#weed is still better than tylenol

[xreaderbooks]

Habits

Pair: JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: Based on THIS request; Y/n's so used to taking care of everyone else, the consequences of her actions finally catch up to her, and JJ is there to pick up the pieces.

Warnings: Language, illness (not covid)

Word Count: 2.7k

Links: Wattpad - AO3

JJ Maybank Masterlist - Navigation

JJ was known to be dramatic, and overly, not to mention when someone was sick. Heaven forbid someone got near him when they were with the flu. Everyone thought it was weird since he had a bad habit of eating expired, moldy food and filled his lungs with unhealthy substances- weed not included.

He warned you against taking care of Kie who had gotten a cold, then Sarah who had gotten it from the former, you’re luck had run out by the fourth day you had John B on bed rest. Pope had kept a safe distance so he was in the clear. He’d been the one who had told JJ of your current state.

You should have taken greater precautions, worn gloves, not gotten as close, and not slept over at every sick person's house to make sure they were okay.

Your bad habit was taking care of your friends and forgetting to take care of yourself in the process. Not that you minded, they needed you and you were happy to provide. They were your friends, after all, they were all you had and you were all they had. Your parents don’t care where you are or who you’re with, never did- that gave you the freedom to do anything you wanted.

It also meant you had to learn how to take care of yourself and in doing that, you naturally started to take care of others.

The pogues depended on you, you kept them fed; kept snacks in a bag that you brought with you everywhere, you always kept an extra shirt or two, and allergy medicine for that particular season. You didn’t exactly have the money for all that but you picked up a thing or two from JJ, they never knew all that you would do for them.

Ever since that fated day in kindergarten when you threw sand in a boy's eye to slow down his chase on John B, he grabbed your hand and ran with you until the teacher put a stop to the 5th grader's terror over the two of you. You took care of him and he took care of you, that was kind of a Pogue thing, something you took pride in.

This fever though, is not your finest moment.

Kie was on bed rest at her parent's house when you were taking care of her. Her parents were needed at the Wreck and couldn’t stay home with her so you did. Passed the time with gossip and movies, you forced medicine down her throat when she resisted, made sure she didn’t get out of bed because all she wanted to do was chill in the sun on the HMS. Her parents had strict orders, she felt guilty that she was barely ever home and helping with the restaurant so you worked her shifts when she was in the stages of getting better.

Sarah was the same except she was much needier, she missed John B and was whinier than Kie, cursed you out as if you were the one that got her sick, and then asked if you could spoon her cause she was lonely.

John B was worse. Way worse, so bad that next time he was sick you’d take your chances at your own house. He was a literal man child, if he was the first one that got sick you would have thought it was the plague from how he insisted he was dying from something worse than a cold.

Now because of the big baby who refused to take the medicine, accidentally sneezed one too many times without covering his nose, and who was still sick by the way- you were on your own deathbed. Pope passed by to see how the quarantine was going, John B was slowly recovering but still not considered alive and you appeared to be a walking zombie.

JJ was pissed, not that he would show how angry he was but he’ll definitely let it known how annoyed he was. He brought Tylenol, Benadryl, and NyQuill, and went to three different drug stores to get each without being suspicious in his dealings.

You were currently making two cups of noodle ramen, one for you and the other for John B. JJ placed the medicine on the counter, his hip leaning against the edge with his arms crossed, staring at you as you poured the soup into a bowl for John B.

“The hell are you doing?”

His voice made you jump with a small yelp, the rest of the hot soup splashing and burning the top of your hand. The pain went away in a second as you licked the droplets on your hand, you glared at him, clutching the blanket around your shoulders after putting a spoon in the bowl and heading to John B’s room.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You shuffled your way to his room almost losing balance as you felt yourself get lightheaded. Your back was to him so you could see the way JJ reached out his hand as if giving you the strength to stand or to catch you if you did fall.

He shook his head and went to you, grabbing the bowl from your hands, “Give me that.”

“JJ, that isn’t for you!” You exhaled with a shaky breath.

He rolled his eyes, “I know.” He went into John B’s room, you heard his surprised voice at the sight of JJ in the quarantine zone. JJ was in and out in a second, shutting the door to your shared best friend’s room, he stood in front of you with a stern face and hands on his hips.

“Well?” He gave you an expectant look, you quirk your brow in question. “What are you waiting for? Get to bed.”

“What?” You stuttered. “But my soup!”

“I’ll bring it to you, you're officially now on bed rest,” He shooed you with his hands. “Go on, get. Better be under those covers when I get there.”

You huffed in annoyance but followed his orders, the bed did sound nice. You didn’t get a lot of rest in taking care of the others, you were like a mother hen all worried, they joked about how you would get sick of them one day. You never thought it would actually be true.

Your body shivered as you felt the coolness of the unused bed, you sat against the pillows with the comforter over your lap. Your head throbbed at holding the weight of your head, you wanted to lay down and sleep but your stomach growled at the thought of the noodles. You didn’t even have much of an appetite but you haven’t eaten since earlier this morning when you force-fed John B some toast.

JJ bursting through the door made you jump again, you winced “Can you move more… quietly?”

“My bad, Y/n/n.” He gently placed a tray with the soup and Gatorade, he knew you got thirsty when drinking something hot. He didn’t know if it was healthy or not, but he knew that even if you were drinking hot soup you wanted something cold. “Eat.”

You narrowed your eyes, “Thanks.” You picked up the spoon and began to sip.

“You’re done taking care of John B,” He softly shut the door behind him, leaning his back against it. He watched you pause halfway dipping your spoon back into the bowl, “Don’t give me that look, you’re sick.”

“So is John B-”

“He’ll be fine, I’ll be here and make sure you’re both alright, besides John B’s feeling better already.”

You give him a deadpanned look, “Give him a couple of hours, he’ll be telling you it’s his time for the third time today.”

“It’ll be your time if you let yourself waste away because you’re taking care of everyone else but yourself.” He sat on the edge of the bed by your thighs, he reached out his hand and brushed a stray hair behind your ear. “You can’t keep doing that, pretty girl.”

Your body shivered again though this time you weren’t sure what it was from, JJ or the fever. “If I don’t then who will, J?”

“They appreciate it, I know they do, alright but remember that one year when we had finals you were hella stressed and yet you were talking Pope down a ledge, volunteering with Kie cause you didn’t want her to do it alone when she asked and nobody wanted to, John B always needs your help with something-”

“Just sounds like your jealous,” Your face held a lazy smirk at the joke.

He clicked his tongue, “You take care of me too. A lot, that gets me to my point, you need a break. You reached that point, just like you did that year when you got physically sick because of how stressed we were making you.”

“This isn’t like last time, I just caught the cold, but I’m fine I just need to eat then I can make sure John B gets better.”

“I’ll make sure John B doesn’t die and I’ll take care of you.”

“You?” You almost want to laugh at the thought of JJ taking care of both you and John B, especially with his affliction with sickness but the increased pounding in your head prevented you.

“Shut up and eat your noodles.”

~~~

The rest of the day he doted on you, doted was too mild a term, full-on hovered over you. He kept you fed, reached things for you when he didn’t have to, he gave you a little bell for you to ring like he was your servant.

You fucked with him a little too much with it until he threatened to take it away but he came every time you rang. It made you hopeful, a little too hopeful, in a way that you shouldn’t of your best friend. Because that’s what this was, one best friend taking care of the other. He wanted you to be comfortable but not weirdly comfortable, and he was only taking care of you because he felt bad.

Then again you and JJ were never just normal best friends. You both had no boundaries when it came to one another, the line was never drawn and neither of you wanted to form one, perfectly complacent with the unsaid rule of being there for each other. You loved each other like family and respected each other like friends, but every touch had an underlying meaning that was better off not being unmasked.

Even now when your fever had you shivering like you were in Antarctica with JJ’s body heat on your back, his chest exuding a warmth that made you nuzzle further into him. You felt a little moisture coming from him, poor guy, you had him sweating from how hot it was. But internally you were freezing.

You groaned as you felt your body ache, the back of JJ’s hand went to your neck and your forehead, and he hissed.

“You’re hot, Y/n,” He put his weight on his forearm to hold himself up. He looked down on you like a golden angel and you briefly thought that you wouldn’t mind if the fever took you out.

You breathed out a chuckle, “Yeah, I know. Remind me when I actually feel like it.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked anyway, “Your temperature, Pretty girl.”

“Mm,” You turned your weak body to talk to him face-to-face without having to twist your neck. “Shut up and cuddle me.”

“You gotta actually take a nap this time though,” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “You need to rest.”

“Sir, yes, sir-” You would’ve saluted but that meant moving your arm that felt way too heavy to lift at the moment. JJ turns to grab something from the nightstand and hands you a plastic shot cup, the one that comes on top of the medicine bottles.

“Drink this,” He hands you the tiny cup with the red liquid. “I thought you would like taking it this way so you could pretend you're taking a shot.”

Your heart melted at the sentiment and took it out of his hand, “Are you trying to drug me right now?”

“Probably the only time I’d do something like that but I’m willing to do it if it means you’ll feel better.”

“You’re annoying,” You drank it with one swallow, expecting it to taste worse than it actually did but the flavor he picked out made it sweet.

He placed a hand over his chest in mock hurt, “Is that any way to speak to your nurse?”

“The elderly people at the hospital would treat you way worse.”

“That’s why I’m only qualified to take care of you,” He bopped your nose and you scrunched it as his finger tapped lightly.

He settled down beside you after he took the empty cup out of your hands and set it aside, his hands traveled from your waist to your arm into your hair, playing with each strand on the top of your head.

You began to faintly trace the curves and angles on his face while trying not to think about how intimate this was, you were close, so close your noses were touching.

You wished your brain would stop thinking so you didn’t feel the need to break the silence, suddenly being hyperaware of the fact that while both of your legs were tangled in each other, bodies touching, fingers roaming- all the while intense eye contact was being made. “You’re going to get sick being this close to me.”

“I like being this close to you,” He whispered. “If I get sick, you’re worth it.”

“I don’t like when you say things like that,” You nibbled on your lip only slightly- another bad habit that you picked up on when you were nervous and felt awkward. His fingers untangled themselves from your hair and you regretted speaking but it was how you felt. Him saying things like that made it feel like this was more than what it was and you knew better than that.

His eyes flickered from where your teeth were caught on your lip, his thumb pulled it with his index curved under your chin. “Why?”

“Because,” Your breath shuddered.

“Because?” His ocean-blue eyes held yours and you were about to give it all up right then and there. You were sick, you weren’t in the right state of mind and you would never forgive yourself if you admitted your love for him right now and he rejected you while you already felt like you were dying.

You couldn’t handle looking at him anymore and began to move your body so that your back was facing him when you talked but his hand slipped onto your cheek and he pulled you into him, attaching his lips to yours.

He kissed you once, twice, and the third time felt like he was speaking a language that you understood all too well and you reciprocated. Your lips moved languidly with his, an natural movement that made your heart flutter through the fever that held you captive all day.

He pulled away giving you one last kiss, “I love you. I’m tired of pretending I don’t and that everything I do for you is just because we’re friends when we both know that it’s more, at least I hope it is because if not then what just happened made us a hell of a lot closer and definitely more awkward. I love you, and you don’t have to feel the same cause either way I will always always take care of you but I just needed you to know because I feel like friends or not, you forget that people care about you too. We care about you, and I love you.”

You blamed how sick you were feeling for the tears that threatened to spill out of your eyes from his confession, “God your such a sap.”

His panicked expression searched your face for any other sign of a reaction to the word he just spoke and you kissed him. You kissed him deeply and with the assurance that you hoped translated with the way your soft plump lips spoke on his. “I love you more, J.”

He brought you into his chest, cradling your head, your arms around his middle holding him tight. The distraction of his confession interrupted the thoughts of how frail your body felt but now it was coming back as his heartbeat thumped against your ear and your mind slowly drifted into sleep.

“JJ?”

He hummed in response.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Anytime, baby,” He squeezed you gently. “Now go to sleep.”

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank imagines #jj x reader #jj maybank x pogue #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj x you #jj x y/n #obx imagine #obx x reader #outerbanks imagine #jj fanfiction #jj obx imagine #obx jj #obx fanfiction #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #john b routledge #outer banks

[biillyhargroves]

It’s months post-Starcourt, but the “fire” is still a mainstay on every local station. Newscasters pluck experts out of the woodwork, investigators and fire marshals, even a conspiracy theorist or two, and every stupid interview fades into the background as the mundanity of Hawkins, Indiana settles across the town like a well-worn blanket. It has become a part of the local color, rolled out at events, when cameras spotlight the new mayor, the new police chief, the high school sports teams trotting out in thinner numbers than before.

Steve skulks away from all the pomp and circumstance of the pep rally, the echoes in the gym sealed inside as the heavy metal doors slam shut behind him. He shoves his hands in his pockets, glances right and then left, over his shoulder and back again. Why is he nervous? He shouldn’t be nervous. He checks his watch, taps it as though the hands are lying to him, as if he needs to shake them awake. Time is moving too slow. He decides to trek out early.

This is for Billy. Steve repeats this in his head over and over again, a reminder, because Billy is healing but the healing is slow, and he’s in so much pain all the time, and nothing is touching it, — nothing is helping him. Steve’s pretty sure that Neil’s restricting his medications, that he’s not giving Billy the best chance at getting better, and the mere thought of it makes his blood boil. His heart breaks at every wince, every sharp inhale, every coiled muscle. Steve has held Billy, sobbing, in agony, for too many nights. He can’t just do nothing. He feels useless and he hates it. He has to do something. He has to help somehow.

The thought entered his brain sometime in the last week, on one of the many sleepness nights he’d spent hunkered in the dark of Forest Hills Trailer Park, the trailer empty save for Max dozing on the couch in the living room, Billy curled miserably in Steve’s lap in the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, stroking Billy’s tear-stained cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. I know it hurts.”

He’d already shaken every last orange bottle cluttering the nightstand, all of them empty. Max had scrounged in the bathroom but only came up with a few Tylenol capsules and some kind of muscle cream, neither of which would do Billy much good. Neil was supposed to refill Billy’s prescriptions, had snatched them from Susan’s hands when she’d offered to do it, but so far he’d only come home with brown bags of bourbon and the occasional six pack.

Steve had been holding Billy, rocking him, trying desperately to comfort him, when the arc of Eddie Munson’s headlights across the way caught his attention. An idea formed, and now Steve is sitting at a rickety picnic table in the middle of the woods staring at the black lunch box Eddie had slammed onto the wooden slats.

“It’s not for me,” Steve says, leaning over to peer into the box, reaching in and frowning at the little baggies of weed. He plucks one up, sniffs it, is surprised to find that it’s not some knock-off. He’d almost expected oregano. Such disappointment would align with his mood.

“You don’t have to lie, Stevie,” Eddie says, coy, teasing, as if he thinks that Steve is trying to keep whatever reputation has clung to him since high school.

Steve shakes his head, admits the truth, “It’s for a friend.” Well, a half truth. He eyes Eddie, wondering how much he can trust this boy he’d barely looked twice at since elementary school.

“Sure, man,” Eddie shrugs, still not believing him. “As long as your friend can pay.”

Steve resumes his shopping, sifting through Eddie’s supply. “You got anything stronger than this?” he asks, pinching a baggie between two fingers.

Eddie whistles. “Harrington still likes to party.”

“Listen,” Steve says, harsher than he means to, and Eddie stills. “It’s— I’m…” He sighs heavily, flings the weed back into the metal box and scrubs his hands over his face. Eventually he says, “It’s for Billy.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s features soften.

“I know his family moved out by you,” Steve says, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know how much you’ve seen of him.”

“Not much,” Eddie admits. “I know he was in the fire,” he says. “That he got hurt.”

Steve can’t help but snort — derision, disgust, annoyance all bubbling to the surface. “The fire,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Then he remembers himself, recalls the purpose of this particular mission. He composes himself, says, “He got really hurt. It’s bad. I’m…worried about him.”

Steve isn’t sure he likes the way that Eddie looks at him when he says, sincerely, “Yeah. Sure.” He looks like he knows something. Hell, he probably does. Steve gets sloppy when he’s nervous, and visiting Billy sets every nerve-ending ablaze. He doesn’t doubt that he’s parked too close to the trailer once or twice, that Eddie may have seen the Beamer cut through the back entrance of the park.

“I just want to help him,” Steve says.

Eddie looks down. He digs a bitten-down nail against the knotted wood of the table, bites his lip, scuffs the heel of his sneaker against the dirt beneath him. “I like Billy,” he says after a while, and when he looks up Steve can tell that he means it. “I mean, I don’t know him well. Not like you do.” Again, that look, that wisdom, that knowledge. “But I like him. We smoked together a couple times. He’s a good guy, underneath it all.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “He is.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and then for two. Steve finds himself anxious, worried that Eddie might decide that he doesn’t like Billy enough to help him. Then Eddie takes a deep breath and asks, “How bad’s the pain?”

“Really bad,” Steve answers quickly. “If it’s a scale of one to ten, he’s off the chart. He’s supposed to be on— I…I don’t remember the name of it. But, his family…” This isn’t Steve’s business, not his story to tell. He bites his tongue, keeps it simple. “Money’s tight. He can’t always get his meds. But he can’t survive on baby aspirin and ibuprofen, you know? He’s not in good shape.”

Eddie takes this all in and then he asks, “Will you be with him tonight?” When Steve fumbles, Eddie clarifies, “All my stronger stuff’s back home. I don’t carry it around — too expensive, not worth the risk. But for Billy…” He opens his palms. “I’ll stop in. He can take what he wants. But someone should probably stay with him. I’ve got prescriptions. Safe enough. But, new meds and all, and if he’s as fucked up as you say…”

“I’ll be with him,” Steve says. Eddie smiles and Steve thinks that he’s got him, that he’s got them, all figured out.

For his part, Eddie keeps his promise. He arrives at the trailer under the cover of night. Max is gone for the night, a much-needed sleepover with El granting a brief reprieve. Steve is on the couch with Billy lounging against him pretending not to be uncomfortable. The pain gets worse at night, and Steve can feel in setting in, can tell by the way Billy’s muscles spasm and tense, by the soft little whines that escape when Billy shifts in his spot.

Steve is relieved when Eddie knocks on the door, a feeling that is only half-tempered by Billy’s lack of reaction to Eddie seeing them together, so close, so exposed. Billy’s shirt is off, the fabric too scratchy and painful to bear. Only a thin veil of gauze hides the worst of his still-healing injuries, red, angry scars snaking out from beneath them. Billy barely moves away from Steve, even grabs onto him to help ease himself upright, as Eddie lets himself inside.

The transaction is swift, easy. Eddie presents pill bottles like offerings and Billy turns them over in his hands, selecting a drug with a name he recognizes. Eddie is casual, friendly; he charges a nominal fee that Billy scoffs at even as he downs the pills, dry-swallowing in one gulp.

Eddie lingers after the exchange, settling at the far end of the couch, watching music videos with Steve and Billy as the night stretches on.

It’s not long before Billy begins to slump against Steve, body uncoiling as he snuggles close, his head tucked beneath Steve’s chin, resting on Steve’s chest. Steve holds him there, cards a hand through Billy’s hair, wants to cry because Billy isn’t and he’s so damn grateful for that.

As Billy drifts off, Steve looks to Eddie, opens his mouth to thank him, but stops when he sees Eddie’s furrowed brow, his frown. “What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

Eddie blinks, tries to look away from the roadmap of scars cross-crossing Billy’s back but can’t. “It wasn’t a fire,” he says plainly, eyes flicking to Steve’s, “was it?”

Steve is quiet for a long while. He holds Billy closer, as though afraid that confessing the truth will somehow take him away. He’s spent so many nights dwelling on the look of him, small and bleeding, gasping for breath, on the floor of the mall. He’s spent so much time scared of losing him.

“No,” Steve says eventually. “It wasn’t a fire.”

Eddie slides closer. He places his hand on top of Steve’s, which is holding Billy’s. He looks like he might say something, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, squeezing Steve’s hand, which squeezes Billy’s. Steve finds he likes the feeling, the warm weight of Eddie’s quiet understanding, his gentle support.

#harringroveson #harringrove #mungrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #eddie munson #and then they all became boyfriends the end #this started as a headcanon and then i got carried away #steddilly #stilldie #lex writes fics

[kuchipark]

South Park AU where all the characters have a signature drug:

(I personally thought this was absolutely hilarious)

Mr Mackey:

- Crack/smack

His street name is Mr. Crackey, and later on Mr. Smackey.

He feels down in the dumps and “accidentally” does some crack, after which he immediately gets addicted. He goes on the bender of a lifetime and ends up in severe dept to a scary drug dealer, notorious for cutting off the balls of those who don’t pay him back. He decides to sell crack to the elementary students, with the help of Craig Tucker (also known as Crack Tucker), to pay off his dept. Instead of paying the guy back, though, he decides to try some Heroin and thus becomes Mr. Smackey.

Stan Marsh:

- Weed

Street name is Stan The Stoner, (Stanner for short)

Starts selling weed to replace his father, who gave up on weed for his new acid addiction. When you buy his weed you are legally obligated to say you’re “stanned.”

Eric Cartman:

- Cocaine

Street name is Eric Cokeman.

You can buy either Cocaine, or Coca-Cola flavored anything (including Coke flavored coke). He starts selling it because he can. Nothing you buy from him is safe or clean. But his shit is also extremely addictive, so he somehow still has costumers. Sneaks it into ppl’s food on occasion, trying to get them hooked. He hides the cocaine up his ass, every goddamn time (even though it’s not really necessary) and the stench is foul. He claims that it’s just his signature.

Kyle Broflovski:

- Ketamine

Street name is Kytamine or Ketty-B (Kyley-B)

Doing it as a fuck you to his mom, and because Eric wouldn’t get off his ass about how he could “never be as good at selling drugs” as him. Every time you try to buy from him, he goes on a whole monologue of all the dangers and everything you should and shouldn’t do. He’ll tells you exactly how much mg you should use and strongly advocated for people to buy a scale to perfectly measure it. People usually walk away before he’s done talking, and he constantly rants about it to Stan.

Kenny McCormick:

- Methamphetamine/Cocaine

Street name is Kenny MethCokeMick or just Methcokemick. MC for short

Fought with Kyle over the Ketamine, because he personally thinks “Kennymine/Kennamine” would be a better name than Kytamine. But je settled for selling Meth with Marjorine. He’s also addicted to cocaine and “helps out” Cartman with selling; Hence, MethCokemick. His charm is the key to his sales. Richard Tweak is their #1 buyer.

Marjorine Stotch:

- Methamphetamine

Street name is Metharine

Sells meth with Kenny. Just happy to be there. Really convincing seller. Really sweet but if you fuck her over she’ll do worse than snip your balls.

Tolkien Black:

- Tylenol

Street name is Tylenol Black

Has a whole room dedicated to the “craft” of selling prescription drugs. Steals the drugs from his mom who’s a chemist for a pharmaceutical company. His dad knows this but he secretly loves how pissed off Randy gets when he claims that Tolkien steals his business, even though they don’t even sell the same shit.

Tweek Tweak:

- Meth, obviously

Referred to as The Tweak, or just “tweak” for short.

Doesn’t know he’s addicted to meth. He doesn’t know people refer to him as as The Tweak. His parents put meth in his coffee.

Craig Tucker:

- Crack

Street name is Crack Tucker

Helps sell crack to elementary students with Mr. Mackey. Intimidates people into buying his shit or guilts them into buying it: “Oh you don’t want my Crack? Why? Is it because I’m gay? What? You think a a gay guy can’t sell good crack?! I see how it is..” and it’s super effective, they end up giving more money than they need to, to show their support for his queerness, which really saved his ass when his former partner, Mr. Crackey, ditches him in exchange for Heroin and blames the money he hasn’t payed back yet on Craig. Started the nickname: “The Tweak.”

Randy Marsh:

-Acid

Street name is Rancid

He chose this name. No, he does not see what’s wrong with it. He’s trying to get his kids hooked on the stuff so that they can “Finally do some fucking family bonding time.” He calls them pathetic, whiny pussies every single time they refuse. And sulks about his lame kids. Actively shit talks Tolkien to costumers. To the point where he’ll see Tolkien sell someone something and he’ll follow them home and stalk them so that he can “coincidentally” run into them and just so happen to bring up how Tolkien peed his pants once back in third grade. He knows this because he constantly bugs Stan about embarrassing moments in Tolkien’s life and if Stan doesn’t wanna tell him any, he’ll ground him for being a “blood betraying judas.”

Heidi Turner:

- Hash

Steet name is Highdi

Hippie. Sells Hash. Wanted to sell weed but could not compete with Stan, so she switched. Advertises all of it as environmentally friendly, cruelty free and vegan. Gets her girls to hand out business cards to everyone around town. The business cards are cute and pink with “WE DONT TEST ON ANIMALS” written in big, bold letters. Her shit is FDA approved.

Rebecca McArthur, AKA Red:

- Red ice (if you ever played Detroit Become Human, yk what that is)

Street name is Red Ice

Red ice isn’t a real drug, but in this universe it is and it was invented by miss Red herself. According to google, red Ice is “a synthetic stimulant composed of trace amounts of thirium, acetone, lithium, toluene, and hydrochloric acid. The molecular formula for Red Ice given in graphics is C17H21NO4 (the chemical formula for cocaine).” Though the contents doesn’t actually really match cocaine, it looks more like meth that is red.

Jimmy Valmer:

- Viagra

Street name is Jimmy Viagra, but people just say Jimmy V

His cerebral palsy isn’t going to stop him from getting it up. His mission is to give his paralyzed buddies the opportunity to get their dick wet. And he advocates for “Boners For The Handicapped” and is very passionate about his cause.

Timmy Burch:

- Viagra and LSD

Street name is Trippy Timmy

Jimmy V’s number one customer. Got his nickname by selling LSD with extremely powerful hallucinations.

Mr. Slave & Gay Al

- Magic Mushrooms & Laughing Gas

Street names are Mr. Shrooms and Gay G(ass)

Thank you for your time!

#drugs #south park #sp #head canons #au #au where everyone is on drugs #original post

[rezny]

New Year’s Eve and why I’ve been so damn quiet on here lately.

It all started with my mom going to the ER in early November. Then she had to go back the week after Thanksgiving. The following week, one of my cats got sick and I had to take him to the emergency clinic. Then my mom and I got COVID. Two weeks later, after finally getting over that wretched virus, I decided I should make plans to help ring in the new year. I needed a chance to relax and chill for a change. November and December were just awful, to say the least.

Well, New Year’s Eve came and I thought it would be a good idea to spend time with a friend. She’s currently living with a guy and his wife and apparently he specializes in making pot brownies. I have never done weed before in my life, but with everything that had happened recently, I just wanted a fun opportunity to escape from it all. I agreed to trying just one bite of a pot brownie. What was not disclosed to me, however, is just how much was actually in there. I was supposedly given roughly 200mg, which is about twenty times more than a first time ever user should have. That was one of the worst nights of my life.

It took about 45 minutes to kick in and when it did, it hit me like a freight train. My friend took me to her bed to lie down, where I remained until the morning. I can barely remember what happened, save for a few bits and pieces. I couldn’t move. It was like I was paralyzed, as if some magnetic force was pulling me down on the mattress so I couldn’t go anywhere. Swallowing and breathing were both incredibly difficult to do and took me literally everything I had just to focus so I could accomplish both. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I remember crying multiple times, but I don’t recall why. According to my friend the following morning, she said she could tell I wasn’t having a good time. I kept asking for my cat (the same one I took to the emergency vet). I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why I wasn’t in my room and in my own bed. I spoke in tongues and all kinds of crazy shit. I remember thinking that what I was experiencing at the time simply wasn’t me; I must have been in another person’s dream or something. I kept telling myself to wake up but when I would open my eyes I couldn’t figure out who or where I really was. I was questioning my own existence and if I was even alive.

My friend brought me home and for days afterwards, I still wasn’t feeling better. I was incoherent and my brain was in a constant thick fog. It honestly reminded me of when I had gone through COVID. When sleeping, drinking, and taking Tylenol for a couple of days did absolutely nothing, I began to worry. I went to the ER Tuesday night, where a slew of tests were ran and the only thing they could find wrong with me is that I’ve been harboring a wicked UTI that I’ve somehow been oblivious to. Not quite the answer I was looking for, but I was ready to go home and start on antibiotics.

Yesterday, I noticed that the husband and wife of my friend deleted me out of the blue on Facebook. I was confused and, quite frankly, a little hurt. I had never met those two until New Year’s Eve, so I couldn’t help but wonder if I maybe did something. They knew I was going to the ER, so did they think I would rat them out? (I wouldn’t, considering it was just weed and I consented to trying it.) My friend had been unusually distant with me since that night too. I finally messaged her and asked if I did something wrong and I didn’t know why those two deleted me all of a sudden. She very curtly said that she was at work and she’d message me later. Okay then.

Later arrived and I got this crazy long “explanation” of what happened Saturday night. Supposedly, I was being overly sexual despite them repeatedly telling me to stop. I was loud and downright belligerent. I apparently “guilt tripped” the husband when he wanted to go to bed with his wife. Keep in mind, I knew absolutely none of this.

To say I was horrified is an immense understatement. I mentally beat myself up all night long. It was never my intention to make anyone uncomfortable. I almost made myself sick just from worrying.

This morning though, I had an epiphany. As I mentioned in the beginning, I fully consented to trying a bite, but I in no way ever consented to them giving me as much as they did. I am thoroughly convinced I experienced THC overdose. It’s fucking THURSDAY and I’m still feeling these shitty effects.

Plain and simple, I was not myself and I feel like I was taken advantage of. How can anyone be so irresponsible? Supposedly it’s just easier for them to gaslight me and make me look like the bad guy in all of this. So, fuck them. Be careful of who you trust.

#LONG POST IS LONG #I swear I will start reblogging stuff again #but today was pretty much my breaking point #I had a panic attack for the first time since 2008 #shit like this kind of reminds me why I’m an introvert and don’t go anywhere or do anything

[collecting-stories]

Playground - JJ Maybank

Request: Hey babe ♥️ can I request 71. “Look I know we don’t know each other that well but I’m still worried about you.” and 123. “If I asked you to stay, would you?” With jj? Just some pure fluff and hear eyes 

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to finish!! I actually wrote it twice so I might post the “alternate version” as well lol

Outer Banks Masterlist 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

For the longest time your yard had backed up to woods so dense that you couldn’t see the water line passed them. The path to the jetty cut through them and it made night trips in the boat your family owned a little eerier than they should’ve been. It wasn’t until high school that your dad donated the land to the island, giving Figure Eight a beautiful little park, complete with a playground, that it wasn’t really in dire need of. 

Now there were no scary trees at night, just creaky swings and a merry-go-round that screeched when it spun. The equipment had felt outdated when it was put in but your father claimed that he wanted that nostalgia feel of the sort of playground he used to play on with his friends. And why shouldn’t he, it was his money.  

Three weeks into the existence of the playground someone tapped razors to the slide and the whole thing had to be fenced in, your dad blaming the incident on ‘teenagers’ and more specifically ‘those kids from the cut’. He was convinced that some pogue from the cut had come up in the middle of the night and vandalized the park because they were just that bored or just that jealous of Figure Eight.  

“They want a nice park; they should pay for one themselves.” He had grumbled as he watched the fence installation.  

When you pointed out that they’re park had been destroyed in the hurricane, and that the board had yet to finalize a date to even address clean up on that side of the island, no one was privately wealthy enough to pay for the repair, he told you that you were being too liberal.  

You didn’t think too much more about it. The only time you thought about the park was when you had to walk past it to get to the jetty. Otherwise, it was just for kids and you spent most of your time anywhere else on the island. But the chains on the swing still creaked and when you heard them that night, closing in on midnight and far too late for anyone to really be there, you went to your open window and looked out.  

In any logical scenario you always hoped you were the levelheaded, immediately call the cops friend who didn’t take any risks. But it turned out that nigh that you were the ‘investigate first, ask questions later’ type. You grabbed your phone and walked out to the small park, standing on the other side of the fence and shining a light through the rungs at the kid on the swings.  

“What the fuck, turn that off.” He cursed, holding his hand up to block his eyes from the light. It did little to shield the rest of his face and when you got a good look at the bruising eye and bloody lip you were immediately concerned. Some stranger was bleeding on your dad’s swingset and he looked about the same age as you.  

“Are you okay?” You asked, shifting your phone so the light was hitting a beat up pair of boots on his feet and not his face. Would it be weird if you invited him in. Your mom kept a surprisingly well stocked medicine cabinet, ready for any scenario in the entire world, including but not limited to, you bringing in a stray person.  

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” You commented. When he said nothing in reply you offered your name, hoping that the introduction might help ease some tension. Or at least get him to consider admitting that he wasn’t doing so great for a Tuesday night.

“I said I’m fine.” He repeated, not offering a name in return. You noticed when your flashlight shifted again, that he was holding his side, leaning against the chain of the swing.  

“Did you climb over the fence?” You chanced asking, looking up. The fence was arguably seven feet and, though you were not a great climber, you liked to think there was still some part of you that could’ve climbed a chain-link fence if you wanted to. But not this one.  

“The gate was unlocked.” He replied, nodding his head to the gate that was, in fact, open.  

“Oh.”

“I thought this was a public park.”

“I mean, kinda.” You admitted. Public in the sense that anyone on the Eight could use it whenever they wanted but not in the sense that anyone could use it whenever they wanted. And this kid was not from the Eight. “Are you sure you’re okay? I have some first aid stuff inside my house. I’m just right there.” You turned, waving your light toward the house directly in front of the park.  

“I’m fine.” He said and you joined at the end of the two word sentence.

“Yeah, of course. Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you.”  

“Why?” He asked.  

“Because you seem upset.” You said. Sure, he was hurt physically and that definitely wasn’t great, but more so he just looked so sad, even in the dark when you were concentrating the light on his boots. He looked upset and tired and sad.  

“Do you have any tylenol?” He asked.  

You smiled, it was a break through, probably not one you should’ve been celebrating too much because he was still a stranger and this could have all been some bizarre and elaborate rouse based solely on the coincidence that you were gullible enough to walk outside and see who was in the playground. Or even that you were still awake.  

“What’s with the gate anyway?” He asked, standing and walking toward you, there was a slight catch in his step, as if walking was hurting him.

“A couple kooks put razors on the playground. My dad put the fence up for protection...he’s convinced it’s pogues.”

“How do you know it’s not?” He asked, falling in step beside you as you walked him to your home as if the two of you were lifelong friends. You led him in the laundry entrance, letting him sit in the comfy chair that was in the mud room.  

“Because, I know which kooks did it.” You shrugged. “What’s your name?”  

“JJ.”  

“Well, JJ, are you sure you’re okay?” You asked, handing over the Tylenol and a glass of water, “I have like...bandages and stuff.” In the light you could see him better, you could see the deep bruising on his right eye and cheek. The cut on his bottom lip that had opened while he was talking, red stained on his chin. You handed off a wet washcloth.  

“I’m fine,” he said it again but this time the resolve seemed to have dwindled. He sunk down in the chair, holding the washcloth to his mouth.  

You frowned, however fine he kept saying he was you were positive it was a lie. You weren’t sure how he’d gotten the injuries; you knew there had been some kook on pogue violence lately and you figured that maybe it was from that. “If I asked you to stay, would you?”

“Why?” He asked, looking genuinely surprised by your question.  

“I’m worried about you,” you shrugged, “looks like you could use some company?”

“I’m not the kind of company you’re looking for.”

“This isn’t some After movie...I’m just saying I’ve got some popcorn and some weed and a never-ending list of movies to watch on Netflix.” You said, grabbing a water bottle for yourself out of the fridge in the mudroom.  

“Yeah alright,” JJ agreed, “have you ever seen Killer Klowns from Outer Space?”

“I asked you to hang out and watch a movie with me and your first suggestion is Killer Klowns?” You asked, trying not to laugh as you led him into the basement.

“You said it was chill.”  

“Yes I did.” You replied, caving to his movie option.  

-

taglist: @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @niamhobrien @strangerthanfanfiction713 @tovvaa @freckled-and-daydreaming @harleylynn @bibliophilewednesday @dpaccione @bolaurel @poguestyleskye @beautyandthebleh @under-a-canyon-moon @teamnick @stevie-buck @bijleegiregi  @vitaminekabc @minigranger @obxsummer @damonsalvawhore27 @isqbella @tomzfrog @fangirlvoice @phantompogues @98starkeys @ilovejjmaybank @lemur46 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @babygal-babygal @niya-savage @divvrx @princess-of-the-fandoms @thecaptainsgingersnap @jenjie @yourprincess-maybe 

#jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #jj fic #jj imagine #jj fanfic #jj x reader #jj x you #jj x y/n #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #obx fic #collecting stories imagine

[lalistilltrying]

So, I have fibromyalgia.

And I'm tired, yes. But I'm also tired of people with fibromyalgia. Because it sucks, yes. But it seems to me that they have been convinced that it doesn't get better. That is going to be like this the rest of their life.

I'm working on a real thin line here. No, it's not your fault, and no, I know that most of the time you're so flare up that you can't do anything. I understand. I'm like that too.

BUT, it DOES GET BETTER IF YOU PUT THE EFFORT. I swear, don't let anyone convince you otherwise. Don't let yourself convince you otherwise.

My story is like everyone else's : issues with competitive behavior from age 7, psychologist for a year. Tape A personality. Stomach problems anxiety related age 13. Bit of a breakdown age 15. But not Generalize Anxiety Disorder, not yet. Pain at 16, but still a happy go lucky girl. Tried college, first failed exam. First metal breakdown. Go back to my parents house. Diagnosed (correctly) age 18. Medicated correctly age 19. Psychologist and psychiatrist. Anxiety, depression, chronic fatigue. And this is what I learnt, age 21:

*It IS better to get medicated by a psychiatrist than a rheumatologist. There was not an ounce of inflammation in my body in my case.

*Codeine, Tylenol, Weed. Not really helpful, do more damage than good for me.

*What's helpful immediately? HOT. A hot bag, a hot bath. Maybe it doesn't get the pain away but (and I'm going to give quite a bad advice here) the "pain" of the hotness is brand new and kind of makes you forget the other ones.

*Mental Health Support. I'm lucky that nothing triggered my fibro. My family and people that I surround myself with were selected very carefully to be understanding and empathetic, I did this without realizing from a young age, because I was (am) demanding. Now it's a conscious effort.

-What happened was: Tape A personality. Difficulty to accept failure. Anxiety. Fibro. Depression. In that order. SO, I had to figuring it out backwards. Treat the immediate pain first. Depression next. Then look at yourself and realize when the flare ups really happen, then anxiety. I'm there now. I'm figuring that last one out. I still feel an incredibly amount of pain and exhaustion, and have fits of extreme anxiety like twice a week. But you have to be resilience and fight the core of all of it.

*Doctors don't know that much. Your gut feeling in this specific case can be more helpful, but do not go overboard. Don't go Worst Case Scenario. Find a good doctor for God's sake. There's always one. And work WITH him, don't let him do everything for you, and don't try to dictaminate everything yourself. Both of those are dangerous.

*Understanding yourself doesn't mean you're cured. There IS an unbalance in your brain chemistry, and that's why the meds are important. But it's a teamwork of meds + therapy + daily behavior. One falls off, and everything crumbles.

*GOOD NIGHT SLEEP. Blackout curtains, white noise, chilly atmosphere, big duvet and a bag of hot water. The goal is to go to bed early, the MEANS are to wake up early. That way, you won't feel guilty and anxious if you don't go to sleep early that day, because you WILL make it up and wake up at the exact same time as always. It's difficult if not impossible for some to do it yourself, so ask ANYBODY to help you. Maybe from months on end. But eventually your body will get used to it.

*HAPPINESS. And you are rolling your eyes right now. But listen. I know how depression for months feel like. I know how hard it is to crawl out of bed to take a piss, let alone stand for 15 minute to have a whole shower. But listen to me. YOU. ARE. ALIVE. You are NOT going to DIE FROM THIS. Nothing is happening to your physical body that can't be fixed. It's your brain. It is harder? Yes, so much more. But take my word please. If you are stubborn, if you fight everytime you can, you will eventually win.

*What you mean fight? Well, this is a long one. Bare with me: Fight does not means control. Does not means going against your body. It's understanding. It's balance, push a little bit but not too much. It's being happy for a little tiny bit. In so much pain, and darkness and sorrow. You HAVE to find this little bubbles of happiness. And it's fucking hard, because what can you do? You can't play an instrument, you can't go out with friends, you can't play videogames, or cook. You don't enjoy reading enymore, you don't enjoy movies anymore. So what? Well, let me give you this stupid premise:

AND THIS. TOO. SHALL PASS AWAY.

Pain will be a little bit tolerable, and the next day absolutely devastating. But it will pass, both those occasions. Find the good feeling of feeling better. Rejoice in it. Embrace it. And then let it go. Because it will be temporarily. Then recibe the pain, embrace it, and bare with it. Listen to what it has to say. And when you're body is ready, and you are ready, it will go too.

This is not a simple process. It could take minutes, days, moths, years. But it will eventually change. Even if it comebacks, make sure that you have change a little bit in the process, so you are not the same person anymore. Suddenly you will notice that this things will pass more quickly. That letting it go will be easier.

Let go of expectations, but not hope. Let go of drinking alcohol, let go of eating everything you want. Let go of that dream job, that meeting with your friends, your independence, your mental health. Let it go somewhere. And maybe, sometime, when you are ready, they'll come back to you. But only if you expect them standing up, strong and with open arms.

*So stop THINKING ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME, acknowledge that is there, but also think of something else. If you are smart enough, you will eventually find your bubble. Sing. Pet a puppy. Swim. Have a good laugh with someone. There are still bubbles to find. This is a part of you, a big one, but it not all there is.

*Play it an octave lower. Don't let it escalate. It hurts, yes. But at least it was better than last time. Don't lie to yourself, you won't belive it. But try to make an effort and not think the worst of it all the time, it will make you angry. And Sad. Write about it, talk about it, but tone it down. Explode every once in a while, absolutely. But let the blow fade away.

-I got it bad. I got it early. I got every symptom. I got into every diet. Every therapy. Withdraw. Headache. Feeling like I wanted to chop my legs off. But I'm alright. Because I learnt to almost, almost, enjoy the pain. The bad times. I learn to respect them. I learnt not to be so hard on myself. I found my bubbles of pure joy and happiness amidst all of this.

I don't know if it is because is my willing to live that got me here, but I don't care. I am here. I matter. And let me tell you something. One day, I realized It went away. All of it. Very low pain, very low tiredness. I was almost a normal human being for MONTHS. And then it passed. I got it all again.

But I am not the same person. I'm not a scared 16 years old. I learnt to enjoy things while being anxious. I swear is possible. I am happy, I am a happy go lucky girl again, just with more nuance underneath. Please, the only thing that this god damn desease can't take from you, it's hope. That's the only thing that you can cling to. Carry it with you. And be happy, because you are alive.

#fibromyalgia #chronic pain #fibro fog #fibrosucks #Fibro #fibroawareness #anxeity #physical fatigue

[builder051]

some things never change

Chasing ghosts

Warnings for mentions of alcohol/drug use and SA

__________________

James wakes in the LaZBoy in the corner lf the living room, his head barely supported by the throw pillow jammed between the chair's arm and cushioned back. Light streams through the cheap blinds. James wonders what time it is. Then, vaguely, what day it its.

He rubs his eyes, which feel full of the haze of leftover burning smoke. His mouth tastes like smoke, too. Sort of like tobacco. A little like weed. He's evidentially been partying, even though that's not typically his thing. At least, not anymore.

James stretches and punches in the chair's footrest with his heels. It makes a popping sound, and that arouses a gran from the sofa across the rom.

"God, you're fucking loud," a small, hoarse voice complains.

"Tash?" James squints to distinguish her mop of red hair from the mound of quilts and afghans. There's a trash bin on ghe floor near what would appear to be Tasha's head. James assumes she's been partying too. Maybe she's the reason he's been partying in the first place.

"Hmph," the pile of blankets replies. James takes it as an affirmative.

"Ok." James pushes to his feet. Dizziness threatens to send him reeling for a moment, but he manages to shuffle into the kitchen and pour water into the coffeepot before his stomach bottoms out and he retches into the sink.

James's mouth and nose burn with bile, and he stifles a hacking cough.

"You ok?" Someone asks from behind James's shoulder.

James tries to keep his natural fight or flight response at bay whilst also stopping another dry retch before it finds its way into his throat. "Huh?" he says quickly. "I-- I'm--"

"Buck," Steve murmurs apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok," James chokes. He swallows hard and forces a smile.

Steve looks at him a little doubtfully. Then furrows his brows in an expression of real concern.

"What happened last night?" he asks in a low voice.

"I'm..." James swallows again, then turns back to the sink and spits. "Still trying to figure that out."

"You came home at two-thirty," Steve offers. "If that helps."

James shrugs. "My guess is that the supposed knight in shining armor wound up getting... pretty busted up."

"You're not all beat up, though," Steve says. "And you weren't that out of it. James is sure he's giving the mildest report humanly possible.

"I know I was high," James immediately admits, putting up his hands in honest innocence. "On what, I have practically no idea."

Regular cigarettes and pot can usually blur the edges for him a little, but it takes something heavier to drop him on his ass. Prescription grade, at least. Though he doesn't explicitly tell Steve that.

"Well," Steve says, glancing toward the living room to see Tasha's current grade of consciousness. "If you were high, she was fucking blitzed." Steve pauses. "And I don't know if it's, like, a thing, or something. I've never partied like that, but--"

"Just spit it out," James says with a sigh, taking the towel from the handle of the dishwasher to wipe his face.

"She didn't have any pants." Steve looks fairly mortified. "Like, you had her all covered with your jacket, like a dress, and all..." He trails off.

That partially explains why there are so many blankets on the sofa. Also why there are no sounds of the laundry machines tumbling all traces of last night out of Tasha's scant clothes.

"Meh." James shrugs. He puts the towel back. "Happens sometimes. Especially if there's something like... an unplanned interruption."

Steve takes a deep breath. "Wow." Then, "If you knew it was, well, that kind of party, why'd you let her go?"

"No question of letting her," James says, suddenly exhausted. "She's 18. She can make her own decisions."

"But, alcohol?" Steve ask. "Drugs? Guys?"

"She doesn't like guys," James says quickly, and with a snarky smile.

"But she was, obviously, well, you know--"

"Transactional," James says. "At least that's probably how it started." He looks into the living room to see if Tasha has stirred any more, which she hasn't. Drunken wakings are like that-- coming and going a bit before one knows what's really real. He hopes that's where Tasha is right now.

James glances at Steve, who still has the same curious look. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"y

"No," Steve says, "But--?"

"Well, share your body and I'll share my drugs is one thing." It still brings a disgusted look to James's face. "But when you go in there to get her and she's naked and trying to break her own thumb to escape the handcuffs and the second guy's dropping his pants to take his turn..." James squeezes his eyes shut. He feels sick all over again, though he's already emptied the contents of his stomach.

"You want to take her in?" Steve suggests, his eyes wide. "Do a kit or something?"

"You can ask her when she gets up," James says doubtfully. "But if she's behaving anything like her regular self, she's gonna say she agreed to the first guy, and all he's guilty of is being rough. I'm pretty sure I punched the second guy out before he got on her.

"That's just..." Steve pauses..."Nuts. That you know this. That you aren't freaking out about this."

"Yeah, well, I learned pretty quickly that there better be specific relevant details when I first tried taking her to the ER after she turned 18. Hadn't moved out of the home yet, but was still trying to party like a college singleton."

"How'd you... take that?" Steve finally asks.

"Went with her when I could. Surveilled from a distance when she wouldn't let me. Only took her to the ER once after a rough one, and I found out real quick that statutory didn't apply anymore. Of course she agreed she'd consented, and I was the one who looked like a fool."

"What're you doing?" a miserable voice comes from the vicinity of the living room. "Are you talking about me?"

"Shit," James mutters. He wonders if she heard him talking about last night. He hopes not, lest she think he's broken some kind of unspoken sibling confidentiality rule of which they have yet to factor Steve into as something between boyfriend and brother-in-law. “Morning, Tash,” he says, giving Steve a glare that’s clearly meant to say their previous conversation is strictly under wraps.

“Hi.” Tasha slowly gets to her feet from her couch bed, still wearing the bottom blanket as a sort of toga dress over James’s backward hoodie. She stumbles a little, and James practically runs to keep her from falling, even though he’s not completely steady himself.

“Hey,” Tasha groans, grasping James’s arm as he pulls her into a hug. “I feel gross.” She pulls away, holding her hand an inch or so in front of her mouth.

“Yeah, I’m not all sunshine and daisies myself,” James admits.

“What were you rolling on?” Tasha asks skeptically. “Tylenol?”

“Tash, be serious, please.” James wants to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t want to exacerbate his current headache.

“Oxy?” Tasha tries again.

“Hey,” Steve snaps, suddenly up with the program.

“Don’t worry about it,” James tells him. “My privacy really isn’t the issue here.”

“So you were finally giving in to your cravings.” Tasha touches her tongue to her upper lip.

“So maybe I was.” James does his best not to let anger creep into his voice. He goes with cold, hard honesty instead. “I actually can’t remember what the fuck I took last night. Did. Drank.” James runs his hand through his hair.

“The sink says Guinness,” Steve supplies. “And your clothes say weed.”

James nods. It’s a fair enough assessment. He’s pretty sure pills were involved as well, lest it not be his type of party. The oxy makes sense. He probably rolled a little ecstasy with it, as he thinks he recalls lying on the couch in the house for some unknown period of time before reality set back in and he had to find Tasha.

Lying on the couch. That’s what Tasha ought to be doing right now. More drugs than what piped through James have probably hit her miniscule system. The fact that shey’s up, no matter how unsteady, seems to be a feat to be reckoned with.

“And what’re you on?” James asks, though he knows he’s unlikely to get an answer. At least an honest one.

“Same as you.” Tasha shrugs. “Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less.” She nudges the not exactly empty trash bin beside the couch with her foot. There isn’t much in it substance-wise, but the yellow bile at the bottom appears to be streaked with blood.

Broken capillaries at the back of the throat aren’t necessarily uncommon, James reminds himself, but the whole scene is a little unsettling. Sort of like the fact that she’s still wearing her temporary coat-and-blanket dress, making no move toward increased modesty. It’s as if the partying of the previous night has, for both of them, brought on exhaustion and an expulsion of cold, hard honesty. Something of the type James is more likely to spill; something mature that implies she’s out-aged the fun of the previous night.

It’s weird for Tasha, acting like the miniature grown-up that James knows she isn’t. But then he thinks back to the way he found her last night, and how he’s told her story to Steve without her express permission. Guilt fills James’s stomach, and he doesn’t feel beyond vomiting again. He just hopes Steve does have the sense not to let her know what he knows.

“Do you want to go to bed?” James asks Tasha, gesturing down the hall. “I don’t know what time it is, but it seems as good a time as any to crash.”

“Hm.” Tasha looks at him skeptically.

“I’ll get you some Tylenol. Gatorade, even.”

Tasha gives him a long, hard look that turns her skepticism into something else. James can nearly swear he sees tears at the corners of her eyes, but when he blinks, they’re gone.

“Can I bunk with you?” Tasha’s obvious attempt not to look teary gives her away, but now she seems congested as fuck, wiping her nose on the sleeve of James’s jacket.

“Yeah,” James replies, pulling two bottles of sports drink from the fridge, then putting his arm around Tasha. “Of course.”

“You do too much for me,” Tasha mutters into James’s shoulder. “I know you know it.”

James shrugs. He still feels a little on the toasted side himself, and, to be honest, his little sister’s warm comfort, no matter how binged or beaten, is a positive presence in his life. He wants her to be ok. It makes him ok. If one day she decides she’s not, they’ll handle it. Together. But for now, sleep is in order.

Tasha sandwiches herself between Steve and James in their not exactly spacious bed, stealing the covers and complaining of hot and cold in cycles as the drugs work their way out of her system. She clings to James, then to Steve for a while.

“She won’t freak out if she wakes up and I’m the one with her?” Steve asks conscientiously.

“No,” James replies with purpose. “You’re nice to her, and there’s nothing to be gained by banging you.” James smiles a bit to buffer the ragged truthfulness of the words, but Steve just sighs and nods.

“She’s never had an ‘older brother’s boyfriend,’ has she?” Steve asks.

James shakes his head

“I mean, like, some non-relative to take care of her.”

James raises his brows, but Steve quickly cuts in with a “you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, one that she’s not screwing or getting drugs from, or getting drugs for… There’s a reason so many of them in gangs, you know?” James says.

“You mean,” Steve starts. “She was—“

“Let’s pretend I didn’t bring that up.” James feels warm and sweaty, and Tasha’s unconscious body lies between them, lips subtly parted and hair draped wildly across the pillow.

“Ok,” Steve nods solemnly.

“Home life was tough. College seems like it’s maybe just as bad. Could be a little worse…” James shakes his head.

“And, well, you’re both better at picking at flaws on the other one,” Steve quietly points out

“Yeah,” James sighs. “That’s… probably the truest thing I’ve heard all night.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Steve says with a grin, “But it’s definitely morning. Maybe even noon by now.”

“Fucker…” James reaches over Tasha’s sleeping form to grasp Steve’s upper arm.

Steve shrugs. “Maybe. But I do suggest getting some sleep.” He nods down to Tasha’s curled, heavy-breathing frame.

“You’re kind of full of it, aren’t you?” James smiles. “Finding ways to take care of us?”

“Well, I have to somehow. And if it’s by throwing blankets on the couch and washing puke out of the sink, I’m here for it, I guess.”

“You’re—“

“Helpful?” Steve suggests, grinning. “Kind? Loving? Necessary?”

“Sure.” James reaches carefully over Tasha to give Steve a kiss on the cheek.

“Now,” Steve says, nuzzling James’s forehead as Tasha’s hair comes up to tickle his chin, “We get our well-deserved rest.”

#marvel #mcu #fanfic #sickfic #hurt/comfort #drug use tw #alcohol tw #sa tw #chasing ghosts #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #black widow #bucky barnes #winter soldier #steve rogers #captain america #au #emeto #emetophilia #illumivomi

[notquitecanon]

Christmas Vacation // Spencer Reid x Reader

a little blurb about the reality of big family Christmas that was heavily inspired by National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. 

TW: drug mention

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

____________

You pressed your back against the bedroom door, closing your eyes and taking a calming breath as you prayed to anything out there that your mother would give it a rest. Leaning against the door, you savored the few moments of relative quiet (you could still hear the loud political discussion your uncles were having- both extreme conservatives with all their facts from facebook, your mother and siblings in the kitchen gossiping, and your younger cousins loudly playing edgy music to cover up the Christmas music from downstairs.) You were really beginning to regret coming home for “big, old fashioned, family Christmas”.

“You’re hiding to you?” You heard a familiar voice ask, startling you. Yelping a bit, your eyes shot open to find your boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid lurking in your childhood bedroom by your bookcase. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

You smiled, crossing the room and collapsing on your old twin sized mattress that you two were sharing for the weekend. The good doctor copied you, flopping down beside you as you sighed, “Yep. My grandmother is convinced that I’m pregnant, and won’t stop giving me advice on a shotgun wedding.”

“W-wait... are..?” Spencer stuttered, leaning upon his elbow to gape at you. Chuckling, you shook your head no, watching his sigh of relief. You were certain you wanted to spend your life with him- but children weren’t on the schedule just yet. 

“Why are you hiding?” You asked, lacing your fingers through his. He squeezed your hand. 

“The Christmas sweater your great-aunt knitted was giving me a heat rash. And your uncle was asking me how much information the FBI had on him- and was asking me to delete it.” He admitted, smiling as he watched you laugh. 

“And a very Merry Christmas from the (Y/L/N) family.” You joked, sitting up. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here for this.”

Spencer followed your movements, “No! I wanted to come. This is your family, this is you! Besides, I very excited for your Aunt’s banana pineapple surprise that seemed to be defying gravity.”

“We’re going to need a vacation from this vacation.” You complained, ignoring his joke about the disgusting casserole waiting downstairs, leaning in so your head tucked onto his shoulder. He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. 

“Besides, tomorrow we fly out to see my mom. So we’ll have a little more alone time.” He promised, rubbing your back. You smiled, pulling back so Spencer could see the mischevious glint in your eyes before getting up and locking the door. 

“Alone time sounds perfect right now.” You winked, crawling back onto the twin bed, it was so small that it didn’t take much effort to be on top of him. He was nodding, already a blushing mess as you leaned down to kiss him. Just as your lips brushed his, something beat against your window. 

“You two better not be making grandkids in there! I’m too young to be a grandfather!” 

In horror, you looked up to see your dad perched on a ladder, a string of Christmas lights in hand. Now your cheeks matched Spence’s (who looked like he wanted to wither away in embarrassment), as you stumbled off your boyfriend. 

“Dad! I’m a grown woman! Besides what are you doing out there!” You hissed, Spencer quickly getting off your bed as well to fix his clothes, and slip the sweltering Christmas sweater on- effectively killing any mood that hadn’t already been killed by your father. 

“Dave across the road put up those reindeer. I will not be outdone by a man who doesn’t even own a leaf blower.” He vowed, shimmying down the latter the angrily staple Christmas lights. You shook your head and threw another hopeless look at your boyfriend, who was already sweating in his knitted apparel. With a forced smile, you tried to be optimistic.

“Well, we haven’t set anything on fire yet, so this is still a success.” 

Later that night, after the tree had been completely put out (it had been a rather unfortunate situation involving hairspray and a cigarette), at Christmas dinner, it was you who wanted to crawl into a hole and die. 

Your father has just cut into a turkey that looked drier than the Sahara, your aunt was a bottle of wine in and scooping a generous helping of Banana Pineapple Surprise onto Spencer’s plate, your mother was quietly scolding you about the neckline of your shirt, and your uncles were complaining about the players that had kneeled at the Superbowl. You had a tight hold on Spencer’s hand under the table, hoping that he would be your lifeline to sanity as your cousin’s rambled in. 

The group of teenagers smelled heavily of pot as they slumped into their chair, all chuckling about something. You decided to ignore this, as you felt you needed some sort of drink or drug to get through the night as well. When your great aunt blessed the food with a startling rendition of God Save the Queen, you thought that would be the worst of it. 

You were wrong. 

So much was happening at once. Your uncles had moved onto to “the gender crisis” and “the war on Christmas”. Your mother was complaining about you not spending Christmas day with them. The weed-ridden cousins were laughing at a video on one of their phones while your drunk aunt loudly announced the latest in her divorce lawsuit. It was when your grandmother asked Spencer about his virility that you decided to put an end to it. 

“Alright, that’s enough!” You began loudly, drawing everyone’s attention, “Uncle Mike, Uncle Hank- stop talking politics until you actually start watching the news. Aunt Tanya, your husband was cheating on you- get a better lawyer. Mom, we already have plane tickets and we’re going to go see Spencer’s mother tomorrow, end of discussion. Grandma, I love you, but I’m not pregnant and don’t plan to be a long time.” You paused before pointing to the teenagers who were wide-eyed at your display (one of them was holding up a camera and you swore if you saw your mental breakdown on tik tok you’d kill one of them), “And you three! Are you serious? Could you not wait for the ACTUAL FBI AGENT to leave before you went out and rolled a blunt? For the love of God and Christmas, can we act like we’ve got some sense in this household? I’d rather my family not scare off my boyfriend.” 

You paused to take a breath and a sip of the wine by your plate, “Hallelujah, Holy Shit!” 

Already leaving your place at the table, you pinched the bridge of your nose, “Where’s the Tylenol?” 

As you left the dining room you could hear their murmurs, and you already felt guilty for unloading all of that- but also fairly relieved. After a quick breather in your bathroom (and two Tylenol swallowed), you decided it was time to rejoin your family. Knowing them, they’ll probably act like nothing even happened. You thought as you shook your head, Poor Spence, I left him down there to fend for himself. 

To your surprise, Spencer was just outside the bathroom door hand held up like he was just about to knock and your glass of wine in the other, “Hey, sweetheart, you ok?”

You suppressed a laugh, he only called you pet names when he thought you were really upset. You leaned up and kissed his cheek, “I’m fine. Really. It’s not Christmas if at least one family member has a come apart at the table.”

He sighed in relief, “It was pretty awkward for a second. Then your cousins all gave me ridiculous excuses about the pot smell. And then it was back to normal.”

“Sounds about right, but we still haven’t had to call an emergency service yet, so I’m still counting it as a win. My crazy family hasn’t scared you off yet, has it?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist after gratefully taking the red wine out of his hand. Feeling his head shake as his arms wrapped around you, you listened to his words as they vibrated his chest. 

“I spent Christmas with Derek and his family one year, and in the same year spent New Years with Garcia. Your family doesn’t even top my list.” Spencer assured you, “Also did you know that emergency calls spike by 47% in the period between December 23 and Jan 2- within that 47%, 1/2 are alcohol-related, 1/4 are house fires caused by holiday decorations, and 1/4 are domestic disputes between family members.”

You laughed aloud that time, it’s not a Spencer Reid Christmas without some random inane fact. You thought as you looked up to him. “Maybe we won’t be in that 47% this ye-”

You were interrupted by a sharp scream, a lot of yelling, and the easily identified voice of your aunt screaming, “Quick, someone call 911!”

“And nevermind.” You sighed, already moving to run downstairs, but pausing at the doorway, “Hey, Spence...”

He was right behind you, staring at you quizzically as the noise of chaos floated up from downstairs. Your family was hectic, but you wouldn’t have it any other way- and Spencer was in the middle of it all, taking it in stride. 

“Merry Christmas, I love you.”

__________________

This is bad but honestly, this is how 90% of my holiday goes. I wish Spencer was around to witness the chaos. 

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader

[corvidexoskeleton]

Having unmanaged severe chronic pain while in the public school system sure was a fuckin trip, lemme tell you. If I had painkillers, I had to stealthily take them at lunch, or in the morning

Trouble is, most generic painkillers, like aleve and ibuprofen and tylenol, don't really cut it with severe chronic pain, and when you're in middle and high school and need to force yourself to perform past your comfort zone just to have a chance at keeping up with the slowest of most normal kids, the pain only gets worse

Going up and down stairs, walking through halls, carrying a bag full of supplies at all times, sitting in chairs and desks and tables that don't give you any support or comfort, doing literally any class that requires you to put in effort to do more than flip open a book and copy down some questions and answers all contribute to it. When you have to do that almost every single day for hours at a time, for multiple years on end, people think you get better at it, that you get used to it and it doesn't hurt so much, that you'll learn to keep up, but that's not how it works. The pain gets worse, keeping up becomes harder, and nothing you take helps

God forbid you have a prescription for something to help with the pain and the school knows about it, they'll keep it up in the main office or the nurse's office and force you to get approval from your teachers to leave class so you can hobble your ass down to get some, sometimes from all the way across campus, and that's only if you have understanding teachers who will actually let you, effectively wasting an unnecessary amount of time and causing you even more pain than if you just had it on you to begin with

And really, even if the school and your teachers know you have chronic pain or health issues, the likelyhood of them actually caring or doing anything about it is slim to none. They're still gonna make you check out all their massive textbooks, still gonna expect you to go from one class, to your locker, then to your next class within the same amount of time as everyone else. They usually don't care that you couldn't get your homework done because by the time you got home, you were in too much pain to do anything. They don't care that there's one elevator in the entire school, that it's slow, that the healthy, able bodied students will often use it just because they don't feel like using the stairs, that faculty moving carts and other things need to use it

They don't understand that you're not just another Tired Teenager That Stayed Up Too Late, you're physically, and often mentally, exhausted from the strain of having to push yourself so hard to keep up, that even on your good days you can barely keep up. Our society was built around weeding out the disabled by forcing us to try and keep up until it kills us, and the school system is no exception

#text post tag #ableism #disabled problems #finally a rant thats not about video games #this is a bit of a downer but i think about a lot now that im out of school #and can look back at how balls to the wall absurd it was to go through the public american school system as a disabled person #a disabled person who wasnt in the ''special ed'' group at least

[prorevenge]

Try to ruin my life? Say goodbye to your husband, your home, and your foot.

Now, to give some backstory to this, I will say things with her weren't always bad. When I was a small child she was the coolest mom in the world in my eyes. Looking back, she didn't make the smartest parental decisions doing “cool” things, but nonetheless there were good times I still remember fondly. As I got older, her manipulative ways and desperate need for everyone's attention at all times got unbearably worse. She also tried to make me into the same shitty person she was. She taught me how to make up elaborate lies and stories so my grandma wouldn't know where we went out (mom was a compulsive liar, so even though there was no reason for this, she did it anyway), constantly told me that school taught useless shit and I just needed to pass and get by and then would berate me for bad grades, she blew my friendships up by either manipulating my friends or their parents, taught me the first thing to do when my grandma died was to take all her money and grab her lock box (also had money, and yes she meant before calling 911), and honestly there's so many horrible things she told me was okay and did a lot of terrible shit to me, but there's just too many to list them all. There was also a decent heap of mental and emotional abuse that seemed to increase with my age, but y'all aren't here for my sob story.

The Breaking Point I was in college, she went full on helicopter parent during my first year, and she still managed to ruin with a few friendships because she's damn good at being a shitty person. Come my first summer vacation, it came time to get ready to go home. I wanted to go back to my grandma's house, where I grew up. She showed up moving day and took all my things to her and her new husband's house (he is NOT my stepfather, I never liked him). She demanded I get a job (she didn't have one) to pay for my food, but I also had to do ALL of the housework while she sat on her ass and watched TV and smoked weed. It took me less than a week to realize she wanted me there as her personal slave, but she didn't want to spend any more money that her husband made because of my being there. I texted a few friends out of desperation, and she took my phone in my sleep to read what I said. She then began her work to ruin my life. She messaged all of my friends slinging some bullshit about being a witness in court and said I told her a bunch of nasty shit about them I never said, and scared most of them off from ever talking to me. She called all of our family and told them I was an alcoholic and I was going to fail college (grades were decent, I had drank maybe 5 times ever at that point). My grandma came and got me after many tear-filled calls explaining what was going on. After I left, she refused to sign my FAFSA (there was absolutely no way I could afford school without financial aid), and tried to get me kicked out of my school, but the financial aid Dept at my school was awesome and helped me get around that so I could continue there. After that, she'd call the house and my job several times a day and leave harassing messages (luckily she kept up her nice act when she called work asking for me, they were unbelievably understanding at my job). My grandma and I ended up going to court to take out protection orders, she got hers with no contest, but my mother contested mine. At that point, my anxiety was so bad I became violently sick and missed my follow-up court date. After that she tried to have me arrested. When the cops showed up to my house explaining to my grandma what she told them, we explained everything going on and luckily they were also understanding (they got the crazy vibe from her on the phone). After that, I. Was. Done. I didn't just want her to rot in hell, I wanted the rest of her life to be hell.

The Revenge For a while, I didn't really tell many people what was going on as I'm the type of person that doesn't want to be a burden to their loved ones at any cost. But after going to therapy at my college, I got a lot of my shit worked out and was able to come to terms with a lot of the shit that happened. So then I began my work. I told EVERYONE she knew. Most of them she had gotten to first, but they changed alliances very quickly after my talks with them. I made sure to turn up the waterworks HARD when I retold my story every time. Even threw in the occasional "I just don't understand why she hates me so much," and "I only ever wanted my mom to love me." In reality, I knew she was just a compulsive liar and a narcissist and was only flipping out because I wouldn't succumb to her will anymore I told my family everything including the mental and emotional abuse from my teens and up. Needless to say, they were horrified.

I wound up getting a new number and blocking her email so she couldn't harass me anymore, but she would call my grandma's house and leave messages every once in a while to try and slither her way back into my life. Nope. She even tried to "kill herself" with TYLENOL to try and get sympathy. After I contacted everyone and told them what happened, no one gave a shit about her "issues." Eventually, she and dipshit husband wound up losing their house due to money with her not working. They bought a truck and a shitty trailer to hitch to it and called it home. She even had the nerve to call us when a hurricane was coming (yup, I'm from Florida) and asked if they could seek shelter with us. We deleted the message. Now for the most satisfying part. A few weeks ago, after quite a long time from her last message, she calls. Apparently, as it turns out, her unmanaged diabetes caught up to her. She was in a hospital in North Carolina about to have a foot amputated. Dipshit husband apparently decided he was done, so he ran away with his crackhead cousin (he was a recovering crackhead), took their truck/trailer, and left her with nothing and nowhere to go. My grandma was literally her last possible saving grace. Everyone else turned her away, and she was going to be discharged in 3 days. With nowhere to go. She was begging my grandma to take her in, even having the gall to say "how could you turn me away at a time like this."

Message deleted.

Now I'm doing much better with a job I love, kickass roommates, the best friends I could ask for, and a boyfriend who is so incredibly loving and understanding of all my issues. I couldn't be happier. And she couldn't be more miserable. I'm a Hufflepuff at heart, but push me too hard and I can show you just how much of a Slytherin I can be.

TL;DR: Mom spends years psychologically abusing me, tries to blow my life up. I make sure everyone hates her, then she loses her husband, her home, and her foot.

(source) story by (/u/st0nermermaid)

#prorevenge #by /u/st0nermermaid #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[raccoonwritings]

A Drink Away from Honesty Chapter 2

Childhood Friends AU (angst with a happy ending, be warned)

Lucas is an oversharing drunk, Eliott is both desperate and dramatic, and everyone is trying to just keep everything straight.

Or alternatively, Lucas and Eliott were childhood best friends until a storm tears them apart and brings them back together.

(Title from “Don’t Miss Me?” by Marianas Trench)

Chapter 2: Meet Choupi

Lucas (16) and Eliott (18)

Samedi 11:34

Lucas wakes up with a headache that thumps and a need for water that is overpowered by the desire to get more sleep. He shouldn’t have gotten crossed, he knows, but it was all he could do to keep himself from thinking about Eliott. Meeting him again after this long must have been a dream, right? Ugh, thinking about it makes Lucas’ head pound more. He just needs to sleep.

 Samedi 13:02

Lucas definitely hasn’t slept enough when Mika abruptly opens the door, shouting at Lucas to get his lazy ass out of bed, and pulling the blinds up to allow sunlight into the room.

“Up, kitten, up! You live in that bed!” Mika enthusiastically chants while crawling into Lucas’ bed with him. How ironic.

“Hnggg,” Lucas responds intelligently with his face smushed up against his incredibly flat pillow. He should really buy a new one. If his dad ever sends him money, of course.

“Well, aren’t you just the master of words this morning,” Mika sing songs. He snuggles up next to Lucas and receives a glare and another unintelligible noise. He soon finds Lisa joining the both of them in bed.

“You know what would get him up, Mika?” Lisa ponders knowingly.

“Why didn’t you mention sooner?” Mika extracts his phone from his pocket and pulls up Tinder. Lucas sees him clip the app icon and he is out. Despite having no energy and the pounding headache from before, he frantically detaches himself from the mattress and climbs over Lisa to reach the door.

“Sorry Mika, I have no desire to see the dicks of your Tinder hookups, or pictures of your dick,” Lucas grumbles, pushing down on the door handle and heading towards the bathroom.

Maybe a shower would help. Plus, he does smell a little of weed and shitty beer. A shower it is.

He walks out of the bathroom 20 minutes later, toweling his hair dry. Opting to grab some water before crawling back into bed, he makes a beeline for kitchen and searches the cabinet for a clean glass. There are used glasses in his room, on his desk, that he could wash and reuse, but that is far too much effort. Rearranging the far-left cabinet leads Lucas to find the secret set of nice glasses Mika must use for special occasions? Maybe they belonged to Manon and she left them here when she moved? Who knows. All that matters is that Lucas has a glass and can finally retreat back into his room.

With a half full glass of water – he chugged the first half – and a slightly damp towel, he treks back into bed. Finally, he’s alone. The water has helped his headache a little, but a pain killer couldn’t hurt. He downs a store brand equivalent of Tylenol and pulls out his phone for the first time that day to check his messages. Most were from the boys, just talking about the party last night, asking Lucas how far he went with Chloe, which he ignores with his entire being. He doesn’t want to talk about Chloe, who – of course – just then sends him a friend request on Facebook. He hates that he accepts, but he has to keep up the façade that he’s into her. This is enough to make him toss his phone aside and curl up in his singular blanket. Glancing around his room for something, anything to distract him, his eyes land on the recently empty cage that’s perched on his dresser. He really doesn’t want to think about that or anything else for that matter and actively ignores everything until his phone pings a short time later.

From: Unknown Number

Hey

 To: Unknown Number

Who is this?

 From: Unknown Number

How was your night with that girl?

 Lucas couldn’t help but let out a huff. Who the fuck was this person asking about yesterday? He didn’t want to talk about it.

To: Unknown Number

Who is this?

 Lucas isn’t answering any questions until he knows who he’s talking to. Unfortunately, he was waiting for a good hour before he discovered who has his number.

From: Unknown Number

You never gave me back my orange marker

 For the love of God. Lucas is over this. He has no desire to talk to Eliott at all, except Eliott is obviously not feeling the same.

From: Don’t Answer

I was really attached to that orange marker, Lucas. It meant a lot to me!

It broke my heart when you never returned it.

 It broke his heart? The audacity of him, honestly, to say that Lucas broke his heart. His sympathy and any naïve thought to respond was gone in an instant, only to be replaced by an all-consuming anger. A deep-seated sadness. This was the person who changed everything for him and left him to deal with the aftermath. The person who left him to retreat back into a skin he craved to shed. The person who forgot about him and was back again only to remind him of that.

 Lucas (9) and Eliott (11)

Mercredi 15:19

“Mom says I can get a dog!” Lucas exclaims as he sits on Eliott’s bed. They had both gotten out of a class not long ago and it was tradition that they head to Eliott’s to watch movies and goof off.

“That’s cool! Except, dogs are so last year,” Eliott replies, sitting across from Lucas in his neon yellow desk chair. Lucas huffs.

“What do you mean “so last year”? All the kids in my class are getting dogs for Christmas this year!” Lucas defends his desire for a fluffy companion. Dogs were, are a classic.

“They were like all the craze last year. You know what animal is on the rise this year?” Eliott responds animatedly. Lucas loves seeing his best friend like this even though he sounds like a complete idiot.

“What animal is on the rise this year, Eliott? Please, enlighten me,” Lucas rolls his eyes and emphasizes the ‘enlighten’. If Eliott didn’t get that he was being sarcastic, than he would really wouldn’t understand people at all.

“Obviously, my sarcasm has rubbed off on you, and normally I’d say that you following in my footsteps is the way it should be, but considering you’re only nine, I’d say maybe dial it back a bit. Okay?” He smiles, crooked and genuine. Lucas nods and returns a toothy smile, encouraging Eliott to continue since he still hasn’t unveiled what animal has become the most popular. “Alright, so a dog is great, yeah, but what about a hedgehog?!” Eliott finishes his question with another smile and jazz hands, causing Lucas to burst out in laughs.

“A hedgehog? Really? How are they better than a dog?” Lucas crosses his arms over his body and awaits the other boy’s response.

“They are! They’re cute, don’t require walks, or are ridiculously needy. I don’t know, they just remind me you a bit, too.” Lucas’ heart warms at Eliott indirectly calling him cute. He doesn’t understand exactly why, but it makes him feel good. He knows his cheeks are reddening, but luckily Eliott has turned around to face his laptop and is in the process of searching for pictures of baby hedgehogs. He finds a particularly cute picture and beckons Lucas to his side, which he immediately follows.

Lucas can’t not admit that the baby hedgehog is quite cute, but he’d never admit that to his friend. He would never admit to him that he wanted one now, slightly because of the fact that these small animals reminded Eliott of him and very much because of the idea of not having to put forth a ton of effort in walking it and cleaning up its shit.

Lucas also wouldn’t admit, at least right now, that when he arrives at home that night for dinner, he asks his mom, pleads with her, to let him get a hedgehog. She denies him for the moment and asks him why he’s had a sudden change of heart, considering he had been pleading for a dog for months on end. He wouldn’t admit the real reason to her either.

Months later, after Lucas’ 10th birthday, Eliott is bounding up the stairs leading to Lucas’ bedroom and knocking open the door with clumsy force. Lucas is standing in front of his dresser, which dons a shiny new cage, with his arms wrapped around something small. He turns and smiles wide at his best friend.

“Meet Choupi!” He exclaims, removing one of his hands to reveal a baby hedgehog. Eliott’s grin is wild.

“You took my advice!” He says, bouncing his way over to Lucas on the other side of the room. He leans down to get a closer look at the small animal when he makes a revelation. “Wait, Choupi?! Really, Lucas?” Eliott laughs with his body and looks to see his friend blushing.

“I’m not that creative, okay! There’s no need to make fun.” Lucas says, turning away from his friend. He’s a bit embarrassed now.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it to be mean. It’s cute, I like it. It reminds me of you,” Eliott says, smiling tentatively. Lucas’ is no longer embarrassed when he meets his friends eyes, eyes that are full of nothing but warmth.

“Want to hold him?”

“YES!” Lucas giggles at the excitement. He tells Eliott to open his hands and slowly glides Choupi into his palm. It’s not a surprise that Choupi takes an immediate liking to his best friend. He totally understands.

 Lucas (16) and Eliott (18)

Samedi 14:06

Lucas just stares at his phone. He can feel the anger bubbling. How dare he come back into his life like this. How dare he up root all the damage control he’s done. Well, he hasn’t exactly done anything yet, but Lucas knows a storm is coming. Eliott left with a storm and he’ll come back with a storm, Lucas knows. He used to love those storms.

He loses himself in his thoughts and doesn’t feel his phone ping again.

From: Don’t Answer

Please talk to me.

 Lucas feels torn. A deep part of him, a part he has worked so hard to push down, wants to talk to him. He wants to feel connected to him again, but he knows that it is only going to hurt more in the end. He’s just going to leave again and Lucas can’t survive another one of that. He’s out of tape to piece his heart back together.

To: Don’t Answer

Leave me alone

 From: Don’t Answer

Aha!  You’re talking to me!

 Lucas rolls his eyes.

From: Don’t Answer

So, how are you?

I’m good, thanks for asking

I could go for a coffee though

Wanna join me?

I’ll be down at the coffee shop

You know the one

The one we always went to

Our coffee shop

 Lucas is dumb found. ‘Our coffee shop.’ They weren’t a ‘we.’ There was no ‘our.’ At least not anymore. Lucas contemplates for a several minutes before another ping from his cellphone makes the decision for him.

From: Don’t Answer

Shit, I forgot. I have to see Lucille later. I’m really sorry. Raincheck?

 Lucas laughs bitterly, tossing his phone to the side. Yeah, raincheck.

#skam france #skam fr #skamfr #elu #elu fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #the emergence of desperate Eliott #he only gets more and more desperate

[kuroosdumbslut]

HOW I MAKE MYSELF FEEL BETTER (+ home remedies for other problems)

-saltine crackers, ginger, and/or ginger tea for upset stomach

-peppermint oil for headaches (rubbed on the temples, base of neck, a little under the nose)

-if little to no appetite: chicken soup or chicken and rice soup

-if feverish: advil is a good fever reducer, i recommend it for children and adults alike

- Frankincense oil (safe to ingest type) either diluted with water and drank or rubbed on the base of neck, under the nose for assistance in colds. *I AM NOT A DOCTOR AND HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU EITHER RESEARCH THAT ON YOUR OWN OR ASK YOUR DOCTOR FIRST JUST TO BE SAFE*

-Allergy pills for allergies, but if it doesnt clear up or gets worse, go see a doctor as it might be pneumonia like my little dumbass did in college

-contrary to some peoples beliefs, a shot of hard liquor will not help a cold, however orange juice, water, and other fruit juices and teas are more helpful

-nasty cough? hate the taste of most cough syurps? Delsym works p good and it doesnt taste like garbage. EVEN THE GRAPE FLAVOR TASTES SWEETER AND NOT A RADIOACTIVE

-severe migraine? block out light, avoid electronics with exceptionally bright lights or, at the very least, turn on blue light filter and lower brightness. if legal, weed helps greatly, otherwise choose your fav brand of headache killer pills (excedrin or even midol if u need that extra shit on ur period)

-got a hickey and dont want it to last a long time? Theres a few things you can do: ice area to reduce swelling; apply toothpaste to area, let sit for a bit, then wipe it off; gently rub the edge of a penny over area; break painkiller (tylenol, advil, excedrin, whatever you want) and get it damp on the end where you broke it, rub on area while its wet, let it sit for a while, wipe off residue

- 100°F fever? advil. 101°F fever? advil and watch closely. 102°F? Watch closely and maybe find a clinic. 103°F and up? Go to the hospital.

-YEAST INFECTIONS: listen, Monistat probably works great and all, but seeing as ya girl is unable to use it, i see a doctor and they give me a pill for it. if you want vaginal health and upkeep pills AZO is a good brand

-Sore Throat? While you can use the numbing spray, gargling warm salt water can help reduce pain. If still present they ya go for the throat spray

-Kidney Stones? Lots of water, take pills as directed, and if you get multiple kidney stones or if youve had them more than once, its a good idea to catch them in a strainer (u can buy ones specifically for catching kidney stones at drug stores like Walgreens or CVS) and take them to a Urologist.

-Chamomile tea and lavender incense can help promote sleep

ill add more when i remember or learn more, but theres some advice if anyone of yall are sick or experiencing any of these

#advice #illness #partially information #partially home remedies

[spacecharr]

Black Rose Sesh Report V

i think it’s number five at least.

Here we go again:

fuck having a bum shoulder. again. seriously, fuck it. right in the asshole.

ok

the trip back wasn’t an odyssey so much as it was a revelation-filled romp.

also chillhop music makes me seriously so lyrical. it’s... it’s like I’m helpless, but I’m also scared that people might see me as a pretentious bitch or something, but I also recognize that maybe this is just my anxiety or some shit? 

thought looops, like frooot loops

oh yeah!

revalations

one: holy fuck I am so fucking bi.

there was this couple heading back -- WAITTTTT

how could I almost forget Oliver?!

ok

People I met on the romp back:

(wait tags)

(ok, back to here - but ow, fuck)

Eric, Lisa, and Oliver the Dog.

amazing neighbors who’ve lived in the area for a long ass time. also Oliver is cleverly named due to the location.

the black cat that I thought was a little girl twin of my handsome boy? nope! He’s an adorable little psychopath named Merlin! he loves people, is adorable, vocal, cuddly, his owners are this amazingly punk rock lady and this guy who could be like a secret badass punk nerd from accounting or something. And he’s a bit psycho ‘cause he does the whole “snuggle up to your leg to purr and cuddle you, ask for belly rubs, then will attack your hand”. My Zi doesn’t do that at all. He will give you maaaaaany warning bops with his back legs, no claws, before he begins to lazily warning bite you.

Alright, ok. 

Revelations.

one: I am so fucking bi.

there was this couple heading home from a run. both of them were HELLA FINE. I mean, of the two I’d prefer the dude, but if I could have both of ‘em, then hell yes I would.

I have the preference namely because the lady was wearing matching pink shirt and scrunchie - and that get up on a wavy blonde made me think of that character from the Arnold the Armadillo show and I don’t like her as much.

they were wearing matching running tights, the girl was wearing pink and the guy was wearing orange (my favourite colour).

Both probably within my age range, maybe in their 30s.

The guy was super in shape, bony, broad, muscled shoulders and a runner’s taper. 

Gal was thicc and had a face that looked like Denaerys Targarean (idk how the fuck to spell that name rn)

two: I’m living in my dream neighborhood, basically, and living my dream.

where I’m at, I just went out for a walk to a park - it felt like I was at a lake. 

there’s dogs everywhere, and friendly people who own those dogs. people with stories to tell, who are happy to sit down and chat.

there’s beautiful people where I live. All sorts of beautiful people. (see revelation one: I am hella bi - and for any biphobes out there, remember that bi means i find more than one gender attractive. think about that for a sec, I’ll wait.)

there are couples in their 30s with no kids, so this place is fairly childfree.

there are people leading alternative lifestyles all around me, mixed in and living side by side harmoniously with neighbors who are more traditional. including couples even who are made up of a “normal” looking person and someone visibly living that alternative lifestyle.

today has been filled with so many LGBTQ encounters of other LGBTQ people living visibly out - whether they’re living out to prove a point, living out because it’s right for them, living out despite the fear, living out because it’s fun to, etc, etc. - that it makes me so happy to see.

there was a dude in this really fancy sports car - likewise somewhere in this 30s - which almost everyone at the intersection had to turn their heads to appreciate

there was this guy with a beard (beards are so attractive) balancing on this fancy looking road bike (god, I love bikes) - makin’ that choice for whatever his reason is, but it’s one I love because we need more bikes and less cars

on my way home, and this ties into the point below, I passed under a balcony where several ladies where having a girl’s night and discussing things.

and it turned into this awesome look on feminism in a way because they were talking about I think female genital mutilation (these are all ladies in their late 30s or older - lots of talk of husbands, etc) and how there’s so many women still having it done to them.

one of the ladies mentioned how some man in her life somewhere (she mentioned how she knew, but there was a dog I was distracted by when she explained, so I didn’t really catch it) was talking about how less girls get mutilated than boys or something. And she was like “well i don’t know the numbers for boys, but even if it is higher, that’s still six--(some ridiculously large number like 600 million or something, or 600 thousand...) and then that means there’s even more children being mutilated than that because the boys get mutilated more often.” 

like, holy shit, a man engaging in “oppression olympics” when a woman was just trying to express her shock that any children are being mutilated - and that he was being excited for winning a gender competition for “whose gender is mutilated the most as young, helpless babies?!”!

anyways, that little aside aside

holy fuck my shoulder hurts

I was thinking I could do this part as part of the stream of conscience further down, but I don’t think I can hold out that long.

So ok, I separated the AC joint (or something like that) in my right shoulder from some bungled board breaking I did during a parade with my karate club. Boards got rained on and my student and I still broke them.

I bungled this break only in that the first two elbow attempts didn’t work - the board was way too wet and it bounced both the elbows back. So I resorted to  hammer fist to break it and boooooo. I wanted to elbow it.

But yeah, turns out I’m hurting.

But I’m not sure if I am or not. Again, this is probably anxiety? or maybe another revelation.

But like, I’m confused. Would a separated shoulder take 48hrs to fully onset in terms of the pain and symptoms? Cause I felt like I was sore, but still able to do thinsg. Then when I went in yesterday to see my chiro for a scheduled appt from way before the parade, I mentioned my shoulder pain.

he ran two quick assessments on me and diagnosed me with a separated AC joint. it’s on the mild side, but it’s still a separated shoulder he said. and since them I’ve been way more conscious of it and I wonder - is it because he told me something’s wrong and I’m “pretending” because I’m hyper-aware of any sensation in the area? Or did it really just take until now for it to start being so bothersome?

--- another aside within aside within aside: I’m starting to feel suuuuper sleepy.

but then also, I’m high. I’m high on 50mg edible THC and 1/2 a 210mg joint. I should be pretty medicated by now, we can all agree. And I do feel a familiar stoner feel from the indica. Nice heavy body feel. But through it all, my neck, shoulder and lat are just screaming at me occasionally.

Especially my neck. 

And my shoulder when I go to use my right arm - reaching, etc. OHHHHHH!!!! It hurts more today than yesterday because I did karate this morning!!!!! And I pushed (but didn’t hurt) myself a bit because I wanted to train with our guests.

ok.

I get it now.

I’m not crazy, it legit hurts. I’m not being a wuss, I’m being realistic. Okay.

SEE!?! WEED! REVELATIONS!

Dammit, guys, weed really is a therapist. 

Have I even told you guys I’m a relatively new stoner? Like, just since it got legalized in Canada, and like, in November? So a lot of those like random “crazy-ass” stoner stereotypical phrases that I used to make fun of and think were like “oh, hurr durr, only stupid stoners who can’t think straight think like that” - they’re TRUE!!!! holy fuck, guys.

Hm, also, I think I am definitely going to be able to ride along and let the shrooms take me where they will next weekend. I’m ready for it. I’m excited for it. I feel like there will be so many more breakthroughs.

OH! yes, returning.

So, those ladies and talking about not even feminism, but just out in the open, within earshot of people on the street (fair, they’re just having an open air convo on their own personal balcony - everyone else is on the public sidewalk, the acoustics in this area are just very conducive), talking about statistics about women.

It’s so awesome that I live ina  place where that can happen.

That I live in a place where a trans woman and her lesbian girlfriend can walk through the park. Where an openly lesbian couple, an openly gay couple, two best dude friends (and or maybe another gay couple, it’s not like they were dressed in rainbows or held hands or anything), a single dad with two kids, a single stoner, and all sorts of straight couples can just all exist alongside each other without anyone feeling pressured or attacked or anything.

It’s awesome.

Ok. My shoulder is really hurting. I know I’m not being a wuss with this now.

Though I have to say, as much as this fucking sucks, I still wouldn’t trade it for my experience as a martial artist. Now I know for next year, and I can protect my younger students now since I know that wet boards are so harsh on even my body - it’d tear out the shoulder of some of our younger kids. And I can experiment with drying the boards a bit more so they’re more brittle and won’t bounce back. 

I think if I had been doing a single break in a controlled setting like a dojo instead of needing to set up in as few steps as possible and break and move on quick so you don’t hold up the route, I could have broken it. But as it was, it’s not possible for me to courteously summon up the concentration for a break like that on a parade route.

I’m gonna just relax for a while. Probably find some anime to watch. I wanted to draw, but I don’t think my shoulder’s up for it. I’ll have to try to remember the imagery.

It’s like, space-sci-fi dystopia future-wave sort of thing but with lower tech and more slum-like. cartoony. cel shaded. primariy colours: orange-brown, blue/purple like vaporwave, red, orange-orange, maybe some yellow/yellow-white.

guys, weed is magical. I love weed. I mean, I’m a highly functioning member of society. I live a frugal lifestyle, but I kill it at work, I’m becoming highly involved in my community, etc. 

it’s crazy how there’s that stoner stereotype, but honestly I’d say that’s just the entertaining minority. the minority we all like to smoke along with. XD

ok, that’s a wrap on this part. maybe more, maybe not. dunno.

in anycase, fuck bum shoulders, stay chill, and see ya in space.

...srsly should I do audios?

#blackrosesesh #live sesh #weed #stoner #sesh report #stream of conscience #i think i used a different soc tag last time #fuck having a bum shoulder #fuck pain #fuck ow #weed is still better than tylenol

[rough-and-whump]

Rough is a Whumpee

So, yeah, this might end up being a series, ha ha! I tend to hurt myself a lot and this might be a fun thing for me.

Please keep in mind: I might “whumpify” some of my experiences to make it more interesting in a whump context.

I’m not sure if this might be a trigger for anyone, but obvs don’t read this too much if you don’t like the idea of “whump” type things happening to real people. 

Again, I do this for fun, and I’m as clumsy as a three-legged camel walking blindfolded and backwards on a snow-capped mountain.

Some context:

I do karate. Been practicing for about 9 years. I started as an adult and am one of the longer standing members of my club right now. Most of my peers in the front line have been practicing for 20+ years.

I have chosen to do this to myself, because it’s part of what I view as “my journey” as a martial artist. Plus also, I mean, my injuries in karate have never been that serious - I’m partially lucky, but mostly smart about how I fight and who I fight, lol!

I totally have a lot of times when I get hurt. Most times, it’s not bad - it’s just low-level stuff that bothers me during the day. But when I describe it, it definitely does sound bad - I find it’s okay, like, I can still function; but lots of folks I talk to about my injuries look at me like I’m stupid. But, frankly, I can’t afford to just stay home whenever I feel a bit uncomfortable. XD

The incident:

Canada Day Parade with my karate club. It’s been rainy and wet. We know that this makes boards harder to break, but we (me and my student) still wanted to do it. 

Boards seem fine, our test breaks two days before the Parade went well.

Parade time. First three breaks for me go fine. But there’s definitely more hurt in these boards than the ones we broke last year. Still decide to go ahead.

Break four, last of the parade. In front of a group of small kids, namely girls. It’s my student and my fave corner for breaks since the crowd is usually really amped up. 

It’s been raining now for the last twenty minutes - our boards are soaked. We know this, but we still go for it because we’re idiots.

I set up for an elbow break. I’ve done two of these and a front punch break all fine up to now. So I figure, okay, I can do this. Just all the power.

Fire it up, annnnnd... first one - bounce. Don’t swear, try again. Full power. Bounce.

I switch to a hammer fist break and get through it, but ooowwwwwww.

The consequence:

I have some righteous bruising on my elbow and hand from my two good elbow breaks, the front punch and the hammer fist. I don’t bruise easily and I have an olive/tan skin tone, so bruises don’t generally show through. But these are a niiiiice deep purple, ha ha!

Aaaaaand I have a separated AC joint in my right shoulder.

The whump, mental side:

The doubt of whether or not the injury is actually as bad as it is.

Don’t want to seem “weak”, so I often brush off pain that requires frequent and often medication.

Also don’t want to make a big deal if this really isn’t so bad. It isn’t a full on dislocation, it’s fixable, so it can’t be that bad.

Buuuut, legit it hurts. I refuse to take a bunch of painkillers because I don't like how they make me feel. I'm trying to make do using weed and rest.

Part of why I'm purposefully avoiding strong pain killers is also because when I've done that in the past, I've also ended up trying to "push through" my injury and it makes my recovery longer.

Extending on the point above: I’m purposefully choosing to feel more pain so that I know when to kinda pull back from what I���m doing. This said, I still feel it. So I’m spending the day with increased tension in my neck (manifesting headaches to boot) and a bit of mind fog from just having to devote some of my mind to ignoring the pain.

Details on the painkiller thing: I’m choosing not to use Robax, Motrin, or Tylenol much because I legit had a problem with them a few years back. I never developed any actual bad liver or kidney problems, but I was taking about a bottle of Robax Platinum every week for three weeks at one point. That’s a lot of Robax. And that was a recent blip. Before I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety and Clinical Depression, I turned to Robax and alcohol to manage my symptoms of panic and feelings of worthlessness. It really did a number on me. There were a lot of factors pushing me into that corner. Honestly, I wish I had access to weed at that time, because it would have helped me so much to have alternative, healthier, and less harmful pain relief and anxiety help. 

When I first stopped taking Robax and chose to just deal with the pain as best I could, it took me about a month to realize that I was feeling better and better and better. I didn’t know why - I thought hey maybe it was just weather or something. But after some more reflection and a bit of experimentation, I found that it was actually the chemical painkillers that made me feel that way.

Legit I was addicted to painkillers. I went from liking the relief I got from two Robax at a time to needing to take four at a time to get a sort of “high” feeling - I could put on “robax glasses” that made it easier to deal with my abusive boss, the blatant illegal activity happening at work, and the toxic work environment and shit pay.

The whump, physical stuff (aka the good stuff):

I can’t lift my right arm over my head, combined with being a creature of habit and right handed, it’s lead to a lot of “fuck, ow!” moments when reaching up for some stationary at the office or when reaching for something in the cabinets in the kitchen.

Sharp pains occasionally - not often - kind of radiates up and down in severity. I can’t find a trigger for it yet, if there is one. It could just be pain ‘cause it’s a busted shoulder. 

Pains tend to be:

“heat” at the shoulder itself

“radiating” lines of tension and sharp pulling pains up across the collarbone towards the base of the neck, up the side of the neck, into the right side of my head (somehow?! when I went to get accupuncture, that point was suuuuper effective/painful), and down towards the meeting point of all the lat muscles in the mid back.

The neck pain is the worst, it sends shooting pains up the right side of my head, and definitely puts me “on edge”.

Typing is a fresh horror. I work an office job in tech and do a lot of typing in my day, so I had to figure out with our office wellness dude (who is such a darling and so sweet, and legit he and I schedule “meetings” that end up just us chatting about our weekend adventures) how to set up my station so I keep my arm internally rotated.

Side note: legit, this separated shoulder thing is a much bigger deal than I think I want it to be. I’m scared of it, really. I don’t want to lose the full function of my right arm - I need to fight with it, plus I need to still be able to “Simba raise” my cat into the air on sunny mornings.

He was telling me I should look into getting a sling so it’s supported while I’m just sitting/not using it. I’m ok without one at work cause I can set up my station so my elbow is supported and I can keep my arm internally rotated. But like, this guy doesn’t make a big deal out of nothing - if he’s advising me to get a sling, I really should consider it... he’s a trained kinesiologist and former physiotherapist, like, he knows what he’s talking about. XD

Headache onset by 11:25 AM. Shit, I wish I took my CBD oil to work. 

It’s definitely a constant presence in my mind - it makes working harder to a degree because a part of my mind is just always firing. But at the same time, work is also better because I have a reason to kind of fully invest myself mentally into work - the pain also sort of drives it. But it’s exhausting and unsustainable. 

Fictional Whump Thoughts From This:

Again, this is me dramatizing my thoughts. I don’t actually think exactly like this - there are parts that are true, but most of it is just me using my experience as a whump jumping point.

“Ah! Fuck... Dammit.” (in response to trying to do a movement drill on Saturday but realizing even just pulling back my left arm with power makes my right shoulder hurt)

“No no, I’m good, it’s okay. It’s just that it hurts a bit and I can’t lift heavy things, but I can still do a lot - it’s okay.”

“Hey, uh, could, um, could I get help out to the car with this?” (sheepishly asked at the grocery store for four measly bags - I ended up just carrying the light stuff on the right side and taking forever because it took too long and I was too embarrassed to wait for help. I’m otherwise able, so I shouldn’t use resources, right?)

“Oh, no, it’s fine - it’s a small price to pay, really. I felt super badass.” (Truth, but some people don’t get it)

[This is less fictional more real, but let’s say it’s dramatized a bit]: I’m really glad this happened to me and not one of my students. I’ve trained for this. And I signed up to do the board breaking knowing it would be harder, more risky and I would certainly be injured. If nothing else, I anticipated bloodied knuckles (I still have the scars from last year’s parade). This would have seriously injured a younger, less experienced student of mine - and would have had lasting mental consequences. Especially done in a public setting like a parade. A lot of people think the boards we break are fake or styrofoam. McDojos might do that, but my club has a history of hard, traditional-style training. Our boards are half inch pine. They’re easier to break, but they still hurt.

“fuck, this is hard without painkillers... this without painkillers or weed?... ugh, my day is gonna be way harder than it should be.”

[In response to my boyfriend’s question of ‘what can I do to make it better?’]: “Naw, I’m good, it’s just me complaining. Don’t mind me, it’s fine. Just complaining about it makes it easier to deal with the pain.”

There’s a definite sense of irritation that I can’t do my usual activities to reduce tension in my neck. I can’t shake my head quickly, my neck mobility is limited, I’m getting tension pains in my left trap now, great.

When I’m in consistent, low-level pain, I often forget to breathe. When deep breathing pulls on the muscles in the shoulder due to how all the torso muscles connect, it makes it even worse.

Okay, legit tho, I’m starting to feel bummed out. So I’mma go throw myself into work.

Again, this is something I did to myself. A lot of my online friends don’t get why I’m so dedicated to this. But I’ve noticed martial artists all react to my injuries with the same reaction I have - sympathetic, but ultimately we’re a bunch of testosterone-ridden fools who like to brag about battle scars. And then ask for heat packs or back rubs ‘cause we’re bunches of teddy bears when we’re not fighting each other.

Anyways, legit this could probably turn into a series for me. I tend to be the whumpee or the caretaker in a lot of scenarios. 

Is this something y’all are good with? Would you prefer this be formatted differently? Anything else you want to know? Otherwise I’mma keep doin’ it just like this.

#whump #self-whump #it's cause i'm an idiot #its ok dont worry #fight whump #bruising #joint injury #shoulder injury #martial arts #temashiwari #whump prompts #might do a separate whump prompt post in the future #lemme know if this is something you guys want #rough is

[theultimateclusterfuck]

Coffee and Cigarettes 2: Why are you psychic?

When Gerard Way woke up this morning, he didn’t expect for Lindsey Ballato to be in his room with a pack of cigarettes and Tylenol. Then again, Gerard didn’t think Lindsey knew him well enough to know he would be hungover from whatever night he had. While trying to recall how he got home last night, he took in the surroundings of his room.

           His clothing was everywhere, including the clothing that he assumed he was wearing last night. Even with Lindsey here, the walls really did seem to close in on him. At least if he has his blanket over him, the monsters under the bed and caving walls couldn’t get to him. Oh, and she couldn’t see that he is buck-ass naked.

           “You’re not wearing clothing, are you? Gerard you fucking slut, tell me you at least used a condom. No, actually. Don’t tell me.” Lindsey of course, was disappointed in him. This seemed to be most mornings now, if you could even call them mornings. At one in the afternoon, Lindsey Ballato came over to Gerard’s house to make sure he wakes up at all.  

           Although Lindsey’s habits aren’t that much better, she still worries for the poor bastard. They used to have kind of a thing, then Gerard was a whore and she wanted to experiment. She determined that if she poked her head into his house every once in a while, to make sure he’s alive it would be enough.

           Gerard appreciates the sentiment, but he isn’t entirely sure why she still does this. He reckons that she is the closest thing he’s got to a best friend, so he never asks.

           “Why are you physic?” Gerard carefully put together words as he realized his head is pounding.

“Because you haven’t taken the cigarettes out of my hand yet, so I just kinda assumed.” She makes a point, part of his headache is from the growing nicotine withdrawal.

“Is Mikey not home or something?” Gerard remembered that his younger brother existed and that he wouldn’t be happy with Lindsey giving him cigarettes. Gerard is 19 at this point, so he doesn’t get what the fucking deal is.

“I popped my head into his room and said hi to him too. Unlike you, he was up and doing shit instead of dying. He also asked me to tell you to turn on some music or fuck a little quieter next time, he’s getting sick of this shit.”

“He’s been sick of it for a few years now, get with the program. Also, when did you suddenly become buddies with Mikey?”

“Do you want the fucking cigarettes or not?”

 By now, Mikey had left the house, presumably to go to that Ray kid’s house. He didn’t mind Ray, he just hasn’t talked to him a lot.

Lindsey finished her uncomfortably condescending lecture about drugs and safe sex and shit, and now they’ve settled for watching a movie and “cuddling”. Whenever she doesn’t have a consistent fling going on, Gerard is cool with being friends with benefits. They started making out and clothes were slowly coming off when suddenly the sound of Bert McCracken’s stupid fucking truck had to pull up.

Gerard puts on clothing for once and goes outside to see it isn’t just Bert this time.

When he steps outside, he remembers his huge fucking headache exists, and that the only thing keeping it at bay was nicotine. He lights another cigarette and gives one to Bert, not forgetting to throw him a loving glare for cock-blocking him.

Bert honestly just wanted to show off the cute little black-haired boy that he was eventually going to get in the pants of, even if it won’t be today. He couldn’t just go back to his place with Frank since Bob was still there, and truthfully, he still wasn’t all that interested with being in touch with Bob again. Gerard’s house is always kind of the back-up plan, and he gets to brag about how much more ass he gets than Gerard.

Gerard already knew his intentions, he just didn’t care.

However, this kid that he brought with him is awfully quiet, which is a change of pace for Bert’s usual type. Gerard sat by the big tree in his front yard and everyone circled around. Lindsey eventually wandered out, glaring at Bert who at that point gathered what he had interrupted. Not that he cared, anyway.

 Frank felt out of his element as he sat in this stranger that he Facebook stalks’ front yard. He stared into his coffee and tuned out the conversation the other four people were having. It seemed to consist of disappointing life choices and weed, two things that Frank knew a little too much about but didn’t care enough about to have anything to say. That Lindsey girl seemed nice though, she’s been trying to get him to feel included. It didn’t work, but Frank appreciates it anyway.

He couldn’t help but notice a pair of hazel eyes on him, and every once in a while, he would look up and meet those eyes. He gave Gerard a smile once, and he just looked away, presumably about as uncomfortable with the situation as Frank is.

 As if Frank couldn’t get more uncomfortable, a blonde woman pulled into the driveway. Gerard heavily sighed and braced himself, making sure to put out the cigarette before confronting his mother.

Donna Way, who is honestly just doing the best she can at this point not only realized her son was smoking since she pulled onto their street but realized she didn’t know anyone that is currently sat outside her house aside from said son and Lindsey.

“Care to introduce me to the gang? Maybe after you finish that cigarette you thought I wouldn’t notice?” Donna has become nearly apathetic to Gerard’s smoking habits at this point, but since she could also smell the weed off him she decided to throw salt at him anyway.

“This is Bert and Bob, you already know Lindsey, and this is Frank, right?” He had finally acknowledged the other black-haired guy sat across from him.

“Yeah, I’m Frank. Nice to meet you-”

“Donna. I’m gonna go inside and take a nap or something. Let me know if you need anything.” Gerard raised an eyebrow at Frank, who didn’t have the time to think about it because his own mother just shot him a text requesting his presence at home.

“Hey Bob, I gotta go. I think I’ll just walk home since it’s not too far away.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Frank nodded and grabbed his coffee.

“It was nice to meet all of you,” Lindsey smiled at him and offered a fist bump, Bert tried to pull him into another hug, dodged by high-fiving him instead, and Gerard followed Lindsey’s lead.

“It was a pleasure meeting you as well, Frank.” Those words lingered in Frank’s head, as well as the small, dare he say, smile that he gave him.

As he walked away, he went back to the Suggested Friends page once again, except this time he pressed Send Request beside Gerard Way’s name.

#frerard #gerard way #frank iero #donna is an angel #fanfic

[spiritualcuriosities]

Backyard wildflowers 1/?

(A series of posts on wildflowers and volunteers in my backyard. I wanna share my flower and plant pics. My parents have been letting the garden go more this past year so I have lots of pics of the "weeds". I fought off so many mosquitos to take these.)

One of my favorite times of the year is now, when summer is on its way out and fall is scooching in. I love the weather and I love GOLDENROD!

A member of the aster family, goldenrod is a huge variety of plants spanning over 100 species, most native to North America. They can be seen brightening fields, roadsides, and open woods in late summer to the first frost, depending on species and hardiness zone. Most species don't like to be disturbed much, so anywhere off the side is Free Realestate™️. They're often seen as a weed and blamed for seasonal allergies, but they are insect-pollinated as seen above, not air-pollinated - their pollen doesn't cause congestion or itchy eyes (unless you shove your face directly into the flowers). If you're interested in insects, watching over some goldenrod is sure to give you a nice variety of native pollinators to admire. You can literally watch pollen sacs fill up in bright yellow. Our patches often host bumblebees and other small native bees. Butterflies, too.

That being said, goldenrod doesn't play nice with others. It's an aggressive perrenial and spreads quickly and efficiently, using both aerial seeds and rhizomes to take over flowerbeds. It can be considered an invasive species if introduced to another ecosystem. Some species are less aggressive, but they're less likely to be the volunteers springing up on your property or by the railroads. Ime, it does better with other aggressive native plants. The phlox and black-eyed susans in our yard balance them fairly well. If you don't want them in yours, pull em up sooner rather than later. They're harder to uproot the older they get.

Scientific name: Solidago spp.

Common names: Aaron's rod, woundwort, goldruthe, goldenrod

Height: 2 - 6.5 feet (depending on species)

Uses: can be used to make pretty yellow dye, as well as herbal tea. The leaves of all species of goldenrod are edible, and can be used medicinally (WITH CAUTION). They are diuretic, anti-inflammatory, and can be found in a pill form (more reliable dosage and guaranteed food grade, so no worries about pesticides or roadside pollution) as an herbal supplement. Doctors are still studying it, and there is "insufficient data on its effectiveness". Please remember that even if a plant is "all natural", that doesn't mean it won't have side effects or that it won't negatively interact with other meds or herbal treatments. Even stuff like Tylenol. Consult a doctor or licensed herbalist who knows your medical history. I've never eaten ours cuz I already pee a lot (they're diuretic, remember), our leaves often have an unknown fungus on them, and I live in Chicago so contamination with neighbors' pesticides and stuff is possible.

Personal Associations: (YMMV) drawing things to you, liminality, joy, confidence, warmth, mutual support, abundance, meeting goals through more than one way/path, wishes (native alternative to dandelion seeds), determination/perseverance, if you want a spell to lodge its roots deep and grab hold hard and fast it's a good plant to recruit. This may make it harder to undo, tho. Goldenrod's worked with magic users and herbalists for a long time, so it tends to be easier to approach and work with.

Warning: MAKE SURE a plant is truly edible and you aren't allergic to it before harvesting. Goldenrod has DEADLY look-alikes. (I may do a post on em, tho I haven't found any near my house). DONT DIE. Harvest Responsibly, most golden rod are native species. Google how to do that.

Now that that's done:

Look at these fuckers

These babes grow over 6ft tall. Called Solidago gigantea for a fuckin reason. (Ft. Some black eyed susans and a little pink phlox hiding back there). They prefer full sun

Look how tiny those compound flowers are.

Serrated 3-veined alternating leaves, no branching stem, leaves tend to get slightly bigger further down the stem, no leaves at the base. Diameter of stem is almost an inch. Somewhat woody. Deep roots.

The height on this dude is close to 5ft, but the way the flowers cluster and arc on it seems different from the S. gigantea species. Not sure, but possibly S. canadensis? Goldenrods make hybrids easily due to the large variety, so taxonomy is difficult. Local field guides can help. Couldn't get a closer look cuz the wild blackberry was stAbBIng mE.

No idea what these pointy pyramid/mountain kids are either. Bugs like em tho. Its not a fluke, there's multiple of them in the more shady area of the yard. Seems to be comfy in partial shade. No leaf serration, single vein, alternating growth with leaf rosettes, couldn't see the base. I wanna say 4-5 ft tall?

#plants #goldenrod #solidago #backyard wildflowers #mine #what do you mean #i cant do read mores on tumblr mobile??? #long post #sorry #what do you mean no one asked for this