Your-average-teenage-mess - Untitled - Tumblr Blog

I made a thing

Edit: ... Okay wow only this second I noticed that everyone on the right side of the frame became double murderers (and in one case more than double) by the end of it.

I just saw someone arguing that you shouldn't use pictures of characters that were played by abusers if you want to make a half-jokey Tumblr post waxing poetically about what gender means to you.

... I'm tired, okay?

Like, even take away the fact that the majority of men in Hollywood are probably abusive, I AM TIRED. We live in a society, and I mean that in the most literal sense. We exist around other people, and around media, and you have to either lock yourself in an echo chamber or subject yourself to a pretty miserable existence if you're genuinely planning to treat this as a moral transgression every time someone tries to express anything but condemnation towards anything that bad people were ever involved in.

I'm tired. And also, if you think that way, don't talk to me. Stay away from me. I'm doing bad enough without you in my life.

Fight club is just wintergirls for toxic masculinity, change my mind.

I found a new, surprisingly therapeutic technique: wherever I find myself doing something that gives me the kind of cold rush you really shouldn't get used to, I ask myself, "what would Gary King do?" Then do the opposite.

Seriously, that works. He would drink to stop the thoughts and shame, he would cut himself, he would talk shit about himself in public just to feel like he got to the criticism before everyone else who obviously sees it, he would dig deeper and deeper into things that make him feel utterly doomed, he would try and push off everyone who cares and give up every time it looks like he might succeed, and that ended up landing him at the end of the world with no friends with nothing left to do other than to ride the wave forever, and I cried when I saw that, so why in the world would I do the same? It's... Actually amazing.

... Fair enough

we make fun of villains doing big incriminating monologues where they tell the hero their entire plan but to be fair have you ever tried keeping a secret. its torture. if i had some kind of master plan to overthrow earth i'd chomp at the oppertunity to tell someone all about it. validate my effort damn it.

You know what? I'm starting to think that stories about mental illness maybe SHOULD all end on an inspirational, uplifting note.

You see, I was just trying to hold in my mind a model of "even if you fell down, you can get back up, even if your life's a wreck, you can always go and do the work to make it better", just to try and convince myself to maybe not fall apart, and then my brain was just flooded with images of all the stories that ended in suicide (or better yet, heroic self-sacrifice that redeemed them from ever needing to be given a real chance), and I just felt that sinking dread that whispered "it doesn't matter what you do, it's all gonna end the same way... And hopefully sooner rather than later. You can imagine it all going quiet, and dark, and peaceful." And I just... I know you guys hate when the representation you see is just ✨inspiration porn✨, and that it feels good to see all the darkest impulses of your brain recognized and validated, but, like... Maybe they shouldn't be. Maybe we SHOULD have our representation be inspirational and uplifting, even when our reality is not, because representation is not a neutral factor. It affects how people think, and it especially affects how people think when they're spiraling and desperately looking for a frame of reference and you address them directly.

Look, what I'm trying to say is, it's not great when the most encouraging representation I can find is from fix-it-fics that were written by people who were sad that their favorite character didn't make it.

There's a reason both Tumblr and 4chan have memes about how autistic everyone is, okay? And it's not good. Autistic people are not immune to radicalization, in fact we are more vulnerable to it than most people. When you have a harder time communicating with the outside world, simplistic behavioral instructions can be relieving, even when what they do is enforce a moral framing that is incredibly damaging both to you and to the people in your life.

godddd for the last time. a strong sense of justice in autistic people is not always a positive trait. its just a trait. a strong sense of justice does not mean that you are the most objective source on morality, it means you can’t let go of what you believe is right or should be done. autistic people aren’t morally superior or more socially intelligent than allistic people, you guys have GOT to stop acting like its progressive to decide a certain neurotype is the one everyone should default to.

(if you can make/get bots, that could actually do a lot more to advance your ideology than posting stuff inside your bubble of faux radicalism. Just saying.)

I love how some of you guys think that engaging with anything Harry Potter related is going to "give jkr more exposure", as if not LITERALLY EVERYONE HAS ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO IT, and that making sure you don't pay her any money personally is going to move a single cent away from everything she was already going to put whatever amount of money she was planning to for either way when she's A LITERAL BILLIONER, and then try to cry "collective action" as if that's a battle any of you could ever win in your fucking lifetime, and then NOT try and tell people to mass report far-right influencers with an actual massive reach off of YouTube and TikTok, where their content independently moves towards people who, and this is true, MIGHT HAVE NOT BEEN POLITICALLY ENGAGED SO FAR. The hypocrisy just actually makes my blood boil. You guys don't know what practicality is and I'm starting to think I actually hate you for that.

You people should stop fucking behaving as if fighting fascism is a lifestyle choice.

I love how some of you guys think that engaging with anything Harry Potter related is going to "give jkr more exposure", as if not LITERALLY EVERYONE HAS ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO IT, and that making sure you don't pay her any money personally is going to move a single cent away from everything she was already going to put whatever amount of money she was planning to for either way when she's A LITERAL BILLIONER, and then try to cry "collective action" as if that's a battle any of you could ever win in your fucking lifetime, and then NOT try and tell people to mass report far-right influencers with an actual massive reach off of YouTube and TikTok, where their content independently moves towards people who, and this is true, MIGHT HAVE NOT BEEN POLITICALLY ENGAGED SO FAR. The hypocrisy just actually makes my blood boil. You guys don't know what practicality is and I'm starting to think I actually hate you for that.

And just for the record, if legality doesn't really limit your actions, here are a couple more ways that are also slightly more effective.

I love how some of you guys think that engaging with anything Harry Potter related is going to "give jkr more exposure", as if not LITERALLY EVERYONE HAS ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO IT, and that making sure you don't pay her any money personally is going to move a single cent away from everything she was already going to put whatever amount of money she was planning to for either way when she's A LITERAL BILLIONER, and then try to cry "collective action" as if that's a battle any of you could ever win in your fucking lifetime, and then NOT try and tell people to mass report far-right influencers with an actual massive reach off of YouTube and TikTok, where their content independently moves towards people who, and this is true, MIGHT HAVE NOT BEEN POLITICALLY ENGAGED SO FAR. The hypocrisy just actually makes my blood boil. You guys don't know what practicality is and I'm starting to think I actually hate you for that.

Okay but like. Practically speaking. This video includes a list of perfectly legal ways you could combat right-wingers online.

I love how some of you guys think that engaging with anything Harry Potter related is going to "give jkr more exposure", as if not LITERALLY EVERYONE HAS ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO IT, and that making sure you don't pay her any money personally is going to move a single cent away from everything she was already going to put whatever amount of money she was planning to for either way when she's A LITERAL BILLIONER, and then try to cry "collective action" as if that's a battle any of you could ever win in your fucking lifetime, and then NOT try and tell people to mass report far-right influencers with an actual massive reach off of YouTube and TikTok, where their content independently moves towards people who, and this is true, MIGHT HAVE NOT BEEN POLITICALLY ENGAGED SO FAR. The hypocrisy just actually makes my blood boil. You guys don't know what practicality is and I'm starting to think I actually hate you for that.

Like, I'm actually begging you people. Matt Walsh, Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro literally have YouTube accounts at this second. So do Pearl Davis, and the Rubin report, and Paul Joseph fucking Watson. And you guys could report all of them in a minute, and you CHOSE not to, so forgive me for not believing that you actually care about stopping bigoted ideology from spreading.

I love how some of you guys think that engaging with anything Harry Potter related is going to "give jkr more exposure", as if not LITERALLY EVERYONE HAS ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO IT, and that making sure you don't pay her any money personally is going to move a single cent away from everything she was already going to put whatever amount of money she was planning to for either way when she's A LITERAL BILLIONER, and then try to cry "collective action" as if that's a battle any of you could ever win in your fucking lifetime, and then NOT try and tell people to mass report far-right influencers with an actual massive reach off of YouTube and TikTok, where their content independently moves towards people who, and this is true, MIGHT HAVE NOT BEEN POLITICALLY ENGAGED SO FAR. The hypocrisy just actually makes my blood boil. You guys don't know what practicality is and I'm starting to think I actually hate you for that.

I love how some of you guys think that engaging with anything Harry Potter related is going to "give jkr more exposure", as if not LITERALLY EVERYONE HAS ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO IT, and that making sure you don't pay her any money personally is going to move a single cent away from everything she was already going to put whatever amount of money she was planning to for either way when she's A LITERAL BILLIONER, and then try to cry "collective action" as if that's a battle any of you could ever win in your fucking lifetime, and then NOT try and tell people to mass report far-right influencers with an actual massive reach off of YouTube and TikTok, where their content independently moves towards people who, and this is true, MIGHT HAVE NOT BEEN POLITICALLY ENGAGED SO FAR. The hypocrisy just actually makes my blood boil. You guys don't know what practicality is and I'm starting to think I actually hate you for that.

Hell yes.

Will Wood Miku‼️‼️‼️

Reference↑

... Ok so now I'm crying thanks

Return of the King - A Gary King Recovery Fic

A no apocalypse, all 5 Musketeers got out alive AU where Gary’s recovered.

Andy hadn't believed it at first, when he got the text. That was a shock within itself, not only that Gary wasn't using the same Nokia he'd probably had since the turn of the millennium but that he'd figured out WhatsApp. Andy arrived at the train station with an almost crippling wave of deja vu. 

This was exactly the same as the Golden Mile. The Five Musketeers, as Gary had called the group chat, sat on a bench, catching up. His uneasy feeling was the same. 

Not everything was the same, however. Steven was talking about Sam and had the glimmer in his eyes of a long term relationship settling in. And Andy held out hope that this wasn’t going to be another pub crawl.

He'd tried to stay caught up with Gary, but the last time they'd really spent time together, Gary was eight months out of rehab and had asked him to read over a few contracts for what he called 'Grown up things'. 

So, it seemed he'd made something of himself. And Andy would rather them not go on this holiday than seeing Gary at a new low, having messed up his new start.

The taxi pulled up outside the quaint train station. He opened the window and shouted, "Taxi for Andy?"

"That's us."

They piled their bags into the boot and crammed into the car. The air conditioning was just an inch too cold and hit him like a wall. It was far too grey and blustery for it. All it did was add to the unsettling feeling he had. 

Pulling away, Andy looked at the old buildings. Weathered brick and period windows against grey skies and bright green bushes. It was humble and reminded him of Newton Haven without the sense of impending doom or the fear that he'd never leave. 

He'd never understood Gary’s affiliation with the town. Andy knew it was a harmless place, at least when they'd lived there, but eighteen years of rural peace had almost made him sick. It was probably why he wanted to leave so badly. He had to get out at the first moment he could or else he knew he'd become one of the old farts who never left.

Gary didn't see it that way, however. To him that place was heaven, the epitome of all his good times, a cure-all for every ailment he had. His attitude didn't make sense though, not with the bittersweet memories of his childhood also being there. 

He hadn't spoken about it much. Andy had to guess at most of the details but he knew his childhood hadn't been the nicest. Drunken nights when they were teenagers revealed that there'd a lot of arguing for most of his life, his dad walking out when he was twelve and a mother, distraught, overlooking how much her son was slipping.

His mum had always been put together when they visited. But they didn't go around often, and things were often different behind closed doors. 

Andy shook himself awake and saw them pass the sign to the town where Gary was calling home. The driver stopped at the docks and turned to him.

"That'll be £30,"

They pulled out notes, having taken money out at the station, and lugged their bags out of the car.

The smell of the sea threaded through the air. Ahead of them, a short beach stretched out. People were scattered about, less than on a sunny day, but still enough to be slightly busy. On either side the stone dock extended out onto the harbour. Boats, small to medium, bobbed on a calm tide.

"So, where is he?" Oliver said.

They scanned the beach. Families swaddled in coats who insisted on going to the beach bundled up more as it grew colder. The sky was turning a milky grey and a wind rolled down the hills and out to the sea. 

"Late probably," Andy sighed. 

He looked at his watch, he'd said half two, it was now closer to three. It should've shown him for believing Gary could be on time to anything. He still believed being fashionably late was cool, or was too arrogant to even realise he was late.

"Hey, hey, hey!" A familiar voice said.

They turned in unison to see Gary King. Andy's deja vu grew worse as he looked at Gary. He wore the same long black coat, same black shirt and sisters of mercy band tee. His eyes were hidden by the same aviators and his ginger roots were leaching into his poorly dyed black hair just like when he called them all to Newton Haven.

"You came!" 

He half ran toward them and pulled them all into a hug. His face lit up with a smile, stretched across his cheeks and, if Andy looked hard enough, reached his eyes.

That was new, at least. A genuine smile. 

"Yeah, you did ask us to," Peter said.

Gary pulled out of the hug, rubbed the back of his head and looked down. He laughed more awkwardly this time. 

"Wasn't sure if you'd actually show up," he said. "Especially after the last time I randomly brought you somewhere."

That was very un-Gary. He'd never been sheepish or shy. It was strange after so long of knowing him as arrogant. Andy hoped this was a good sign. If he was acknowledging that what happened at Newton Haven wasn't good, acknowledging that something wasn't a good time when it seemed to be all he cared about, it had to be a good sign?

"Come on, you had no say in anything with the Blanks," Andy said.

"Still got us all there."

"And got us out." Steven added.

Gary laughed, lowly, and shrugged.

"You know you're late, right? " Steven said, changing the subject. 

"Late shmate," Gary said and started to walk to the docks. "Come on, I have something to show you."

Andy sighed and followed along. He was the same, in some ways, but different in others. He had a strange glow about him, his face had more colour to it and laughter full of life. Of course he still spoke with arrogance, or was it confidence? Had the air that he knew he was the best, although he wondered if it was real this time or just an act, like in Newton Haven.

They passed some shops. A cafe with a blue facade, its amber lighting glowing out the window and melting with the canary yellow walls. An ice cream parlour shone with its pink walls and neon sign. Souvenir shops blended together, built into the cliff face as they walked the bending path around to the dock.

Gary walked the path liked he owned it. Wooden boards grew out of the bumpy cliff face. Multicoloured boats, tied to posts, bobbed on the tide. Some of the boats towered above his head, others probably couldn't hold all five of them.

He stopped in front of a medium sized blue boat. The cockpit was a small square room that rose to about half his height above him. Compared to some of the boats around them, this was humble. It wasn't a yacht or a dinghy. It was humble and stable. 

"Welcome!"

"That's a boat." Oliver said.

"Yeah," Gary said, gesturing behind him. "Thought that was obvious."

"You live on a boat?"

"Why else would I bring you to a boat? We're not going to break in." He sniggered. 

They looked at each other. Oliver was the most puzzled. He'd shown Gary apartments to rent in London over the past three years, he'd said no to all of them and, when Andy had heard, his heart dropped when it seemed like Gary wasn't sticking with this recovery thing like he'd promised.

"Do you want to come in, then?"

Andy nodded and followed Gary onto the boat via the board on leading to the top deck. He kept telling himself that although it wasn't what he expected, Gary had been making an effort and did seem different.

They arrived on a blue deck, not too long or wide. Solar panels were attached to the roof of the cockpit with smaller ones around the edge of the deck. Gary walked to the cockpit door and unlocked it. It was routine for him, they could tell in the way he walked without seeing the path to the door. 

Inside, foldable chairs were stacked against one wall. Controls and a steering wheel opposite the door overlooked large windows with a perfect view of bobbing boats and a grey-blue sky. To the right, a set of stairs with chipped white paint led to the lower floor of the boat.

They left their bags in there as Gary gestured for them to go downstairs. The stairs creaked as they walked, framed pictures, generic ones of cities that Gary'd never been to. 

They walked onto light tanned wood, contrasting the white panelled walls. To their left was the living room, a tired yet vibrant dark green sofa stood out against white. Armchairs bracketed them and looked equally as old. A small television stood on a stand against the wall to the staircase. 

Ahead of them was the kitchen with warm white counters. The fridge sat against the back wall, a cluttered sink next to it, the oven and kettle were against the left hand wall and a connected island gave some seating in the small space. A door was ajar were next to the fridge that, if he looked closer, led to the bathroom.

"Bedroom's through there." Gary pointed toward the door next to the armchair, behind the stairs. "And my office."

"Office?" Andy said.

They peaked through into the little hallway. His bedroom was cluttered but more organised than Andy expected. Gary wasn't making the most of the space, or didn't care by the look of the occasional piles of clothes around the bed.

"Wow, look in here," Steven said.

He was looking in the office. Andy understood his shock when he joined him.

Straight ahead was his desk, busy with fresh, half finished drawings and sketches. A shelf above the desk had rows of pens and pencils, paints and brushes. A cupboard above that, almost reaching the ceilings, gave them a glance at a few full sketchbooks. What was truly impressive was the drawings on the wall, detailed flowers, orange explosions and recognisable band logos. 

"Didn't know he could draw?" Oliver said.

"He took art at A-level didn't he?" Peter said.

"Oh yeah," Oliver said as they turned back to the living room. "Didn't know he was that good, though."

Gary had taken his coat off when they returned. His black shirt rolled up to the sleeves.

"Tea?" He asked.

They nodded, telling him how they liked it. Andy tried not to make his further surprise more evident. 

You could see the scars on Gary’s wrists from his suicide attempt. They'd healed by now, it had been years. Shaded lines against his pale skin. Faded enough that you wouldn't notice if you weren't looking. 

The others weren't looking, that was certain. They just sat down. They didn’t know the details like he did, all they knew was that Gary'd fallen into addiction and depression and couldn't see a way out. 

But Andy had listened to the gritty details when Gary had been motivated to tell him. He'd seen the scars when they were healing. He knew the shake of his hands and how his face withdrew, pale, as he went through withdrawal. The others didn’t have the investment into Gary’s future like he did.

Not to say they didn't care, they did, but Andy had a strange need to see Gary’s life succeed. They'd been as thick as thieves once. Maybe it was because of the crash and how far they'd drifted apart that he felt a need to help him.

"Those are good drawings," Steven said.

Gary looked up from the boiling kettle. He was tapping his fingers on the counters.

"Thanks."

"Didn't know you could draw like that?"

He scratched the back of his head, "Yeah, well, I'm a tattoo artist, got to be good, haven't I?"

"Tattoo artist?"

"Yeah, get paid well," he laughed, then his face dropped. "That's not the only reason, though, quite like drawing to be honest, a bit freeing,"

The kettle clicked as the water boiled. Gary poured it in the five cups. He was building himself up to something.

"Got back into it in rehab, therapist kept on going on about healthy coping mechanisms so I thought I might give it a go," he said. "Not that I was allowed to be alone when I did, they didn't trust anyone alone with a pencil sharpener."

He shook himself and started to stir the tea. His usual bravado was gone. He'd finally learnt that he didn't need to seem like he was always having a good time to be important, or for people to care.

"You got good, though," Peter said.

"Yeah, yeah I did." He smiled to himself as he finished off the tea. "Got into tattoos once I got out, saw a connection between the two and here I am."

He slipped his black shirt off. His upper arms were thick with detailed black ink. From far away, he couldn't see anything too detailed but could make out a skeleton with flashes of red and blue on his right arm and an astronaut surrounded by planets on his left.

He pointed to the astronaut, "Designed that one myself."

He let them gawk for a moment before shrugging his shirt back on again. He placed the mugs on a tray and brought them over.

Gary collapsed in one of the armchairs. His face washed blank for a brief moment. It wasn't the kind of relaxing blank, it was the break in a storm or before the next wave crashed on the ocean. 

Andy could see his age now. They weren't ancient but they weren't young anymore. It all added to the realisation that he was recovering, beyond the boat and the job and his new healthy coping mechanism, he wasn't trying to look young or maintain a youthful outlook to mask his aging face. He'd accepted that they weren't getting any younger, didn't need to acknowledge it either, and that was a big step for him.

"So, you've got somewhere to live-" Steven started

"Yep."

"-got a job-"

Gary hummed in agreement.

"Anyone special we should know about?"

He darted up from his seat, "Anyone want any biscuits?"

Steven smiled, "That a yes then?"

Gary had moved to the sink with lightning speed. His back was turned, arms splayed white and black as they lent against the counter.  His head was bowed so only the ginger tips of his dyed hair could be seen. 

"Gary-" Peter said.

"No. Fucking no, I'm not seeing anyone." He stood up and got some bourbons from the cupboard. "Hate that phrase anyway, 'seeing someone', I see everyone, got eyes for a reason, haven't I?"

He turned around with the biscuits in hand. His peaceful face turned angry. It was the tired anger you only got from many of the same annoying conversations.

They looked from him to each other. It was such a quick change, from happy to sad. 

"I can see your faces, it's always the same, they see I've got my life on track, the boat, the job, the art, and when I say there isn't anybody they look at me like I've downed a bottle of vodka and snorted a line of cocaine right in front of them," he barked.

Steven gulped, "So there isn't anyone."

"No, don't think there ever will be,"

He slowly walked back to his chair. The anger dissipated and his morose calm came back again. 

"Never will be?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, well, in my exploration of the modern world, I discovered that there's a lot of words for things that we didn't have when we were kids," he said.

They looked at each other again.

"Words?" Andy finally spoke.

"Well, you know, we had gay and lesbian and bisexual but there's other words, like pansexual, if who people are, you know, male or female or whatnot, doesn't really matter, or asexual, if you don't like anyone." He took a sip of his tea. "And I thought well, that pan-whatever word sounded right, I mean I've never really thought it was such a big deal who you liked, as long as they weren't a prick, you know, thought I was just being open but apparently not."

"What does this have to do with you not wanting to be with someone?" Andy asked.

"I'm getting to that," he said. "Well, I found the word aromantic, it means you don't feel romantic attraction to people, so like marriage, holding hands, cuddling, all that shit, you don't feel a want to do that with someone."

"Didn't know that was a thing?" Peter said.

Gary ate another biscuit, "Neither did I, but it makes sense in hindsight."

"Does it?"

"Yeah, my girlfriends were always like 'We only ever snog' and complained that I never said I love you or held their hand but I never got it, made me feel like a dick but I genuinely didn't think people cared about that sort of thing, thought it was just something they told you, didn't actually think people saw and wanted that kind of, well I don't even know what people want, I don't know, I've never experienced it."

They pondered for a moment. It did make sense when Andy thought back. All of Gary’s partners had classed as flings at the most. A flame of passion that they all saw as immaturity, an extension of Gary's need to have a good time. But he'd never shown any interest in actually dating anyone at school, just about the physical aspect.

"So, this identity, it makes sense, you think it fits then?" Andy asked.

"Yes," Gary said. "It hasn't been easy though. There's a lot of information out there, useful stuff, but a lot of conflicting opinions, people saying that it doesn't exist, that I'm trying to be special when I'm not or that something's wrong with me."

He continued, his face contorting in anger again without the rage, "Anytime I tell people they think it's just another thing I need to recover from, I did too, it's what I went in thinking when I went to rehab, they think it's another sign of immaturity or me chasing people for a good time like booze or drugs but when I got better it didn't go away."

"My therapist faced it like a coping mechanism to be fixed or a problem to face but as I started to realise what was wrong with only wanting a good time and relying on booze, I didn't see not wanting anything romantic as a problem."

He slumped in his chair. The anger dissipated. His face eased into something melancholic, a deeper anger from longer pain.

"But I had to keep telling my therapist that it wasn't hurting me and the idea of me and romance hurt more and it was only after telling him over and over and over again that he finally listened." He said. "And even then it didn't go away. People fought for it to be a thing, people fought against, people made it seem like romance was an intrinsic human thing and I wasn't human or that I had no emotions or empathy and was evil-"

He sat up and threw his arms out. A disgusted wave of bitterness came over him. Andy knew in the way he swirled his tea like he used to swirl a whisky glass and the way his upper lip curled.

"Well, if not feeling romantic things for anyone makes me evil, then I guess I'm fucking satan!"

"Woah, Gary, calm down," Andy said. "You're not evil mate."

Gary slumped back down. That melancholy calm came back but was broken by a smile. Despite his churning emotions, the bittersweet smiles to rage, he was evidently better just because he was letting himself show more emotion than just glee.

"I know, I know, it just still hurts that so many people, especially those who want me to get better, are determined to convince me that something that isn't hurting me, is bad," Gary said.

Peter spoke up again, "Well, does it make you happy, do you think it fits?"

With a smile, Gary nodded, "It does, it really does."

"That's all that matters then." Andy said.

They moved on from there. Steven got talking about Sam and how they'd been moved in for about a year now. Gary made his usual jokes but with less bite, less carelessness, less desperate to hide something.

Outside, the sky turned dark and gray. The rushing sound of the water against the boat grew louder. Gary turned on some lamps and the amber lights warmed the room. He'd really made this place homely.

"What about you then Andy? Last I heard you and the wife were giving it a go again?" Gary asked.

It caught Andy off guard. Gary didn't remember stuff like that, he never had. 

"Oh, it's going well, we've been going to couples counselling for a while and it's helped." He met Gary’s soft gaze. "Yeah, it's going well, thanks mate."

He nodded again. Andy checked his phone for the time, it was getting toward seven now, they should probably check in to the hotel.

"We need to get to the hotel," he said.

They made their way to the door. Gary's face formed a hard line, his hands tucked in his pockets and shoulders slumped. He'd never been good at saying goodbye to his friends at the end of the day.

"See you tomorrow, yeah?" Oliver said when they arrived in the cockpit.

"Yeah, there's a good cafe around the corner, does good pancakes, we'll have to go for breakfast."

Andy smiled at him, "Sounds good."

He pulled them each into a hug, awkward ones where they patted each other on the back. Andy was left last. 

Gary pulled him into a proper hug, arms wrapped around and chins tucked over shoulders. He sighed when they'd settled. It was warm, cosy, and screamed some kind of vulnerability.

"Thanks," Gary whispered. "For being there, for having faith, I don't think I could've done it without you."

"I always knew you had it in you, just wanted you to see that too," he pulled away. "You're the King again."

Gary smiled and rubbed the back of his head. It was natural. Like how the low lights shone through the ginger ends of his hair and gave an amber glow. His scars had healed, he had a home and a purpose. He was healthy and Andy flushed with pride.

"Yeah, I am, aren't I?"

I tried to think of what Gary could do to actually take care of himself without just amalgamating into the boring suburban life he didn't want. I chose to make him a tattoo artist after this post asked what a levels he took and I thought he'd be an English Lit, Drama and Art kinda guy (if he showed up at all). Also the whole boat thing made sense as he has a home but is free to go anywhere.

Also I have now watched all the Cornetto Trilogy multiple times and Spaced and kind of want to write something where Tim, Shaun, Nicholas and Gary are cousins.

Hope you enjoyed this!

he's like a stress ball to me.

Alright then. Farewell

Let's try again since radfems are stupid.

There is nothing about *looking* at sex that is any morally different to engaging in sex. Adding a camera does not affect morality either. It will not rot your brain or make you an addict or force you to change your views on sex or mess with your brain chemicals and bonds with people or any other bullshit that people come out with. Sex is ok to look at.

My friends who have never experienced flooding, and who are about to deal with it from this storm, please remember:

1. NO. YOU CANNOT MAKE IT THROUGH THAT WATER ON THE ROAD. I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'RE DRIVING. TURN. AROUND.

2. DO NOT GO WADING THROUGH THE WATER. EVEN IF YOU JUST WANT TO SEE HOW DEEP IT IS. THAT. WATER. IS. CONTAMINATED.

3. IT IS CALLED FLASH FLOODING FOR A REASON. THE WATER RISES AND SURGES IN A FLASH. STAY. HOME.

4. If you're at risk of flooding, raise up any of your belongings now. Put the legs of tall things in buckets. Know where your important documents are.

5. Stay safe.

I'm sorry. I scrolled the reblogs for a few minutes after reading the post, and there were multiple people there claiming that porn addiction isn't real, and so I got angry and instinctively merged the argument you actually made with the list of related arguments people were making in the reblogs. I apologize for being rude and I will edit the original reblog to try and phrase my argument less combatively and add an aknowlagment of what you did and didn't say. But could you please also add to your post the clarification that porn addiction is, in fact, a thing that can happen, and that pornography can have a negative impact on people's mental health in specific contexts, just so that people won't be able to use your words out of context? I'm just really sick of seeing people trying to say that the only reason porn could ever make someone feel bad is if they have Christian trauma to unlearn or something.

Let's try again since radfems are stupid.

There is nothing about *looking* at sex that is any morally different to engaging in sex. Adding a camera does not affect morality either. It will not rot your brain or make you an addict or force you to change your views on sex or mess with your brain chemicals and bonds with people or any other bullshit that people come out with. Sex is ok to look at.

So first of all, I just want to make it clear: that post is, objectively speaking, correct. Every sentence here is correct. Watching other people have sex will not inherently do any of those things to you, and it is not an act with an inherent moral value.

But. But but but but but.

Do NOT try and take that to say that consuming pornography can never cause damage to the consumer. And it can, also, given specific circumstances (especially with teenagers), do the specific things that OP was explaining are not intent risks of watching pornography. I can literally tell you from experience that every time I was spiraling and using porn as a cope, it WAS rotting my brain (as in, it became my go-to instinct whenever I was alone and wanted to feel less disassociated and dead inside, and then ended up feeling even more disassociated and dead inside every time it was over, and then repeat until I kicked myself out of that loop), and it WAS objectively addictive (as in, I kept going back to it even as it continued to make my mental state worse), and it DID ruin my view of sex (as in, it made me go and do sexual stuff with people I wasn't attracted to or actually interested in, just because I came to associate sex with the momentary distraction from how awful my life was feeling, so I came to put myself in situations that I found genuinely boring and disgusting and just... Assumed that the satisfaction from the status of "teen with a sexual history" and knowing you're breaking a rule was a normal thing to be the only thing you want from sex AND IT TOOK ME LITERAL YEARS TO REALIZE SEX COULD ACTUALLY BE FUN AND NICE), so, like... It is genuinely upsetting to see people trying to turn "the harms that can be caused by sexually explicit contents are overblown and essentialized" into "religious guilt is the only reason it could ever make you feel bad and you need to get over that". And again, I'm not saying that it's damaging in every single context, there definitely were times in my life in which I was consuming specific forms of sexually explicit content and it wasn't wrecking my brain, but I think that pornography can mainly be a risk to your mental health if, like... It makes you feel sexually disassociated and numb and still come back to it. That's mostly where I think it can hurt you. And the people trying to crash the nuance in this just annoy me so much.

Let's try again since radfems are stupid.

There is nothing about *looking* at sex that is any morally different to engaging in sex. Adding a camera does not affect morality either. It will not rot your brain or make you an addict or force you to change your views on sex or mess with your brain chemicals and bonds with people or any other bullshit that people come out with. Sex is ok to look at.

GRADE SCHOOL SJWS stop using social justice language to explain shit to your conservative parents IT’S NOT GONNA GO THROUGH now all they have are some new words to make fun of. don’t tell your mom she’s being fatphobic tell her she’s being a dick