another Alexis & Alicia story now edited & up on AO3 ... enjoy

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another Alexis & Alicia story now edited & up on AO3 ... enjoy

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
So I had to draw _someone_ from the Malazan books, ended up with Silchas Ruin, one of those dragon shapeshifters. I think his defining traits are efficacy and dispassionate cruelty. But then someone made him cry very much and it took a while for him to get back on his feet, and my theory is that the emotional turmoil kicked his immune system in the teeth too and that he was not only being an useless albeit a bit scary pile of sad during his downtime but got really sick too. Because that's how it should be!!
Invoking my own prompt here - his fever's not going down, and he won't stop crying, poor devil
Hear me out, teamâ
Youâve heard of dickpics, but letâs talk sickpics
Character A is at work. Character B had stayed home, feeling a little under the weather. Late morning, A sends a message asking B how theyâre doing, expecting a text back.
Instead, B sends a selfie, their nose a little pink, eyes looking tired. But the background shows that theyâre in the living room, and theyâve got a mug of tea in hand, so theyâre looking okay overall.
Later, they send a picture of the thermometer reading. Oh dearâthey have a fever now. A follow up photo shows them frowning, a flush noticeable on their cheeks now.
They send one final picture near the end of the workday; theyâre lying down now, face peeking out from a combination of sweatshirt hood and blankets, looking absolutely awful.
On the way home, A stops by the pharmacy, then the grocery store, picking up everything that B might need for the foreseeable future.
(This post brought to you by my predictive text suggesting sickpic for some reason when I was typing dickpic)
For @taylor-tut While it is no longer your birthday and this stopped being a doodle a while ago. I hope you enjoy this ...
Happy Birday
Merry Crisis &
Happy new era
Masaki Nakamura was the hottest guy on campus. No matter who you asked, the answer was unanimous. The female population had proclaimed him as such, and he was, without a doubt, as hot as he was unreachable. With almost a celebrity-like status, some students even went so far as to print out his social media photos and pin them to their bedroom walls, right alongside posters of popular drama stars and boy bands.
Masaki Nakamura was, in fact, in a band. An amateur rock band, which only added to his appeal, as he could often be seen strolling across campus with a guitar case slung over his shoulder.
Girls would snap sneaky pictures of him, exchanging them like rare collectibles. The most valuable were the ones that featured his absâsome girls even willing to pay for a glimpse of that rare material.
And I happened to have one in my possession, buried in the depths of my old phone.
I first came to know Masaki Nakamura through my brother. They both worked part-time at a record store in Shibuya and had spent many shifts together, quickly becoming close. That day, I happened to be in the area doing some shopping, and my brother offered to give me a ride homeâbut only if I met him straight after his shift. One minute late, and you take the train, he had said.
When I arrived, he wasnât alone. No other than Masaki Nakamura sat in the back seat of the car, eyes closed, head resting against the window. My brother casually mentioned weâd be taking a detour to drop him off first as he hadnât been feeling well during the shift, complaining of a stomachache and making frequent trips to the restroom, but finding no relief. Too much information I didn't need to hear. But it made me look again, and his posture backed up my brother's story. The way his mouth curved downward, how his face contorted in pain with his eyes shut, his arms crossed tightly over his abdomen.
I took the passenger seat, and we drove for a while until my brother made a quick stop at the drugstore to pick up stomach pain relief medicine. Left alone in the car with Masaki Nakamura, I turned around to check on him. By the time I realized, I had already snapped a picture.
I couldnât help myself. Still lining against the window with his eyes closed, Masaki Nakamura was rubbing his stomach under his t-shirt, and his famous abs were on full display. Right before my eyes.
That photo became my most prized possessionâthe golden card everyone would die and kill for. I may or may not have let a few select people sneak a peek at it. It reached the status of urban legend in campus, but I neither confirmed nor denied the rumours.
But even now, years after Masaki Nakamura and I graduated, I keep it hidden, safe in the depths of my old phone.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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[Disclaimer: chatgpt wrote the lyrics for me. Credit to whoever chatgpt stole them from]
Kazuki had promised the lyrics would be ready by Friday. But Thursday night came, and all he had was a blank page and a stomachache. A vicious, relentless stomachache that kept him awake, twisting and turning in bed, unable to focus on anything but the excruciating pain.
He stared at the bedside clock, fingers pressing into his abdomen, counting down the minutes to Friday. It seemed impossible. Between the constant trips to the bathroom and the sharp, cramping waves of agony, it felt like his body was decided to jeopardise the deadline.
But dawn came and the song was miraculously done, barely held together by Kazuki's desperation to finish it and get some rest. He shared the draft in the group chat, hoping no one could tell how close heâd come to completely giving up.
Verse 1 Knives in my ribs, you came unannounced, Settle in deep, start tearing me down. Cold sweat baptism, bathroom-floor prayer, Iâd sell my soul just to not feel you there.
You coil like a curse I canât outrun, Every second hits harder than the last one. You donât whisper, you donât warn, You kick the door in, make me mourn.
Pre-Chorus I guess I let you inside, Now Iâm paying the price. You wonât leave scars, But you rewrite my insides.
Chorus YOUâRE RIPPING ME OPEN, IâM LOSING CONTROL, A RIOT TEARING THROUGH MY CORE, NO SAFE WAY HOME. CALL IT LOVE, CALL IT PAIN, YOU HIT ME THE SAME. IâM BITING MY LIPS THROUGH THE SCREAMS I DONâT SHOW. YOUâRE KILLING ME SLOWLY, FROM THE INSIDE â LET ME GO.
Verse 2 Tried to stand up, world snapped in half, Vision went blurry, I laughed at that. You bend me forward, drag me down, Like I did something wrong just by existing now.
No witnesses, no one to blame, Just me and you in this private cage. You donât care if I beg or plead, You feed on my weakness, you live in me.
Pre-Chorus Every breath Is a gamble now, Every step Feels like Iâm going down. (Down, down, downâŚ)
Chorus YOUâRE RIPPING ME OPEN, IâM LOSING CONTROL, A RIOT TEARING THROUGH MY CORE, NO SAFE WAY HOME. CALL IT LOVE, CALL IT PAIN, YOU HIT ME JUST THE SAME. IâM BITING MY LIPS THROUGH THE SCREAMS I DONâT SHOW. YOUâRE KILLING ME SLOWLY, FROM THE INSIDE â LET ME GO!!!
Breakdown I SHOULDâVE KNOWN, I SHOULDâVE KNOWN, SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT ALONE. ONE BAD CHOICE, ONE LAST BITE, NOW IâM PAYING FOR IT ALL NIGHT.
Bridge (half-time, raw) I donât need your forgiveness, I donât need the truth, I just need a moment Where Iâm not fighting you.
Final Chorus (scream/sing) YOUâRE RIPPING ME OPEN, IâM LOSING CONTROL, THIS ISNâT HEARTBREAK â ITâS BREAKING MY CORE. CALL IT LOVE, CALL IT PAIN, YOU HIT ME THE SAME. IâM CURLED ON THE FLOOR, TRYING NOT TO EXPLODE. YOUâRE KILLING ME SLOWLY, FROM THE INSIDE â OUT.
Outro Dawn creeps in, Iâm still alive, Barely breathing, but I survived. You didnât break me, you tried hard, though. Iâm on my knees, begging you to go.
Feedback didnât take long to arrive. It was Ryota, the drummer, who replied first.
Another song for that whore? This is bullshit and you woke me up for this?
Kazuki stared at the screen, the words burning into his eyes as he typed the asnwer.
Calm down R it wasnât like that This has nothing to do with my love life
Followed by a crude
Wtf bro what is it then? Seems pretty clear to me that you are not over it yet
Kazuki's fingers hovered over the reply box, but the words didnât form. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Another notification came in. From Itsuki, the guitarist.
Donât worry Kazu. R-kun is just jealous of your love life Itâs public knowledge youâve got terrible taste in women đ And even worse in men đđ
With a smirk on his face, Kazuki flicked the middle finger emoji in the group chat and tossed the phone aside, laughing under his breath. The pain in his stomach stroke again, exactly as the song described. Kazuki took a slow drag off his cigarette, exhaling the smoke as if it could blow his stomachache away. After one last hit, he crushed the cigarette butt in the ashtray and sank back into the sheets, arms tightly wrapped around his aching stomach. Finally time to get some rest.
It was his first time back in his hometown since moving to Tokyo for work. Nearly a year had passed since heâd left, and not a single visit had been made, as everyone seemed more eager to find an excuse to visit him in Tokyo. Yet, now that he was back, it felt as though no time had passed at all.
His parents were as lively as ever, their spirits as warm as theyâd always been, and they had kept his childhood room frozen in time. The furniture, the bedding, the posters and photographs still hanging on the walls as if he hadnât left. Even the toilet seat was still as pristine and welcoming as he remembered.
He had lost count of how many times heâd run back to that same toilet that night. Dawn was just beginning to break on the horizon, casting a pale light through the window. This had to be his fourth or fifth trip to the toilet. His stomach was still punishing him for last nightâs dinner, cramping with no mercy and demanding frequent releases of its half-digested contents. Forcing him to double over the toilet bowl again and again, on his knees begging for mercy, clutching his stomach as he prayed for his misery to stop.
As he dragged himself back to bed, another wave of pain hit him. A pain that was sharp, unforgiving, a cruel reminder of his own helplessness.
âLook at youâjust bones, Kento,â his mom had said when she first saw him, her voice heavy with concern. âAre you living on instant noodles and discounted bento boxes, like youâre still in university?â
Her words had triggered something in him, the need to prove something, even if it was just to her. So heâd eaten dinner until every last dish was gone, indulging in all the foods heâd loved growing up in that house. He hadnât been able to stop himself.
And now, the regrets were unbearably painful. The stomach ache kicked in shortly after having dessert. Using his exhaustion from the long journey as a poor excuse to explain his early retreat from the dinner table, he went to his old bedroom and curled into a ball on the bedâthe same bed that had once offered him comfort during countless stomach aches, now strangely unfamiliar to him.
Tetsuji couldnât believe his luck. She hadnât rejected him. He spotted her from afar, standing out in the rush-hour crowd with her unique, cool style and her foreign features. She was slightly older, but there was something magnetic about her, an attraction he couldnât resist. So, he gathered his courage, approached her, exchanged numbers, and texted her the moment they parted ways, asking if she wanted to meet again.
And to his surprise, she replied almost instantly, suggesting they meet that very evening. Time wasnât something she wanted to waste; after all, she wouldnât be in the country for long.
Tetsuji couldnât believe his luck as they spent the evening strolling the streets of Tokyo, the crisp autumn air cooling the heat that kept building between them. He couldnât believe his luck when, without a word, she grabbed his wrist and led him toward the nearest train station. There, they kissed for the first time.
âThis is not a goodbye kiss,â she whispered.
And he understood immediately.
Tetsuji couldnât believe his luck as more kisses followed, as their clothes fell away like autumn leaves swept by the wind in her hotel room, as they reached the bed, and he finally tasted that forbidden, foreign fruit.
Tetsuji couldnât believe his luck when he woke up beside her, realizing it hadnât all been a dream.
But that was where his luck stretched to its limitâuntil 7 in the morning. From that moment on, he was sitting up in the bed theyâd shared so passionately, his body burning with discomfort. His stomach was in pure agony, an unbearable pain that seemed to grow worse with each passing second.
His eyes were wide open, but sleep wouldnât come. He fought the urge to shift positions, desperate for any kind of comfort, trying to keep his groans of pain as quiet as possible so as not to wake her and let her see him in such a pitiful, undesirable stateâsweating, pale, with his stomach cramping as if it were about to tear him apart, his body arched awkwardly in an attempt to find relief.