Vanilla
Lashton, boyxboy, 18+
Warnings: just talk about sex, but no actual smut (yet)
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"Tie me up"
Luke's head shot up from his fashion magazine "Sorry, what?"
"Sorry, I meant tie my hands up"
"Uh -", Luke slowly blinked at his best friend, eyeing the bandana he had had on his head just minutes ago and was now holding out towards Luke.
"I can't stop pulling and scratching my hair out again.", Ashton sigherd, sitting down on the couch next to Luke, "You know, just like with how bad it got when we were all nervous about how our new setlist for the 5SOS show would be received"
"Oh", Luke was finally understanding.
Ashton had this habit of pulling on his hair an scratching his scalp, when he got nervous. Often he just busied himself with something like playing the drums and wore bandanas to stiffle the urge when it got especially bad.
Michael joked that this was why he would he the first to go bald.
It got less when they were on tour just because there was so much going on all the time. But right now they were relaxing, taking time off after tour... or supposed to be relaxing.
Ashton was thinking about concept for his second solo album, trying out different lyrics and emotions as he had told Luke but didn't want to show anyone yet.
"Hey, you know that no one expects anything. You're stressing yourself -"
"I know", the older interrupted, "I just - I have so much motivation but I wanna make it different, not just a repeat of my first album. But I'm not even writing anymore, I just keep fucking pulling on my stupid hair and I'll be fucking bald by our next single and -"
"So you want me to tie you up?", Luke interrupted to stop his rambling. Luke might seem dumb sometimes but he knew his best friend inside out and he knew what to do to stop him from doing things like this. Summing up what he intended to say before he goes off the rails with overthinking and rambling too much was one of those things.
Ashton nodded, looking exhausted.
"Okay", Luke tucked the dark purple bandana from Ashton's fingers, "So - oh ... just ... like that?"
Ashton was holding up his wrists, hands balled to fists next to each other.
"Seems a little kinky, huh", Luke grinned stupidly, while also doing as his friend had requested and tying the cloth around his wrists.
"Very funny", Ashton's voice was dry.
Once Luke was done tying him up, Ashton slouched on the couch, tied hands falling limp into his lap.
"And what now?", Luke asked curiously.
"I don't know... nothing, I guess"
"I mean if you had a girlfriend she'd have some ideas -", Luke broke off into giggles at Ashton's glaring eyes, hands coming up to cover his mouth. Which he then waved in front of Ashton's face "Oh look what I can do"
"Funny", Ashton mumbled with an eyeroll, but he was smiling.
Everytime over the next hour when Ashton lifted his tied hands to scratch his nose or scoop a curl of dark blonde hair out of his eyes, Luke would giggle quietly next to him. Ashton did nothing, except taking deep breaths, while Luke scribbled into his notebook. The urge to write something himself that he knew he couldn't and would just end up pulling his hair grew smaller and smaller.
But he still ended up raising his hands, attempting to pull his roots out of frustration. His fingers wrapped around a curl on top of his head and -
"Ouch!"
"No hair pulling", Luke said firmly as he set the notebook he had just slapped Ashton's fingers with back in his lap.
"You're so vanilla"
"Heyyy, don't use my joke techniques against me"
"Why? Do you feel attacked?", Ashton grinned brightly at his younger bandmate, "Is it because you are vanilla?"
"Huh?", he poked him in the ribs when he didn"t get a response, still grinning cheekily, "Is that why you never talk about your one night stands? Cuz they're reaaaally vanilla?"
"Even if they were, that's nothing I'd be embarrassed about"
"Mhmm", Ashton poked him again, "This your way of saying you're vanilla?"
Thinking back, the drummer should've expected Luke to snap, his whole goal at the moment was to get a reaction out of him after all.
But he still wouldn't have expected Luke to suddenly grab his tied wrists, push them up over his head and backwards, thus making Ashton fall on his back on the couch. He found himself with his hands above his head, held in place by Luke's who was bending over him now.
"Trust me, Ash, I'm nowhere near vanilla and you better stop nagging me if you don't wanna find out how far I am from that"
Ashton's eyes just about bugged out of his head.
What the fuck?
Luke seemed to think the same, as he suddenly let go of Ashton's wrists like he had been burned just as quick as he'd grabbed them.
"I uh - yea, no I'm not - anyway", he coughed, sitting up and a little further away from Ashton, "I'll keep writing my lyrics"
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let me know if you want a second part of this and also hiiii i haven't posted a oneshot in like half a year or so
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One of my favorite trope for Steddie is Steve hunting down Eddie when the kids join Hellfire and giving him a long list of dos and donts.
At first Eddie thinks he’s just being a prick, and worried he’s going to turn the nerds into freaks like him. Especially when he says not to mention drugs in front of Dustin.
But then he starts pulling out lists of monsters that can’t be in campaigns. And like what??? Why can’t he use demagorgons? They were gonna be in the next combat! He’s tempted to ignore the warnings, in fact he’s all set to, but something about Steve’s face when he was laying it all out haunts him. Something so deadly serious about it. So first he decides to test the waters to see if he’s full of shit.
When the session starts, he makes a throwaway comment, “you’re acting like there’s a mindflayer around the corner.”
All the kids freeze but Wheeler especially looks like he’s going to be sick. He even grabs at the bracelet around his wrist. The one he always said his best friend made him before he moved.
Eddie curses himself for even trying to test it out after that, and immediately bullshits the whole session so he can scrap any hint of demogorgans from the campaign.
After that session he drives straight to Harringtons house and demands they go over all the things he can’t include again, in detail, while he takes notes.
He doesn’t know what’s going on with these freshmen, but he knows trauma when he sees it and well he’d gotten attached to the gremlins.
When he leaves that night, he thinks Steve is looking at him with approval. Like he trusts him with their well-being now.
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Always use "excuse me" if you have to get into someone else's personal space.
Someone at the store is standing in front of the shelf where there's a can you want to grab? Don't just reach into their personal space without warning, say "excuse me" or "pardon my reach" first so that they at least have a warning that someone is about to reach into their personal space, and most importantly, so that they have a chance to move before you get into their space.
Or if someone is standing on a walkway or in a doorway you need to get through, don't just silently shove past them or squeeze past them, say "excuse me" so that they have a warning that a someone is about to squeeze or shove into their personal space, and they have a chance to move out of the way before you do you.
People deserve a fair warning if someone is about to squeeze or shove or reach into their personal space. A lot of people are not okay with having someone, but especially a stranger, randomly shove or squeeze or reach into their personal space without warning. They also deserve a chance to move out of the way first for the sake of their comfort.
Try to avoid just staring at people who are in your way and expecting them to read your mind that you want them to move. Most people cannot, in fact, read minds, so having someone stand in front of them and stare at them often only leads to making them feel uncomfortable and frustrated.
But also more importantly, if you are standing somewhere someone needs to get to, and they say excuse me, you should move aside for them even if just temporarily, so they can avoid the discomfort of having to reach into your personal space or squeeze past you.
If someone is saying "excuse me" it's because they would like you to move because they don't want to have to get into your personal space, whether it's out of respect for you, or just because they themselves are not comfortable getting in your personal space.
All of this goes double for people with trauma and/or people who are neurodivergent. If someone has trauma related to abuse or assault they may find it more upsetting or possibly triggering to suddenly have someone shoving or reaching in their personal space without warning.
Or, many types of neurodivergence can make it especially disturbing and unpleasant to have someone else in your personal space, especially without warning.
You can never be 100% sure who is and isn't traumatized and/or neurodivergent, so always practice respecting other's personal space by giving them a fair warning with "excuse me" or "pardon my reach" before getting in their personal space, and moving aside when you hear those magic words. Or, even if someone isn't traumatized nor neurodivergent, it's still fair to not like someone in your personal space without warning and not being given the opportunity to move first.
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Ghost Kitchen (brought to you by criminal entrepreneur, Red Hood)
Danny’s got the easiest job in Gotham.
He works as a fry cook at a shoddily-run, independent burger joint. Hardly anyone comes in, despite prices being criminally low, and portions insanely large, and while the manager looks like the average tough-as-nails ex-con, he lets Danny mess around in the kitchen whenever the place is empty. (Which is often. This place has to be the city’s hidden gem or something!)
Mr. Manager’s the only one ever there with Danny, except for sometimes when his buddies come over to smoke and play cards. Danny would find it shady, except part of his job is not to ask questions. Literally, he was told during the interview.
(It was a weird interview. Why would they need to hire someone who’s been in a gunfight before? Like, he has, but Gotham’s idea of “hirable qualities” is so bizarre.)
So instead he whips up some killer burgers with the frozen ingredients, and basks in the praise as the guys tell him he shouldn’t have, he does too much for this joint, ain’t that friendly!
Now, Danny’s a chef on the newer side. As a teen he’d preferred the look of Nasty Burger over anything with Michelin stars, and he only really took up cooking after Jazz moved out for college. But just like ecto-exposure used to turn the groceries sentient, Danny’s low-level ecto signature imbues all his food with something historically haunted Gothamites just love! And Danny’s never been one to half-ass a job when it makes people happy.
With fresher produce, real meat, Danny’s sure he can take his dishes to the next level. It takes a couple months of badgering, but his manager finally agrees to contact the mysterious store owner, who keeps the place going, despite profits Danny knows have to be in the red.
Danny spends the morning prepping. He pours his heart into his food, eager to impress. The big boss will be here soon, and he wants to prove that despite the dangerous location, this place has real potential!
It isn’t until the Red Hood shows up that Danny realizes he’s been working for a money laundering scheme.
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crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.
i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.
in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.
i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.
i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.
plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.
the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.
we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.
i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.
a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.
today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.
loved beyond thinking.
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