linking arms with a young woman who looked like him, Eliza had commented that it was his older sister. Jane remembered him talking about her, he was bitter when he spoke, it seemed like they'd patched things up since he got back though, they both had genuine smiles on their faces. His sister was really pretty, wearing a navy blue dress to compliment her brother, in fact Jensen's mother was there too and she also wore a navy blue dress, they all looked so glamorous in their matching outfits. Jensen of course won the Oscar and as he turned to hug and kiss his sister and mother, watching him walk down the aisle and up to the stage made Jane feel sad...because he looked sad! Standing at the podium holding his award, his cheeks were glowing pink with embarrassment, not like him at all. "Um, first of all I'd like to thank the Academy for this great honour, this may be my second one but it still feels so new to me. To the cast and crew, thank you for making me look so good, without you I wouldn't be here right now so...I owe you so much!" Eliza looked puzzled as Jensen was talking rather slowly, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "To my mother, Stephanie, I love you, you are my rock! Juliet, you're the best big sister a boy could ever wish for and I love you with all of my heart, I'm so lucky to have you in my life!" Eliza turned to Jane and frowned, confused by his subdued behaviour, Jane simply shrugged and focused on the television screen, waiting to hear the rest of Jensen's speech. "To my fans, you are my muse, my confidence, you get me through the darkest of days! Lastly, to someone who changed my life completely..." Jane felt a lump form in the back of her throat and a cold sweat began to trickle down her neck, "...you have no idea..." He stopped and looked deeply into the camera, "...you gave me my spark back and for that I am truly grateful, I hope someday soon we will meet again, you know who you are so...thank you!" He blew a kiss and waved to the camera, then headed off of the stage as Jane tried to gulp down the lump.

"Who was he talking about?" Eliza muttered to herself, "He's single as far as I know!" Jane shrugged again and stood up to leave, no longer interested in the remainder of the show.

"No idea!" She replied and left Eliza there to stew. Taking the stairs slowly, Jane heard Jensen's words over and over in her head, someone who changed my life completely, well getting kidnapped would do that to anyone! Arriving in her room, she threw herself onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling, you gave me my spark back and for that I am truly grateful. She held him captive in a room for ten days, chained up like an animal, how could he possibly be grateful for that? Because it wasn't her he was referring to, it was someone else. It had been almost seven months since the abduction, he could have met someone within that time and fallen in love, poor Eliza would be heartbroken.

Jensen's picture was on the front page of every newspaper the following morning, his big win was headline news. All they could talk about was how good he looked, the extra weight had been a positive thing for him. They also talked about the change in his personality, how more subdued he was and no longer saying inappropriate things and acting the unapologetic rock star. Soon after the awards season was over, he disappeared again and Eliza was a nightmare from that moment onwards.

***

Jane returned to a semi-normal life when Spring began, Louise had managed to get her to wander round the pound shops for Easter bargains. Eliza was taking Jensen's third disappearance badly, listening to his more depressing and slow songs on repeat and wailing about how much she missed his adorable little face, her exact words. Jane had to agree that his little face was adorable, then she would give herself a mental shake and be reminded of the awful thing that she had done, an unforgivable thing that she still lived in fear of the police turning up at her door and arresting her for. It was the not knowing that was the worst thing, at least if she did get arrested and charged she would know that it was finally over, prison sentence aside she'd be free of this impending doom that continually hung over her head like the proverbial sword of Damocles. If she was completely honest, this was a more fitting punishment, constantly looking over her shoulder waiting for blue flashing lights to appear out of nowhere, to be strong-armed and handcuffed in the middle of the street in front of all her neighbours as they twitched their curtains having a good old nosey. She didn't know when it was coming, she didn't know if it was coming at all and that was a sentence that aptly befitted the crime she had committed. After all, Jensen didn't know what was going to happen to him during those ten days, he had no idea if he would ever get home to his loved ones, he didn't know why Jane had taken him nor did he know what she intended to do with him. It must have felt exactly like this, the not knowing was an excruciating torture that would drive even the sanest of minds totally batshit crazy. What was even more frustrating was the fact that Jane had no one to talk to about it, that would involve her telling someone what she had done and after eight months she still wasn't ready to say that out loud. The only person in her life that would even remotely understand was Louise, but even her best friend would be appalled and disgusted with her actions. Losing her would be worse than what she was going through right now, panic attacks threatening to consume her every time there was a knock on the door or the phone rang, thinking is it the police? Jane could endure this torture as long as she had Louise, if she told her what she did during those ten days away there was no guarantee she would still have her after confessing her deepest, darkest secret. "Hellooooooo?" As Jane sat looking out of the bay window in the front room, her sister was waving her hands in front of her face.

"Holy fuck...what?" Jane blinked and clutched her chest as she took in a large, deep breath.

"I asked you if you would be willing to help me make a bunny costume for college?" Eliza looked like a bunny in the headlights already, obviously it was a chore for her to ask her older sister for help.

"Y-yeah, fine. When do you need it for?" Jane shielded her eyes from the sun that beamed onto her face through the window, she had been in a complete world of her own not even noticing the sunshine or Eliza talking to her.

"Friday, is that okay?" Eliza continued to stare expectantly at Jane with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah we've got five days, should be fine!" Jane nodded as Eliza threw down a load of fabric and bits and bobs on the table in front of her.

"Cool, so I found this stuff in your craft cupboard. Where's your sewing machine?" Oh so we're starting this now? Jane thought to herself as Eliza surveyed her craft cupboard plunder with her hands on her hips.

"It's in my room, where I normally keep it!" Eliza never really paid much attention to Jane at all, only coming across the upstairs cupboard full of craft supplies by accident while looking for Monica's old clothes. Their mother had been extremely offended when Eliza referred to her things as vintage. It was completely reasonable that she wouldn't have a clue where Jane kept most of her things. "Are we starting, like, now?" Jane mumbled apprehensively, not wanting to sour the neutral mood that her sister was in.

"Well...yeah, if that's..." Eliza trailed off, looking Jane up and down with a bewildered expression on her face.

"What???" Jane demanded rather shrilly, touching her face sub-consciously.

"Nothing...just...have you lost weight?" Was that a hint of concern in her voice? Did Eliza really care about her, even the tiniest bit? No way! Was this a dream?

"I-I...don't think...I dunno!" Jane shrugged as her little sister continued to scan her like a robot Barbie.

"You're not eating, I know that for sure!" Why did she even care? What was this? Jane shook her head and sighed, changing the subject.

"Right, well it's almost dinner time so we can start after that's all over, does that sound okay to you?" Jane stared Eliza down.

"Yeah, sure. As long as you actually eat dinner this time!" Eliza gave Jane a disapproving frown and left her with the pile of craft stuff sprawled all over the table. Some things never changed, at least she hadn't gone through a complete personality transplant!

When dinner was over, the sisters sat down in the front room and started on Eliza's bunny costume. When she mentioned a bunny, Jane had a vision of a cute little chubby critter, like a onesie with a hood. Eliza on the other hand described something more akin to the Playboy Bunny look, sexy little number with a pom pom cotton tail and fishnets, stiletto heels and plenty of cleavage showing. Jane was horrified but not surprised when Eliza sketched a picture of Jessica Rabbit and not Thumper from Bambi. As she listened to her ramble on about the costume, Jane noticed that she wasn't completely caked in make-up like she usually was. In fact Eliza had been quieter and subdued lately, surely it wasn't because of Jensen Reed? A total stranger? It couldn't be! But after Eliza had finished talking about the impending project they were going to share; the topic did steer towards a certain American actor and musician that was currently off the radar for the third time in the space of eight months. "So I wanted to talk to you about...something." Eliza mumbled as she sifted through a pile of head bands to attach bunny ears to.

"What?" Jane watched her pick up one head band, then toss it aside nonchalantly and pick up another one...repeatedly.

"Well, I thought you might...like...when Will died, how did you...deal with it?"

"Not very well, as you know! I ended up in therapy!"

"Yeah I know but...how do you...like...get through loss?" Loss? What kind of loss had she suffered lately? Ohhhhhh, no way! Jane chose her next words very carefully and tried to refrain from using her angry tone of voice.

"Eliza, have you lost someone?" Eliza shrugged, still engrossed in her head band flipping task.

"It's just...he's gone again and..." Jane closed her eyes and clenched her fists under the table, taking in deep breaths and trying not to lose her cool. "...it feels like this emptiness inside of me. I don't know what to do about it!"

"Who are we talking about?" Jane replied quietly through gritted teeth, concentrating on her breathing, eyes still firmly closed.

"You know, Jensen! When you're so used to someone being splashed all over the television, internet, magazines every single day and then...nothing it's..."

"Eliza he's a complete stranger, you know nothing about him!" Jane was finding it hard to compose herself, comparing Will's death to Jensen Reed going into hiding made her blood boil! "Maybe you should be concentrating on a real person?"

"What do you mean a real person? What do you think he is? Made of plasticine or something???" Eliza huffed and gave her a disapproving look, how silly of Jane to try and appeal to her sister's sensible side.

"I'm just saying that..." Jane pinched the top of her nose with her thumb and index finger, trying to stave off a lurking migraine. "...Will was my friend, I knew him, I talked to him and we had an actual relationship! You've never met this Jensen..."

"I almost did!" Eliza interrupted, stuttering she added, "I-I-I was supposed to!"

"And what were you expecting to happen? That he'd take one look at you and fall in love with you? That you would get married and have an entire football team of children?" Jane regretted blurting that out, the look on her sister's face was heart breaking. "Eliza, he's a movie and rock star! He lives in another country and when he's not living there he's touring all over the world or he's on location filming or..." Eliza's head sank and she twirled one of the head bands around in her fingers, "...you're such a pretty girl! You can have any guy you want! Stop wasting your time on a fantasy and go out there and live!" Eliza shot up from her seat and swiped the pile of things she'd gathered earlier off of the table in one fluid movement, fabric and sequins scattered all over the carpet.

"YOU.ARE.SUCH.A.BITCH!!!" She screamed in Jane's face, "Fuck you, I'll make my own costume!" She let out an aggravated squeal and stormed out of the front room, slamming the door behind her. Jane was stunned, that was the last time she ever told Eliza she was pretty! Pay someone a compliment and get your head bitten off! Mind you, the other things that she had said were rather harsh, she had been tactless. Eliza was besotted with the bloke, so much so that explaining to her that he'd never fall for her was a cruel thing to say but knowing the truth...that Jensen disliked Eliza...how could Jane set her up for a fall if she ever did meet him? She couldn't, that would have been even more cruel than the things she had just said. Jane stared down at the mess Eliza had made on the floor, began picking the craft things up, and once she was finished she looked at the drawing of a rather sexy little bunny girl that her sister had created earlier and got to work.

***

When Eliza awoke that Monday morning, she was in a mood. Jane guessed that she was responsible and tried to apologise but Eliza wasn't speaking to her. "I'm sorry about last night..." Her words were met with a hand in her face as Eliza picked up her coffee from their mother and left.

"You two need your heads banged together!" Monica sighed as she scraped butter on her toast, "She said you were horrible to her last night, said all sorts of hurtful things. Janey you have a nasty tongue in your head sometimes! You get it from your Nana! Remember she's your wee sister, she's not as mature as you are, she takes everything to heart!" Jane sat on one of the kitchen stools and stared out of the window into the garden, trying to drown out her mother's diatribe. Once again Eliza was a victim and Jane the big bad evil witch who tortured her on a daily basis, it could never be the other way around, oh no! "Anyway it's Monday, you should get yourself down to the job centre and see if there's anything that takes your fancy!"

"Yes I'll do that, after my breakfast!" Jane had no intention of doing that after breakfast, not in the slightest.

When Eliza arrived back from her classes, she stormed into her room and slammed the door. A few moments later she appeared in the front room where Jane was working hard on her sewing machine. "Did you do this?" Oh God, what had she done now?

"Do what?" Jane muttered over the drilling of her machine.

"This!" Eliza held up the headband with the bunny ears attached to it.

"Yeah, if you don't like them then..."

"No, no they're...perfect...thank you!" Eliza twirled round and breezed out before Jane could say anything back. So that was how it felt to have a sister who was actually grateful? Wow, how long would it last though? She looked down at the little black leotard she had sewn together and sighed, the things she did for that girl despite being treated like something on the bottom of her shoe. Jane had made all of Eliza's Halloween costumes since she started Home Economics in high school, it was just one of these unspoken agreements that they had and apparently it had overlapped into their adulthood as well. Jane was the go-to person for anything crafty, it was just the way it worked. By the end of the week, Eliza had a bunny costume without lifting a finger herself, she mumbled another thanks to Jane as she breezed through the hallway that Friday morning heading off for college to take part in the egg hunt her tutor had arranged. Jane watched her walk up the road with pride, her little pom pom tail wiggling as she went. Jane loved her sister, there was no doubt about that, she felt sad that Jensen didn't like her, for she knew how much he meant to her. She wished that Jensen Reed could have gotten to know how sweet Eliza could be sometimes, she wasn't all bad. Thinking back to Doctor Fisher's words, Try and understand that her negative attitude towards you may come from a place of insecurity, she maybe wants to have a bond with you but lashes out for fear of being rejected by you. Jane felt a pang of guilt as she continued to watch her younger sister saunter up the street swinging her bag around without a care in the world, she'd always said she hated Eliza but it wasn't true. As she was distracted by her conflicted feelings towards her estranged sister, a police car stopped outside the gate. Jane felt her heart booming in her chest as her cheeks felt as if they were on fire, as the two police officers pushed open the gate she tried to catch her breath, feeling a panic attack coming on as the doorbell reverberated around the house. Ducking under the table, she felt a mixture of terrified and relieved, finally this ordeal was over! She could hear her mother talking to them, one male and one female, they didn't come in and to Jane's shock they didn't stay. Just as she was about to come out of her hiding place, Monica entered the room and let out a huge sigh, hands on hips and shaking her head. "Janey what on earth are you doing down there?" Jane stood up from under the table and blurted out the words.

"What did they want?"

"Hmm?" Monica looked confused for a moment, then realising that Jane was referring to the police, she wafted a hand and tutted. "Oh, the lady two doors down had her front window smashed, they wanted to know if I saw anything. They think it was school kids or something." Jane felt sick, relieved that she wasn't going to jail just yet, but very sick too.

***

For the next couple of months, Jane's life remained the same. She still didn't have a job and still rarely left the house. Louise had given up trying, Eliza had gone back to her usual ways despite them having a moment over the bunny costume, Jensen was still MIA and Jane's depression was getting worse. All Eliza ever talked about was Jensen, she went from angry to weepy on a regular basis and their mother was at the end of her rope listening to her. "I mean he could be dead for all we know! You know he has a drink and drug problem yeah?"

"Yes, you told me...several times!" Monica sighed, paused the television, and prepared herself for another hour of the Jensen Reed Mystery. Jane sat on the stairs and listened to her mother and sister talk.

"Where the fuck is he? Why don't they just put out a statement now and again to say he's okay? He's a fucking Oscar winning A-lister for fuck's sake!" Hiding the fact that she too was worried about Jensen had been difficult for Jane. She felt responsible, she abducted him and held him against his will for ten whole days, of course she felt responsible! Any sane person would, but then again any sane person wouldn't have kidnapped him in the first place. Having this secret, telling absolutely no one, it felt like being pinned down by an enormous weight...like drowning...like falling from a great height and not knowing when you were going to hit the ground. She wanted to tell Louise, she wanted so desperately to share this burden but she was afraid that she would lose her best friend. Telling her would involve her, she'd committed a crime, there was no way she could tell Louise without putting her in a compromising position. So she would stay quiet, she would shoulder this heavy weight alone and hope for some kind of closure and at this point she didn't care what the outcome was, as long as it was over.

***

Eliza continued to mope and moan about Jensen; she'd even joined a forum on the band website to find anything she could but the rest of his fan base were as clueless as she was. One Saturday morning Eliza woke the entire house with her squealing, as Jane plodded downstairs half awake, she could see her sister running through the house screaming "He's back!" over and over again. Standing on the bottom step she was aware of Eliza jumping up and down in front of her as she thrust her phone in Jane's face. Jensen Reed had tweeted for the first time in almost a year;

*Hey guys, big news coming soon! Missed you all, can't wait to share this with you! J x*

So he wasn't dead then! Eliza was so excited that Jane feared she might die! Jane had to admit that she felt a little sliver of warmth herself knowing he was still breathing and capable of working his Twitter account. She even wondered what his big news was, was she turning into her sister? No this was perfectly normal, to be invested in the wellbeing of the man you abducted and kept chained up for almost a fortnight! "Oh em gee! I wonder what it is! New album? New film? BOTH???" Eliza's eyes grew wide and her smile was infectious, Jane was happy for her...or was she? Who was she happy for exactly? Was it her sister who had missed her heartthrob so much? Or was it Jensen who seemed to be alive and quite chipper? Or was it herself? Feeling relieved that her actions hadn't affected him that badly, or had they? Was this all an act? Was Jensen really okay? Why did she care? If Jane didn't put Jensen Reed to the back of her mind soon she was going to end up walking a very dangerous path...one she might not be able to leave!

⏮️Previous/Next⏭️

[luvevee]

Liking a slightly-less bad/more liked pokemon character doesn't mean you get to be rude to people who like bad/less-liked pokemon characters

[lovely--lover]

Please burn my eyes off

To start off do not send hate to this individual please but..

Imagine sexualizing a man that has never had a right to his own body…

Holly was not teaching Alex about mental, emotional, and PHYSICAL boundaries. He never got a right to say “No, don’t do this to me” and if he did it would have resulted in punishment. Alex was physically taken two times in his life! Which was followed by abuse. From his “aunt” and “uncle” it is not all explicitly explained. We know he was forced to consume drugs, physically abused, and I would assume sexually abused as well. We know what Keller did to him. Alex has never had control of what goes into his body or what happens to it. It has been pushed onto him by others, basically, his entire life. It appears as though Alex is not fond of physical touch. 

In the film, it is shown with Loki. When Alex is being interrogated, Loki barely grazes him, and Alex states do not touch me. And pulled back at minor touches. When Alex is sitting next t his “aunt” his hands are on his lap, and he is very stiff, sitting away from his “aunt” as if to avoid touching her. Even a graze of his hand by accident.  

Part of intimacy and sexual relationships is consent and understanding all that entails. Do you think a man that has been through that could understand the concept of consent, truly? That he has a right to his body and what happens. 

I would see Alex as an individual who would allow something to happen to him. Because deep in his mind, as a result of his experiences and trauma, he thinks he deserves whatever happens to him.

 If there was an individual who was kind and caring to him. Alex would probably agree to whatever they say just to please them. Because they are nice to him! Finally, someone is kind. What will happen if he doesn't do what they ask? Will they abuse him and the little kindness he’s ever known is gone. And why would he want that?

There would be a power dynamic as a result of his trauma and because of his mental state as well. People immediately jump to “Oh it's because he is mentally disabled!!” Yes, he is mentally disabled. But….he also stopped receiving proper education at the age of seven. Was continuously drugged over the course of almost 30 years. Mentally manipulated and gaslight almost his entire life. Those circumstances combined are going to heavily impact the brain, especially the drugs. 

Consuming drugs through the crucial moments of brain development; childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. That would jumble anyone's brain and understanding. 

I think it is gross that people look over the intense trauma, drug use, and developmental opportunities when it comes to the discussion of sexualizing Alex. They immediately jump to “Oh he has an intellectual disability! And you don't want to fuck him?! Well, then you're ablest!” Like no babes it is more than that. Did we watch the same movie?? 

I don't know I’ve had people make comments to me about it and how I’m infantilizing Alex because I do not want to sexualize him. And they won’t respect that and make me out to be a bad guy as a result?

I think the fact that people will shame someone for not wanting to engage in sexual content or create sexual content for Alex Jones shows a lot. Like you are literally exhibiting a lack of respect for someone's sexual comfort and boundaries when you do that? And you want me to believe when you sexualize Alex Jones it is because you do respect him…

People argue that if h received therapy and assistance he could reach that point. Sure…but are you writing about Alex ten years post-film after he has received extensive therapy, a basic education, and gone through a rehab facility?? I don't think so lol 

Alex would not be rescued and removed from a situation and be immediately okay. There were a lot of things that occurred over his life. He was kidnapped, abused (emotionally, mentally, physically, and probably sexually), drugged, manipulated, and was probably made to help lure and murder children. That is a lot more than your average childhood trauma that will not be undone after a couple of years. 

Also, I see people state that Alex is just like any other man. No, he is not? If you walk up to a man on the street they will not have those experiences (I hope not anyway). And that is okay!! Why can't Alex just exist as Alex? Why does he have to be like a neurotypical individual to be valid? He can be neurodivergent and traumatized and be valid. He does not have to be like anyone else. 

As an autistic person that is what bothers me the most. When people try to say he is just like a ‘normal’ guy. No, he isn't and why does he have to be?? All my life I had people tell me “Oh you can be like everyone else if you try!” like no I can't my brain is wired differently and I behave differently. It took me a long time and I still struggle with it. But I have learned that is okay. I am different and that is fine I am still an individual ad deserves to exist as I am. As a neurodivergent person that is my opinion. 

The wording “mentality of a 10-year-old” is outdated but the movie was also made almost ten years ago. Some people may take that literally. I take it as he has cognitive and developmental struggles which is a given in his situation. 

Some things about this post:

-Just because someone does not sexualize Alex Jones does not mean they are infantilizing him. It is not one or the other. There can be an in-between. Where people treat Alex like a complex character (because he is) without sexualizing him. Platonic love and care does exist…

-Also I personally have not seen anyone call him a toddler. People may say babying things? I have seen people say they want to give him a blanket or a grille cheese or something. I do not think this stems from people viewing him as a baby. I think it is because people know he never had a childhood and probably never got to experience the nice simple things such as a comfy new blanket or a nice home-cooked meal. If you immediately jump to his mental condition at those statements may you be the problem?

-Alex Jones has a class C license. There is a photo of his ID. To obtain a class c license an individual has to; have an eye exam in the last 6 months, not experience seizures or fainting in the past 6 months, pass the driver's test, and have a valid address. (In my state) That is all! People act as if getting a license is this multi-step process with screening and exams like it is truly easy to get one if you can pass the paper exam. (Also Holly probably taught Alex how to drive so he could drive the van away after she kidnapped a child)

-They are disappointed with the lack of sexualization and I am disappointed at the sexualization so everyone is allowed to have their opinion. 

(Also I don’t remember giving them my vote to speak on behalf of neurodivergent people but whatever lol)

Sorry if this is long and jumbled a bit I saw this and immediately started typing away. If anyone wants clarification on any of my thoughts let me know! I kind of types this quickly and did not want to make it an essay lol 

[wolfeyedwitch]

what is icarus's ideal revenge against his unknown assailant?

Icarus is well aware that this is all just a fantasy. He would never do this in reality... probably. In reality he'd do the right thing, follow the moral code he swore to. And it isn't like he'll get the chance to get his revenge, anyway. It was just a comforting scenario he dreamed up.

His ideal revenge, his fantasy he created to get himself through the long months of PT and rehab, is an eye-for-an-eye situation. He would love to dish out exactly the same punishments he received.

Ideally, he'd do it in the same order that the fucker had done it to him in. Unfortunately, that isn't something that can easily be determined from the injuries, so he'd just have to guess. He'd start with the ribs, get in some good shots to disable them. Make them cough and wheeze and gasp for breath so they couldn't get away.

Then he'd pull out the taser. He'd recreate the burn marks that had taken so long to go away on his own skin.

He'd mix in plenty of shots to the face. Break their nose, crack their cheekbones. Maybe smash their head against the floor or a wall, just to see how they like having a brain injury like the one that benched him. Stamp on their hands and kick them while they're down, too.

He would throw them off a roof at some point, too. The reports said that the fight had started on the roof of the warehouse, then transitioned to ground level. Fall damage was hard to pick out amongst the rest of the injuries he'd had, so it wasn't too surprising that the doctors couldn't pinpoint anything that had come from a two-story drop.

The stupid asshole hadn't even realized that throwing Icarus to the ground had been what saved his life. Being on ground level meant that he was able to crawl away and find help.

Whoever it was that had hurt him? Icarus would just love to pay them back in kind.

---

(It wasn't a stupid move on Bailey's part. It was calculated. They knew that he wouldn't be able to find help or be found by help nearly as easily if he were still on the roof, so they threw him off and slowed his fall enough that it wasn't too damaging. Or at least they did their best on that front. It wasn't until afterwards that Slipknot made them practice such things. Over and over and over.)

[cocained]

crime plots part 2: (part one here: x)

tw: drugs, guns, mental illness, mention of murder, etc.

you’re a stripper and i’m the big boss who’s got a soft spot for you.

we’re cellmates and even though we are completely different from each other, you’re the only one i really get to talk to, so we’re having long ass conversations about how we got here and the different things in our lives we care about and now there’s no one who knows me better than you. (plot twist: them get released at some point and figuring their lives out together as ex-cons).

you’re pretty much a psychopath and i didn’t even realize it at first, until you grew attached to me and now you kill everyone who ever hurts me and it’s totally insane. it literally breaks my heart and at the same time it’s the most anyone has ever done to me in my shitty life and i can’t help to have somewhat of a weak spot for you, even though i know it’s totally and completely wrong.

two criminals who hate each other have to hide together in the same safe house for whatever reason. it can be either really fancy or really shitty! and they’re constantly pissing each other off, like stealing each others weed, playing loud music in the middle of the night and then blowing up the other’s music box by shooting it... name it! and then after a while, their cover gets blown and they have to work together to stay alive.

you hire me for sex all the time to get your mind off things and i can see that you’re really damaged and broken, but you won’t talk to me and even though you’re my client, i end up really caring about you which is really stupid... it’s probably not even mutual and it really hurts, but i also need the money and don’t want to stop seeing you.

your sibling (or even bf/gf!) and i are in a criminal business together and it was going really well, until it didn’t... and i was lucky to get away, but your sibling/significant other unfortunately wasn’t. now the people that went after us are not only looking for me, but also for everyone we care about, so you have to come with me and run, even though you’re blaming me for it and you hate me and you’re devastated.

i almost overdosed and now i’m forced into rehab. this is really fucking stupid and everyone sucks - except for you, you’re kinda cool.

you’re my arms dealer and at the same time one of the only people in the industry that i’ve been able to rely on for years. now i know it might be a bit inappropriate but can i take you out on a date?

my narcotics producer just got killed and since you’re a chemist/chemistry teacher i need you to replace them and help me make a batch of *insert drug*. there’s a lot depending on it, so if you don’t help me i’m gonna have to kill you. turns out, your batch is the best quality i’ve ever laid hands on and i need you to come work for me permanently and take over the industry.

your muse and my muses are playing a game of russian roulette for whatever reason (depths, a dare, punishment for pissing of the wrong people). they both don’t want to be there and one of them is going to die. they take turns and with each time they fire, they get closer to the truth. with only two rounds left, one of them decides to take it upon themselves to shoot the guard. they each take a weapon from the dead body and from there on it’s the two of them together, trying to escape with the bad guys chasing them and hoping one day they will be ahead enough in order to finally take a breath.

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[aloraundomiel]

Wartober/Kisstober - Day 15

I’ve decided to combine @rubinecorvus Wartober 2021 and @raincoffeeandfandoms Kisstober 2021 prompt challenges for double the fun and double the headache. :3

Day 15 - Spirit + Kisses In The Rain

WARNING: Chick flick moments ahead. And yes I did listen to Easy On Me on repeat for this one and I make zero apologizes, SO THERE. xD

“Come home,” Nixon says.

The rain mats his dark hair into a fringe that covers half his vision and he keeps spitting out mouthfuls of waters he’s gathering as he pants. He’s shaking but it has nothing to do with the water soaking him to the bone.

“I can’t,” Dick tells him sadly. “I told you.”

“I know. I know what you said. But just come home.”

“Lew-“

“I signed up for rehab,” Nixon cuts him off.

For a long pause, the rain falls around them, indifferent and cold, misting their breath into little clouds in the space between them.

“You did?” Dick’s voice is soft, hesitant.

Nixon nods, and dares to take a slow step closer. As if Dick is a skittish animal who might run if he rushes the approach.

“I check in next Thursday.”

Dick blinks water from his lashes, frozen in disbelief.

“And I’m gonna go,” Nixon says. “I’m gonna give it my best shot. But Dick, I’m so fucking scared.”

He takes another step, closing the distance one foot at a time. Heel to toe, scraping over the slick pavement. So far Dick hasn't moved. He’s just staring with a hungry intensity, like he wants to believe what he’s being told but can’t help search for a chink in Nixon’s honesty.

“Of relapsing?” Dick croaks.

“Of living without armor. I’m not like you. I don’t charge into battle certain I’ll come out on top. I’m- well, I’m a goddamn coward.”

Dick doesn’t like this admission. His mouth tightens into a line.

“You’re not a coward, Lew. You jumped out of moving planes.”

“Because you did,” Nixon corrects him. “I enlisted for myself. But I survived over there on your borrowed spirit, we both know that.”

Dick turns his head with a huff, jaw set.

“Loan it to me just a little while longer. I swear I’ll give it back once I figure out how to do this.”

Dick shakes his head, indicating he doesn’t know what ‘this’ is.

“Live,” he clarifies. “Charge. Jump.”

Dick’s eyes are wet and Nixon can’t tell if it’s rain or not. His face keeps wobbling between devastation and hope. It makes Nixon’s chest constrict to the point of pain, because he has no desire to be a sadist, to keep dragging this man’s trust through the mud with his negligent callousness. But at some point Dick has become as integral as oxygen and Nixon is terrified of suffocating should he fail to barter another chance he doesn’t deserve.

He holds out imploring hands, begging Dick not to run. “I figure it might be easier if I knew I had something - anything - waiting for me on the other side.”

Dick exhales shakily.

Nixon gears up for the agony of choking when Dick turns and walks away. He’s not ready, will never be ready, but he’ll stand at attention in the rain and watch the love of his life serve a benefiting sentence for his crimes against his steadfast heart.

Then Dick drops his knapsack to splash on the ground at his feet, snaking forward to hook Nixon by the back of the neck and draw him in for a punishing kiss.

Nixon gasps beneath him, trembling, numb fingers clutching at Dick’s shirt front like a lifeline. Dick breathes life back into him, every place their lips connect bursting forth with warmth and color enough to combat the grey of the storm. He can taste lifetimes wasted and never lived on Dick’s mouth, their future washing away with every passing second, like water through Nixon’s fingers.

He wants to stop the world, slow it’s rotation and drag this moment out so he can memorize every piece of it, use it’s light to illuminate the dark cold existence waiting for him without Dick’s fire.

All too soon, Dick withdraws. Nixon whimpers.

Sniffing once, twice, Dick knocks his forehead into Nixon’s, presses in like he’s trying to get even closer and squeezes the nape of his neck.

“Dick?” Nixon breathes in a sob.

He clings to him, heart in his throat. He fears it’s a goodbye kiss until Dick cuts the drone of the rain with a barely audible, gruff promise.

“You got something, Lew. You got me.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34542667

Leave me comments/emojis/just random noises on my ao3 please and thank you! :D

[desinbers]

DECEMBER ADAMOS has been accepted to participate ! they are a 25 year old all the way from LONDON, ENGLAND . HE is currently studying MARINE BIOLOGY at the interchange .

name: december adamos nicknames: n/a birthday: 12/01/1996 age: 26 years zodiac: sagittarius gender: cis male pronouns: he/him sexuality: bisexual, biromantic height: 5′11 born: london, england major: marine biology likes: cigarettes, beer, whiskey, being not broke, sex, pizza, guitar, marijuana, tequila, his mom, running away from his problems, baked goods, alone time, fast cars, naps, vodka, jogging, his hair being played with, motorcycles dislikes: aging, commitment, reading, holidays, birthdays, emotions, london, facing his problems, crowds, shopping, haircuts, school, routine, long sleeves, social media, mornings, dress codes, hair gel, his dad

see: constantly on a downward spiral.

december does not remember much about who he was before he was adopted. he was taken in by his adoptive family at eight years old, he’d been in foster care since he was an infant. he doesn’t know his previous name or his birth parents, or why he was given up. he doesn’t really care.

his adoptive father was awful. his mother was an angel.

a rebellious teenager constantly being punished, never changing. in the beginning he wasn’t trying to go against his parents’ wishes, he was just a rambunctious child that liked to have fun. then it turned into doing whatever he could to piss off the man that was raising him, whether it was sneaking out, going to parties, showing up to family events wasted.

he was kicked out as soon as it was legal for him to do so.

when his father died, he was a suspect for the murder, but there was never enough evidence to pin on him. he didn’t kill him. sometimes he wishes he would’ve had the nerve to kill him.

he has memory issues. probably caused by the heavy alcohol and drug use.

he’s been to rehab on more than one occasion, but it never sticks. he just can’t care enough to stop drinking.

has tried anything he can get his hands on. he hasn’t had the best experience with harder drugs, cocaine for example. he doesn’t enjoy the trip, so while he tends to steer clear of them he’s not against it either.

his inheritance was pinned on him staying sober, it was written in his dad’s will. he tried for a few months before deciding fuck it, the old man could have the last laugh.

will sleep with pretty much anyone.

probably has a child out there somewhere.

has serious commitment issues. he’s never been able to stick around in one place for very long or keep a job or relationship longer than a few months --- aside from one woman the last time he was sober. for nearly two years in his early twenties he’d made something of himself. he had started a career, a nice apartment, a woman he was in love with and planned to marry... then he relapsed and ruined it all.

he’s not sure what he’s hoping to get out of this school, but it’s better than being homeless while he travels, right?

he has no passion for marine biology. he drunkenly applied and got accepted. time to see how long he can bullshit his way through it.

no intentions of making it to thirty. he’s here for a good time, not a long time.

he’s not having a good time either, to be clear.

not a bad guy. he has a good heart, though corrupted. he isn’t rude to people unless he’s really irritated, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. he’s just kind of given up at this point.