#and at this point my brain is too exhausted for them

[thecuriousquest]

The King of Curses and His Concubine

Trigger Warning: NSFW, heavy yandere themes, dominant behavior, ass play, spitting kink, ass fucking, dub con, concubine, mentions of murder, psychological control

@murderofravens

—————————————————————————

Sukuna pulls you over his knee. You think you’re about to get a spanking. You don’t necessarily like it when he does punish you in this way, especially since you haven’t done anything to deserve it. However, you’re more than surprised when he grabs the fat of your cheeks and pulls them apart. His gaze lingers on your fluttering hole. You can’t see the smile on his face, the predatory smirk full of sadistic satisfaction. Even more, you can feel his hard cock poking your stomach as you lay bent over his lap.

You hear him swirling something in his mouth, can tell his tongue is moving with the motion, amplifying the sound. You look over your shoulder just in time to see his mouth form the shape of an O. You watch the saliva shoot forth from his lips as it coats your asshole, seeping into it slowly.

The lines on his face contort into a feral and sloppy grin as he plunges two fingers deep inside of you. In and out. In and out. Fast, then slow. Fast again, slow again, faster and faster as he targets your sensitive walls. He spreads his fingers in the shape of a V while keeping them inserted inside of you.

Oh, you’re a writhing mess over his lap. You can’t stand it. His beefy fingers, his strong hand pumping between your cheeks. You were scared at first, but now you’re about to come repeatedly.

And you do. You orgasm on his lap over and over again. He is completely taking control of your overstimulation, not even giving you an inch of room to plead for anything. Even if you could talk, which he took great measures to get you to a point of brain fog, you wouldn’t ask for him to stop.

Incoherent babbling is all you’re capable of now as your tongue hangs out of your mouth while you go limp over his sturdy thigh. You come one last time, all nice and sloppily wet for him, drool and tears of pleasure pooling and mixing together on the wooden floor beneath you.

With two of his four arms, he picks you up. Your body moving with his will as you’re too exhausted to resist. You’re so docile, so compliant, such a good girl. He moves you on his lap, your back to his chest. Sukuna uses his other two hands to spread your thighs widely. His hard cock lines up with the edge of your asshole, nestled nicely between your cheeks. His spit and pre acting as a lubricant.

Sukuna pushes your body down roughly, and you cry out. You don’t even have to do any work. He enjoys bouncing your body on his cock. You’re all under his control. You just have to comply and try not to move as much as possible. Like a large train trying to fit through a small tunnel, his cock fills you up completely. You look down and watch as Sukuna brings the hand that was holding your left thigh up to your puffy little clit.

You can’t help but let your head fall back against his shoulder. He’s pushing you into yet another orgasm. You can feel it as the rough pad of his large pointer and middle finger circle and swirl on the little button of nerves.

“Good whores deserve all sorts of rewards, my cock being one of them,” he whispers in your ear, his voice sultry and powerful, even the softness in which he speaks right now is still filled with authority.

“M…m…mas…ter!”

“You can’t even say it. Pathetic. You really are just a sloppy, submissive little slut. It’s a good thing you’re pretty, because you really don’t have much in that head of yours.”

He laughs as he induces another orgasm while he pumps your ass with his thick and veiny erection.

You feel him fill you up, and as goes flaccid, he decides to hold you closely; two arms wrapped beneath your breasts, and two arms hugging your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder while you lean back against him, panting and sweaty, thoroughly exhausted.

“You really are the best one out of all of them. Maybe, I should kill the others and just have you,” he says more to himself as he brushes your nipple with his thumb.

You hear him, but you don’t dare say anything. Sukuna has always been kinder to you because you are his favorite concubine, but he is still a cruel master. You always keep this in mind, never letting your guard down around him just because he can be so fickle.

“Would you like that, Y/N? Would that please you?”

You only let the silence hang between you two as you formulate the correct response.

“If it makes you happy, Master…then it makes me happy as well.”

And if you are responsible for the death of those twenty-five girls, then so be it. You know better than to give any other kind of response to Sukuna by now. By the many, many excruciating lessons he has taught you before, you damn well know better by now…

#yandere #triggering content #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #triggering themes #yandere x darling #yandere themes #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 29 - Beginning of Their Nightmares

The hopelessness that had once infiltrated its way into Don’s anxious heart vanished as soon as he heard the sound of his twin’s voice. All his doubts and the many ‘what ifs’ plunged into the forgotten corners of his mind as he called out to his brother.

“Raph, are you alright?? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Do you feel ok? How many fingers am I holding u-”

“- GEEZ DON- You’re makin’ my headache worse! I’m fine, you can stop freaking out now.”

“I wasn’t freaking out. This is not freaking out.”, Don gestured to himself as best he could whilst being tied down to the floor, “You’re ok? No injuries?”

“Yeah, bro. I’m fine.”

Don recognized the exhaustion laced into his brother’s usual tone, but besides that nothing seemed amiss. All the purple-clad brother had to go by at this point was his hearing, seeing how his brother was still morphed and distorted into nothing but tired and angry pixels.

“What can you see?” Don asked with a hint of ember in his tone, still annoyed with the aching reminder that he still didn’t have his glasses.

“Uhhhh..”

Don heard the whispers of fabric sliding across skin. He quickly connected this to Raph’s mask tails moving as he turned his head to search their new cell. Quickly following was the subtle taps of Raph’s fingers, signifying he was beginning to get anxious. He would always do his little taps when school got too boring, or when he was waiting his turn to join in a sparring session in the dojo; He wanted to move.

“Raph, are you tied down too?”

Don’s ears caught the shuffling sounds of his brother squirming.

“DUH. Otherwise I woulda been over there smackin’ you in the head for letting us get caught like this.” Raph’s voice didn’t burn with bitterness, but instead warmed with brotherly affection. Or at least- as affectionate as the hothead could manage, going against every temper-fueled bone in his body. Don could just imagine the smile gracing his twin’s face.

Even when we’re captured he can’t help himself to tease me. Never change, brother.

“Yeah thanks for that lovely sentiment, dear twin of mine. But we still need to focus on an escape plan. Now you, the only one in this room with proper vision, describe to me what you see so I can calculate a way to get us out of here. Please and thank you.”

Don could tell from the muffled vibrations that Raph was biting his lip as he hummed to himself.

“There isn’t much, brainiac.. Four walls, a roof and a floor..”

“Thank you for explaining to the audience that we are indeed in a room.”

Don still had that same feeling of someone watching him and his brother, so going by that, he theorized there was another camera hidden in the walls of their cell.

“Oh shut up, dude.. At least I’m not blind.”

Don’s countenance fell at the reminder. He knew his brother didn’t mean for his words to become sharp blades, but Raph’s ignorance didn’t negate the fact that his simple sentence drove a piercing sting into the freckled brother’s heart.

Even with the pain of his brother’s words pulling him down, Don still took the opportunity to get some ribbing in as well.

“Well, at least I have a functional brain, compared to your useless, tied-down muscles. Intelligence can’t be restrained.”

“Ha! Yeah right. Call me when someone wins a wrestling match using nothin’ but their brain.”

“Not exactly what I meant- but regardless, we need to find a way out of here.”

As much as I’d love to continue in this lovely banter, we really need to focus here, Raph.

“Are you tied to the floor too?”

“Not exactly.. I’m on a table.”

Raph tugged and yanked, but no rings of chains echoed. It sounded closer to straps of leather, accompanied with a small tink of what appeared to be a belt buckle.

“You’re what? On a table?.. Like a surgeon’s table?”

Don should’ve thought through those sentences a bit more thoroughly before allowing his brother to hear them.

“A WHAT? Surgeon?!”

Don’s shoulders rose as he hissed through his teeth in regret. Raph’s tugs and yanks became far less controlled by the second.

Yeah, perhaps I should’ve thought that through a bit more..

“Raph stop- you’ll dislocate your shoulder or break your wrist- just.. Calm down.”

“THIS IS AS CALM AS I’M GONNA GET, DON. Cause if this is ANYTHING like in the movies, THEN I AM WAY PASSED SCREWED.”

“Yeah, we’re BOTH gonna be screwed if you don’t let me use your perfect little vision spheres to find a way out of here!”

“I TOLD YOU THERE’S NOTHING IN HERE!”

Don could sense the stress building in Raph’s body, like lava filling to the rim of a volcano. Only instead of the raging inferno being fueled by his temper, it was being fueled by something far less predictable: his fear.

If Raph has a meltdown he’ll be more useless than I am. Calm him down FAST. Use facts. They almost always help me in stressful situations such as this, so hopefully it will be the same for him.

“Please stop yelling. A headache will make my brain, the only useful internal organ I have left, far less helpful. And panicking isn’t going to help anyone. You’re only going to further injure yourself.”

“I’M NOT PANICKING, I’M STRESSING THE CRAP OUT.”

Ok yeah- that didn’t work. Try being more real and honest with him. Less facts, more truth.

“Noted. But if you continue like this you’ll have a panic attack, and that will render you either catatonic or inconsolably violent. Neither of which will help us here.”

The constant tugs of leather stopped.

“.. Did you just call me a cat?…”

You know what, I can work with this! At least when Raph’s confused he’s not moving or hurting himself.. Yes, keep him asking questions, it’s helping him calm down!

“You know, catatonic. Comatose.”

The pixelated blurb that was Raphael’s head tilted ever so slightly.

Hehe.. This is fun. I should do this more often.

Don continued on as he began to list synonym after synonym, further deepening his fiery brother’s confused, dazed state. As long as it kept Raph from hurting himself and panicking, then he would be happy to oblige to confuse the heck out of his brother. Don couldn’t help the growing grin on his face as he specifically chose the most convoluted of words; ones that would leave Mikey with his pupils slowly separating. Normally it would annoy him that his family and brothers didn’t understand the meanings to his wide variety of vocabulary. But now the thing that he had been teased and ostracized for..

.. had become his greatest strength. And with this assumedly useless gift, he had been helping to calm down his fearful brother.

“Don, what the shell are you even sayi-”

The melodious sounds of Raph’s confused tone were jarringly cut off with a sharp gasp. Don twisted his head to face the blur which was his brother.

“Raph??”

Don REALLY WISHED HE COULD SEE.

“Raph what’s wrong?? What’s going on?”

Did he see something? Is he hurt?

“Quiet Don, someone’s comin’.” Raph shout-whispered to his brother, as his voice changed to ‘protector mode’.

All Don’s work to calm down his brother vanished before his malfunctioning eyes, as the sounds of footsteps drew nearer to the door of their cell.

Don’s posture straightened as much as he could manage while still being tied down to the floor. Memories flashed behind Don’s eyes of the Man touching and prodding him like some science project.. He had felt so small under the monster’s watchful eye.. The cells of humanity flowing in his veins seemed to disappear as he refused to speak in front of his captor. It was worth it though.

It was worth it to not reveal to the Man just what he was up against.

It was WORTH IT to keep his humanity from being seen by the monster.

The door opened. Don’s spine shivered at the sound of boots.

Ochitsuke. Focus, Donatello. FOCUS.

As the Man walked towards the chained-down mutant, his pixels combined and formed into a crisp image. But for once today, Don was absolutely fine with not being able to see clearly if it meant he wouldn’t have to peer into the ghost’s face again. The mutant leaned as far back as he could as the Man’s face edged closer. The familiar sound of Raphael’s growls echoed from the back of the room.

“Welcome to your new home. Here you’ll form so many new memories.”

Don’s muscles all tensed as he fought with all his might to not back down from the creature of a Man. His stiff form wasn’t helping the growing ache in his wrists from the chains and cuffs, but it was worth it to prove his strength and will to his captor.

I WON’T BACK DOWN, YOU DEMON.

The Man reached out his hand to Don’s face, caressing the fabric of his mask. The purple-clad mutant let out his own warning growl, but that did nothing just as it hadn’t before. The Man’s slender hands brushed across Don’s cheek, making that same awful chill enter into the mutant’s soul.

Don wanted to throw up if it meant the horrible feeling of dread in his stomach would cease.

The Man took both his hands and wrapped them behind Don’s head, fluidly slipping off his purple mask. The Man pocketed it with the smoothness of a master thief.

“You won’t be needing this. Not an inch of you will be a mystery once my studies begin.”

Don’s face being fully presented to his captor made the mutant shrink in discomfort. Sure it was just a piece of cloth with two eye holes.. But he had worn that mask since he was twelve years old. It was part of his identity. But now he watched as the Man continued to deny everything that made him him; Proof to Don that what was coming for him and his brother would test everything they had in them:

Their constitutions.

Their will.

Their faith.

And especially..

..their understanding of who they are.

“These walls have kept many different… creatures at bay, and over time all of them fell. Some to their madness.. Some to my blade.”

Don’s spirit suddenly felt the embers from his brother’s seething flame.

The Man turned to face Raphael, but stayed uncomfortably close to Don’s side.

“Ah yes. Rabid Red..” the Man tsked in a facade of pity, “Seems the surplus of sedatives did nothing to cure you of your infuriatingly pitiful temper. But that’s fine with me.”

The Man reached for his coat pocket, while refusing to break eye contact with Raph. By the sound of his brother’s growls not wavering, Don figured the Man’s intimidation attempt wasn’t so successful.

But then…

All went silent as the Man revealed a syringe filled with a noxiously potent green liquid inside. The Man rose off the ground and began walking towards Raph, a frighteningly bright smile spread across his face like some awful infection.

“.. I want you to be fully awake for every second.”

Don’s pupils constricted as he turned his head to face his brother.

RAPH NO!

The cap of the syringe was removed with practiced hands, revealing the needle shining in all its horrible glory.

“.. I want you to feel every fluid ounce of agony slowly creep through your skin and into your blood. I want you to see the monster I know you are.”

Don’s ears drowned out the sounds of his captor slowly drawing closer to his brother, and instead focused on the shivering breaths and tight gasps escaping Raph.

He’s terrified.

“.. This is what you get for biting me, freak.”

NO! PLEASE STOP!!!!

Don’s heart painfully beat in his chest as the Man creeped into the pixelated shadows, once again becoming the faceless Specter that would forever haunt the freckled mutant’s nightmares.

RAPHAEL!!!!!!

Don’s hearing finally betrayed him as the sounds of his brother’s anguished cries seared into his ears.

Andddd that's it for this chapter!....

.. Is it bad that I truly enjoyed writing for Specter in this-??? Is something wrong with me?... Have I officially lost my shell? Heheh.

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#my version of tmnt!! #the strength in weakness #SIW Don #SIW Raph #tmnt #hurt/comfort #angst #captured #tw needles #tw fear

[noacfapologyst]

telltale heart — matty healy. part 2

´part 1´

summary: you and matty have a pending meeting at some awards where you promised to go as a couple. but something goes wrong.

wc: 2,5k

a/n: hey! i'm so sorry for the lateness. a lot has just happened these days but here is the second part. thanks for the love, x.

The weeks between the awards and the proposal to take Matty as your date have been from the moment he left the studio, the only thing you've ever seen going on in your mind.

You haven't been able to sit down and compose peacefully, or be able to just have a conversation without mentioning him without you slipping through your cheeks. Or that he appears in stains on your writing, the references may be exhaustive at some point, but your brain is about to explode just to think that he'll be there for you, and just for you. You wish his hand would occasionally slip into the waist of the dress you will wear and you would use that touch to keep it forever in your memory.

Even in your best dreams you wouldn't have had the courage to ask him to accompany you to prizes like your date, you can actually stand near him without trembling about it by mere chance.

Two weeks before, you go back to the conversation that tortured you several days ago with your team.

"Matty Healy, are you really sure?" Your manager inquires again, you cross your legs again. It's a sequence you've been living since Friday. "It dissolves your image too much in front of his. I don't know if it fits."

"Really, I don't care." You shrug your shoulders with heaviness. Your image is ruined anyway, but you're not going to let them take this off your hands. "Whether i go with someone or not, there is a stir. I was cheated, remember." You point again and you look at your fingernails, you need to finish defining everything now. "I don't care if it ruins my reputation. Matty is my friend, end of discussion, Helen."

Maybe it's the tone of voice or maybe you've just fed everyone up with it but Helen, your manager for years, sighs and nods with discontent. A winning smile sits on your face. You understand the worry in that office really, but you have one more card to play. You don't really care what his image is from doors to the outside because with everyone around him he's never been more than a gentleman and that's the only thing you really stick with when you have to talk about him.

"Plus, we give the media what they want. The antithesis of Sam." Helen decides it's time to let the argument go and even though her face is a weak grin they decide to move on to the other agenda items.

"Have you decided the dress, at least?" Your innocent smile betrays you and you're nowhere near getting a blow to your head.

You run into a bubble of teenage foolishness, she should understand that. But you won't discuss that either because deep down you've let him look distracted.

"I'll see the dress later, I'll let you know which one I choose." You inform her at the end by taking a sip in the cup of coffee. Helen doesn't make any sound anymore, and you know you've officially won.

--

Stylists really only want to kill you now or throw some fabric over your head. But they are right in their anger, you shouldn't have waited until the last week to choose the dress or gather too many designers in one place without having a very clear idea of fabrics, cuts and necklines. All you know is it has to be red, it can't be any other color under any forecast.

But it's not that you didn't want to choose it, you just couldn't find the right one. Which is kind of a lie.

No one can deny that there is an attraction in you posturally just by seeing you from afar, there is some light in you that stands out without you trying. You know that you're actually beautiful and that you're lucky enough to fit in dresses and that anything would be fine to show off on you. Your face has small freckles and you have good proportions between your nose, your eyes moderately green and almond, and your round lips. Your hips and abdomen are fine although you've never paid too much attention to them, or at least lately. But you know that your figure is imposing and immutable when the line is drawn between your low back and your high back and everything stands out there.

But this is different, it's a dress for and by Matty. It has to be perfect, not close to it. It may be one of the few opportunities you have in your life to receive his look on your body and make you tremble even just by looking at your cheeks. And that's also why the red dress has to be camouflaged on your cheeks.

In the end you find it and you couldn't be happier with the result. Red satin, straps around the back and neckline. When you test it automatically your body functions like a teenager and you start spinning around it without even finishing tying your high heels properly. But as you see yourself spinning in the mirror a smile sits on your face from ear to ear.

"It honestly feels like it was designed for you." After everyone in the room approves it by nodding as they take the measurements for the final adjustments, your image advisor shows up at the door and his confirmation lets you see that you're going to be relevant at the awards and with several glances on it overshadowing several more artists. "You look like the fucking winner."

And that confirms that you've finally found it. And it's perfect.

---

"Hey." Matty's face appears on your computer screen when he calls you on FaceTime. They haven't seen each other in person since the night at the studio, but their contact has been maintained anyway. "How do you feel about the awards?"

"Why the question?" You better place the device on the table and rest the guitar on your legs. You take the opportunity to spend some time watching how the hair on his front move each time he accommodates the camera.

"I wanted to make sure you remembered that we will be the best couple at the awards." Your heart stops for a second. "Believe me when I tell you that Sam is going to vomit with resentment when he sees us." The archness in his voice, the change of tone, the punctuation of the latter. The silly smile and the wink he makes. Too much for three o'clock in the afternoon.

That's when you realize something else. Ever since Matty became your supposed date, you haven't spent a second thinking about your breakup or your ex or who she's going to take. Just now you're rethinking it.

"You still there?" Matty claps his palms and looks at you from the screen with a frown. He doesn't mean it in a blunt way, but he knows how your brain works and he knows you've frozen to yourself.

"Yes, I don't know, I had forgotten he was going to be there." In fact it's a confession would be because it's realistic. You've been in your pink bubble about Matty that you forgot your ex would be there. "I don't wanna see him. I would like he stop exists sometimes." You laugh silly and he gives it back to you with a supportive look.

"It won't bother you, darling. I'll protect you." You feel like you're gonna throw up rainbows for the next five minutes and you don't know exactly what the trigger is. But luckily you can hear George's voice in the background and you know Matty's going to say goodbye. "See you on Friday. I'll get a red bow for the suit."

"That would be fantastic." You wink at him revealing the color of your dress and he smiles waving his hand around the camera as if he were a small child. "Bye bye, Matty."

When you cut off the call you have your head burning up from the amount of information you're processing right now, and then you go back to the first point you noticed today, the initial cause you owe to being able to go with Matty to the awards has stopped crossing your mind the moment this whole plan happened. It's also when you realize how self-destructive it is to have portal notifications on your computer just to keep abreast of public opinion about you.

You shouldn't let it get to you so much, but it actually does. Sam and her, the girl the rumors of your infidelity fed on and then confirmed, holding hands in front of the last bar you and he went to as a couple, two days before the breakup. His hands on his waist, he looks happier than he ever was with you. Smile more, he has a genuine expression in it. She's cute and it hurts you because you thought you were her ideal type and she, ironically, is completely different from you.

Your breath is cut short and you force yourself not to blink so fast and control the splash in your eyes. Yeah, maybe it's been a few months, but you're back in front of that studio and you're back in front of the words that stuck like a dagger in you when he said he didn't really love you and you just bored him. That feeling makes you get carried away and after weeks of holding back you get carried away and you just cry liberating yourself. At some point you let go of a drowned cry when you think about how you imagined a life full of it or at least imagined it would last more than a few months.

In the epitome of your catharsis you stretch between the guitar and the notebook and reveal that not letting yourself feel in its totality is what has not allowed you to put words in a line. And that is now broken from the moment your fingers prick the guitar in a melancholy and sad way, your thoughts fly and stay on the page when you denote the betrayal in your story, the lie and the reality of the facts. As your facet of strength and pretending smile and well-being collapse and leave you reduced to your tear-filled role, your knees on your head and the floor next to the gray armchair.

Maybe one of the best songs of your career. How you died waiting for a sign that never came even if they had sworn you everlasting love. Like you would actually have given up everything to keep it.

Suddenly you calm down just as quickly as you have acquired the previous state, when you manage to breathe properly thinking that Matty said he would be there and accompany you in front of Sam. That he has used the word protect gushes warmth within you, and you know that you can rejoice in the feeling of affection that he inevitably gives you. Therein lies the essence and effect Matty has on you and how important his friendship is to every aspect of your life. He's been there in every stage of your life and he's never stopped accompanying you even when he wasn't at his best.

Then you relax thinking about how lucky you are to be able to take him to those awards regardless of the terms agreed between the two and what the media put on. At the end of the day you'll be going to the awards that you and him have been talked about for thousands of nights being the best choice of both because understanding was never faked and that chemistry is always instantaneous.

When you realize you're tapping the guitar without a predetermined note, it's glimpsed between scratches of melancholy and a pink bubble. But now you're back to your usual thoughts and now you can't stop thinking about Matty dressed in a suit (and looking awesome, by the way) with him basically matching you in his tie.

--

Since you open your eyes on Friday, the day becomes chaos. Dress test, hair test and make-up test. The walk in heels, the review of the speech. Thinking about what to say about the breakup, that your figure remains dazzling no matter if the person able to disarm you is the one standing next to you. Both for your ex-partner and your date. Then they'll come and tell you about your nomination and how some song will be better than yours. The vicious circle of being an artist.

You wish it was a quick day, but it becomes extremely heavy. You hardly have time to stop for a drink of water and when you realize you are already changed for the event.

You look in the mirror with your stylist and then he starts to take shots while he changes between different angles to have the best pictures. Your hair is semi collected in a braid from behind and only a few waves break off on the wind but it gives the feeling that you have a princess collection and is not in danger of collapse.

Your dress gets all the attention, you look taken off the cover of a magazine. The red satin falls on you adjusting your curves and marking your figure in a rather attractive way to see, the cut on the leg does not take out the dainty of the dress. Your neckline falls on a beak held by a very thin thick straps that connect the dress with the neckline at the back, leaving your back open only with a few straps crossing to your low back.

You're perfect but you can't help but want to bite your nails because you feel there's something still missing even though you're being manic checking your makeup all the time. And if it wasn't because you don't have a second for your stylist to talk to you about important things, you'd have tried to touch up your makeup many more times.

When you get in the limo, you breathe until you calm down, and then you have a millisecond to talk to Matty.

see you, x

hey

we're coming for you soon

You turn off the phone and leave it on the seat when you feel your manager's gaze pointing at you.

"Where's Matty?" You ask after a while starting to listen to your senses that tells you something is wrong. They should have passed Matty's house a few miles ago, and your heart speeds up when you know you are entering the freeway.

Your phone vibrates and lets you see the Brit's messages making you form a thick grimace between your lips. Your brow automatically frowns and you feel your makeup heavy as you read each word carefully and feel like someone is playing a heavy joke on you.

only a thing

if you promise someone a date you have to keep it or at least warn that it's a fucking joke

Your vision becomes blurry for a few moments and you feel your world just stop in front of a polarized window and the body of the seat. You don't want to believe that what your head is thinking is actually what's going on, you can't just go overboard like that. The chances were very slim.

And then, come the words that confirm how you dug your own grave without it being your fault. You feel like someone's slapping you right where it hurts the most.

"Oh yes, about that. Matty isn't a good look for you, so we just got you someone else. You'll thank me later."

actually i think it sucks but will be rewarded in the next part? anyway let me know what you think <333

#matty healy #matty the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x you #matty healy x oc #matty healy x reader #matty fic #matty healy blurb #telltale heart au

[disabledunitypunk]

So, I know this blog has been a lot less active as of late, at least from my part (mod Stars).

I'm gonna be honest; I've been incredibly sick. A combination of some kind of issue with gluten/wheat (may be celiac, or nonceliac gluten intolerance, or wheat allergy) with IBD, MCAS, lactose intolerance and sensory issues, had caught me in such a cycle of degranulation, anaphylaxis, intestinal issues, brain fog, chronic fatigue, and POTS and chronic pain flareups, that I was nonfunctional.

On top of that, anxiety over my partners SSI application (recently medically approved by the administrative law judge, that's a win! still waiting on nonmedical approval but it should hopefully just be a rubber stamp process at this point - knock on wood) has really screwed with my levels of executive dysfunction.

And trauma around medical neglect and abuse, plus being so sick, plus executive dysfunction, had led me to temporarily avoid seeking treatment at all. When I say that the very idea of trying to trick yet another doctor's ego into believing they came up with the idea to test me for the conditions I'm already reasonably certain I have, all while making sure I don't seem too smart, too unintelligent, too articulate, too reliant on google, too self-aware, use too many medical terms, and so on... I've not had the ability to advocate for myself anymore.

Luckily, a friend of mine that's all hellfire agreed to help advocate for me at some of my appointments going forward, so I'm going to be finding a new primary care doc and going forward (possibly seeing my old one a few more times if necessary, just to get re-referrals and maybe get a referral to a non-Medicaid allergist that actually knows what MCAS is) with pursuing diagnoses and treatment again.

Until then, however, I'm pretty much limited to about three foods - plain white or wild rice, "zoup" (a zucchini broth with chunks of carrots, daikon, celery, and wild rice), and raisins. I can drink water and cranberry juice. Between my sensory issues and that tiny list, I've been consistently significantly hungry for a week. I'm struggling to sleep and can't get more than four hours of restless sleep in a night the past few nights. I'm menstruating for the first time in five years for G-d knows why. I feel better and less reactive, especially after an ER visit for some IM decadron, but I am constantly exhausted.

Why do I bring all this up?

This is my daily life. I have near zero quality of life because of the ableism of doctors and failures of the medical system. I'm barely keeping myself alive every day, really only with the help of a lot of caretaking from my partner. I haven't been able to get to my doctor to get approved for that friend willing to advocate for me to be paid for basic caretaking duties by Medicaid. I went out on Saturday for the first time in over a month, and I'll be recovering from that for the next week and a half.

There is not a single minute of my life that isn't profoundly affected by my disabilities. Stress causes a cascading reaction through my MCAS, POTS, ME/CFS. Understimulation causes intense stress and even pain. Listening to music while doing nothing, watching videos, and similar "low energy" activities drain so much energy that they trigger my chronic fatigue, and sometimes cause a lesser reverse cascading reaction.

I can't take an ADHD med to help with the symptoms more disabling than the ones threatening literal anaphylaxis and organ failure because I can't get them compounded without an official MCAS diagnosis, and I'd also need a beta blocker compounded as well (which are are often mast cell triggers) for my POTS because the only ADHD meds that work on me are amphetamines.

I can't take vitamin D or B12 despite being incredibly critically low for the same reasons. I've barely found some OTC benadryl and aleve that I halfway tolerate. I might have a UTI and if I do I'm gonna have to convince doctors 20 years behind the medical literature that IM antibiotics are considered safe and effective and are a safer alternative to oral meds for me, if still risking a minor reaction.

On good days, I can make it between the bed and couch a couple times a day, and between the couch and the toilet. On bad days, I have a chamber pot setup in the bedroom because I can't afford diapers. I'm sure my vitamin D deficiency is not helped by never leaving an apartment that barely gets some sunlight two hours a day because it's in the shadow of the other side of the building.

I used to, on bad days, spend most of the day doing mindless tasks or on slightly less bad days, puzzle games, on my phone. Now, I'm lucky if I can do even that much most days. I AM too sick to play video games. 🥲 I can nap, I can sit with my eyes open, I can listen to music until it's too exhausting anymore.

I'm tired, and every day surviving is just a monumental effort. Again, the ableism of doctors and... actually, they're not failures if they're intentional; the abusive medical system, have not left a single minute of my life untouched.

Multiple times, when talking about online discourse, I've been accused of "wanting to be more disabled than I am", "being physically abled", being "crazy", "delusional", "on something", etc, etc, etc. All for daring to say that ideas like body-mind duality, exclusionism within disabled communities, and similar, are deeply harmful and affect far more than insular online discourse.

Doctors love to shove off chronically ill people into "psych cases". Have anxiety, autism, PTSD, schizophrenia, DID, depression, etc, etc on your chart? Yeah, you're never getting that physical diagnosis. This is what perpetuating and encouraging ideas like "all disabilities are physical OR mental", "people with abc type of disability have privilege over people with xyz type of disability", and so on, DOES.

Sanism is used to perpetuate ableism. Ableism is used to perpetuate sanism. Quite frankly, I'm not sure that neurotypical physically disabled people, non-mad neurodivergent physically disabled people, and physically abled neurodivergent/mad (all as self-identified categories) get just how deeply compounded ableism is when you exist at the intersection of physically disabled and neurodivergent (especially if mentally ill or mad). Or perhaps, the disconnect exists along a line of "profoundly disabled" vs "can access abled hegemony to a significant extent". Perhaps it's both. There is likely elements of how visible a disability is, how much its able to be masked, the type/level/spread of support needs, and so on. There's definitely elements of other marginalization; race, ethnicity, fatness, queerness, and so on.

And then there's the subcategories. Cognitively disabled. Traumatized. Chronically ill. Visually impaired/blind. Deaf/hard of hearing. Intellectual disability. Mobility disabilities. Fluctuating vs static disabilities, support needs, masking, and so on.

Sometimes I wonder, would the people who think I'm just an abled faker who doesn't belong for not being able to seperate my neurodivergence from my physical disabilities, my neurological organs from my body, my inabilities from my inabilities, would they find I'm the same as them when they spend a day in my life? Would they find it worse? Would they find it unbearable in a completely different way from their own struggles? Would they maybe even find that while it's not quite as hard as their own struggles in some cases, that it's still wildly hard and the two are far closer to each other on the scale than they think? Would they understand that we are both in the midst of an active, eugenicist genocide, and that we're 50-49 bullet holes staring down the barrel of a loaded gun that is held by our oppressors?

Even now, I'm thinking about how this post might be inaccessible. Is it readable for screen readers? Will the length be too much for way too many people? Is it understandable for people with intelligence and cognitive disabilities? How do I fix those things if it's not. What am I missing? What am I missing? What am I missing?

I'm exhausted, I'm scared, and I'm barely holding on. I'm safe, mental health wise, to be clear, I'm just convinced that the only reason that I'm not in significant danger from my physical chronic illnesses right now is because I've always had a body that was stubborn as all hell and twice as resilient. I'm not dying, not because the illnesses aren't trying, but because my body will endure far beyond normal limits.

I've experienced slow acting anaphylactic reactions without anaphylactic shock about once a month for 1-2 years now, usually only going in after several days and nights of severe symptoms. Like I've mentioned, several of my vitamin levels are so low as to make organ failure a constant threat. None of my illnesses are "terminal" per se, but that doesn't mean they can't be deadly. And more to the point, it doesn't mean they can't destroy me, that they haven't utterly destroyed my quality of life, without killing me.

I mean, I started this blog as an attempt at fostering solidarity. We CANNOT be quibbling over who really "belongs" in various disability spaces, who gets to reclaim what words or whatever, when so many of us are dealing with this shit.

For the area with the lowest cost of living in the country, SSI should be 5 times what it is now. For the highest, up to 20 times. People on disability benefits lose some or all of their payments, insurance, and so on, if they get married, even to another person on benefits. I've never met a disabled person without more doctor horror stories than diagnoses, and we all know diagnoses like to come in clusters. We are being abused, neglected, and killed.

I cannot stress how much, not that this intracommunity discourse "doesn't matter", but that it does at a deeply harmful level. It's just perpetuation of the abuse we face at a lateral level. We're mimicking the government and doctors and general abled society and getting into petty but deeply dangerous inane arguments that are just us carrying out the only way we've been taught to treat disabled people.

Being a disabled activist and advocate means questioning everything you know about ableism. It means prioritizing first and foremost disabled people. And honestly, speaking as someone whose platform here is dedicated to that, that's really fucking hard. It means believing people about their experiences with disability and oppression in a world that teaches us that the vast majority of disabled people are lying privileged fakers.

It means not believing that people know more about what people with a disability they DON'T have face because of their own disabilities. A little confusing, but essentially someone with disability A without disability B who faces oppression X, can't say that someone with disability B DOESN'T face oppression X, just because they face it. It means not calling the very real harm someone has experienced "misdirected", or making their suffering about you or your subcommunity, just because you've experienced the same or similar harm.

It means unlearning reactivity as a group of extremely traumatized people. It means learning to meet people where they're at, and assume "can't" rather than "won't". It means accepting that sometimes not only will someone's disabilities cause conflicting access needs with your own, but that sometimes people's disabilities can actively cause them to do harm, and that they still deserve rights, community, and support if they do. It also means recognizing that the harm that a disability may cause someone to do is going to look VASTLY different than abled expectations of "harmful" disabilities. It means, even and especially when this happens, recentering the perspective not around how the disability affects other people, but around how it affects the person with the disability.

It's all of this and so much more. It's a lot of effort from people with not a lot to give. It's fighting an upstairs battle with no ramp, so to speak.

And I guess I just... I'm at a loss on how to keep that up. Is just focusing on getting myself well enough to participate again, putting my own mask on first, enough? When there is not a single moment of my life untouched by the extremely deep and extremely systemic harm of ableism, is it enough to try and access the care continually gatekept from me at an individual level? Can I even do so, against such intensive pressure?

How do I live this life, and also go on untangles the narratives of "disabling neurodivergence isn't really a real disability and neurodivergent people face almost no real ableism" and "physical conditions are obvious and so get all the care and face no real ableism". How do I fight the concurrent violences of hypervisibility and erasure within the community that only serve to strengthen abled people bludgeoning us with them?

How do I focus on things like organizing, community building, activism, advocacy, dismantling the system, dismantling our reliance on it, and so much more, when I can't even get out of bed?

All I can do is write about it, right now. Sometimes I feel like that's all I've ever been able to do. Everyone I've ever known has acted like some day my "pen" will be a tool of liberation, but I'm at a loss for how. I'm just some horribly sick mad cripple on a dying microblogging platform on the internet. I don't know - not if I'm enough, but if anything ever can be.

And I don't mean to sound hopeless. I know that change can happen. I know that it is, in tiny and sometimes larger ways, every day.

This is kind of a self-centered post, in the most neutral way. This is just my perspective. This is about me, and how I'm so very disabled, and how people assume I'm not (and how wild that is, considering), and how ableism affects me so deeply, and how I don't know how to face it or fight it...

I can only hope that maybe my word resonating with people means something. That maybe, as much as we never want each other to experience what we have to, that it's also a comfort to know we don't experience it alone. That maybe this will serve as a reminder that it's okay to be scared, to feel lost, even hopeless, to struggle; to not know how to fight or where to turn. That maybe this will reach someone who CAN do something, and maybe it'll reach the people who need to NOT do anything other than take care of themselves, and that maybe it will help both of them.

Maybe that's too grandiose, I don't know. I hardly know what my point is here, other than: this is me, crippled and crazy as all hell. This is the violence I face. This is why I started this blog, because we need to stop hearing "you're a lying abled privileged faker trying to take advantage of and take resources from real disabled people who really need it" from abled people, and saying it word for word to each other. Because what abled people mean by "real disabled people" is just a theoretical disabled person. A perfect victim. They don't mean any real disabled person, especially not those who can advocate for themselves. They mean they think every single one of us doesn't need or deserve accommodations, treatment, respect, humanity, or even life.

That's the point, really. We're all we've got. We've gotta fight for each other, not fight each other. And G-d, I know how hypocritical that sounds coming from my ragey, rabid ass. I just... that's all I know to focus on right now. Not necessarily all coming together and holding hands and singing a song about unity, but just... not being ableist to each other. Tolerating each other even if we can't stand each other. Presenting a united, unbroken front to ableist society, and pushing until they don't have any power over us anymore. Doing the work of activism, which is often neither easy nor feel-good.

That's what I'm trying to do here, at least. I try to get a little better at it every day. I try to listen a little more. I try to keep up hope when my body and mind are crashing down around me.

I don't have a mic-drop conclusion to add to this, so just: I'm opening the floor. Anyone who has anything to add, feel free to do so. What you have to say is valuable.

#ableism #sanism #unitypunk #cripplepunk #madpunk #neuropunk

[essektheylyss]

I have, against all good judgment, started playing Control. I did make it through the first challenge without dying (after I got past the first proper jump) which bodes better than expected, given my video game track record, but we'll see how it goes.

Anyway, I need to make a version of the Socrates meme but with Jesse getting hired as director immediately upon the culmination of some decades-long revenge quest.

#'hired' sure is a word to use for it but like. what else would you call it. #also the Authority southern reach vibes are so strong and not just cuz of the name #you have semi unwittingly become director of a shady semi-extradimensional secret federal bureau. #everything is hostile to you except for one feral old man and honestly he'll probably try to get you killed at some point to. #another feral old man is speaking to you seemingly directly into your brain and he is DEFINITELY going to end up getting you killed. #good luck! #where is my crossover fic of john rodriguez and jesse control playing the most exhausted game of dive bar pool and getting hammered. #I know I'm like. minutes into this game but it's what they both deserve. #(ghost bird can come too cuz it's funny as fuck and she would cheat so badly and both of them would be too tired to notice) #anyway tags with a target audience of me and me only probably

[skunkes]

General oc talkkkk

I feel like i have to Do something with al once i take him off the shelf again (when my brain lets go of talon for another few months), ive been motivated to draw talon because he sits in my brain and i imagine interactions but it's much harder with al since al has been around for 10 years or more...and Al has like. Less conflict? In the sense of him just being a nice kind guy with regular human issues in a normal human world (or cow with regular individual issues in a normal furry world lol) ykwim?

Like. Talon is exaggerated he's a caricature of feelings to play with he's got lots of internal contradictions... and outside of that the whole Setting is easy to play with too, like, he's a vampire and those elements are more fun to think about and incorporate and build up in a way that requires a bit more brainpower of the fun variety (can make shit up) than Just a Regular Guy (has to be nore realistic, less fun to research), but less brainpower than, say, my abandoned Space Ocs where it was way harder for me to just make shit up, and way more to make shit up about (not as fun for me)

Idk! Its easy to imagine Talon in interactions, including ones with Al, or just self exploring dialogue....

Other than cute interactions between al and smunker its a lot harder to find stuff with him...he's a guy living in our regular world... his life has been fairly normal and he's good and nice. And i wouldnt change any of those things just to change em but there's less conflict other than the usual internal stuff all humans experience. I think if he wasnt my imaginary bf I would have shelved him more permanently like the oc group he came with...

There's something about how i very rarely make ocs, he's technically my oldest oc and talon is my newest oc, talon is what i Feel making ocs should feel like. And he's only over a year old. And he's still not even what I would call a well written character in any capacity. And yet i dont think i could very easily replicate this again ykwim. Im so bad at writing, and ..... creating....! Idk how people do any of it....i just wanna extend my ocs lives and my interest in them forever...

#talkys #long post #thinking also about how my friend said maybe id fare better if i didnt wait for my ocs to sort of fester in my brain to write them #bc thats how i do it...ive only been getting talon ideas because i talk to him all day in different scenarios i havent been able to exhaust #bc he's brand new #al's like. set in stone theres not much to draw because i just replay scenarios now. stagnated #i fear talon will get to a point like that too #like my brain will Fix Him and Therapize him and it wont be able to go back to the conflict he had Before that #so i wont play with him anymore...ykwim? #but i dont KNOW how to just make a character without having them show themself around in my brain #i barely even know how to make one in the way i do it now #bc i dont make ocs...bc i dont understand how to do Good Concept‚ Conflict‚ AND flesh em out #cause i got concepts for my space ocs. not complete ones but they have blurbs #ive never been able to get them to interact with me or each other in my brain though so idk anything about them #nor have i cared enough to draw them more #nor would i be able to think of scenarios #ykwim...? #its weird #ugh. maybe i am meant to just be a commission artist‚ im no good at any other niche #i got the worst Roll.... #wish i had a brain...okay well im going to sleep neow goodnite

[lastoneout]

sometimes I don't think I could be autistic and/or like all that neurodivergent and then other times my fiancé makes a practical and logical argument as to why we don't need a tiny colander that's too small for most tasks and that to save space in the sink/cabinets I should learn to use the medium sized one and honestly we should probably just get rid of the small one and I am filled with such an immense rush of panic and discomfort and grief that I can't even explain it properly until I am saying shit like "the tiny colander is my friend" and "using the big one just FEELS wrong, you know, like going to albertsons instead of safeway" and "next you're gonna tell me I have to use the big soup spoons instead of the little ones and I'll pass away" and I can tell while he does love me and isn't actually mad he def thinks I'm being super illogical and can't fully understand why

like yes I KNOW I am being illogical I am well aware of that...however!! If things are different I will die and if I have to get rid of object that is my friend I will ALSO die, and the only explanation I have is "I like to have things a very specific way even if it doesn't make sense or is less convenient or wastes time and space and changing it is REALLY hard I can't just go "oh you're right" and then change it just doesn't work like that" which is like.....not a great explanation I don't think but that's literally all I've got so???

and like this is legit the only thing we ever "argue" over(bcs we aren't actually fighting we're just talking) it's just him being like "hey the way you do things is inefficient and doesn't make a lot of sense, wouldn't it be easier/make more sense to do it this way?" and then me scrambling to try to articulate "that's fair, but this is the way I do things, I can't change that" in a way that doesn't make me sound dismissive or insane or something which doesn't really seem to work all that well, or like...isn't really getting what I mean across correctly at the very least

#my fiancé is wonderful and we weren't actually fighting #I just have like....I have a certain WAY I prefer to do thing and and specific things I use to do them #and using OTHER things even if they are basically the same #feels like he's asking me to cut my arm off #like he tries to logic his way out of things and I'm like yes I understand the logic #and then he's like 'okay so you're going to do it this way then?' #and I'm like 'no I can't I'll die' #so idk my brain don't work right or something #and I feel bad too bcs like he has to deal with the consequences of me being like this too #like he only brought it up cuz having to do an extra dish is annoying and I agree!! that must suck #and so I want to change to make his life easier... #but using a different collander feels like wearing my jeans inside out #it's not the end of the world but it does SUCK and my brain REALLY does not want to let me do it #I usually do try to accomodate when he points out a different way for me to do things #especially if it like actually makes sense to me I def try to do those ones cuz I agree #but sometimes when it's little stuff I get just a little offended and sad cuz it's like... #is it really such a big deal if I do things in a way that doesnt make sense? #it's so exhausting to try to change #and I'm already trying to deal with my depression and trauma #I don't think I can take not using the small colander even if it doesnt make sense

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

#i have to sleep a lot. i’m at the point where functioning requires 8 hours of sleep if not more #I should probably be getting 10+ but i’m a student and i work so 8 is the minimum. but then also getting ready for bed is a whole process s #the whole thing can take 10-12 hours depending how much im sleeping. just to make sure i can do anything #that is time in my day i cannot use for anything else. it’s not ‘oh but i can push through it’ because i can’t without spending the next da #lightheaded and nauseous and vaguely dizzy and with such intense brain fog I can’t think with my fatigue so bad i genuinely don’t know how #get myself to work a lot of days. my abled peers don’t have to deal with this at all. they have unlimited study time if they want to #and yeah it is a choice i’m making that’s true i could just not do. except i would lose my job and fail out of college because i would not #be able to get to classes or do my homework or think. but being told ‘but you are making choices about your life’ when i have lost so much #of what i used to be able to do because i am spiralling down and continuing to get worse is so. #literally last year i would wake up at 6:30 and then go to school till 3 and then go to my internship until 10 and get home at 11 and be in #bed anywhere from midnight to two in the morning and then wake up the next day and do it all again. i graduated with a 3.9 gpa and made it #into my top college while dealing with my cancer symptoms and then the two surgeries about it #but now i lose half my day to just making sure i can get out of bed. i can’t go anywhere because my body is physically too exhausted #any extra time goes into doing homework or occasionally time to myself #not decimating my health by doing minimum body care responsibilities isn’t freeing. occasionally i have a good day which is freeing but tha #usually goes into just. other things outside class or work or eating. I don’t go do something for myself or go do something fun on good day #because I still can’t. good days just mean i don’t want to lie down on the pavement when i’m going somewhere #I just. I don’t magically have control over my life because i try to get enough sleep. i lose half my day to doing that and ultimately it’s #just a bodily function that would have to happen anyway #this is a vent post im just having a really hard time right now because it feels like im in exponential decline. it was nowhere near this #bad last semester. my grades are tanking and i have no free time because anything outside of sleep is either work or school #vent tw #yall can rb this just ignore my tags completely #disability #chronically ill #i keep trying to explain to people how pots works because that’s all logical but there’s no way to explain what it’s doing to my body or ho #i feel all the time. the last time i felt this bad was when i had a bad flu or immediately after surgeries because i don’t react well to #anesthesia and always come out of them feeling like shit. and now i just feel like this all the time and it’s only getting worse #I can’t even stay up late anymore because my body feels like it isn’t counting the sleep even if I get 8 hours #I can deal if I have a free day the day after but that just leaves Friday and Saturday nights and I usually still have to do homework

[saintedbythestorm]

Sure gotta love when people try to guilt trip you into seeing them.

Imma be honest, it just makes me want to see them less.

#yes manipulation tactics that the toxic half of the family would use all the time is absolutely going to change my mind #you'd think when this tactic has worked for years they'd realise it isn't working. but no. #maybe actually talk to me instead of just telling me who died or is sick every damn time and i want to talk?? #nooooo gotta just sit and talk about how horrible everything is EVERY SINGLE TIME. #which is a great idea when the person you're talking to is already depressed and barely holding together 🙃 #and if i do see them they get bored of me within like 20 minutes anyway and just walk off to watch tv #very worth all my energy for a few days as you can tell. 🙄 #i just saw that the hasn't worked for years turned into has... too lazy to change it now. ty phone #like ffs i can't even be up on the right side of the day now a days ... just try and work with me instead?? #maybe if you stop pushing and trying to make me feel bad all the time I'd called ages ago? #like I'm sorry but i ain't no therapist and you sure af ain't paying me so no i won't spend the little grain of energy i have on it #i hear enough of sickness death and misery every single fucking day... i do not need someone to put theirs on me too #and then expect me to constantly make them feel better about it. like i can't even describe how exhausting it is #and we tell em.... and they don't give a shit . #sorry for the rant but i just... i already felt so shit rn and now i get this too #like the past months stress that has ruined my brain ain't enough...or the super bad body ache ain't enough #or the super bad stomach isn't enough... or the lack of sleep and effed up day night cycle ain't enough #it's just.. i do not need this right now please stop... please stop.. #i just stopped going 150% and pure survival the past 2 months.. don't start this shit now i literally cannot... #i am exhausted to a point I never thought possible... and it keeps going down cause it never let's up. #... i need a hug... #rant #ryder speaking

[maccreadysbaby]

Some of My Favorite Ways to Describe a Character Who’s Sick

pressing their forehead into something cool or comfortable (this could be an array of things. the table, the floor, someones leather jacket, their water bottle, the countertop)

warm to the touch, or heat radiating from them (could be noticed if someone’s gauging their temperature with their hands, hugging them, or just generally touching them)

leaning into people’s touch, or just spontaneously leaning on them (like pressing into their hand when someone’s checking their temp, or just, like, literally walking up and laying their head on them from fatigue. bonus points if the character is usually feral and the other is scared to engage™︎)

falling asleep all over the place (at the dinner table, on their homework, in the car, in the bathroom — just being so exhausted from doing literally nothing)

being overly emotional (crying over things that don’t usually bother them, like their siblings arguing, or their homework, or literally just nothing)

stumbling/careening/staggering into things (the wall, furniture, other people. there is no coordination in feverish brains. running into chairs, hitting the door, falling over the couch, anything and everything)

slurring their words (could be from fatigue or pain. connecting words that shouldn’t be connected, murdering all of their conversations with the excessive use of ‘mm’ and ‘nn’ in place of words) (this is my favorite thing ever)

being overly touchy (basically like a sick kid — just hold them, please. do that thing where you brush their hair back out of their face, or rub circles on their back, or snuggle them. they won’t care. bonus points if this is also the feral character and they refuse to believe it afterwards)

being extremely resistant to touch (flinching away when they usually don’t so someone can’t feel the fever, not letting themselves be touched because they’re so tired they just know they’ll be putty in their hands if they do)

growing aggressive or being extremely rude (it’s a defense mechanism — they feel vulnerable and are afraid of being manipulated or deceived while they’re ill)

whimpering/whining/groaning (this was in my “characters in pain” post but it’s so good that i’m putting it here too. this shite is gold, especially if it’s just an involuntary reaction to their symptoms)

having nightmares caused by a fever and/or delirium (crying and murmuring in their sleep, or being awake but completely out of it and convinced they’re somewhere else)

making themselves as small as possible (curling up into a ball everywhere they lay, hunching over slightly when standing, wrapping their arms around themselves)

TW for vomiting below cut !!

sleeping in the bathroom floor because they keep getting sick over and over (bonus if someone finds them all weak and pitiful. bonus bonus if they find them there in the morning only to learn they’ve been there all night)

using their hands/other body parts to clamp over their mouth so nothing can come out (like pulling their knees up to their chest and using that, or like, their arm, y’know) (~maccreadysbaby who has emetophobia suddenly gets very awkward about this post~) (~yes i have a phobia of puke and still write this happening to my characters, shut up~) (~it’s about the hurt/comfort okay~)

sympathy pukers (people who aren’t the sick ones but get nauseous/vomit when they see someone else throw up) (~aka me~) (~okay I’m done now~)

dry heaving (it’s gross, but good for making your characters absolutely freaking miserable)

rolling/churning/spinning/cramping/ lurching and all those awesome words that describe what stomachs do when sick (i hate these words with a deep, fiery passion. but they’re good for writing or whatever)

#writing angst #creative writing #writing #writers #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing tips #writing help #word bank

[sttoru]

‘satoru hates arguments. even more so when your conflicts cause your baby daughter to be upset as well.’

☀︎｜tags. (girl) dad!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, angst, comfort. mention of arguments between parents. comfort & happy ending, though!

satoru hates having arguments with you. he hates it whenever an argument turns into the silent treatment. he apologises and apologises — yet nothing helps to change your mood sometimes.

ever since you got married and had your daughter, you were a bit more sensitive to the smallest of things than usual. it wasn’t like satoru despised you for it; in fact, he understands that motherhood was and is stressful. that man was nothing but supportive to you.

though, your little arguments were indirectly having an impact on the mental state of your baby. you didn’t even know an one year old could sense the tension between her parents.

“mama, mama!” your daughter appears out of nowhere, waddling over to you standing in the kitchen. she had barely just learnt how to walk. her tiny hand reaches for yours and she points at the doorway with her other, “go, mama, go.”

you curiously let your little girl lead you towards where she was pointing at, only to arrive at the living room. satoru was sitting on the couch, idly staring at the ceiling, other hand fiddling with one of your daughter’s toys. he seemed deep in thought. even exhausted and clearly not his playful self.

“mama, go! mama go papa.”

satoru’s head turns to the side at the cute sound of his favourite little girl. he smiles brightly at her return to the living room, only for his smile to fade just for a second at the sight of you next to her. he isn’t mad at you—more like sad that you still seemed upset with him.

your daughter tugs at your index finger. she apparently wants you to go to her dad—wants you to interact or talk with him. her big eyes were staring up at you with a pleading look in them.

you were in a dilemma. of course, you wanted to put your daughter’s mind at ease. you could just fake interact with satoru—or actually just make it up—but there was still a small part of you that needed time alone. you weren’t yet mentally ready for another confrontation. you needed time to think it out.

however, part of you also knows that your earlier argument was kind of silly. you don’t even fully remember what it was about, that’s how irrelevant it was to your brain.

“c’mon, pumpkin. ‘tis not nice for you to bother mama while she’s cooking.” satoru’s soft voice startles you back to reality. he had already gotten up and crouched down to pick your daughter up in his arms, kissing her chubby cheeks to distract her; “mama’s busy, ‘kay? let’s go play with papa.”

even satoru knew that your argument had caused your little girl to feel some kind of stress. she didn’t fully comprehend the situation, though she was clearly uncomfortable by the fact that her parents were not acting nice and lovey dovey like they usually would.

“no, papa. mama!” the baby whines and points at you and then at satoru, her little legs kicking. it absolutely broke satoru’s heart — shattered it into pieces. oh, how he wishes to never fight with you again. the sight of his little bundle of joy trying to mend things between you two with all she could was simply too much.

satoru looks down at you and notices the way you look at your one year old as well. the same way he did; with guilt and sadness. he sighs softly and without further thought, wraps his free arm around your shoulders and brings you close to his body.

“c’mere,” satoru murmurs as he holds both your daughter and you to his chest, “let me hold my two girls, yeah? may i, sweetheart? please.”

your husband asks for your consent. if you were okay with this—even when he needs it desperately, to hold you again in his arms and to make it right to you—your comfort comes first. if you weren’t ready yet to make up, he’d let you go. even if it’d hurt him immensely.

you don’t answer with your words and instead let your actions do the talking. you wrap one arm around satoru’s torso, the other cradling your daughter closer to both you and him.

it was like nothing mattered anymore in that moment, except for your little family. your worries, stress and anxiety about everything and anything had vanished into thin air as you felt the embrace of the two people you held dear.

your daughter finally giggles—a sound satoru and you had greatly missed. you close your eyes and just rest against your husband’s body.

“mama papa, wuv!” the little girl squeals in happiness as she excitedly babbles on, causing both satoru and you to laugh as well. the white-haired sorcerer leaves a big peck on the baby’s forehead before doing the same to you.

“mhm, papa loves mama veeery much.” satoru hums and kisses your forehead again, solely because he missed being affectionate to you, “papa loves his sweet little angel too.”

you can’t help but chuckle along with your one year old—who seemed to be extremely content in her parents’ loving embrace again. this is how it always should be.

“mama also loves papa very much.” you reply, causing your husband to regain his usual big grin. he finally got what he longed for; to have you look and talk to him with love. your silence may have lasted only a few hours, but it felt like it had been a couple cruel months to the sorcerer.

your eyes meet his again and all was well. you smile at him and he smiles back before leaning in to kiss you gently on the lips. satoru’s arm that was draped over your shoulder moves down to curl around your lower back, pulling you as close to him as your bodies would allow.

he pulls back after a few seconds and just lovingly stares at your face again—eyes holding an affection only you had ever been able to witness. your eyes told the same story; nothing could separate you two. ever.

“waaaaah! mama papa, me, me!”

the romantic air between you two suddenly gets interrupted by your daughter’s excited demands. she was demanding kisses as well, puffing her cheeks up as she got ready for it.

“ohh? seems like our angel wants some kisses too.” satoru laughs and nods his head at the baby in his other arm whilst looking at you, “shall we?”

you giggle and nod back—not able to refuse your little girl any longer.

it was not long before the living room fills with the sounds of your child’s laughter, which was caused by the continuous kisses and tickles she was receiving from both satoru and you.

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x female reader #jjk fanfic

[azulhood]

Danny was tired, like 'I feel it in my bones and soul' tired. And he didn't want sleep at home because there's only so many nights, he could spend lying awake making sure his heart was beating in case his parents checked on him.

Currently he was flying aimlessly not really taking in his surroundings, but he could neither sleep while flying or fly forever. Normally he'd sleep over at Sam or Tucker's, but the Mansons had made it clear that he wasn't welcome at their house anymore and Tucker was grounded. Both would sneak him in if he asked, but he didn't want them to get in trouble for him. Which leads him to decide between his two choices, sleeping in a graveyard, or sleeping in a forest.

The graveyard was a little crowded with all the ghosts that called it home but he could probably find a quiet spot to sleep. The forest had a great view of the stars but was filled with traps from both his parents and the GIW after tracking his ecto-signature. Both options weren't appealing, but he wasn't about to chance sleeping on the roof of his house again. There were too many ghost detecting guns attached to it now. Danny sighed, graveyard it was, at least the ecto from all the shades/ghosts would hide him well enough. Decision made, now all he had to do was make his way over there. But first, where the heck was he? Danny looked around at the unfamiliar grey sky and gargoyles littered around and realized he had no clue where he was. He must have flown too far away from Amity without noticing...Again. It was really becoming a bad habit. Danny stared down at the city's inhabitants that were going home or heading to nightshifts or whatever and dreaded the long flight back to his town. And maybe it was ghost instinct, or maybe it was just his exhaustion. But his brain suggested 'What if I just possess someone?' And to him that seemed like a perfectly logical train of thought. He wouldn't control their body or anything, just sleep in their skin...That did not make it sound better at all. Before he could think twice, someone left a general store, arms filled with stuff and somehow projecting an aura of safety. The two thoughts of 'They look comfy' and 'screw it' clashed together in his head as he made the very stupid decision of performing a swan drive right into the someone. "WHAT THE-" "Don't worry, I'll be gone by morning I just need to sleep" Danny cut off the persons freakout-he should really get their name at some point- he would have explained more but the sleep gods had already done their job. This left one very confused, scared, and freaked out Batkid.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #I don't know which batkid it should be #I'm thinking Dick or maybe Stephenie #I feel like Steph would be the most chill about a ghost using her body as a sleeping bag #Cass and her just straight up adopt the tired ghost boy who talks in his sleep and says the most distressing things #Bruce didn't even have a chance #Danny is gonna be so confused when he wakes up

[bettsfic]

today is my birthday! i’m 33 today and i have done an ungodly amount of stupid shit in my life that honestly probably should have gotten me killed. so here are 33 hard-won things i’ve learned that i wish someone had told me sooner.

whenever you buy an object, you are going to own that object for your entire life unless you make the conscious decision to throw it away or give it a new home. maybe other people don’t struggle with this as much as i do, but i’ve grown to become a little exhausted by finding a thing and realizing i don’t want it anymore, but i don’t have the energy or motivation to do anything with it. signed, a woman with a packed 10x10 storage unit who is now extremely hesitant to buy new things.

food, and by that i mean good food (and by that i don’t necessarily mean healthy food, but food of good quality that you love), is necessary to live, and buying it, preparing it, and eating it is not a chore. the sooner you accept this and make food a priority in your life, the healthier you’ll be. 

speaking of food, not everything you buy should be the cheapest version of it. personally i’ve found it’s always worth it to splurge on good olive oil, butter, and canned tomatoes. for years i thought i was an awful cook because i was cooking with cheap, disgusting olive oil that made my food taste like shit.

speaking of food part 2, i can’t BELIEVE how long this took me to figure out, but mise en place is the real real. get your shit out and organized and prepped *before* you start cooking, even if it makes things take longer. and yes, it is always worth it to do the dishes as you go, which pisses me off.

when i was teaching myself how to cook and feeling daunted about it, the best advice i ever got was to aim to learn 15 recipes and then put them in rotation.

this is the most horrific and awful truth i have forced myself to accept: there may come a day you can no longer digest your favorite foods, and you will either have to stop eating them, or remain very close to a toilet. i’m sorry.

other people are always going to misperceive you and misunderstand you, sometimes willfully. other people’s opinions of you don’t actually have anything to do with you. they’re not your business, and you don’t have to worry about it or change yourself.

when innocuous or neutral things make you irrationally angry or upset, step back, realize you’re having a big reaction, and then when you’re ready, pay very close attention to the thing that upset you, because you’re about to learn something important about yourself.

a pill sorter can save your life. i don’t know how i managed my meds without one.

sometimes college is about learning stuff, and not about becoming something.

no matter how many perfectionist tendencies you have, it’s worth it to remind yourself that no matter how much of a mess you actually are, you deserve to be loved.

if you’re always forgetting to do important but tedious things, set an alarm and set aside one hour of each week, not to do the important tedious things, but to assess what needs to be done, and *schedule* the important tedious things for the following week. this literally changed my life.

during that hour, make a meal plan too. the point of doing this is condense the time in which you’re making decisions (what to do, what to eat, etc) so you don’t have to burden yourself with them throughout the week. decision fatigue is real. any way you can alleviate that is a good thing.

learn the difference between aggressive, passive, passive-aggressive, and assertive behavior. recognize when you’re being one of the first three, re-assess and aim for being assertive, even if it’s hard.

you can tell you’ve processed trauma, not when the traumatic thing stops upsetting you to think about, but when the traumatic thing takes up the same size in your brain as all your other memories.

if you’re one of those people who never seems to finish projects or follow through with things, there’s a chance you may just grow out of it naturally. until then, follow your interests and don’t feel bad about putting down a hobby to pick up another.

if you love stickers but have sticker anxiety, buy vinyl stickers. you can re-stick them.

there are only a few careers i can think of that you have to commit to early in life because getting the undergraduate credentials is a pain in the ass (teachers, doctors, and engineers, from my research). nearly everything else you can switch to later, which takes a LOT of pressure off having to figure out what you want to do with your life.

people say there’s no money in becoming an artist, writer, musician, etc. actually there’s a ton of money in all of those things, it’s just in the stuff other people want you to make and never what you want to make. it’s still worth it to develop the creative skill and not force yourself into business school because it’s more “practical” or whatever. 

sleep when you’re tired. SLEEP WHEN YOU’RE TIRED. don’t beat yourself up about it, don’t tell yourself you shouldn’t be tired or that you’ve already slept too much, just take a fucking nap. you would never say “hm i’ve already had enough water today, therefore i should not be thirsty” so don’t treat sleep the same way.

when you build a piece of furniture from target or ikea or whatever, the first thing you should do is count all the little screws and things to make sure everything’s there that should be. it sucks to get halfway into putting something together only to find there’s a piece missing and you have to go buy it.

learn to travel by yourself, go out to eat by yourself, see a movie by yourself. in my early 20s i was scared to do these things, but i do them so often now i don’t even think about it. it’s the most fulfilling skill i’ve ever learned.

adding to the above, if you’re a people-pleaser, being alone is especially important, because you’ve probably developed the habit of making the people you’re with more comfortable and happy than yourself, and you’re missing a lot of the beautiful and interesting things around you. when you’re by yourself, you can focus on what *you* want without guilt. 

sometimes you’ll want to break things off with a friend for reasons that are no one’s fault, and you don’t want it to be volatile or make a big thing of it, in which case the goal is to simply fade out of their life. it is okay to let people go.

shame is useless. get rid of it.

no matter how much of yourself you put into your art (or writing, or music, or whatever), when people criticize it, they are not criticizing you. they are having a reaction colored by their own tastes and perspectives. their opinion of your work has nothing to do with you. you don’t have to take everyone’s feedback. in fact you don’t have to take anyone’s feedback. the other side to this coin unfortunately is that compliments don’t have anything to do with you either. it’s good to accept this because it means you’ll stop seeking validation from other people and won’t let anyone else’s perspectives impact your work. anything nice anyone says about your work is merely a bonus to an already good thing.

if you’re an artist of any kind, take one day a year to look up opportunities like grants, funding, residencies, workshops, whatever. put the due dates of all of them on a calendar for the year following and get into the habit of applying for stuff. getting rejected sucks, application fees suck, but in all the years i’ve been doing this, it has always, always been worth it. these things give you a chance not only to help fund and support what you’re passionate about, but they force you to take your own work seriously, and that is something that’s absolutely necessary in order to be successful.

you must become your own greatest advocate. in all respects--in health, in love, in happiness, in freedom, you must. no one will ever fight as hard for you as you will. this in turn will give you the strength and motivation to help others fight for themselves too. the only way the world will ever get better is if every person on this planet learns to see themselves as equals to everyone around them.

brag about yourself as often as you can. for one, people develop their perceptions of you based on how you treat yourself and speak about yourself. but for two, it’s the fastest way to figure out which people to keep in your life, because they’re the ones who are going “oh hell yeah, you’re awesome.” 

be the person other people want to brag to.

at some point in your life, someone is going to hurt you, and it’s going to be willful and intentional. it is not worth it to waste brain space figuring out why they did it or why you think you deserved it. all you have to do is let yourself feel that pain, acknowledge it, and try to move on.

no matter how bad off you think you are, recovery is possible. the first and hardest step is to learn you’re worth the time and effort it takes to recover from the awful things that have happened to you.

developing an expertise does not mean you’re getting objectively better at something. becoming an expert is only the process of seeing your mistakes and having the patience to sit in the discomfort of not knowing how to fix them.    

#writing advice

[soobnny]

ten things lee felix says when he thinks you’re asleep — fluff, established relationship, a dash of angst

chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | han | FELIX | seungmin | jeongin

one. i was too embarrassed to tell you this earlier so i’ll just say it now that you’re asleep. everything reminds me of you… i think it’s my brain finding every excuse to just think about you. but, when i passed by the market earlier, i saw some strawberries and i thought of you when i saw them. i should drop by and buy that shortcake you love so much tomorrow. yeah, i should do that. i can already see your pretty smile.

two. do you dream of me like i dream of you?

three. you know, me and the boys were talking earlier about the future and i think that was the first time i talked about the future with so much hope. i don’t know, i just—i’ve always been afraid of not knowing. the future is just so uncertain so i always hated talking about it. but, how lovely to think of the future when it’s with you.

four. sometimes, when i’m so exhausted, i think, what is the point of all this? but because of you, i have a reason to live. when i look at you, i see how beautiful life is.

five. god, (name), you’re driving me insane. you’ve stolen a piece of me and i’m afraid it’s yours to keep forever.

six. the sun shined bright today. it made me think of you.

seven. i get scared really easily. hyunjin and i were watching a horror movie earlier and i got so scared. he teased me for it, told me i had a long list of things i’m afraid of. he’s right, though. but then, jinnie asked me a hypothetical question .. if i’d ever jump off a boat. i said no obviously, but then he asked me if i’d change my answer if you were drowning. and you know what i said? i said yes without even thinking about it. i get scared really easily, but if it’s for you, i’ll do anything. i love you—i love you even though i’m scared.

eight. i saw you crying earlier. it seemed like you didn’t want to tell me about it but i heard you. it breaks my heart to know you’re hurting. please, please come to me. you know you don’t have to bear that pain alone anymore. i’m here, angel.

nine. in my eyes, you’re already doing well.

ten. i think i was always meant to find you and fall in love with you, and i want you to know i will love you in every lifetime after this one too. please come find me.

#k-labels #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #lee felix fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids drabbles #stray kids blurbs #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids fic #lee felix drabbles #lee felix blurbs #lee felix imagines #lee felix scenarios #lee felix fluff #yongbok fluff #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz scenarios #skz imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

[nanowrimo]

4 Tips for Autistic Writers

Autistic writers can face unique challenges when it comes to writing. NaNo Participant Auden Halligan has tips to handle some of those challenges!

So, you’ve just sat down at your desk, all ready to work on your next chapter, but you just can’t seem to start. Something is itching at your brain, and no matter how hard you think, you can’t figure it out. For autistic writers, that itch might be even harder to get around when compounded with autistic inertia, introspection issues, and sensory processing disorder — even if we were super excited to get started, sometimes the stumbling blocks are enough to keep us from going anywhere at all.

Here are four tips to identify your struggles and work around them rather than against them as an autistic writer!

1. Schedule your writing time appropriately

While keeping a schedule can help you stave off unwanted change in your routine, the need to switch to another task when the clock strikes the hour sometimes feels like a monumental task, one that eventually becomes detrimental to your creative pursuits.

If switching tasks is the biggest hurdle to your writing, setting a designated writing time with no other plans around it could do the trick. Oftentimes, just one hour of time to transition from doing dishes to sitting down at your computer to write is exactly what you need to get past that point and find your writing headspace.

2. Make sure your sensory environment is right

Sometimes getting into that writing headspace is harder than normal, but you can’t put your finger on a reason. Chances are, you’re not quite ready until you have your sensory needs met and you can fully focus on your story.

Personally, I like to be on the couch with my water bottle, a playlist at just the right volume, and a comfortable jacket or hoodie on. For you, the ideal sensory space might involve a desk and a snack, a pet nearby, and a quiet room. For others, it could be outside or even at a library or coffee shop. Autistic people are all different and so are their sensory needs, so this one is super subjective — do what works best for you!

3. Take breaks often

Writing can be exhausting, and if you’re struggling to keep going, you might need to take a pause. If you’re like me and struggle with remembering to hydrate and eat once you’re deep in a task, use your break to get some water and a snack. If you’re having trouble staying focused, get up and move around and stim or go outside to give your brain a reset. If you feel like you’ve gotten some good progress done, however small, reward yourself — do something related to your special interest, dance with a pet, and celebrate your little (or big!) win!

The pomodoro method is a good way to keep yourself from working too long without a break, and if that doesn’t work for you, methods like the Eisenhower method with breaks interspersed and even simply inserting breaks into your scheduled writing time are just as valid.

4. Don’t be afraid to skip around

Another thing that often trips us autistic people up is needing to follow the story down its natural progression, from start to middle all the way to the finish. But inevitably, once we’ve gotten past the initial excitement of having the project started, we hit a stumbling block…and the project gets abandoned. I’ve left behind countless projects because I lost interest after hitting a scene I wasn’t excited for after just a few chapters.

To combat this, try writing out of order! Skip ahead to the scene directly after your stumbling block. You could also skip to the next scene your favorite character is in or even to the climax if it helps you move forward. If you’re having trouble putting your first words down, try writing a random scene in the middle of your story to get into the groove of writing your characters.

Alternately, if you can’t abide by the out of order method and really need to get your characters from Point A to Point B, try putting the scene you’re stuck on in brackets. For example:

[Character 1 and Character 2 fight over the decision to kick Character 3 off the team. 2 leaves in anger.]

It’s simple, efficient, and gets you out of that particular rut so you can keep moving toward that sweet, sweet conversation you’ve wanted to write since Day 1.

Now go forth and write, my friends!

Auden Halligan is a creator through and through. She’s been writing her entire life, but didn’t start participating in NaNoWriMo until 2017–right now she’s working on developing a TV series (or two!) and has several novels and short films in the drafting phase. Auden is currently a college student studying film production and hoping to minor in disability studies. You can find her on her very sparse Twitter at ink.and.spite. Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels

If you’re an autistic writer, check out the Pillow Fort in the NaNoWriMo forums! It’s a group for people who are neurodivergent, have disabilities, mental health concerns, or physical challenges that affect their lives.

#nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #writing #autistic writers #writing advice #by nano guest #Auden Halligan #neurodivergent writers

[nereidprinc3ss]

relax

in which spencer helps university student reader de-stress after a particularly exhausting assignment

18+ (smut) warnings: fingering, overstimulation, happy crying, lowkey softdom spencer, slight d/s dynamics, reader is referred to as a girl, ????idk i've never had to tag for smut before lols wc: 2624 a/n: been doing some insane literary cooking. lots of smut AND more fluff in the works (all uni reader... lol... ). idk if i love this but again need to fucking get it out of my word doc so here u go, PLEASE lmk if you like it!!

You don’t even realize the room has gone completely dark until Spencer comes in the front door and flicks on the light. 

“Why did you do that?” you snap immediately, looking up from your laptop screen for the first time in potentially hours, blinking hard as your eyes painfully adjust. Your boyfriend gives you an odd look. 

“Hello to you too...” 

“I’m sorry. Hi. How was dinner?” 

“It was good,” he says, crossing the room to the couch that has been your entire world for the past five hours. You sigh, releasing some of the tension in your shoulders when he leans down to kiss your head and set down a to-go box on the coffee table. “Have you moved since I left?” 

“...no,” you admit, moving your eyes dejectedly to the keyboard.  

“You made progress,” he appeases, leaning over you to angle the laptop upward. Immediately you wrench it away, holding it protectively against your chest. 

“Stop! I don’t want you to read it yet!” 

“I could help you with it though,” he pleads, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch. You look up into his hazel eyes, where he’s definitely playing up the puppy dog factor. His tie brushes your stomach, and he smells like lavender and clove and-- 

“You need to go away,” you realize, snapping back to reality and shrinking into the couch, away from him—trying to escape his all-encompassing sensory presence.  

“Wh- I just got back!” he scoffs, straightening. 

“You’re distracting me,” you accuse, throwing him a baleful look. 

“I’m literally offering to help you.” 

“And I’m respectfully declining because I care too much about your opinion to show you this essay until it’s less terrible. I really just need a couple more hours to finish it, please?” 

Spencer sighs, regarding your pitiful state before moving to sit down next to you. Automatically you move your legs out of the way before settling them in his lap and damn it he’s supposed to be going away. Your iron grip on the laptop involuntarily loosens a little as his hands begin to run back and forth over your legs. No—you must stay focused.  

“Spencer,” you whine, flopping your head back. You let the implied complaint hang in the air. 

“You’ve been writing all day. Your brain is exhausted, and your synapses aren’t firing at a rate that is intellectually productive.” 

“What is the point of having a brain if I can’t even use it half the time!” you almost-shout, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes until you see fireworks.  

The couch shifts and you feel the warm, robotic weight of the laptop unpin you as Spencer lifts it from your lap. “Don’t read it,” you beg, watching through parted fingers as he sets it on the coffee table, and relaxing slightly when he settles back into the couch.  

“Come here,” he says, holding out an arm. Too mentally exhausted to do anything but comply, you pull yourself up just enough to fall into him. Immediately he wraps his arms around you, one hand slipping under your shirt to rub your back in hypnotizing passes. “I think you burnt yourself out,” he mutters. 

You nod into his shoulder, surrendering yourself to his warmth, letting yourself sink into a lavender-clove fog, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into it. The darkness behind your eyes glows an inviting amber, threatening to pull you under...  

But the essay... 

“Stop thinking about the essay,” he demands. 

“But I have so much to do,” you sigh against his jacket, the words coming out muffled. 

“The best thing you can do now is give your brain a rest. I promise you you’re not making that paper any better if you’re exhausted.” 

“I am not exhausted,” you insist, although your eyes are still closed, “I’m just really stressed.”  

Spencer hums, continuing to rub your back.  

“Do you need me to help you relax?” he says innocently. 

Oh? 

One of your eyes opens to peer up at him suspiciously. He sweeps some of your hair out of your face. 

“Because I would be happy to.” A moment passes—him looking down at you fondly; you wondering if you’re picking up what he’s putting down. 

“And how would you go about doing that?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Orgasms reduce tension and stress and improve brain function.” 

Damn. Why did the nerdiest, most un-sexy pickup line ever just turn you on?

You groan, burying your face further into his shirt—mostly to hide any trace of a blush. 

“You know what else would reduce stress and improve brain functioning? Taking an Adderall and finishing my fucking essay.”  

“Angel, you're such a smart girl, and you are fully capable of doing whatever you set your mind to—but I will lock your laptop in my gun safe before I let you look at that essay again tonight.” He speaks so softly, and his fingers are still gently combing through your messy hair... all in all, you put up a good fight, right? Maybe you should just listen to him...

“... fine.” you say eventually, reluctant to give in too quickly even though the idea quickly has filled your stomach with butterflies. 

“Fine?” he says, pausing his motions as you turn your head just enough to look up at him. “Sounds like you don’t really want it, baby. Maybe we should just go to sleep. Or I could take you back to your-” 

“Spence,” you whine, gently grabbing the front of his shirt. Now he’s going to make you beg? As if it wasn’t his idea? Those puppy dog eyes of his are deceiving. 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he sighs, hand moving from your hair to your outer thigh. 

“Please?” you whisper, dignity forgotten as you look up at him imploringly. 

“Lean back, sweet girl,” he says, helping you adjust your position til you’re lying against his chest, legs sprawled across the couch. Your head lolls on his shoulder, intoxicated by his close proximity. “Perfect. Such a good listener.” 

Normally, you’d be quick to make a defensive remark, but with the way he’s slowly hiking your shirt up, running his hands over your sides so lightly it gives you goosebumps—you're really in no position to argue. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands grow bolder in their explorations, crossing your stomach, fingers just slipping under the waistband of your shorts and skimming over your hipbones before coming back up. 

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, and you nod lazily, apparently losing access to your language facilities after running them dry all day. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem good enough for your boyfriend. “Do you remember when the last time I touched you like this was?” 

Through the hazy blur of your exhaustion, you try to think back. Was it... two days ago? Three? More? 

“Almost a week ago,” he supplies the answer for you when you take too long. What? That can’t be right. 

But when you think about it harder... it is right. It was right before finals week started.  

An errant hand straying up your torso distracts you. “Do you remember what I did?” 

You flush. 

“You... yeah,” is the best you can offer, too flustered to say exactly what he did to your body. That stray hand moves over your breast. Your back arches just slightly at the stimulation through the thin fabric of your bra.  

Thankfully, he lets you off the hook.  

“I made you cum three times, right?” 

“Mhm,” you hum through closed lips, tense with anticipation as he finally slides both hands down to your shorts and wordlessly directs you to lift your hips so he can pull them all the way off along with your underwear. 

“You’ve been so busy lately, huh. Working so hard.” 

You unconsciously drop your bent legs open, brain too foggy to be insecure about how utterly bare you are—allowing him to slowly rub up and down your inner thigh. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, honey. I don’t think three times was enough for such a stressful week.” 

You gasp when his fingers finally brush your clit, whimpering slightly when they just barely skim your entrance before tracing the wetness back up.  

“Give me your hand,” Spencer says, taking his own from between your legs and holding it up. You don’t even think about it, releasing your grip on the arm he now has wrapped around you and holding it out for him. At this point, you’d do anything he tells you to without hesitation.  

He takes the proffered hand, gently guiding it back between your legs. Your fingers meet slick, soft warmth. “Do you feel how wet you are?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe, seeing how your fingers glisten when you pull them away. His remain, running slowly up and down your clit. Your brain seems to be vibrating in your skull as warmth spreads throughout your body. 

“Who’s that for?” 

“You, Spencer,” you whimper. He hums in approval before the room falls into silence as you both watch his teasing intently, your breath baited as you try to be patient. But your body isn’t with the program, you keep twisting slightly, your hips cant upward. “Please, please,” the words escape on a held exhalation as you finally break, arching your back against him as your search for more friction.  

Without warning, he sinks two fingers inside you. The slight stretch after not having taken anything in a week scratches an itch you didn’t even know you had, and you let out a broken moan. 

“I know, honey. You’re so good, I know.” Spencer kisses your head as he speaks over your cry, barely moving his fingers for a few moments while you get comfortable. 

Still you’re not ready for it when he withdraws and pushes back in. 

“Look at that,” he breathes. 

“Oh, fuck,” you choke, watching how your arousal completely coats his fingers as he slowly, slowly begins to fuck you with them. 

Again you feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs slightly—probably at your earlier insistence that you didn’t desperately want this. The laughter fades as you both become entranced by the sight of his fingers disappearing into you, and your stomach twists with pleasure. His pace remains languid, and he seems to delight in the filthy, wet sounds his hand is producing between your legs.  

“You okay, baby?” he asks after a moment, seemingly snapping out of some trance. 

“Uh huh,” you whimper. One particular drag of his fingers at just the right angle has you dizzy, and then he’s speeding up. Your jaw drops at the change in pace and your hips chase his hand, wanting even more. 

“So pretty,” he mutters as his other hand moves to spread you open.  

You attempt to shut your legs around his wrist, but instead he just ruts his fingers deeper into you, palm pressed against your clit. You attempt to twist away from the extreme stimulation, but he doesn’t allow it. 

“Too much,” you squeak, bucking your hips inadvertently. 

“No it’s not,” he states, like you’re talking about the weather. 

“Spencer, I really c- ah- can't!” 

“It feels like a lot, huh?” he asks soothingly, not letting up one bit. 

“Yes!” you cry, eyes stinging as tears begin to well. 

“You’re okay, angel. It’s just been a while.” 

You are so completely fucked. Each stroke of his hand feels like an electric jolt through your whole body. It is too much, but at the same time, pleasure is pooling deep in your stomach and at the base of your spine and you never want him to stop. You throw your head back onto Spencer’s shoulder, eyes screwed shut.  

“Relax,” he mutters, carefully bearing down the pressure across your waist with his arm to try and keep you from squirming. 

A rhythmic whine breaks through the barrier of your sealed lips as you focus all your energy into taking it, when the all-consuming need to kiss him hits you. You twist your neck to look up at him, observing the furrow of his brow and the way he’s tucked his bottom lip into a bite. Thankfully he notices your movement—his eyes dart from your own half-lidded gaze to your lips and he understands what you want. 

The kiss is messy and the angle is awkward and you’re moaning into his mouth half the time anyway, but it feels so good to have his lips moving on yours that you don’t care about any of it.  

“I—ah,” you cry into him, unable to form a coherent thought as your stomach drops like you’re mounting the peak of a roller coaster. 

His fingers again change their angle and he finds the spot inside you that makes your legs spasm. Attempting to hold in whatever noises you were making is now futile—the whimpers and pants turn to full-fledged keening moans interspersed with taut silences as you fail to breathe properly.  

Your wrench your gaze and lips away from Spencer to watch through a blurry haze the rapid movement of his hand between your bare legs, the way your hips buck and twist and the way your leg bends as he hooks his free hand under your knee and hoists it toward your chest. 

“You’re doing so well, honey. Being so good for me.” 

Moisture spills over from your eyes, tracing down your cheeks and down your neck as you begin to come with no warning and a desperate, broken cry. 

A string of praise from Spencer underscores your pleading moans, but you can’t focus on anything other than the buzzing warmth emanating from your core, the bright, pulsing white that blinds you and the feeling of stardust flowing through your veins. 

Your boyfriend continues pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you for a blissful few moments, before sensing the tail-end of your orgasm and bringing his fingers up to rub lazy circles over your clit. Aftershocks resonate from the hypersensitive area and make you clamp your legs shut around his hand as your toes curl and you attempt to squirm out of his grip. 

“Done! I’m done,” you squeak, rocking your hips back and forth to try and escape his toying. 

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, relieving the pressure of his hand between your legs and moving it to run over your stomach as you come down. 

You lie in silence for a minute, enjoying the liquid sensation weighing down your muscles and basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm.  

“Shit,” you breathe shakily after a moment. Spencer chuckles. You manage to turn yourself over, laying your cheek on his shoulder and slipping your arms under his waist. He looks down at you as he moves on to massaging your back and bare hips, eyes full of warm adoration.  

“Feel better?” 

You hum an affirmation, wiping your eyes on his shirt. 

“Oh, honey, did I make you cry?” 

You laugh into his chest and nod, a few stray tears leaking from your shut eyes. “It’s okay. Not sad tears.” 

“What kind of tears?” 

“Orgasm tears,” you mumble, a tidal wave of exhaustion you’d been fighting all day finally washing over you. 

“That makes sense. Orgasms can be cathartic or even therapeutic depending on your head space. Major losses and life changes are often associated with sexual dysfunction but the opposite is actually just as if not more common. A spike in libido can—” 

Spencer pauses, looking down to see that you’re either asleep or close to it, and smiles to himself. You’ll probably be mad about it when you wake up, but he had to get you to stop thinking about that paper somehow. 

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