physically taxing

Are you fucking kidding me?

I just saw a post telling people that they should be pissed about Koogi’s break

I.am.livid

“We have every right to be pissed”

“She took on this job - do it right”

“Stop treating koogi like she’s special and needs special treatment”

Are you for real?

Like…

This young, young woman creates content for you to drool and gush over weekly and you have the nerve to complain when she needs a rest?

We should be so fucking grateful that we even have Killing Stalking to begin with. 

Not to mention, In japan at least, making manga is an extremely taxing job. They don’t get a break. They literally work all damn day. Aren’t we just fucking lucky that Koogi, in Korea(not speaking for every manhwa artist), has the chance to even have breaks? Not only that, but I’m sure she doesn’t make that much money. So…pumping out this wonderful story, with amazing art, weekly, with little pay, doesn’t deserve a break?

Stop being so damn entitled.

And “treating her like she’s special” - you mean treating her like a human being?

Yeah, the fandom often babies her and worships her feet, but why is that a bad thing? This woman, whom we’re so grateful and appreciative of…who makes this story that we all love and adore…is there something wrong with admiring that?

For fuck sakes, I admire her for being able to even get the manhwa out weekly..

You do have every right to be upset about the hiatus, but pissed? Fuck right off.

Everyone deserves a break. Not to mention, if we never give Koogi a break, how mentally and physically taxing would that be? Working all the time with no break, but you’d have no problem with that, right? Because she’s supposed to be a “professional”, that’s what she signed up for, right?

“I stuck up for her hiatus the first time..but this time..no” Well aren’t you just special. Because she needed a break once, it was all g, no problemo, but a second break???TWO???? No WAY! !!! ! 

It’s.only.one.damn.month

You can’t expect everything to be handed to you on a silver plate without the server needing to rest every now and again.

I’ll say it one more time, stop acting so fucking entitled.

“A Wish for 100″

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Midnight strikes, officially marking Bucky’s 100th birthday. You surprise the super-soldier with a small treat and a gift that has potential to change everything.

A/N: ending the last few hours of the day by wishing a happy 100th to our sweet plum, bucky barnes! // i wrote this in 7 minutes (i timed myself, hurrah) so it’s an incoherent mess. i’ll probably delete this sometime next week xx

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Bucky leans against the headboard of his bed, bringing the covers closer to his body before crossing his arms against his chest. He watches as the second hand of the clock make its way around, hypnotically ticking away.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

In a few minutes, he’ll be 100-years-old, and it baffles him that he’s been on this planet for a century. He’s outlived his parents, his contemporaries, and everything he considered to be home. His age isn’t something he’s too keen on, especially since he’s spent over half of those “one hundred years of life” as a brainwashed weapon for a terrorist organization.

Birthdays are still a weird concept, and he prefers to not make a big deal out of them. He’s requested his teammates to treat it like any other day, and he doesn’t want any special attention. Lucky for him, the Avengers members with a flare for surprises and events are on a mission, and hopefully the rest of the team will oblige to his request.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

His breath hitches.

It’s midnight.

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anonymous asked:

HEY ROHINI HIT ME WITH A COOL SCIENCE FACT

You have two humans, two individuals, who are going through a ritual. They are sitting at a table. They’re absolutely silent. They’re making no eye contact, and they do nothing more physically taxing than every now and then, one of them picks up their hand and moves a little piece of wood on the table. And if these happen to be the right two individuals in the middle of a chess grandmaster tournament, these people are maintaining blood pressure for six hours running that you only see in a marathon runner. These people are going through thousands of calories a day doing nothing more than thinking. (x)

[Graves is] probably a lot more tired from the burden of responsibility that he lives within and under than the film was allowed the opportunity to explore…he is somebody who has physically and emotionally taxed himself for the good of wizardkind.
—  Colin Farrell (x) aka Graves is a confirmed workaholic y’all 
safe now || theo raeken

description: in which you’re stolen from him, and theo does everything in his power to save you

requested by: anonymous

warnings: mentions of trauma, kidnapping, blood, injury, violence, mentions of death and loss, angst

notes: this is the longest thing i have ever written i’m pretty sure. the original request included smut but the theme was too heavy to add it in, plus it’s long enough as it is. also, because of its length it may crash for some mobile users, and i apologize if it does lmao.

In his short lifetime, Theo had made a lot of enemies. He’d done a lot of terrible things. He’d killed, he’d antagonized, he’d deceived. Everyone that hated him had a right to do so. But in the years following his time in Beacon Hills, Theo had changed.

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anonymous asked:

This is what Harry's co-star Fionn said about the water scenes "Then I went to the beaches and I was swimming in full war gear, which once it got waterlogged was about 60, 80 pounds"

Like I give Harry so much credit for choosing to do a film that’s so emotionally and physically taxing he really went for it

nerdyholler  asked:

For the intimacy prompts: ♖: Having their hair washed by the other, Shakarian or Kandros x Ryder, your choice.

[[Because my own mind is trash, my immediate thought was a post ME3 fic, so I could have that much more pain in there.]]

“Garrus, I can wash my own hair.” Shepard pushed herself up from the wheelchair where she was still spending at least several hours a day, legs wobbling beneath her. No. She could do this. She could stand and walk the few steps it would take to get to the Normandy’s shower, just like she could somehow convince her bruised and broken body to let her remove her own clothing, just like she could convince a broken hand and several broken fingers to lather her hair and let it wash out the drain. The Normandy. Home. She was home, not in the hospital, and she wanted to feel human again.  

Her left leg buckled and Shepard started to go down, Garrus catching her elbow and propping her up, not saying anything, just being there, something to lean against. He was like a wall, but warmer, more comfortable. “Shepard.” A single word to break the silence of her shaking steps, but that was all he needed.  

Garrus undressed her slowly, movements careful and not sensual. “I’m not going to break,” Shepard said irritably, though she had to secretly confess to herself that it was a relief that his hands didn’t brush her numerous cuts and wounds with too much force. It helped that she was not yet at the point where she could wear most normal clothes, relying on a tunic someone had helpfully sewn the N7 insignia onto, as if this could make her feel better.  

He undressed himself next, more out of practicality than for anything else; there was no need for Garrus to get his clothing completely soaked in the process. Shaking off all his offers of help, Shepard walked herself to her private bathroom, leaning against the wall when she had finally got there, flicking on the water as hot as it would go and hissing as it stung every inch of her body even as it relaxed her muscles. One day she wouldn’t be in pain, but the road to recovery was still almost endless; she couldn’t see where it might take her. Chakwas had wanted to put a seat and a bar in the shower, but Shepard had stopped the doctor there. There were already so many reminders of what that last battle had done to her battered body. She didn’t need one more, even if it meant that every shower was a physically taxing experience. 

Garrus came in behind her silently, letting the water hit him and sighing slightly. “Too hot for you?” she teased, trying to disguise how much she was relying on the tiled wall to hold herself up.  

“Hardly, Shepard. Here.” He took the shampoo, reaching around her easily. It was a bottle Shepard hadn’t seen before- someone had been into her space, tried to make things comfortable, and she strongly suspected the culprit was standing right behind her. A scent reminiscent of the sea filled the small space- something salty, underlaid with something sweeter. It reminded her, with an unexpected pang, of Thane and Mordin, the people she’d lost so recently.  

“Can I?” The shampoo pooled awkwardly in Garrus’ hand, and Shepard nodded, stepping slightly out of the spray so he could gently lather her hair, his claws providing an unexpected scalp massage as he worked it through, not getting ideal coverage but at least trying his best. She found herself relaxing even more, leaning slightly against Garrus.  

Even though she was still standing, Shepard was still so tired. They told her that was part of recovery- resting and sleeping were the best thing she could do for her body, but also the hardest thing for her to do. Something about sitting still felt so unnatural, but you could only come back from the dead so many times before you realized listening to your ship’s doctor might be the best course of action. “You’re pretty bad at this, Garrus,” she said, water punctuating her words.  

He grunted in affirmation, helping her rinse out her hair, supporting her as the water rolled down her face, cleansing as anything could have ever been. Her bandages would have to be changed after this, an act of intimacy with which they were both already far too familiar.  

“Shepard, you want to go on that vacation after this? You, me, the beach, those drinks with little umbrellas in them.”  

“I don’t think my body is swimsuit ready, Garrus.” It might never be. She was lucky she could even walk, but gratitude was hard to find.  

“Looks pretty good to me, Shepard.” He teased the back of her neck with a kiss to punctuate her point and she swatted at him, too tired to do much else but lean into him again. If she never had to get out of the shower again, that would be great.  

Rinse, lather, repeat. If Garrus had learned one thing from watching too many vids, it was that. The shampoo was cool on the top of her head, a fresh wash of the sea filling their small space again. “To hell with it. We both deserve a vacation. You find a planet and I’m there.” His hands were playing with her hair still, trying to braid it but not doing much other than tangle it hopelessly. It was good he couldn’t see the smile she was hiding incredibly poorly.  

“I already have a place in mind. Miles of white sand and not a single Reaper in sight.” Now Shepard turned to look at Garrus, putting her arms around him gratefully.  

“What would I do without you, Garrus?” He had been with her since she first woke up, was with her still for every part of recovery. People in her life came and went, but Garrus stayed, her only constant.  

“Have really dirty hair, Shepard.” 

The Countdown

Taehyung googles his symptoms and convinces himself he’s got a week to live, Yoongi’s coerced into helping write his will, and you’re just trying not to go insane.

a belated birthday present for the wonderful amazingly perfect @taesthetes !!! it’s three days late, unfortunately. See end for full list of disclaimers and notes.

6.7k words, fluff + comedy, taehyung/reader, normalverse


It begins with a cough.

A singular cough, insubstantial to the larger picture. Taehyung ignores it. That is, until suddenly his chest and throat seize and he feels this strange pressure and irresistible scratchy feeling that results in a whole slew of coughing and hacking.

With a grunt he slumps into his chair and immediately fumbles for his phone. The coughing’s stopped now, but the feeling of impending doom has yet to go away. As do the slightly woozy, borderline-feverish feeling and the sniffling of his nose.

Quickly, before he can possibly drop dead, he dials the number of the one person he can trust in times like these:

Keep reading

From the Dining Table, Pt. 3 (Ethan)

Summary: Ethan finds you living at the brick house, only to be greeted with more surprises than he can handle at once.

Word Count: 3,288

Warnings: Depictions of vomiting

Author’s Note: Woo hoo, I finally have part three up! This took longer than I expected, but I wanted to make sure it was the best it could be for you guys. This piece is written from Ethan’s POV again, and there are a couple of song influences in this piece that I recommend listening to while reading: Stella by All Time Low (you’ll know when the time will come to listen to this song), and Medicine by Daughter. Long paragraphs in italics are flashbacks. Also, “Y/F/L/N” means “your first and last name.” I hope you guys enjoy and keep an eye out for part four! Requests are open.

Part 1, Part 2


“Freshman year is over! Thank Jesus because if it lasted for even a moment longer, I would have stabbed my eyeballs out with forks and fed them to my math teacher.”

Y/N came skipping toward me, backpack in tow, her hair fluttering behind her. The laces on her Vans were loose as usual and her sweatshirt was tied around her waist, most likely suffocating her in the late May humidity. Her eyes were full of life and as she broke out in a smile, I inhaled sharply. No girl had ever been more beautiful than Y/N.

“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic?” I brought myself back to reality and gave Y/N my side eye. She nudged me softly.

“I’m sorry, did Ethan Dolan of all people just call me out for being dramatic? Are my ears working correctly?”

“Ethan Dolan, sophomore in high school, you mean. You forgot to add that part in.”

Y/N giggled. “I apologize, Ethan Dolan, sophomore in high school. But you know you and Y/F/L/N, also a sophomore in high school, are going to have the most spectacular summer in the history of spectacular summers. I can already feel it in my bones.”

“Duh,” I snorted. “Anything is spectacular when I’m with you.”

Every day after school, I waited for Y/N in the front parking lot after school so we could walk home together, and today, the last day of our freshman year of high school, was no exception. As I offered to take her sweatshirt and backpack so she wouldn’t have to carry them, she laced her fingers with mine and we began the trek to our neighborhood.

“Can we take the shortcut today, E? I want to go to the brick house.”

“Y/N, we were just at the brick house yesterday.”

“I know, but it’s so beautiful, and I want to lay under the willow tree with you. Please, E?”

I forced back a giggle as I led her off of the paved sidewalk and onto a winding dirt path. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.”

A couple of minutes later, my back was on the grass of the unkept front lawn, my head supported by my backpack, and my arms wrapped around Y/N. Her breathing was slow and even, and the shade from the large, slumped tree provided some relief from the humidity. As I glanced around, I caught sight of the “for sale” sign buried deep in the sod. It had been there for months, maybe even years, the previous owners long abandoned the property and the bank had been unable to find new occupants. Part of me understood why; in addition to the grass growing unruly, the landscaping had all but died, the red brick exterior was chipping away, and the shudders on the windows were barely hanging on their hinges. But for some reason, Y/N loved that place since she first laid eyes on it, and anything she loved, I suddenly loved, too. Closing my eyes, I prayed to God that this moment would never be interrupted, that it would last forever.

“I’m going to buy this house one day.” Y/N’s voice floated through the air, breaking the silence.

I began to run my fingertips up and down her back. “I know, you’ve told me.”

“And you’re going to live in it with me, E.”

That was a sentiment she had never muttered before, and it caught me off guard, to say the least. I shifted my head to make eye contact with her, but when I found her face, her eyes were still closed, face contently resting on my chest.

“What? Really?”

“Duh, E. I know you like this house because I like it. And I know you like whatever I like because you like me.”

I shifted underneath Y/N, suddenly sweating but not because of the summer Jersey heat. “Y/N, I—Well, see, I—“

“You don’t have to lie or pretend like you don’t like me, E,” she cut me off matter-of-factly, eyes still closed. “I see the way you look at me every day I walk out of school. You never protest when I reach out to hold your hand, and when we have sleepovers, you always insist on laying in my bed with me. You never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk and you buy me flowers every Sunday. I don’t have any other friends who do that for me.”

I lay silently, holding my breath, waiting for her to continue.

“But, why do you think I’m always so excited to get those flowers? Why do you think I’m eager to let you sleep in my bed with me, and why do you think I want to hold your hand all the time? I like you too, E, I have since we were kids and you and your family first moved in down the road.”

I opened my mouth to respond to her, but I realized I was stunned into silence. Y/N began tracing circles on my chest with her nail, and my heartrate picked up. The girl of my dreams was finally admitting that she liked me back?

So,” Y/N spoke, causing my heartrate to pump even faster. “Do you think it’s time we finally call this thing official, or what?”

“Wait, what?”

Y/N opened her eyes and sat up to look at me. “Don’t play dumb, E. Can I call you my boyfriend now, or what?”

The background behind Y/N faded from view until all I could see were her glistening eyes staring into mine.

“But—but, we’re only fifteen.” Those were the only words I could think of.

“The sooner we can start our forever, the better, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” I grinned, finally coming to terms with what was happening. Y/N was going to be my girlfriend, and then my fiancée, and then eventually my wife. Holy. Shit.

Y/N lay back down on my chest, closing her eyes again. “’Ethan Dolan, my boyfriend.’ It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

I closed my eyes too and began drifting into a state of euphoria.

“It really does.”


Staring at the house now, the official beginning of my relationship with Y/N flashes in front of my eyes. She fixed up the entire property; the lawn is freshly mowed, the willow tree is trimmed and well-maintained, the brick has been repaved, and new shudders have been placed on the windows. She even replaced the dead foliage lining the wrap-around porch with yellow tulips, her favorite kind of flower. Looking at all of this, acid rises in my throat and once again I’m working to force back vomit. Even with as much love as Y/N has for this house, there’s absolutely no way she would have been able to fix this whole thing up alone; it would have been too physically taxing for someone of her size and build, which means she either hired a home improvement company to completely renovate the property, or a stronger, able-bodied spouse would have had to do it…

I shudder, forcing the thought away from my mind. I know very well that the reality I might find behind the front door could leave me breathless and weak, but my feet begin to move up the front walk regardless. After reading the letter, experiencing the same heartache I put Y/N through, and then traveling across the country to find her, there’s absolutely no way I could turn around now and never find out about that reality. Y/N deserves more than that. She at least deserves to know I finally came searching for her.

Ethan Dolan, my boyfriend. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’

Y/N voices echoes repeatedly in my brain as I approach the front door, and I swat at my ear to try and silence the noise. A shaky thumb reaches out to press the doorbell, a thumb that I know is mine but suddenly looks and feels foreign. I hear a muffled ring sound behind the walls of the brick house, and my breath catches in my throat. I stand there, frozen, just waiting.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, and wait—

Soft footsteps approach the door, and my whole world begins to move in slow motion. The lock flips at snail speed and the knob turns even slower. I blink heavily, and when my vision returns to me, I’m suddenly met with glowing eyes that are all too familiar, eyes that widen in my presence, seemingly unable to process what’s happening. I’m met with eyes that still cause me to go weak in the knees, after all of this time.

“Ethan,” Y/N breathes, letting her mouth fall open. All of the color drains from her face as I begin fishing around in my pocket for the piece of paper I placed in it minutes ago. Pulling it from its spot, I struggle to hold it up, the paper suddenly weighing thousands of pounds in my hand.

“May I come in?”

Y/N doesn’t say anything; rather, she presses her lips together in a hard line and shuffles to the side to make room in the entry way for me. As I step in the door and she closes it behind me, I catch a whiff of her perfume and the familiar scent brings tears to my eyes. She’s been wearing the same aroma all this time.

“Ethan,” Y/N exhales again as she begins to put distance between us. Her body is tense and I’m unsure if I should follow her or not, so I shift in my spot and clear my throat, half-temped to dart out of the door and hop back on a plane to L.A. I want so badly for this to all be a bad dream.

“Eight years,” Y/N mutters as she glances at the worn note, eyes still wide.

“I know, I know.” I look down at the hardwood floor, trying to escape her icy gaze.

“You found me.”

“I know.”

“I… I bought the house.”

“I know.”

“You’re standing in it, with me.”

“I know.”

“And I—“

“Mommy, who was at the door?” A small, feminine voice interrupts Y/N, and I whip my head around to find a toddler girl with long black hair and a heart shaped face jumping down the carpeted staircase nearby. She takes the steps two at a time until she reaches the bottom, and flies past me into Y/N’s arms, which are now open, waiting for her. I blink rapidly, Y/N’s mother’s voice filling my ears:

‘But I should warn you, Ethan. She doesn’t live there alone.’

I now understand what she meant by that.

“Oh, my god… ‘Mommy’?” I whimper, looking at Y/N, who’s rocking the girl back and forth. She gulps forcefully and takes a couple of steps toward me, but her gaze rests on her daughter.

“Sweetie, this is Mr. Ethan, an old friend of Mommy’s. He’s very friendly; would you like to introduce yourself to him?”

“Sure,” she responds, working herself out of Y/N’s arms to stand directly in front of me and extend her hand. “Hi, Mr. Ethan, nice to meet you.”

I take her hand in mine and shake it delicately while my mouth dries from disbelief. “I’m Y/N’s daughter, and I just turned four years old. My name is Stella.”

Suddenly, I feel as if I’ve just been shot in the chest. I rapidly let go of her hand and my eyes find Y/N’s, only to see they’re filled with tears. She shrugs apologetically as my eyebrows furrow together, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with another memory of Y/N and me:


Driving down the highway at eighty miles an hour, Y/N and I couldn’t escape the city fast enough. We were both nineteen and we had decided that we were suffocating under the bright Hollywood lights, so we threw together a weekend bag and hit the road, driving north until we found a desolate motel with no cable to camp out at for the weekend. At that moment, because neither of us were able to find words to mutter to each other, I had my phone plugged into the aux cord and shuffled my library, desperate for any kind of music to fill the atmosphere long enough until we were cleared of the Los Angeles smog. Some R&B song danced through the speakers of my SUV, and after a Drake tune, Y/N sitting quietly through both of them, staring out the window. However, once the first few chords of an All Time Low smash hit her ears, she perked up and began singing along.

“‘3 PM, on my feet and staggering/Through misplaced words and a sinking feeling, I got carried away…’”

I glanced over at her in the passenger seat, taking in the way her fingers tapped to the beat of the drums against her bare thigh and the way her head swayed to the melody. She didn’t notice I was watching her until the second verse arrived; she stopped singing and narrowed her eyes at me.

“E, you should really watch the road. We’re weaving in and out of six lanes of traffic.”

“I can’t help it when I have a masterpiece dancing next to me.”

“I love this song, what can I say?”

“I know, that’s why you downloaded it onto my phone.”

“You say that to me a lot.”

“What?”

“’I know.’ Almost everything I say, that’s how you respond to it.”

“That’s because I know almost everything about you.”

She raised an eyebrow at me as the bridge of the song began. “Well, did you know that because of this song, if I ever have a daughter, I want to name her ‘Stella’?”

I opened my mouth in shock. “No, actually, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I do.”

“Stella…” I let the name roll of my lips a couple of times, liking how it sounded more and more with each syllable. “Alright, sweetheart, you’ve got it. Our first daughter’s name is officially ‘Stella’.”

“But what if we end up not having kids together?”

I frowned at the thought, upset that something so awful would ever cross her mind. “Well… First of all, that’s not going to happen, but if it did… then… then you can’t name her that. That name is reserved for our little girl.”

Y/N smiled. “You’ve got a deal, E.”

I rolled my foot over the gas pedal, speeding faster into the dark abyss as Y/N and I linked hands, belting out the final chorus together:

“’You’re only happy when I’m wasted/I point my finger but I just can’t place it

Feels like I’m falling in love, when I’m falling to the bathroom floor

I remember how you tasted/I’ve had you so many times—let’s face it

Feels like I’m falling in love alone/Stella, won’t you take me home?’”


My knees weaken as Stella disappears around the entry way corner. Y/N approaches me to whisper in my ear, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“It’s been eight years. We have a lot to talk about. Come sit on the couch before you pass out; you look like you could eat the ground at any moment.”

“You promised you’d save that name for us, Y/N.”

“Well, you promised you’d come back for me and yet here we are eight years later, so I guess both of us are at fault now.”

I wince at the sting of Y/N’s words.

“Do you want to sit down, Ethan, or not?”

I place my hand on the forearm Y/N extends to me, and as she leads me to her living room, my entire body is flooded with warmth from her skin. Rounding the same corner Stella ducked behind moments ago, an open floor plan reveals itself to me. The couches to my left are brown and shrouded in faux leather, and to my right is a kitchen area with white countertops and an island in the middle. Stella is standing on her toes on a stepstool in front of the farmhouse sink, filling multiple glasses with water. As I plop down on the sofa and scan all of the family pictures and rustic décor, I’m struck at how much the house just screams Y/N, and I wasn’t there to help her decorate any of it.

“Would you like some water, Mr. Ethan?”

Stella’s voice pulls my attention and I suddenly see her in front of me, holding the glasses she was just filling.

“Why, yes, I would. Thank you,” I croak, taking the plastic cup from her and downing the liquid in a couple gulps.

“Stella, I’m going to get Mr. Ethan a blanket from upstairs. Keep him company for me until I come back, okay?”

Stella glances longingly at Y/N and wipes her hair that has fallen into her eyes. “Okay, Mommy. I can do that.” As Y/N leaves the room, Stella grabs a couple of picture frames off of the coffee table and sits down next to me.

“Would you like to see pictures of my daddy, Mr. Ethan?”

I clench my teeth together as the room begins spinning. I know I couldn’t avoid the topic forever, but I didn’t want to face it so soon. Not now, not with the house and Stella and Y/N… It’s all too much at once.

“Um, sure, that would be fine,” I mumble against my better judgement.

Stella hands me a professionally taken photo of the three of them. They’re lying on a blanket in the middle of the woods, all laughing and cuddled up together. I stare at the incredibly familiar looking man in the photo, who has dark irises, brown locks, and tan skin, until it hits me:

Oh, my god. He looks just like me.

“This was the last picture we all took together. My daddy’s name was Damien.”

I look at Stella, confusion flooding my face. “What do you mean, ‘was’?”

“My daddy isn’t alive anymore. I don’t remember much about him. Mommy said someone was driving a car and hit daddy while he was driving a car, but I don’t remember that either.”

I lean back against the back of the couch winded, not sure how to respond. Y/N is single? There’s no man in the picture anymore?

“When did this happen?”

“Um, I’m not sure, Mr. Ethan. I think I was two.”

Holy shit. He’s been dead for two years.

Stella continues to place photos in my lap and tell me about them, but I’m only half listening to her. In a matter of less than ten minutes, I found Y/N, I lost her to her daughter, I lost her to her husband, and then I got her back due to this untimely force of the universe called death. Suddenly, nothing feels real anymore. My hands are shaking, my heart is racing, and my forehead breaks out in a cold sweat. I need some air. I need something besides this house. I’m suffocating between the walls.

Just as I shift my weight to stand, Stella hands me another picture that captures my attention, this time of her, Y/N, and a different man. “And this is me, Mommy, and Matthew. They’ve known each other for a little while. I like Matthew a lot, and it’s a good thing I do, because he and Mommy are getting married tomorrow, and I get to be in the wedding!”

As if her timing couldn’t be any more impeccable, Y/N appears in the living room holding a quilt. Her eyes dart to the frame, and then to mine, to the frame, and then to mine, desperation filling her pupils.

“Ethan, I was going to tell you. Stella just beat me to the punch, and I—“

I lean over the couch and throw up onto the floor.

This weekend, I was able to get out into public for the first time in a long time. My brother had a small wedding ceremony and some low key activities with the immediate families. I cannot tell you how exciting it was that I was able to make the ceremony and visit/participate and I was so proud of myself for laughing, smiling, not holding anyone back from doing what they wanted to do. I forgot what it is like to be in public when people can tell you are sick – the stares and comments that strangers make. It’s not… fun, but I barely even cared because I was just so thrilled to be able to see my brother get married.

Physically it was very taxing, but, unfortunately, the physical strain wasn’t the worst that happened, but the unsolicited comments friends/family/strangers made about my illness. It was such an amazing weekend otherwise that I don’t want to mar it by complaining about how others treated me, but I decided it was time to address some of the judgements people make and some of the horrible comments people make to me (and I am guessing other chronically ill/disabled people).

Actual comments made to me this weekend (a lot of them have been said in some form or another at other times)


“You are pathetic. Everyone thinks you are pathetic. I am embarrassed for you. It is embarrassing. I am telling you because I care about you, and someone needs to tell you the truth.”

Not only is this not an exaggeration, but it isn’t the first time I have received a comment like this. I really don’t have a rebuttal because these comments are about how others perceive me and I can’t change their mind. I can say that I am fully aware that people feel like this, to the point where I tend to think it is secretly a majority opinion and the people who let me know are the ones who are being honest about how they feel. Maybe I am wrong, but it is one of the reasons I came out on Tumblr as being chronically ill. I’d like to help remove the stigma and, if nothing else, I am tired of being ashamed of it. But I have no delusions. Telling me this information, doesn’t improve my quality of life. I guess it’s good to be aware of how others see me, but it doesn’t change my health to know that people don’t like me being sick.

“You’ve been sick for too da@# long. If I were you, I would change my diet, change my mindset, schedule a new appointment every day. It is time to get better.”

This statement in many forms is actually EXTREMELY common. A few things. I don’t want to be sick. It is not enjoyable to be sick. I had a really good job, a house, a car, a fantastic boyfriend, I got scholarships to undergrad and my graduate school was paid for by my company, I was in really good shape ran/hiked/danced on the weekends, I had what I thought were amazing friends who were in similar situations and all of this was while I was still but not as bad as I am now. Hell yeah I am bragging about my life because I want you to know that I DON”T WANT TO BE SICK. I want my old life back. Now, many days I am embarrassingly dependent on others often for help getting food prepared, sometimes (when it is really bad) for things as simple as water. I have tried diet changes, I have tried attitude changes. I have tried 1000 things and I will try 1000 more. Doctors are not gods – even good ones sometimes just don’t have the research/information available because research takes FUNDING and someone who has the means to conduct and/or fund it whether it be a university or a pharmaceutical company, etc. Chronic illnesses tend to be chronic because there is no cure – yet. There are a lot of doctors, clinics, and other professionals that aim to improve the quality of life of those who are chronically ill. These methods can be expensive, they can be scams, they can be well-intended and work for others but just not for me and they can have some pretty intense side effects. The last medicine my doctor and I tried to use to improve my quality of life had me coughing up blood, vomiting, and peeing blood (never mind the pain it caused). The point to all of this is that I don’t want to be sick, and I am doing what I can and trying to make the best decisions for my health. If you want to offer advice on my health decisions, wait until you are involved enough in my care to make an educated guess.

 

“You used to be so strong. Now you are just weak. Push through it. You’ll get better if you just push yourself.”

This comment is sort of a combination of the two before. I am going to make this personal again to illustrate my point. I am the kind of person that would tape my broken finger to my normal finger so that I could finish a game of basketball, or would run on a broken foot because I didn’t want to sit out, or would bike up a mountain with a busted knee because I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I haven’t gotten any weaker. In fact, experts have suggested that I am as bad as I am because I didn’t listen to my body and pushed through pain and discomfort (and keep pushing because – I repeat – I don’t want to be sick). Plus, the scale of what I am dealing with has expanded. Also, some of my symptoms aren’t painful per se – parts of my body simply stop working or don’t work the way they are supposed to. There is nothing to push through (although I try). The point here is people call me weak and I wish they would realize how strong I still am.

There were more – particularly the stuff from strangers, but I ended up writing more than I thought I would. So I will stop here. If you have read this far, I don’t know if it has been meaningful, but maybe my anecdotes have helped with some misconceptions of chronic illness. I did more bragging than I am comfortable with, but I think people need to know that we aren’t less-than-human and we aren’t people who just can’t handle life, we are people who are sick and sometimes, we try to be happy despite our situation and there is no reason to have an opinion about that. There is really no reason to have an opinion about someone else’s illness at all.

Edit: I have some amazing family members and friends not mentioned here and I really need to devote some of my writing to them. So expect more of that in the future!

happyjuliexo  asked:

Hi mango ! Could you share some tips on wearing 2 very different cosplays in the same day at a con ? Like, do you re-do your full make-up between each etc. ? Thanks a lot ! I have to wear 2 costumes in the same day next convention if I want to both do a group cosplay with my friends in the morning and do the mascarade in the evening !

For the past nine years of cosplaying, I’ve done multiple costumes changes a day. After a few experiences at Katsucon this year, I am so over doing multiple costume changes each day, unless it’s into some variation of the same character. It just ain’t worth the 10+ hours of circle lenses or using up that much expensive makeup product. From now on: one costume per day, then a kigu or pajamas (again, unless it’s a casual/PJ version of whatever character I was already cosplaying that day). No more of this multiple-characters-per-day craziness that I’ve done when I was younger, I’m too old for it. x____x

That being said: here’s some advice if you do want to wear multiple costumes a day!

1. Make a schedule for the day and stick to it. Know when you have to be back in the room to change, making sure to account for how long it’ll take you to do so.

2. Unless you’re cosplaying characters with very, very similar looks, you’ll want to fully redo your makeup. It’s tedious and a pain, but it’ll give you the opportunity to wash off any build-up and look fresh for your next character.

3. Have a snack and hydrate before going out for round two. You’ve already been through one costume and likely a few photoshoots by this point. Make sure to replenish your energy with food and drink water while you have the chance!

4. If possible, lay out your second costume before leaving the hotel room in the morning. That way, when you come back, your next costume is already set out and ready to change into without having to hunt for it while tired. (Instead you can use this time to actually, idk, sit down and catch your breath.)

5. Plan to wear the more difficult/physically-taxing costume in the morning. The worst thing (at least, IMO!) is being out all day in a costume then coming back to the room and having to change into full armor or a giant ballgown. With my energy levels, I greatly prefer changing into a more comfortable costume for late afternoon/evening.

I hope some of that helps! As always, if anyone has other tips or bits of advice to offer, feel free to reply or reblog and add to the list! :D

As nice as it is to see everyone happy and getting along, the fact that we saw no resolution to all the weeks of drama, no actual face to face conversations or apologies, still amounts to lazy, or downright bad, writing. I can’t and won’t forget that, not after I suffered through weeks of poop.

But anyway… Today’s clip was beautiful. This is how it should’ve been all along: everyone having fun, commingling, drinking as they do and what not. Eva finally got some shine! Took a while but at least we got there. And my lovely Yousana…ugh, my heart is singing. Sana’s face when she was reading the messages and Yousef’s confused but smitten expressions, gawd! Boy do I love his face.
There’d better be more tomorrow. Like, actual talking and explaining and shiz.

I’m choosing to pretend that the ending didn’t happen. The only thing I liked about that was Sana’s “oh shit” expression as she elevator’d between the two of them. I legit LOL’d at that.

my biggest pet peeve about fanfiction sex

is jesus christ these are real developed characters with personalities and goals and traumas and flaws

they are NOT having sex like goddamn porn stars

if i’m reading fanfiction sex it’s because i want a more REALISTIC sex scene than “ooh they touched and it was instant fireworks” “the most powerful orgasm of his life” “instantly spiraling into uncontrollable moans of ecstasy”

like get real NOBODY loses their virginity like that

NO teenager knows how to have sex that good right off it just doesn’t HAPPEN

  • give me clumsy fanfiction sex!!! 
  • give me scenes where an overenthusiastic yami sticks his tongue too far down seto’s throat and he’s like “woah ok don’t do that”
  • give me scenes where characters actually say “here, touch me like this, you’re being too ___”
  • give me scenes where characters don’t think to say “here, touch me like this” until halfway through and then OH that’s how you’re doing it okay we’ll try that
  • honestly i want scenes where the sex is just “ok” 
  • the sex is “ok” and their cheeks are crusted with slobber from not fucking knowing how to KISS but there’s gentleness
  • or awkward sex! seto wanting to stop in the middle because it’s just WEIRD okay let’s take a breather
  • there’s room for plot development here lmao there’s room for improvement as people LEARN about each other’s bodies
  • don’t underestimate the handjob!!! we aren’t having hardcore anal fucking the first time we get naked!! let it build!! 
  • sex is physically taxing!! there is sweat and smell!! give me a charlie horse! give me exhausted middle of the night sex that’s ascended cuddling!! sometimes giving head is exhausting and you get a neck cramp and want to switch to another activity!! idk!
  • sometimes people just don’t cum together!!! sometimes people don’t cum at all! sometimes people cum within two seconds!! and laugh about it!! 
  • these are fuckin card game playing loser nerds ok i don’t want any more stories where they’re immediate sex gods jfc

this has been a PSA i’m putting this in the tags

3

week 3 homework for steve ahn’s online drawing workshop!! turnarounds of the upper body skeleton, muscles, and a character* overtop.

drawing anatomy has always been one of my weak points, so this week it felt especially important to push hard until i understood all of the parts & functions. these drawings aren’t perfect, and this has definitely been the most physically taxing week i’ve had in a long time; but through this assignment i learned a TON and am leaving it with a much better understanding of what’s going on underneath the surface! on to the next 5 weeks ✖‿✖

*i wouldn’t truly be me if i weren’t drawing ripped oikawa for homework

Requested by Anon:  Can you write a cute fluffy Sonny/reader where the reader’s pregnant and goes to visit Sonny at the precinct? The squad’s surprised at the reader’s visit because they didn’t know Sonny was married and expecting a child.

Warnings: Female reader (duh)


In your opinion, Sonny worked too much. 

But you knew it was because he loved his job and although it could be emotionally and physically taxing at time, he loved helping people and putting away their attackers. 

And that was one of the reasons you loved him so much. He had a passion for police work and law and you found it admirable.

But, you never saw him because of his work hours. Okay, never was an overstatement, but he usually was working on some case and he worked late some of those nights. You weren’t upset by it or anything, you knew he would always be there for you and your child when they came along, but you just missed him. 

So you took it upon yourself to one day stop by this coffee shop that you knew he liked and picked up coffee for him and his coworkers and pay him a surprise visit. 

You knew that he didn’t talk a lot about his personal life at work, but you weren’t sure how much the squad knew about you or if they even knew he was married. You wouldn’t be offended if he hadn’t said anything. It wasn’t like you were married after he transferred over, it wasn’t a new occasion and you understood that personal lives don’t neccassarily come up in his place of work.

You got your answer when you entered the precinct, looking very confused and very out of place when you got there. Then you caught sight of Sonny and smiled. “Bambino!” You called, using the nickname you playfully call him every now and then, even though you had no Italian blood in your lineage.

Sonny turned, and for a split second he was confused as to why anybody would even know of that name, let alone be calling him by it at work. Then he saw you walking towards him and grinned. “Doll, what are ya doin’ here?” He asked, though he wasn’t upset, more excited to see you.

“I thought I’d give you a visit and maybe meet some of your coworkers? I brought coffee.” You smiled widely, causing him to chuckle softly

“Well then let’s go to the squadroom and see who’s there.” He said, taking you by the arm in the gentle way he usually did out in public.

“Carisi, who’s this?” The question came from a blonde woman, who looked up from her desk curiously. That prompted everyone else in the room to look up from their desks and papers and stare at you. 

“Hey, this is my very pregnant wife, and she decided to bring us all coffee today, surprisingly.” Sonny said. He sounded almost proud to show you off to his friends, even though you were eight months pregnant and the size of a Mini Cooper.

“Carisi, since when are you married?” Someone asked from his desk across the room. 

“And expecting a child?” Another woman asked as she stood in the doorway of a separate room.

You took it upon yourself to pass out coffee after saying your name so that they at least knew what to call you. “Now, Sonny. Are you going to tell me who all these people are?” You said playfully, causing a few low chuckles.

Sonny blushed slightly. “Right, sorry.” He introduced you to Amanda, Fin, Olivia, Mike, and Nick. “And then you’ve met Barba.” You nodded slightly.

“So, um, Carisi, you’re married?” Amanda, the one who first looked up at you, asked him.

“We were married before he transferred here. I guess he doesn’t talk about me much, then.” You teased.

“Not at all. “ Fin said with a monotone voice but he was smiling. “Carisi, how’d you keep her hidden away so long? This coffee is great, too.” 

Sonny, unsurprisingly, had just gotten slightly redder but he looked so happy and proud that he had you in his life. The questions went on for a while and you got to relax a little and have a conversation with the squad, who seemed to like you. Hell, you’d like you if you brought coffee as a first impression.

When the small gathering ended and you had to go in for a doctor’s appointment, you bid goodbye to everybody and Sonny walked you back down to the car.

He kissed you outside of the car and grinned. “You’re truly the greatest.” He murmured.

You just smiled. “Did they like me?”You ask.

Sonny scoffed slightly. “Of course they did.” He pecked your lips softly. “I don’t know who wouldn’t.”

biomechatronic  asked:

I'm in the mood for some more jupeter cuddles- maybe after they haven't seen each other in a long time?

You should know that I started writing this while killing time before picking my little sister up from the airport.

Between me being nocturnal and living a lot closer to the airport than the rest of my family, I’m pretty frequently the designated driver when family members find themselves having to take late night flights. 

Keep reading

gretamaya  asked:

This was terribly difficult to pick one as the entire list is fantastic, but AR for Rebelcaptain

Suggestive Prompt: “I’m not that flexible!” For @gretamaya:



“I’m not that flexible!” Cassian protested as Jyn pulled his arms behind his back to stretch out the knot that had burrowed itself into his trapezius muscle. She made a noise in her throat, a hum and a murmur that clearly indicated that she disagreed with his assessment of his own body, and then dropped his arms in order to move her hands against his back. She had placed him on a chair in the middle of his room, the lights dimmed, just the two of them in a moment of quiet when they had found each other on the base at the same time.

“It’s like a rock,” she said, pushing her palm against his back. He groaned–both in pain and in pleasure of the relief he felt–and he felt her hand still.

“Jyn?”

“Take off your shirt?” she said, trying to sound matter of fact, but he noted the change in her pitch, in the way her breathing became more shallow. Both were easy tells of someone who was nervous. But Jyn rarely was nervous and showed her hand even less often. It was unusual, certainly.

But he obliged and pulled his beige tunic over his head, folding it in his lap, smoothing his hands over the fabric and creasing the lines with precision. He heard her teasing laugh–he had learned in the past few months how much she seemed tickled by his neatness, especially in how messy she was, even with the few belongings she possessed, but teasing had not changed either of their habits.

With his shirt off, the cool air in his quarters bit into this skin, but the heat of her hand against his sore muscle was a balm. Another involuntary groan escaped his lips, and Jyn made a sound of approval at her own good work.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, awash in relief.

She circled him and soon came face to face with him. “Here and there,” she said, meeting his eye. The single lamp in his room shone a light on her face, and up so close, he could see the speckles of gold in the calm green. He swallowed hard, the pain in his back forgotten.

“That’s an interesting answer,” he managed, noting too how the pitch of his voice was changing, how his breathing came quick and fast and shallow out of his mouth.

“It would be good for you to stretch more often,” she said. “I know your missions aren’t supposed to be as physically taxing as mine are with the Pathfinders, at least on paper, but it would do you some good. I can show you some more stretches, if you’d like.”

“I would,” he said, taking her hand.

Jyn stared at it, then back at his face, her own for a moment, unreadable.  

“I am pretty flexible,” she said with a careless shrug, and the gold in her eye sparkled, no light needed when she shined from the inside out.

Cassian reached out, touching her waist. When she yielded, he pulled her closer until his cheek was pressed against the flat of her belly. “Show me?” he asked quietly.

And she did.



Send me an angsty or suggestive prompt and a pairing, and I’ll write a fic.

5

2016.4.9 [27/100]

Whoa, so tired right now… it was a long day! I woke up early and made plans to meet with a language exchange friend. We were originally going to meet on this coming Wednesday (election day in Korea, so no work for me~), but his boss told him that he has to work that day, so we scrambled to move our first meeting to today! We worked out the timing, and I ended up having about four hours of 99% Korean only covering a wide variety of topics. It was intensely fun but a bit mentally taxing!

After I got home, I had to run to buy some groceries… which meant trying to navigate a super-crowded store to get all my stuff and head back home. Physically taxing, haha.

Once I got home, I started to rewrite my Japanese grammar notebooks into one of the cute notebooks I bought (and posted photos of!) earlier. The new notebooks are hardcover, so they’re a bit more durable than my old grammar notebooks, and they’re spirals so I will never have trouble with them refusing to sit flat. I plan on copying all three of my grammar notebooks, which will take a lot time, but it will be so nice and clean when it’s done. I took a photo of the first page of my Japanese grammar notebook for you~ just Hiragana, Katakana, and some basic phrases. Also, I did some practice problems in my Japanese book to finish up a unit, though I still have to do some review and more practice with it before moving on.

Oh, and I managed to squeeze in a quick journal as well!

Lucas x dyslexic!reader 4

You and Lucas sat there for an awkward moment. It was awkward for you anyways; Lucas was probably loving every minute if it. “My, my, my, my, my! You are really tryin’ to give me a workout, ain’t cha?” Lucas chuckled as he rested his chin on your shoulder. You stiffened your back at the action causing him to tighten his hold on you. “Well, you’d be able ta move if I could trust ya. Seein’ as I can’t, you getta stay like this awhile.” He almost giggled in your ear. Considering that Lucas was beyond furious only moments ago, the fact that he was giddy now made you extremely nervous. His mood swings were one of the most daunting thins about him. There was no telling whether he was actually happy or if he was gleefully planning your demise. Either way you felt it wouldn’t end well for you. “I still haven’t decided, ya know.” Lucas mumbled as he nuzzled his nose onto the area of your neck that was right behind your ear. “Decided what?” You question him with a shaky voice. He gave a soft laugh causing a puff of air to brush against your neck before he responded, “What I’m gonna do with ya.” You tensed up even more which caused another giggle to leave him. Lucas sat there with you in his death grip as he was trying to find a way to get you to cooperate with him better. While he was thinking he hummed a little, and since his chin was still on your shoulder you could feel the vibrations of the hums causing you to shiver a bit in his hold.


“That’s perfect!” Lucas suddenly exclaimed as he stood up and pulled you along to where he was going. On the way he grabbed the chair that he had sat you on when he first brought you to this area. Lucas put the chair down and sat you so that you were facing the wall. “Stay there, and no peeking~” he said in a very sing-song voice before going to get something on one of the tables behind you. By this point you knew that you couldn’t outrun him to one of the doors, so that wasn’t going to happen. You also decided not to look behind you, not because you were excited to follow Lucas’s orders, but because you were positive that you didn’t even want to know what he had planned for you. Whatever it was you could only hope that it was over with quickly, and you wouldn’t have to go through too much more. Suddenly you felt something go around your neck, just as you were sure that the was going to strangle you, there was a click and whatever it was seemed to be not getting tighter. You moved your hands up to see if you could actually tell wha it was that he put on your neck. You were pretty certain that you knew what it was, but before you could be certain, Lucas stepped in front of you and started to tell you what his plans for you were. “Bet'cha wanna know what I just did right?” He giggled and his face showed a smile that matched it. “It’s a collar! Just for you!” He said excitedly. “Yay…I’m so happy….” you responded very deadpan as you fidgeted with the new accessory.


Lucas started pout for a moment because you didn’t seem to react the way he wanted you to, but brushed it off and kept going. “You don’t know the half of it, ya lucky little thing, you! Not only will it keep you from gettin’ away from me, but- hear me out- we’re also gonna use it for a little game I just thought of. A special one, made for my new favorite someone.” Lucas kneeled down so that he was on your eye level, and moved his face much closer to yours. “Ya know who that is?” He asked in a playful tone. “Absolutely no idea.” You responded pointedly. Suddenly you felt what seemed to be a strong pinch on your neck followed by a burning sensation causing you to wince. “No more of that attitude, smart ass.” Lucas scolded as he held up a little remote in his hands. A shock collar, huh? Well this was an easy problem to fix. All you had to do was take it off. Lucas might shock you a few more times while you were trying, but it wasn’t like your hands were tied or anything.


You started fumbling with the clasp, trying to unhook it, but Lucas wasn’t going to let that happen. “Oh, no ya don’t!” He huffed as he shocked you a few more times. When that didn’t deter you from your task, he decided to use a different strategy. Lucas grabbed your hands, pinned them behind your back with one of his, and sat in your lap preventing you from struggling as much. Aside from him sitting on your lap being awkward, it kind of hurt. He wasn’t relatively heavy, but his butt was extremely boney. Who would have thought? “Now, about that game I thought of; it’s easy.” He said with a chuckle partly due to the anticipation of what was coming and partly because he was proud of his recent victory with you. “All ya have'ta do is a few math problems I think of within the time limit. Get three right, and you~ GET A PRIZE!” Your ears hurt now because he yelled while he was right next to you. There wasn’t really time to focus on that though, because he continued on with his thought. “Get the answer wrong, and~” the collar gladly reminded you that it was still there before Lucas went on, “I’ll up the voltage each time.” You met his playful look with a angry one. He was banking in the fact that you, like many other people with dyslexia, also had dyscalculia, and he’d be right. He just laughed, “You’re so cute when you’re mad.” and went on with his game.


“Alrighty, first one. 3•4.” He said very quickly, not able to wait on his game anymore. Did he really think you were that stupid? “It’s 12.” You say flatly. “Good, work. That’s point number one for you.” Lucas announced like a game show host. “Next! xy=(23-52)+45. Easy, right?” He continued. Alright. He was an engineer, his and you definition of easy math were two totally different things! Granted, this probably isn’t considered too difficult in the vast world of algebra, but you were under pressure and it was difficult to think. The collar shocked you a little bit later. “Times up!” He said as he let go of the button. This went on for a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity because of how strong the currents through the collar were getting. “Okay, next one!” Lucas started again. “Lucas, please…No more…” you whimpered out. You were extremely taxed both physically and mentally, and wanted nothing more than this whole thing to be over. “Well, now! What did I just hear? Did you just beg?” Lucas asked in a very pandering tone. You wished you could fight him more, but you just didn’t have the energy. You didn’t even have the energy to hold up your head anymore, opting to let it slump into Lucas’s shoulder. “Please… no more, Lucas.” You noticed that his breathing caught when you said his name, but you were too exhausted to feel anything about it. “Look at this! I think this stubborn little thing is broken! That don’t mean nothin’, tho. You still gotta get one more question right before you get that reward.” You felt like you were about to cry. That was one of the only things that you were never going to do in front of him though, so you held the tears back. “Okay, 6+7-3.” Lucas asked and your heart stopped. There was no way that he just switched back to simple math after all those complicated equations he had given you. You weren’t about to spend the time limit contemplating it, and answered as soon as you could. “10… it’s 10.” You said hoarsely.


The next thing you knew, Lucas gave a little hum, and the collar popped off and his hand released yours allowing much need blood flow to reach your fingers. Soon you felt his fingers travel up your shoulder and to the spot where the collar had shocked you. You winced when his fingers brushed over the spot, and he gave a dry laugh. “Suppose we should get some medicine on that.” He mumbled as he inspected the area. “W-what?” You questioned, your voice sounding raspier than you thought it would. “Gotta take care of ya if I wanna keep playin’. You’re one of'tha best playthings I ever had.” He laughed as he moved your face and placed his lips onto yours while you were helpless to do anything about it.