#Acidic-Self-Reblogs

[cassiefisherdrake]

So, I started a new tumblr specifically for my art using my typical username. Give it a follow? 👉🏼👈🏼 Gonna post some new stuff there soon.

@acidmouthed <- my new art blog

[saintrosalyn]

BIRD DOG - JAILBIRD PART TWO

Part One

Description: Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Word count: 4.5k

TW: Parolee! Reader (guys we’ve graduated to parole), stalking, reader is kept as vague as possible, sexual favors in exchange for money, groping, Ghost is a creep (graduated from perv lmao), p in v, oral (m! receiving), p in v, mention of breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, dub-con, somewhat edited.

Notes: It’s finally done! This took longer than I anticipated since I deviated from the OG plan and was a bit of a stinker to write but it's done. I hope everyone enjoys it! I’ve absolutely loved reading all the comments, asks, and reblogs. Such positive feedback is what led me to posting part two honestly. I'm currently working on the last part of JB so expect that soon💖. Feedback is always appreciated but never expected. Let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy :)

Also I've never done a tag list before so apologies if it didn't work or I missed anyone😭. Please let me know if the link to part one doesn't work either, this is the first time I'm using Tumblr on my laptop I usually use my phone.

You got used to the slight tremor in your hands, the parting kiss alcoholism left with you, but the violent shaking as you attempted to click the lock of the hotel door closed was difficult for even you to handle. You longed to feel that familiar burn of self-destruction but the only place that would have you end up is back in prison. Parole violation. It was too soon to resort to such dramatic measures, instead you quietly paced your small room, double checking that you clicked the deadbolt shut, closing the curtains as tight as they could go, anything to try and soothe your rising anxiety.

Talking yourself away from the edge again and again until you could finally sit down on the stiff mattress. Every time you managed to calm your heart you blinked and saw that room again. You saw those pictures again.

He-Simon.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to take deep, slow, breaths. 

After sleeping together, after discovering the skeleton in his closet, you swallowed the bile in your throat and kissed his jaw. He made dinner which you smiled over and forced into your mouth, every bite downed with a sip of water. The two of you went to bed, your eyes darting to that door, now left open enough you could see a glimpse of his homemade wallpaper. He kept an arm draped over you and fell asleep. 

Then you left.

Barefoot, not knowing where your shoes had been placed in your need to-

Jesus Christ you had slept with the man.

You barely made it to the bathroom, puking mostly water and yellowed acid up. It made your eyes water and nose run, blowing it in a piece of toilet paper, flushing it down. There was little comfort to be found in the distance you put between you and him. 

Going on foot wasn’t the brightest idea, but risking stealing Simon’s car and having him call the cops on you was foolish even for you. That and you didn’t want the man any angrier at you than you expected he was going to be. You only got so far before you found yourself on the wrong side of town. You had never been in the area before, but you knew the type. Women posted on every corner, bars on the windows, broken glass and sticky residue staining the sidewalks. It didn’t take you long to find the kind of man you needed. Trading a handjob for a bus fare, a blowjob for a new pair of shoes, and a pitiful two minutes of dry thrusting for a hotel room. 

Back to your ways. Different city, different time, same person. A bird incapable of changing its tune.

You needed a real job. A record stood in your way of that, but surely there had to be something, anything, that would pay enough for you to keep a roof over your head without having to sell more of yourself. 

You needed a job, but you needed space more. As much as you could get. Immigration was out, no one wanted to host a felon, and you were limited to a certain area before your parole officer got testy with you. Fuck. A big cage, that’s what you were trapped in. One you could never get free from.

Your family. Your past. Your cell. Your city. Your whole fucking life, one cage after another. Freedom a concept rather than a reality. Simon could use it against you. He knew of your limits, hell, you fucking told him yourself over a phone call before you got released. Outlined every fucking sentence of where you could and couldn’t go. He knew all of it.

Taking another deep breath you forced your body to lie on the bed, you needed to calm down. You needed to think clearly and come up with a plan. Simon was still asleep in bed, he didn’t know where you were, you were fine. 

You were fine.

A good night’s sleep. That’s what you needed. Not likely with how wound tight you were. But you had to try. Anything to escape the panic squeezing your lungs.

___

It took four hours of staring blankly at a dark ceiling, on the edge of a panic attack the entire time, before your body gave in and let you sleep. It was light, but it was enough of a break in your consciousness. The sun was what woke you, shining on your eyes and causing you to squint. Your anxiety a gentle heart palpitation rather than the full blown panic it was last night, exhaustion dulling its edge. 

The first thing you did was go business to business looking for a place that was hiring. Most required a resume, those you didn’t even give a second glance (as they no doubt did background checks). It took all of the day before you found a shitty pub that only asked if you were old enough to drink. With a nod of your head an apron was shoved into your hands, and you were bussing for your first shift. 

The owner, a balding man who smelled like cigarettes and wore a sweat-stained wife beater, paid you cash. Enough that you were able to buy another night to cover your hotel room and not much else. You walked back to your temporary home, eyes darting to every tall man who crossed the street. For once, you were grateful Simon was such a large man. It would make him easier to spot in a crowd, the orange of a tiger’s fur stark against a green jungle.

When you returned back to your room, it was easy to explain the movement of your things. Hotels had housekeepers. You wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for your paranoid state. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grease and grime of the pub, that you noticed a small picture sitting face-down on the bathroom counter. Flipping it over revealed you. You, asleep in your shitty hotel bed, close-up, taken from inside. 

You were barely able to flip the toilet lid up before you lost your stomach contents. Vile burning the back of your throat was nothing in comparison to the panic that burned through your veins.

He was inside your hotel room. He was inside your hotel room last night with you. 

You barely managed to stand, legs shaking, leaving the bathroom you noticed other signs of his arrival. Dirty tracks that were much too large. The blinds wide-open even though you were sure you closed them before you went to sleep. A single dog tag resting underneath your pillow. It’s owner’s name mocking you.

Riley.

___

He left you more presents. Vestiges of him ever present in your life. It didn’t matter where you went, how many hotels you hopped, how many jobs you changed, he always found you. Truthfully, the both of you knew this song and dance could only go on for so long. You were low on cash and stuck orbiting around the same small area. Days bled into weeks bled into months. Fear gave way to anger. Anger that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Anger that he wouldn’t let you delude yourself into thinking you had found a safe space that he could not intrude on.

On your nth hotel, you decided you were staying. Simon be damned. He obviously had no intentions of killing you just yet, content in tormentation. That and there were only so many jobs willing to pay under-the-table. You needed to save up enough cash to prove that you had a steady place to live, a recommendation from your parole officer. This flightiness made the law suspicious at best and nervous at worst. 

You found your way back to the pub, who upgraded you to server. On the wrong side of town its patrons weren’t the best. But they tipped decent enough and if they got too handsy the owner always stepped in. A few pinches on the ass were worth a steady income. You’ve given a lot more of yourself for less.

Perhaps, that was your mistake, you got too comfortable with a wild animal. So sure that your exotic pet would not bite.

The first time you saw him, you thought it was a mistake. Despite his size Simon was able to go about your life as he pleased without you catching even a glimpse of him. Hell, you knew he could stalk you without you being aware of him at all (your prison stint was proof enough of that), he just chose not to. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his behavior would escalate. 

You were standing, dead on your feet after your shift working on three hours of sleep, waiting for the bus. And there he was. Across the street, large frame leaning against a wall, arms crossed. When you did a double glance, you were able to make out the tell-tale scars across his face. Then the bus came. It was a coin toss, boarding the bus. A part of you wanted to flee, figuring he could easily cross the street and board the same bus as you, but the alternative was worse. Let it pass and walk home alone. In the dark. With a predator at your heels. 

No.

Better to have people around you. Safety in numbers and all that.

The next day, he did it again. And again. And again. Each time coming closer and closer. Until one day you saw his large frame coming up the steps of the bus. You practically vibrated from anxiety in your seat, unshed tears blurring your vision as you stared straight ahead. The black blur of his jacket, the soft squeak of his boots as he moved closer and closer, until he took the seat right behind you.

You didn’t move. Frozen. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Fright.

Fright.

Fright. 

Until the bus moved and the decision was made for you. Only you couldn’t convince your muscles to move, stuck staring dead ahead. Willing the bus driving to glance in the mirror back at you. Willing the other passengers to notice how close the man behind you was sitting (close enough to feel his breath against your ear, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath). But this was the last bus and everyone was too tired to notice. A herd of diurnal prey vs a nocturnal predator. It was clear who had the advantage.

You missed your stop. And the one after that. It wasn’t until you felt a violent shake on your shoulder that you jolted out of your trance, eyes darting up… to the bus driver. 

“Las’ stop miss. Gotta’ get off.” His voice firm. How long had he been calling out to you?

Giving a jerky nod you looked behind you, but Simon was gone.

___

It didn't stop there. Not that you expected it would, but fucking forgive you for having a little hope in life. Simon took to following a few steps behind you wherever you went. Sitting behind you on the bus. Sitting in the back of the pub, nursing beer after beer. Sometimes he had another man with him. But mostly he was alone. His eyes never left you. For weeks it went on. For weeks you felt his constant presence. 

The presents never stopped either. Photos of you, gifts for you (lingerie and cigarettes, the same shade of nail polish he gave you while you were in prison), things of his. He never relented. You never shook that feeling of being watched. You never could get rid of that pit of anxiety in your stomach. Exhaustion was starting to settle heavy in your bones. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to him. 

The temptation was intense. You just wanted to be done with it all. Let him do what he wanted with you. At this point, even death would be better than another day of constant anxiety. (Pursuit predator exhausting his prey, closing in). 

And then he was gone.

His absence was glaringly obvious on the first day, enough so that you thought for sure that you were going to die soon. Simon had reached some kind of breaking point. But you didn’t. And you didn’t see Simon.

There were no presents left for you. No signs of his stalking. No evidence that he was ever in your life at all. It was such a sudden and stark change that if it weren’t for his dog tag you would have thought you dreamed the whole thing. But he was gone. 

A day passed.

Then another.

And another.

The knot in your stomach slowly unworked itself. The tension ever present in your shoulders finally loosened. Weeks passed by. Then months. A part of you still worried. In prison there were times where Simon would go silent for months, but he always came back. And he always made sure to make up for lost times. More gifts, more phone calls, longer visits. It seemed that your anxiety was slowly chipped away, yet it was also slowly building itself back up again. 

But Simon stayed gone. More importantly, a date had been set for you to become a truly free woman. No parole. No restrictions. A chance to leave the country. A chance to truly be free.

A chance to slip away from Simon.

___

When a police officer knocked on your door, you had to fight back the panic.

You haven’t done anything wrong. 

It wasn’t until you were sitting across from your lawyer did you truly began to realize the situation you were in. His words sounded so far away, so garbled. As if you were trapped underwater, in a fishbowl, letting the world happen around you as you tapped at the glass.

“...Do you understand the situation you’re in?...Enough drugs to get an intent to distribute…a passport…tickets to another country…”

How did you get here?

“Are you listening to me?”

You snapped back to reality, the familiar cold cuffs biting into your wrists.

“Do they have to keep these on me?”

Your lawyer let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about the damn cuffs right now.”

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one wearing the damn cuffs.

“They’re distracting.” 

He ignored you. “They have you on video buying a plane ticket out of the country.”

You nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that your parole would’ve been up by then. Nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“They found enough cocaine in your hotel room to get intent to sell. With the plane ticket, and your erratic behavior after you got out of prison, things don’t look good for you.”

“It’s not mine I-” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, talking so quietly, trying to hold back tears. “I swear.”

Your lawyer didn’t look convinced. “That defense won’t hold up in court.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I was able to cut a deal for you. It’s better than prison. They’ll tag you-”

Dog tags flickered in your mind. “Huh?”

“House arrest.”

���Oh.”

“You won’t be able to use a hotel, you’ll have to go back to the original residence you reported when you got out of prison.”

"What?” Alarm bells rang through your sluggish thoughts.

Your lawyer sick of you interrupting him, bulldozed on. “Listen to me. I don’t know why they’re offering this to you, but you won’t get a second chance at this. Confess your crime. They’ll confine you to your house for three years and serve parole in tandem. You’ll only serve a year of parole once you’re out.”

Three years. Three years stuck at Simon’s house. Three years with Simon.

“What happens if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll go back to prison. Given you’ve already been, they'll try for maximum. You could be looking at twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. Life on parole.”

Walk into the tiger’s den or let him continue the chase.

How did you get here?

___

They put the ankle monitor on at Simon’s house, now your house you suppose. A part of you had wanted to tell them to take you back to prison instead. But you knew the reality of your situation. Simon would just do the same thing he did before. Get videos of you, pictures of you, he could still watch you in your cell. He would still visit you. And that’s just what he would do while you were in prison, what would happen when you were released again? You were never going to be able to escape him. At least this way you would be more comfortable.

A gilded cage.

Simon talked to the officers, but he seemed to make even them nervous, as they all but ran out of the house. You watched as they shut the door behind them, alone in a room with Simon for the first time in a long time.

How did you get here?

Simon put his hand on the back of your neck, before gliding it upwards jerking your head back. Your eyes met his, and he was smiling.

“Hello, bird.”

“Simon.”

He shuddered when you called his name.

“Missed you.”

“Don’t know how, you never left me.”

He grinned, boyish and proud of himself, “Never.”

Simon kissed you then, feeling far more familiar than he should’ve for a man you’ve only had sex with once. You turned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in your neck, Simon’s hand stayed instead wrapping around your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, making you whimper, before he released you.

“Gonna’ be good’ fer me?” He rasped.

You thought about it for a moment, and he let you, time frozen mid-air. But you had been running for so long. And you were so tired. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Surrender.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against his, white flag given. That’s all it took for the dam to break. Simon let out a growl and slammed you into the nearest wall, cradling your head so it didn’t bang against the wall with the force. His body caged you in as he deepened the kiss. You had forgotten just how intense it was to be so close to Simon.

He filled your senses. You breathed him in, you tasted him, you heard his soft grunts against your lips, felt the rough edge of his jeans as he ground himself against you, watched as his blonde eyelashes fluttered open until he was staring at you. Always watching. Even in these moments. 

Simon’s hand gripped your ass, grinding you harder against him, moaning from the friction.

“You owe’ me somethin’ birdie. Made your fiance wait so long. Such a fuckin’ tease.” He growled in your ear before fisting your shirt in two hands, ripping it with ease. Hands squeezing your bare tits so tight you expected to find bruises tomorrow.

Confusion knitted your brows together before he shoved you to your knees and you came face to face with his crotch.

How did you get here?

Your hands shook as you undid the button on his jeans, the zipper loud in between Simon and your panting. He helped you pull his jeans down his thighs, his cock dropping out, hard and angry.

Fuck.

You had forgotten just how big the man was down below. Time distorting the memory enough you had convinced yourself that he was average and you were just desperate that night. You were wrong of course. The man was hung as a fucking horse.

It had been awhile since you gave a blowjob. The steady pay the pub provided, the tips you made, pawning a few of Simon’s gifts and you had earned enough to not necessitate them. Not that it would help in this situation. Simon was big enough that all your previous tricks were rather useless. You weren’t even sure if you could open your mouth wide enough to take him, let alone take him down your throat. Your poor poor throat.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the head a gentle kiss, glancing up and meeting Simon’s eyes. Your gaze left his, feeling suddenly shy despite the situation you were in. Pre dribbled and you used the chance to rub it along his sensitive head with your thumb. You gathered as much spit on your tongue licking the underside of his cock, pushing it all the way up until it pressed against his stomach. He groaned, hand resting on the back of your head. 

With his dick out of the way, you used your other hand to caress his balls before pressing soft kisses to them. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue, using your hands to work his cock while you gave your attention elsewhere. His balls were much easier to fit in your mouth, but you could only delay the inevitable so long.

You pulled away fully, his cock falling under the weight of itself. The easy part done, now it was time for the hard part. Your gag reflex was not going to be happy. Bracing your hands against his thick thighs, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingertips, you pressed your lips against the tip of his cock again, parting the seam of your mouth and letting him slowly slip in. Your tongue lying flat as he invaded your mouth.

Inch by overwhelming inch.

Before you had thought he was overwhelming, it was nowhere near as overwhelming as having his dick in your mouth. Gone were the lingering scents of tobacco and liquor. The outside world stripped away until just the man was left. Until only Simon’s musk filled your nose, wrinkling it as you took him a little deeper. Your jaw already ached from how wide you were stretching it.

Tired of your pace, Simon began to use your head as leverage as he pushed you further down, nails pressing crescents into his skin as you forced your body to relax. You quickly moved your hands back to the base of his length, stopping him from pushing you any further. Twisting your wrists to placate him enough to let you keep them there. Sucking to increase the pressure.

Simon moaned, hands going from gripping your head, to resting. Letting you work.

You took a deep breath through your nose as you began to work him in earnest. Swirling your tongue over the head of his cocked you began to bob faster and faster, unable to stop the lewd gurgling noises as the back of him hit your throat. His hands were at your head again, pushing himself further down your throat and back again. Setting his pace.

This wasn’t a blowjob he was fucking your throat. Using you. His dick twitched in his mouth before he pulled out, as you took in huge gulps of breath. Body hunching in on itself. You felt vulnerable like this. Kneeling in front of him, the top half of you completely nude.

You didn’t get much time to collect yourself before you were pulled to your feet, turned so that your back was pressed against his front, hands bracing against the wall. 

Simon kissed your neck, hooking his hands on your pants and jerking them down. They caught on your ankle monitor but he just tore them off, seams ripping. Your underwear was torn with a satisfying rip, before you felt the tip of his bare cock pressing against your hole. He thrusted against your slit, gathering your own slick before he reached a hand down, dragging his dick back before it caught on your hole.

You couldn’t help but whine at the stretch of him, un-prepped. He didn’t stop until his hips met yours, large hands bruising. He paused, leaning his weight onto you, sighing. As if being buried to the hilt in your cunt was the reprieve he had been looking for all his life.

“Missed her’ too. Did she mis’ me?” His voice was hoarse against your ear.

“Huh?”

He removed one hand from your hip bringing it to your clit, brushing one large knuckle against it, causing your knees to buckle. Simon chuckled, easily holding your weight against him.

“Don’ worry, won’ ever leave you for this long again Birdie.”

Simon licked your cheek causing you to try and jerk away from him, before the rough pad of his finger began to circle your clit, your pussy clenching around him almost painfully, grinding his hips into yours as if trying to fuck you deeper somehow. He pulled out before snapping into you. Again and again, hand never leaving your clit.

“Simon! Simon please! Don’t stop!” You couldn’t help but cry, bucking back against him as you felt an orgasm build quickly, faster than one had ever built before.

He growled into your ear. “Ain’t ever gonna run again Bird.”

You nodded your head, trying to do everything in your power to appease him to keep doing what he was doing. To keep thrusting. To keep his hand on your clit. To lick you again. Anything. Everything. You wanted him to consume you wholly.

“Ain’t gonna run no’ more. Ain’t gonna leave the house till everyon’ knows you’re mine.”

His hand left your clit, causing you to whine in protest, cradling your stomach. 

“Say it. Tell the whole fuckin’ world who you belong too.”

“You Simon! YoU! Simon! Simon please…plea-” You were babbling, until finally his hand went back to your clit.

“Don’t forget it.”

You came, cunt desperately clutching his cock, squealing as Simon didn’t even slow his thrusts. He pushed you through one orgasm onto the edge of overstimulation as he finally came with a grunt inside of you. He didn’t pull out, keeping his seed nuzzled safely near your womb.

You slumped against his arms, panting softly as the reality of your situation began to wash over you, naked except for the ankle monitor.

How did you get here?

It didn’t matter, because all roads led to Simon.

Tag list: @Sweetlike-sugarplum, @thatpersonamedrook, @aphinthestars, @misscaller06, @shushyoudontknowme, @youknowits-derea, @succubusvalentine, @sundaescreamcheese

[blog-o-meter]

Pump It Up - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: Rained in, (Y/N) decides to workout at home while Nicholas reads a script in the kitchen. Halfway through, though, she realizes that he wasn’t really reading anymore.

warnings: 18+, caught masturbating, needy!nicholas, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, voyeurism, exhibitionism, denial

required listening: n/a

word count: 4,123

a/n: here’s a quick little fic <3 im sorry my word counts are so long compared to others’ — my brain literally won’t let me write unless I drag scenes out to make them seem more realistic/plausible in my head, if that makes sense LOL

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you’d like to see more!

The rain outside was relentless, its constant drum against the window and the occasional rumble of thunder enough to convince me to not leave the house. I’d driven through too many rain storms in this neighborhood to know that risking getting my car flooded from driving through the backed up water at the end of the road was not worth it. That’s horrible infrastructure for you.

I had plans of hitting the gym, maybe even treating myself to a little smoothie that I had been looking forward to all day. Just thinking about the tartness of a berry smoothie after a grueling workout was enough to make my mouth water, but it looked like the rain wasn’t going to let up. The worst part was I had already gotten dressed, and I had so much pent up energy ready to be exerted.

That’s when I thought — why not just do my workout here? The living room was spacious enough, and as long as I had my music, I think I could manage. Sure, I wouldn’t have access to any of the fancy machinery, but I could still do some sets without anything extra — planks, sit-ups, Russian twists, leg raises, etc.

Determined to use up my energy, I grabbed my phone and earbuds and walked out of the bedroom, making my way over to the open-concept living room to find Nicholas perched on the kitchen counter, his back to me. He had been tirelessly looking over a potential script his agent had given him earlier — writing notes, highlighting pieces of dialogue, the like.

I set down my things on the coffee table before coming up behind him, running my hand up his back and settling it on his shoulder, giving him a little massage as I looked over the booklet open in front of him. He let out a sigh, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

“Nic, is it ok if I work out here?” I asked while I brushed away the single strand of hair flopped over his forehead.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded his head.

I turned my attention to the script, bending over the counter a bit to reach for it. The half-scribbled nonsense caught my eye. I could barely make out any of the words he had written, but I guess the only person that had to understand it was Nicholas — and the guy knows his shit.

“Are you sure it won’t bother you while you’re looking over your script?” I asked as I flipped through the script casually.

Nicholas chuckled, leaning back slightly on the stool. His arm stayed wrapped around my waist, his thumb brushing idly against my side. “Don’t worry; I’ll tune it out.”

I smiled, thankful for his understanding. I planted a quick kiss on his temple, running my fingers through the back of his hair. “I’ll try to keep it quiet,” I said as I pulled away from his grasp and walked toward the open space between the coffee table and the tv in the living room.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a yoga mat, so the laminate floor would have to do, whether I liked it or not. Maybe I’d get used to the stiff floor the more my workout progressed, and I would have already done my exercise for the day by then. Note to self: buy a yoga mat.

I grabbed my earbuds, deciding to only put one in just in case Nicholas told me to keep it down, and reached for my phone to press play on my workout playlist, which consisted of EBM and Acid House — no lyrics for maximum concentration. Plus, it helped me keep a steady rhythm.

I began with a series of deep stretches, my arms reaching high above my head before I bent forward, letting my fingertips brush the floor. A quiet groan escaped my lips as I felt the soreness from yesterday’s workout still lingering.

The music pumped softly in one ear, the beat steady and hypnotic as I transitioned through my warm-up. I shifted into a runner’s lunge, my knee grazing the cold laminate as I leaned into the stretch. A soft sigh slipped out, my muscles pulling deliciously.

Rolling up slowly, I shook out my legs and moved into a few standing side bends, my hands clasped over my head. My breathing grew deeper, the ache in my sides fading as I worked through it. A low hum escaped me as I twisted my torso, relishing the sensation of each vertebra popping gently back into alignment.

I stood straight then, shaking my arms as I prepared to start the real workout. “Okay,” I muttered to myself.

I dropped to the floor for my first set of planks, planting my hands firmly and aligning my body. The strain hit almost immediately, my core engaging as I held the position. My breathing grew audible, sharp exhales through pursed lips as I counted the seconds.

“One… two… three…” My voice was quiet but breathy, each number punctuated by a soft grunt.

The timer on my phone ticked down, and when I reached thirty seconds, I pushed myself into a series of shoulder taps. My palm slapped the floor softly with each shift of weight, my breaths turning into little gasps as the effort increased.

“Almost there,” I whispered to myself, my tone more encouraging than determined.

When I finally finished the set, I rolled onto my back, chest heaving and gasping while the music in my ear pulsed. I clocked Nicholas shift in the stool then, but I didn’t think much of it. He had been sitting there a few hours now; his back must’ve been stinging.

Next up were leg raises. Lying flat on my back, I slid my hands beneath my lower back for support and lifted my legs until they were perpendicular to the floor. Lowering them slowly, I felt the familiar burn in my lower abs. Those were killer.

“God,” I groaned softly, squeezing my eyes shut as I held the hover position just above the floor.

My voice came out in broken exhales as I finished the set, letting my legs drop to the floor with a thud. My head tilted back, and I let out an exaggerated sigh, the exertion starting to creep up on me.

After a moment of rest, I rolled back onto my knees and pushed myself into a standing position. I moved into a series of squats, setting my feet shoulder-width apart and sinking low with each rep. The burn in my thighs was immediate, but I leaned into it, pushing deeper with every squat.

“One… two…” My voice grew louder, the numbers mingled with quiet grunts as I tried to keep my form steady.

By the time I reached 20, a soft whimper escaped me. I straightened, pausing to catch my breath before diving into the second set. Midway through, I let out a particularly loud groan, the sound filling the quiet room. I glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen, half-expecting Nicholas to say something, but he remained silent, his back still turned.

He shifted in the stool again then. I noticed it this time — the way Nicholas’s arm moved. It wasn’t just a casual shift in his posture or an adjustment of his script. His elbow dipped, his shoulder tensed, and there was a sort of rhythm to it.

I thought it weird, but I pushed through the rest of my squats, continuing my quiet counting. But from the corner of my eye I could see him continuing to move his arm ever so slightly, like he didn’t want me to see. And of course, curiosity got the best of me.

When I finished the set, I let out an audible sigh to signal that I had finished my squats. His back was still to me, and I could see past the outline of his other arm on the counter that the script was still open in front of him, but his movements were stiff.

I strolled toward the kitchen under the guise of grabbing something to drink, letting my footsteps fall heavy against the floor to make noise. As I neared, I noticed the faint tremor in his shoulders as he turned the slightest bit away from me as I rounded the counter and made my way toward the fridge, opening the door casually.

I pulled out one of the cold-pressed juices Nicholas liked to keep stocked to indulge in after coming home from the gym and closed the door. I turned around on my heels, glancing over to him. His jaw was clenched, and he didn’t flick his eyes up once to glance up at me. I also noticed his left arm was under the counter while his right arm was propping up his chin, his pointer finger curled against his lips.

“Hey, Nic,” I said, my voice light as I twisted the cap off the juice bottle with a crisp crack. “Is my workout bothering you?”

He stiffened, his body locking up as if I’d just caught him in the middle of something incriminating. “No,” he said quickly, his voice unusually tight. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of the juice as I watched him. He still wasn’t looking at me, his focus seemingly glued to the script in front of him, but he didn’t even have a pencil in his hand anymore, the pencil laying flat some inches away as if forgotten.

“Are you sure?” I asked, the tiniest bit amused at his behavior.

“It’s fine,” he replied a little too fast, his voice clipped. He shifted on the stool, his left arm pulling slightly closer to his body.

I lingered for a moment longer, watching the subtle tremor in his shoulders and the way his right hand moved to grip the edge of the counter. It was obvious he didn’t want me to see what he was doing.

“Alright,” I said with a shrug, “Let me know if I’m being too loud.”

I rounded the counter again, noticing from the corner of my eye Nicholas shifting his body away from me another time as I passed by to make my way back to the living room.

I didn’t sit down right away, instead taking my time to stretch dramatically, letting out a long exhale as I reached for my toes, glancing periodically over to Nicholas. Now that he had shifted from his previous position, I could catch his reflection from the framed artwork hung on the wall perpendicular to him, and it gave me a full view of what he was doing.

Nicholas’s left arm was indeed beneath the counter, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that told me everything I needed to know.

He was helping himself.

His head was tilted slightly forward as if he were trying to focus on the script, his jaw tight, and his eyes were closed — completely lost in the moment. His right hand gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white, as though grounding himself in reality, and he was being very mindful of keeping his noises to himself.

I froze mid-stretch, my fingertips grazing my toes as I processed what I was seeing. Heat rushed to my face and neck, a mix of shock and complete amusement. He had no idea I could see him — no idea that his every movement was perfectly reflected in the glossy surface of the artwork.

The realization sent a jolt of excitement through me. The idea of Nicholas pleasuring himself while listening to me grunt and huff was like a spark to my flame, and I intended to add more fuel.

Straightening from my stretch, I took a moment to steady my breathing and hide the growing smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. If Nicholas wanted to keep up his little secret act, I’d give him something to really work with.

Dropping back down to the floor, I positioned myself for a new set of planks, but this time, I exaggerated every movement, letting my body shift slowly as I adjusted my form. “Alright,” I muttered, just loud enough to carry over the sound of the rain outside.

As I held the plank, I let out a low groan, my voice breathy and drawn out. “God, that felt so good,” I said, my words broken by strained exhales.

From the corner of my eye, I could see his reflection in the artwork. Nicholas’s hand paused for the briefest moment before resuming its rhythm, a little quicker this time. His shoulders hunched slightly, his body shifting as if he were trying to control himself.

Biting back a grin, I moved into shoulder taps, each motion accompanied by a soft grunt. “One… two… three…” I counted aloud, my voice deliberately low and husky.

Nicholas’s head dipped lower, his jaw clenching tighter as his hand moved beneath the counter.

“Is my counting bothering you, Nic?” I called out between breaths, my tone innocent but teasing as I watched him through the reflection.

His head snapped up, and for a second, I thought he might stop altogether. But he quickly recovered, clearing his throat before replying, “No, I’m fine. Keep going.” His voice was rough, strained, and completely unconvincing.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “You sure?”

His jaw tightened, and he dropped his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to stroke himself. “I’m sure,” he muttered. “Just… focus on your workout.”

“Ok,” I replied lightly, smiling to myself and dropping my hips to the floor as I transitioned into a set of cobra stretches. My back arched as I pushed up onto my hands, letting out a loud groan as I tilted my head back.

Nicholas’s breathing hitched audibly, and I couldn’t resist glancing at his reflection again. His movements had picked up just the tiniest bit of speed, as if he were afraid going any faster might have me catch on. His other hand, though, gripped the counter so tightly I thought it might leave marks.

Pushing back onto my knees, I transitioned into a child’s pose, my arms reaching out in front of me as I let my hips sink low, making sure I let out a soft moan. I tilted my head just enough to glance at the reflection, catching the way Nicholas’s head dipped even lower, his movements more frantic now.

My lips curled into a smirk as I pulled myself up from the floor and removed my earbud, tossing it onto the couch so it could land without making a sound. Keeping my steps light so as to not warn him, I slowly made my way over to Nicholas, inching my way closer and closer.

When I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, I paused, watching as Nicholas continued, completely unaware of my presence. His head was still bowed, his breathing shallow and uneven, his left hand continuing to stroke himself under the counter. I bit my lip, the smirk on my face growing as I leaned forward, positioning myself just behind him.

I stayed there for a moment, hovering, my own breath steady and quiet, while he was too lost in his own world to notice. Then, as quietly as possible, I leaned in until my lips were just inches from his ear, waiting a few beats before letting out a soft moan.

Nicholas froze, his entire body locking up as his hand stopped mid-motion. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock, and I could see the flush spreading rapidly up his neck and cheeks. He started to pull his hand away, stammering something incoherent, but I was faster.

I reached down, my hand sliding beneath the counter to replace his. His sharp inhale echoed in the quiet room, and I could feel the tension in his body as I wrapped my fingers around his hard length.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear as I began to move my hand in slow, deliberate strokes. With my free hand, I brushed my fingers through Nicholas’s hair, clutching it in a fist and lightly pulling his head back toward me.

Nicholas’s head fell back against my shoulder, letting out a low, guttural sound as his mouth fell open and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths. His hand, now free, gripped the edge of the counter again, his knuckles whitening as he held on for dear life.

“Did the sounds I was making turn you on, huh?” I teased, my voice a soft purr in his ear as my hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.

Nicholas groaned in response, his voice ragged and desperate. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered, nodding as his breathing grew heavier. His free hand slid up to cover his face, his embarrassment palpable even as his body betrayed his need. But I made sure to pull his hand away, wanting to see his beautiful face.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whispered, tightening my grip on his wrist to keep his hand away from his face. “You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I teased, increasing the pressure of my hand just enough to make him gasp.

Nicholas let out a shaky breath as his body gave into my touch. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he whimpered softly at the teasing in my voice.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. His hips bucked slightly into my hand, and he let out a needy moan, his restraint crumbling. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged, his voice trembling.

Nicholas’s desperation was intoxicating, and I couldn’t help but savor the way he melted under my touch. His vulnerability was rare, and seeing him this undone because of me was exhilarating. I let out a quiet moan into his ear, mimicking the sounds I was making while working out.

“Such a good boy,” I murmured against his ear, letting my lips brush against the shell of it. My hand continued its slow, steady rhythm, deliberately teasing him. His hips jerked, seeking more friction, but I tightened my grip slightly, controlling the pace.

“Please,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with need. “I need…”

I chuckled softly, my breath warm against his skin. “Need more…?” I asked, my tone dripping with playful cruelty.

Nicholas whimpered, his hand clutching at the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “More of you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Please… I can’t… I need you.”

His admission sent a shiver down my spine. I kissed the sensitive spot just below his ear, drawing a shaky breath from him. “You sound so pretty when you beg,” I whispered, my hand picking up its pace ever so slightly.

His entire body shuddered, and he turned his head to try to capture my lips with his own, but I pulled back just enough to keep him from reaching me. “Uh-uh, you’ve been bad, Nic,” I teased, my voice a low purr.

Nicholas let out a frustrated groan, his head dropping back against my shoulder again. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, his desperation spilling over in the way his fingers gripped the counter.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice trembling and raw. “Please, I’ll be good. I just… I need you.”

I smirked, savoring the way he unraveled beneath me. “Oh, I know you’ll be good,” I replied, my voice laced with mock sweetness. My hand slowed its pace just slightly, enough to make him whimper in protest, his hips shifting to chase the friction. “Tell me how much you want it,” I demanded, tightening my grip ever so slightly. “I want to hear it, Nic.”

He let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back to rest on my shoulder as he turned to look at me, his eyes glassy and pleading. “I need you so fucking bad,” he admitted, his voice rough with vulnerability.

His words sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. I leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to see the way his lips parted, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment.

“You’re so perfect like this,” I said softly, my free hand sliding up to brush through his hair again, tugging gently at the strands. “So needy. So honest.”

Nicholas let out a low moan, his body trembling under my touch. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

I chuckled, the sound low and teasing as I tilted his head back further, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “You’re mine,” I murmured, pressing my lips against his skin, my hand resuming its deliberate pace. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. “All yours.”

Hearing those words fall from his lips made my heart race. I pressed a kiss just below his ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Good boy,” I whispered, my tone both soft and commanding.

Nicholas let out a ragged moan, his body arching into the back of the stool as he surrendered completely to me. Every sound, every movement he made was for me, and I relished every second of it.

“I—” His voice cracked, his body trembling as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. “I need… I need to—please, just let me…”

I chuckled softly, tightening my grip for a moment to make him gasp. “You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you?” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear.

Nicholas let out a broken moan, his head falling back against my shoulder. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice trembling with need. “I can’t—please, I can’t hold it…”

I smirked, my hand picking up its pace just enough to push him closer to the edge. “Go ahead,” I whispered, my voice a low purr.

His entire body tensed, his hips jerking against my hand as he let out a strangled moan. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as he finally gave in. The tension in his body snapped, and a low, guttural sound escaped him as he spilled over, the warm evidence of his release landing on the script spread out on the counter.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of the rain against the windows and Nicholas’s ragged breathing as he slumped backward, his head resting against my shoulder as his lips parted.

I pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, letting my hand linger on his waist as my other hand reached to brush my fingertip against the white ropes that landed all over the counter. I held his gaze as I brought my fingertip to my lips, letting the taste linger on my tongue. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face as I tilted my head slightly, savoring both the flavor and the effect it had on Nicholas.

Quickly brushing my fingers through his hair, I softly asked, “How about you clean up your mess while I finish my workout, hmm?”

Nicholas let out a weak laugh, his cheeks still flushed as he tilted his head to look at me. “You really know how to humble a man,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but laced with affection.

I leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering warmth of his breath. “And you really know how to make a workout interesting,” I teased, pulling back.

Nicholas groaned softly, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sat up straighter on the stool. “I’ll clean it up,” he muttered, reaching for a nearby paper towel with a sheepish grin.

Nicholas moved with a quiet efficiency, his usual confidence tinged with an endearing embarrassment. As I settled back into my workout, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders were still a little tense, his cheeks still faintly pink as he wiped the counter clean with meticulous care. He avoided looking at me directly, though I could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally finished cleaning up, Nicholas tossed the used paper towel into the trash with a dramatic sigh of relief. Turning to lean against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locking onto me with a playful intensity. “You know I’m going to get you back for this, right?”

As I settled into my next stretch, I smirked up at him, “I hope you do.”

[petermorwood]

More Sword Questions...

These are further questions prompted by a post already long enough that I’m not reblogging the whole thing.  It’s here.

@softness-and-shattering (who posted the original Ask) wrote:

Thank you so much! What Im getting is that there arent any exact rules, different people and places mixed and matched sword features as they liked. Is that more or less correct? The swords that are green, is that oxidization? Theyre very pretty. And if fullers are to reduce sword weight, what are ridges for? Thanks again :)

*****

(1) Yes, it's oxidation. The uncomplimentary word is "tarnish", the complimentary word is "patina". Bronze swords in museums can be various colours ranging from green (verdigris)...

...through golden...

...to shades of brown and almost black.

I don’t know why (archaeological metallurgy is a mystery to me) but at a guess it's related to the acidity of the ground in which they were found, the proportions of copper / tin / other metals in their bronze.

It may also be the point at which conservators decided they'd gone far enough with that particular artefact and further restoration / cleaning would cause damage.

*****

(2) Ridges on sword-blades add stiffness, is the remnant of the bar or rod of steel from which the sword was made, and are created as the blade's final form is hammered out on either side, leaving a sort of raised centre-parting.

(If this is over-simplified or just plain wrong and swordsmiths reading it are going "Nooo!", please correct me!) ;->

Here's one example with a very prominent ridge, from the Victoria & Albert Museum in London...

...and another with a more restrained centre-line from the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

*****

(3) Sword shapes and features changed depending on functional requirements. If a shape worked and its use didn’t change, it stayed the same. The Roman gladius and Japanese katana are two examples of not much change in shape over several centuries.

Demands of fashion also played a part in what kind of sword was worn when and with what.

While swords (not just Messers or falchions or other "fighting knives") do appear without armour in medieval art...

...swords only became a regular part of civilian dress in the mid-late 1400s.

In Germany this was called a Reitschwert - "riding sword" - for self-defence when out (riding) in ordinary clothes. In Italy it was a spada da lato - "side-sword" - for what's now called EDC (every-day-carry) not just in war. In Spain it was an espada ropera - "robe sword" - for wear with regular clothes rather than armour.

That last one, worn down, mispronounced or just plain pinched, became "rapier", and because it was worn every day, with stylish garments, it became yet another way in which to show off.

The most common Europe-wide rapier was a "swept hilt", comprising bars and loops, while Spain and Spanish-influenced places like Italy preferred the "cup-hilt", which had a different style of swordplay.

Cup-hilts are familiar from movies because it's easy to dress up a sport-fencing sword as something much older. Here's a stage-combat modern épée and two real rapiers.

Cup-hilts could be plain metal bowls like those, or beautiful examples of chiselled, pierced metalwork.

Swept-hilts could be equally impressive.

They were proof that their wearers were dedicated followers of fashion, men of wealth and taste - and, of course, always armed and just as always ready to use what they carried at the drop of whatever was just dropped.

Duelling became a craze, laws against it were ignored, any excuse would do, and Shakespeare summed it up nicely:

MERCUTIO:  Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou? why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast; thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? With another for tying his new shoes with old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling?

(That one about the doublet had echoes in 1922, with The Straw Hat Riot in New York, involving assaults on men who hadn't stopped wearing straw hats by the fashion-approved date of mid-September. At least nobody got run through...)

Oddly enough, portraits which include rapiers usually show swept-hilts, even in Spanish portraits where cup-hilts might be expected (I've seen a couple, but not many). Perhaps the artist didn’t have one to hand, or thought the swept-hilt style was more visually interesting.

The smallsword (shorter, lighter, less cumbersome to wear) replaced the rapier, and it too featured a lot in portraits. It was a piece of masculine jewellery, with a stiff narrow blade on an elegant hilt which might be metal...

...or some more exotic material like mother-of-pearl or porcelain.

Then fashion changed again, smallswords also went away, and once again the only people wearing swords on a regular basis were uniformed military types, whose swords could be all sorts of shapes and sizes depending on branch of service and function.

Even when that function is just to be part of regalia, and look good on parade.

[sohnric]

BIGGER BOYS AND STOLEN SWEETHEARTS — K. SUNWOO

pairing: kim sunwoo x fem! reader

genre: fluff. platonic but also not really 👀 jealous sunwoo that is also very delusionally in love with the reader. sunwoo plays the electric guitar but also he's kind of shit so yn has to help him

word count: 1.8k

warnings: swearing, jealousy, the reader is basically half naked and sunwoo ogles a bit

a/n: this fic is my way of battling writer's block. uni is kicking my ass but also i thought of this in the train omw home so i guess its also good for something. this is very much inspired by sunwoo wanting to learn how to play electric guitar, me remembering i own one, and also miri @/satoruly associating bigger boys and stolen sweethearts with me and making me forever insane because of it. also reblog and comment pls its so quiet here its depressing.

once again thank u so much @csenke for beta reading this fiesty baby and thank u @from-izzy for helping me with the flirty bits i owe you my life.

“You have to leave by 5, because I’m hanging out with Mark later,” you call for him as you enter the room, eyes catching a glimpse of Sunwoo sitting on your bed, an electric guitar in his hand. The boy furrows his brows at your words, a bitter taste on his tongue making him roll his eyes as he focuses his attention on the instrument in his lap, fingers aimlessly playing with the strings.

“Okay, alright,” he hisses, clicking his tongue. If you notice anything odd about his behavior, you don’t mention it to him– and if he was self-aware enough to recognise the acid aftertaste your words leave in his mouth for what it really was, he’d be even glad for your sudden blindness to his infatuation with you.

“We’re going to the new bistro that opened downtown,” you hum, as if to only fuel the boy’s frustration further. If all you wanted to do was talk about the guy, why did you invite Sunwoo over in the first place? This was starting to feel like a trap.

“I told you about that place,” he huffs.

“Thank you for the recommendation,” you smile at him ironically, and when your eyes finally meet, Sunwoo recognises the playful glint in your eye– you’re 100% aware of the tension in the air, enjoying the way you have the boy completely under your spell, ready to be torn into pieces. It’s that look you have on your face every time a guy hits on you– the one that mirrors victory, the slightest kick it gives your self-esteem making you grin to yourself as you twirl your hair on your finger and satisfy the man with the slightest touch on his arm. You play into it– you always do– but you never quite let anyone sweep you off your feet completely.

“I thought we would check it out together,” Sunwoo says, fingers plucking at the E string of the guitar, making a dull sound resonate through your room as the background to your conversation.

“We can do that later,” you say, shrugging, “I’ll give you all the recommendations.”

“Traitor,” Sunwoo hisses, glaring at you with a tinge of hurt behind his orbs.

“Don’t be so butthurt.”

“Don’t be so merciless, then,” the boy counters, averting his gaze from yours. “Is he picking you up? I bet he doesn’t even have a car.”

“That’s an unusual way to express jealousy, considering you don’t even have a car, Sunwoo,” you grimace, chuckling at the emotional outburst of your friend. “Besides, his dad owns a car bazaar. I think the possibilities of him not owning a car are quite close to zero.”

Sunwoo stays quiet at that, the call-out making red splotches appear on his cheeks from shame. His eyes quickly move to the guitar again, hypnotizing it with his gaze, fingers clamming at the strings. 

Do you like torturing him? Is this what it’s all about? Just a few days ago, he thought he had it all– sneaking his hand into the back pocket of your jeans as he was dropping you off, receiving a ruffle to his hair after you pulled away from his hug, sending a flying kiss to him as you disappeared behind the front door. Today, all you’re talking about is Mark, Mark’s car, Mark’s family, Mark’s school, Mark’s fucking hairstyle, and all Sunwoo can do is either rip out all of his hair, or fantasize about ripping out Mark Lee’s instead– strand by strand, slowly, mercilessly.

“Whatever,” he comments, shaking his head at you. After many months of being friends with you, he should be immune to your charms. The more time he spends with you, though, the more unarmed he seems to be to your enchanting magnetism. You’re not nice to his heart, but up until this moment, he kinda liked the tug of war over yours.

The moment drags itself along before he hears you sigh from somewhere in front of him, frustration so evident in the sound. Sunwoo doesn’t really know what you have to be so infuriated about, since as far as he’s aware, he’s the one left cold and unwanted in the comfort of your room that smells deadly of your perfume (that’s so hard to shake off sometimes, yet he can’t find it in him to hate the sweet scent), but as he looks up to meet your eye, he chokes on his own spit at the image that meets his eye.

“You still don’t know how to play that riff, do you?” you click your tongue, shaking your head. It’s not the action that leaves Sunwoo feeling warmer than before, sweat almost comically appearing on his forehead– the image of you in only last remains of your school uniform does, though, as his eyes unashamedly scan the lengths of your now uncovered legs up your thighs to the curve of your bum, visible as you stare at him sideways, soft skin only slightly covered by the tinge oversized white button-down, red lace peeking out, piercing his gaze.

The boy silently shakes his head, licking his lips in a scattered manner. “Nope,” he admits, letting the last syllable pop in the now silent room, blood rushing to his ears as you stride forward and reach his position in your bedsheets.

“It’s really easy,” you huff, “you just– wait, let me show you,” you start, almost making the boy offer your own guitar back to you, before he watches you climb into the bed behind him, making his breathing hitch in his throat.

This is not at all what he expected you to do, he recognises when he feels your breathing on his neck as you lean over him, thighs straddling his back and pressing into his sides when you kneel on the mattress behind his back in order to have the best vision of the guitar. Sunwoo’s hands slip off the instrument when he finds your head next to his, your arms sneaking around his figure to press the chords down with your digits instead, strumming the strings and caging the boy into your scent and the flush of your muscles, forcing him to watch the little tutorial from first point of view. Your fingers move skillfully against the strings, having played that exact riff many times before (which is also why Sunwoo decided to pick it up, for it reminded him of the afternoons spent in the comfort of your room, laying on the rug in the middle of the floor as you played him your favorite songs), and he can’t help but feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up when your breath meets the side of his face.

“Clearer now?”

“Mhm,” he gulps, nodding. He’s too afraid to turn his head, too scared to see your face so from up close and not instinctively trail his gaze to your lips (of which curves have been sculpted in the heaven, he thinks), and so he only results to taking ahold of the guitar again, battling the reality of having your naked legs pressing into him from behind, fighting the image of your underwear out of his head to the best of his abilities.

He tries to mimic the position of your fingers on the guitar, but the fact that he remembered it wrong (or just was too distracted by his surroundings to really take the information in) is set out to him when you quickly take ahold of his hand, left palm glazing his to move his ring finger to the right position. “Here,” you hum, “that’s the problem. You keep pressing it on the 3rd fret instead of the 4th and that’s why it sounded so weird,” you laugh, the vibration of it against his back making Sunwoo feel like he’s being pumped with pure electricity, fireflies filling his stomach.

“I think it’s too fast for me to keep up with,” he complains, managing to drag a coherent sentence out of his mouth.

“I’ll pluck the strings for you,” you offer, voice saccharine right in his ear, “just try to get the chord patterns down.”

The boy nods, forcing the snapshots of the chord placements to the front of his brain, both begging to get it right so you end your little intimate tutoring session and also hoping he messes up again just to have you scold him and forcefully dragging his fingers to the correct strings– having Sunwoo pathetically yearning for the slightest of your touches. The heartbeat ringing in his own ears serves him as a metronome, and as he chews on the inside of his cheek when he starts, his head spins with the intoxication of your scent, making it hard for him to focus on the tune. 

“You got it wrong again,” you hiss into his ear, making goosebumps appear all over his skin. Oh, how mean you are– completely aware of the effect you have on the boy. He’s starting to think you love the idea of torturing him. It must be fun to have someone so under your spell, so drunk on your bare existence. 

“I’ll practice more until our next tutoring,” he gulps, laughing airly as you let go of him and move away, letting the poor boy finally breathe.

“You better,” you snicker, standing up and walking back over to your opened closet, bending over to pick up your discarded skirt off the ground and offering the boy a clear view of your bum from where he’s sitting on your bed. Now, there’s no denying you like to tease him. And Sunwoo is aware he might get burned, but like a little boy, he kind of enjoys playing with fire. “Or I’ll start to think you are enjoying my lessons a little too much.”

“Only the ones where you get all angry with me,” he notes, placing the guitar next to him on the bed, his palms now too sweaty to continue playing. “You’re kind of hot when you scream at me.”

Throwing a playful look over your shoulder at the boy, making the first two buttons of your blouse undone, a chuckle leaves your throat. “You’re not the first one to tell me that, sweetheart,” you note. “Now leave my room, you pervert. It’s almost 5 and I have to change.”

Defeated, but still obedient, Sunwoo stands up from your bed and takes slow steps towards the door, dreading his departure. The idea of Mark Lee getting to enjoy this side of you makes Sunwoo particularly green, but the feelings quickly fade when he remembers the moments from a few seconds ago, when he thinks back to the softness of your skin. Before he has the chance to leave, though, a tug on his tie yanks him towards you– the school uniform still covering his body from when he walked home with you two hours ago, carrying both of your bags,  proving as an effective attire for your afternoon hangouts.

Pulling him down so your faces are on the same level, the tips of your noses almost touching, has Sunwoo’s shocked eyes grow comically wide and his cheeks burn a crimson red. He feels your breathing fan his lips from the proximity, heart once again running a marathon in his chest when your voice purrs out in a feline-like manner, riling him up. “Always tugging on those strings, but I'll have you know, Sunwoo, you tug on mine all the time,” you grin, gaze only momentarily slipping towards his chapped lips.

Oh, you’re not nice. You’re pretty fucking far from nice– from how you’re playing with his heart, leading him on. 

Or are you not…? He guesses he’ll have to find out. 

You're a far better guitar player than Sunwoo is, but if you ever wanted a new instrument to perfect, he is more than willing to offer you his body to practice on. 

[jukebox-spamton]

✧ ☆ "GOOD EVENING!" ☆ ✧

Image credits to @crypticscarecrow.

☆ "WELCOME TO THE SPAMTON EMPORIUM!" ☆

☆ "WHERE ALL SPAMTONS CAN SETTLE DOWN AND ENJOY A DRINK WITH THEMSELVES! (LITERALLY!)" ☆

☆ "I'M JUKEX, OWNER OF THE EMPORIUM AND YOUR HEAD BARTENDER FOR TONIGHT. HOW CAN I HELP YOU?" ☆

Welcome to the official Spamton Jukebox EX (a.k.a JukeX) ask blog! Created and written by @scimagic.

Jukex is a fan-created Spamsona not meant to be taken as a canonical interpretation of Spamton from Deltarune, but rather a fun spin-off on his character. While some elements are connected to Spamton, Jukex is meant to be an alternate version with his own story and characteristics.

Most importantly, this blog is to have fun and to get to know Jukex!

Thank you and have fun asking!!

[ ⇩ More information down below ⇩ ]

Image credits to @theswedishpajas.

Blog Information and Permissions:

Reposting is not allowed even with credits. However, if reposted, it MUST be with proper credits to avoid consequences from the creator.

Roleplaying with other characters (fan-made and canon) is allowed.

Answers will be tagged under #Jukex Answers.

Interludes will be tagged under #Interludes.

Other posts such as reblogs will be tagged under #Jukex Small Talk (where he will reply in character).

About Jukex [subject to changing constantly]:

Spamton Jukebox EX (aka Jukebox Spamton, aka Jukebox EX, aka Jukex) is the owner and head bartender of The Spamton Emporium, a multi-dimensional bar created to serve any and all alternate versions of Spamton G. Spamton. Including yours!!

He's often described as eccentric, charming, colorful, and sometimes even a little insane. But please, don't be off put by his constant wide smile and blank, soulless lenses, he's only there to have a fun time making martinis and serving battery acid! You can often find him behind the counter creating drinks or running around taking orders.

Unfortunately, if you attempt to go deeper into his past and history, you will find tall and heavy walls around his self. He doesn't crack that easily so you'll have to put a little bit of elbow grease if you want to know a fact or two (however, due to the nature of an ask blog this might be a little easier).

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Like, I did that!

Also bonus; a recipe for his drink of choice (do not actually attempt to drink this):

Definitely back in the 'Actually I'm a very good writer' mindset again after rereading some older stuff, both fic and RP alike. I'm telling you, my brain likes to lie to me and make me forget how talented I am!

[elsa-fogen]

It was like the end of the world (fake tumblr dash)

new way of telling the lore.

There are few familiar faces, try to find them all

0 notes

🧇cool-nickname2000 Follow dec 12, 2001

Guys am I cursed or it's snowing outside?

💀lovemagic12-deactivated20130512 dec 12, 2001

holy- it is?!!

🤷‍♀️im-just-h3re Follow dec 12, 2001

wtf?! fr-

i was thinking like, why is it so cold, i thought my temperature control charm broke, but i didn't even look at the window--

🌚grass-lover Follow dec 12, 2001

bro you should really go touch some grass

🤷‍♀️im-just-h3re Follow dec 12, 2001

bitch, where?!

456 notes

👽svetoch-of-your-life15 Follow dec 12, 2001

I've been living in Magix for like past 10 years and this is the first time i see actual snow here... what's going on?

💀peace-n-love-deactivated20230101 dec 12, 2001

I feel like someones getting fired for this...

45 notes

💀pull-the-lever-deactivated20200710 dec 12, 2001

finally some normal weather @.magix-weather-official thanks

🌸newflowereveryday Follow dec 12, 2001

NORMAL? fuck u, my damn flowers are dying 😭

💀pull-the-lever-deactivated20200710 dec 12, 2001

and? 🙄

#someone just being fucking drama queen #annoying af #get over it bitch #nobody cares about your stupid flowers #stfu #snow in magix 2001

17 notes

🥞i-love-tututututut Follow dec 12, 2001

@.magic-weather-official THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!

#weather #magix #snow in magix 2001 #like WHAT

1256 notes

🚠fairy-of-your-dreams Follow dec 12, 2001

@.magix-weather-official you want us all dead admit it!

🥞i-love-tututututut Follow dec 12, 2001

FR! Could've at least warned about this bs

#weather #snow in magix 2001 #reblog

175 notes

⚜️headmistress-faragonda Follow dec 12, 2001

Dear students, due to the weather conditions all outside lessons are cancelled. However, it's not your free time, wait for the directions from your teachers and use this time for self-preparation!

8 947 notes

🚥magix-traffic-control-official💠 Follow dec 12, 2001

Everyone, please, be careful on the roads today! We'll try our best to make your rides as comfortable as possible in these conditions!

#snow in magix 2001

50 786 667 notes

🌦️magix-weather-official 💠 Follow dec 12, 2001

We are aware of the situation and are trying our best to fix everything asap! Please, stay calm. It's very important to support each other at times like these. Remember, we can get through it if we stay together!

128 998 765 notes

🕳️lurking-inthedark Follow dec 12, 2001

RemEMbEr iF wE STay TOgeThEr @.magix-weather-official is your PR a fucking fairy

🎱not-your-bb Follow dec 12, 2001

Fr lmao who they think we are

☕dont-talk-me Follow dec 12, 2001

together my ass fucking morons, i'm gonna turn into a acid-flavored ice-cream any fucking second, FIX THE DAMN WEATHER!

#snow in magix 2001 #i'm gonna kill someone fr #i hate this

16 notes

🎱not-your-bb Follow dec 13, 2001

@.magix-weather-official IT'S BEEN A WHOLE DAY ASSHOLES

i wish you all icebergs in your beds

⚓sea-nothing-funny Follow dec 13, 2001

ask @.cold-b-witch i think she can do that lol

🎱not-your-bb Follow dec 13, 2001

HJFHFJHDGDFHKJGDF LMAOO that was funny

heat death of the universe will come faster than this excuse of a witch turn anyone's bed into ice

👁️‍🗨️animal-hater-no-shi Follow dec 13, 2001

Still faster than @.magix-weather-official fix this mess

🎱not-your-bb Follow dec 13, 2002

fair

🖤darcy-d-ark Follow dec 13, 2001

you have no idea...

@.stormy-in-the-room look at them. so pure and naive.

🌩️stormy-in-the-room Follow dec 13, 2002

oh yeah) if they only knew...

🎱not-your-bb Follow dec 13, 2001

tf you two mean

🖤darcy-d-ark Follow dec 13, 2002

)

🎱not-your-bb Follow dec 13, 2001

fuck you

#snow in magix 2001 #snow #end of the world

178 notes

👁️‍🗨️animal-hater-no-shi Follow dec 14, 2001

Damn i was really waiting for this necromancy practice! But there's no way we dig anything with the weather like this

🌩️stormy-in-the-room Follow dec 14, 2001

nerd

👁️‍🗨️animal-hater-no-shi Follow dec 14, 2001

stfu

🖤darcy-d-ark Follow dec 14, 2001

wait did Griffin got a permission?!

6 notes

🌦️magix-weather-official 💠 Follow dec 16, 2001

We are happy to to announce that the issue was finally found! We are working hard on fixing it. In few hours everything will be back to normal! Thanks for your patience and support! 🌸

209 009 145 notes

🖤darcy-d-ark Follow dec 12, 2001

Everyone: freaking out about the weather (it's like -10)

Me, who grew up on a planet where average temp is around -67:

🖤darcy-d-ark Follow may 28, 2013

@.cold-b-witch found it.

❄️cold-b-witch Follow may 28, 2013

Huh.

78 notes

[theereina]

Self-Care Starter Kit

Exfoliation

Tree Hut Shea Sugar Body Scrub Coconut Lime

Tree Hut Watermelon Shea Sugar Exfoliating & Hydrating Body

Dry Brushing Body Brush, POPCHOSE Natural Bristle Dry Skin Exfoliating Brush Body Scrub

Moisturization

eos Shea Better Body Lotion- Fresh & Cozy, 24-Hour Moisture Skin Care

CeraVe Daily Moisturizing Lotion for Dry Skin

NIVEA Shea Nourish Body Lotion, Dry Skin Lotion with Shea Butter

Eucerin Skin Calming Lotion - Full Body Lotion

Body/Feminine Wash

Dove Body Wash Deep Moisture, Sensitive Skin, Cucumber and Green Tea, and Shea Butter & Vanilla Collection 4 Count Skin Cleanser

Vagisil Feminine Wash for Intimate Area Hygiene, Unscented

Monistat Boric Acid Feminine Cleanser, Fragrance-Free Feminine Wash

Summer's Eve Fragrance-Free Gentle Daily All Over Feminine Body Wash

Skincare

Mighty Patch™ Original patch from Hero Cosmetics - Hydrocolloid Acne Pimple Patch

Bio-Oil Skincare Body Oil

Mario Badescu Facial Spray with Aloe, Herbs, and Rose Water

CeraVe Foaming Facial Cleanser

Books/Journals

Feeding the Soul (Because It's My Business): Finding Our Way to Joy, Love, and Freedom

Atomic Habits: An Easy & Proven Way to Build Good Habits & Break Bad Ones

The Four Agreements

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life

The Mountain Is You: Transforming Self-Sabotage Into Self-Mastery

Self-Love & Self-Care | The Shadow Work Journal: 150 Prompts & Exercises

The Shadow Work Journal (Boho Themed): 150 Prompts & Exercises

The Self Improvement Journal: A Guided Prompt Journal for Beginners

Hot Pink Inner Child Shadow Work Journal with 100 prompts for beginners

Orange Shadow Work Journal with 100 prompts for beginners

Healthy Snacks

KIND Protein Bars, Variety Pack, Dark Chocolate Nut, Crunchy Peanut Butter

Quaker Rice Crisps, Gluten Free, 4 Flavor Sweet and Savory Variety Mix

*I may continue to add to this list and reblog it as I do.

**Thank you for any purchases made.

⬇

***Disclaimer: This list contains affiliate links that direct you to Amazon. Through purchases, I will earn a commission.

[switchbladedreamz]

I Want You, Dumbass.

He owns my entire soul.

Requested?: nah

Rating: R, once again lots of cursing. Bc its fun

Summary: Logan has his eyes pried open, figuratively, a little perspective forced onto him by Charles. It helps him see things for what they really are. For who you really are.

PLS REBLOG IT HELPS ALL BLOGS GROW🥰 COMMENT AND LIKE🫀

~~~~Logan's Point of View, 5:08am

Ripping off the sheet and blanket that cover me, my skin pebbles in goosebumps from the new chill in the air. "God damn it." I huff out quietly into the dark. I tossed and turned all night. Can't get decent shut eye. I turn to lay on my side. Staring in the darkness where my closed door would be. For five hours I've tried and failed to sleep. No matter how hard I will with closed eyes it never comes. All I can think about is her. For once I'm not thinking about Jean.. It's her. Y/n. It feels different when I think about her. 'Did I fuck it all up? What have I done..' These are the thoughts that have plagued me while sleep is nowhere to be found. I have class in three hours but I can't ...I can't bring myself to care right now. 'Why did I have to ask her out? Was it on purpose that I overheard their conversation? No, that's stupid.' I don't really believe in fate. Y/n and I had a perfectly good chummy coworker thing and I just had to go and blow it all up. Jesus fucking Christ when will I learn. 'once..just once can I have something..real. Do I even know what I want? I know what I don't want.. No Striker, no old friends' granddaughters, no having a boyfriend when we meet.' I beat myself up for who knows how long when 'bbbbrrrrriiinng bbbrrriiiingg bbrrr-'. My alarm pulls me out of the self-pity parade I had grown comfortable in for the past..well when I realized I couldn't sleep nine hours ago. Another day, another dollar, another student turned into a scholar.

"Alright everybody, I want those papers on my desk by 8 am next class Thursday morning. And no wikipedia! Okay, class dismissed." The students scramble out of their chairs, feet scuffling quickly across the floor. They can't get out fast enough. Heh. 'alone again.' thoughts creep in from the shadowy parts of my consciousness. 'aaah self pity, the oldest pain in my ass.'

Pacing back and forth in the empty classroom. I cant help but rewind the events of the last three days in my head. Over and over like the world's worst rollercoaster. Karma is hanging my ass out to dry. Like a dumbass I asked my coworker out and it backfired only to find out she has feelings for me. That was three days ago. The next day I found the only bar in town worth a fuck burned down. All that is left is a damn charred husk of load bearing beams and an empty parking lot. Oh I can't forget that a new student whose...gift...is acid spit and lunch did not agree with her so guess who got sprayed with acid puke and hotdogs in the middle of a lesson about World War II. It hurt like a bitch. And the fucking cherry on top of this sundae is that Jean and Scott are getting married. They announced their engagement last night. Cheers to the happy couple.

Jesus. Here I am goin on and on lamenting as if I could do anything to fix these problems. Except the first one, I'll admit. Charles enters the room. Hank, who usually is one step behind him is nowhere to be found. "Anything I can do to help Logan?" My head snaps towards. A growl at the bottom of my throat. I can feel my back muscles flexing like hackles raising on a cat. I need to calm down. "Charles I told you to stay outta my head." He looks at me with pity..i hate that fuckin look in his eyes.

"You're practically broadcasting your thoughts all over the school. I didn't need to use my power to know what you're thinking." I sigh heavily and sit down. "In any case", Charles continues, "I'd like to help with your troubles with Ms. L/n. Or at the very least make sure you don't pace a track into the hardwood floor." The quiet whir of his chair is an oddly comforting sound. My elbows brace on my knees as my head falls heavily into my hands. "What do I do?" I hate feeling vulnerable. "Apologize to Y/n, she's a forgiving person..within reason. Let the chips fall where they may afterwards. Oh, and Lilly feels terrible about the incident in class today. She asked me to pass on her apologies, sweet girl. As for Scott and Jean, put on a brave face as always." My head quirks up. "Really? A brave face? That's all the advice the acclaimed Professor Xavier has?" I scoff. What a help. "It's what you always do when it comes to those two and it's all you can do.....She's made her choice." Charles' voice softens at the end. Her choice. Her choice. It's never me. I look at her and it doesn't even feel the same any more and it pisses me off. I feel nothing when she looks at me. And that's what makes me burn. "Logan have you ever considered the difference in the way you're seen by Jean and Y/n?" My head raises, my confusion pours out through my question, "Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, Jean... She sees your exterior. The illusions, the gruff-cigar-smoking-bad-boy-who-listens-to-no-one. But if that were true..you wouldn't be here. Even I have my limits and tolerances. If you truly didn't care about anyone or anything but yourself as Jean may believe then what are you doing here? I'm not questioning your place here but rather putting things into perspective. Now as for how Y/n sees you. She sees a kind man with a big heart who keeps people at arms length and hurts them before they have a chance to hurt you. That's how I see you. We can see the great man you are yet to become. Now who do you think is more deserving of your time? Lastly perhaps consider the fact that Y/n did not reject you because she doesn't want you, but she wants you so much she couldnt use you to hurt herself because of the love she holds for herself. Did that make sense? Anyways what I'm trying to say is that it was an act of self-preservation." I look at Charles. I really look at him, studying the expression on his face as his words process. There's nothing in his voice that indicates blame, deceit, judgement. He's simply trying to help me. I've made my decision. "Thanks, professor. See ya around" I get up from the chair and as I walk past Xavier I pat his shoulder, "You too Logan." he responds.

I'm laying on my bed. Charles' advice ruminates in my mind while I pull in a drag of smoke off the cigar between my fingers. Debating if I should have a drink or not. Then I remembered the bar burned down...... Well ..shit.

~~~~

All I've thought about since last night is how i could apologize. One thing I respect about Y/n is she's straight forward, so I figure thats how she would want me to approach this. In a few strides I cross the wide hall, before I have a chance to overthink I'm knocking on Y/n's door. 'We alternate days for history, she's gotta be here somewhere but if they're not in here I don't know where-' my thoughts are interrupted by the door opening and the scent of dahlias invades my senses. "Oh hi, what can I do for you Logan?" I notice her glasses slide up her nose as her head tilts up to make eye contact with me. There's music playing in the background. "Uhm" at a loss for words, I turn my head right and look down the hallway then left at the stairs. "Can we talk?" She nods and opens the door wider for me. After closing the door I watch her walk across the room, pausing the sounds of thrashing guitars and double kick drums from the speaker by the open window.

"Well look what the cat dragged in. You know I didn't take you for the groveling type but you look pretty on your knees." My mind blanks, ..out of all the different ways I'd imagined they'd react. "W-wh..uh" i fumbled to find a response. Her head falls back and she laughs "Oh darlin' I knew you couldn't resist me."

I half laugh half wheeze, not expecting this to be her reaction. "Y/n. I came to apologize. I'm real sorry about the other day--"

"Oh its fine, theres no need to apologize. Really. So you fucked up, and I've heard about the awful past few days you've had. I'd say your reckoning has been wrought." There's a shit eating grin on her face. "Hmm. So now what?" I ask, too damn confused. Y/n replies "How about you take a few days to figure what you want then get back to me." I look at her, "get back to you? That's it?" She huffs out a chuckle. "Yep. Simple as that. Figure out what you really want, when you get back to me we'll see if what it is the either wants and if it lines up together. You know, like adults."

"And what is it that you want?" Mischief and longing sparkle in here eyes, framed by the lenses of her glasses. "I want you, dumbass. I want a real relationship." I walk over to her, standing in front of her. She looks up at me. "Is this few days thing mandatory?" My hand touches her bicep. She glanced at my hand then up to my face. " 'fraid so darlin" I chuckle, "Well I'll see you in a few days then."

~~~

Sorry it's so short!! Please enjoy🖤🖤

[x-ac1d-tr1p-x]

HOLY SHIT IT'S DEFIENTLY SAW [???]

binge playing the glitched attraction and why it feels like i was in the nerve gas house from saw 2 💀

plot twist: i suck at video games

[dissociacrip]

some ways that congenital hypotonia affects me personally in my everyday life

disclaimer: this is a "i want to see hypotonia talked about more"/vent-post adjacent thing rather than something that should be used as some kind of diagnostic reference. hypotonia is more of a symptom than a condition on its own & is associated with a wide variety of diagnoses, i personally don't have a label or explanation for what i experience other than "congenital hypotonia" (and my case is not "self-diagnosed," this was identified when i was still a child.)

generalized hypermobility and painful joint instability either caused by hypotonia or at least contributed to by it if not; no frequent dislocations but joints still tracking badly (especially my knees) and causing pain, ankle instability once gave me an injury

related to above, knees have occasionally buckled/threatened to give out, usually when i'm tired or when i've stood from a sitting position in a chair

unfixable bad posture putting unnecessary strain on a lot of things (reason why my hamstring muscles are so tight)

sitting or standing up easily causing fatigue and pain unless something else is adquately supporting my body (normal chairs usually don't suffice because that still requires adequate posture)

related to above, persistent need to lean on things for support; this is the primary reason why i own a cane

staying in bed a lot due to the above because it's the only time my body doesn't have to support itself

tendency to drool, usually when laying down

dysphagia (things feel "stuck" in my throat a lot, swallowing capsules is becoming more and more uncomfortable), aspirating food/water, acid reflux making these issues worse

may or may not be part of the reason i'm a bit of a loud breather

sometimes chewing hurts or is tiring (or talking)

related to above, mild speech issues mainly affecting articulation (e.g. mouth making a "v" sound rather than "th" sometimes), makes speech physically feel weird or forced, or something even painful; sometimes "talking out of the side of my mouth"

poor grip = poor handwriting, also often makes writing or gripping things painful, including holding/typing on my phone

related to above, makes drawing hard because i don't have proper grip/as much control over my hands as i should

doesn't happen too often but almost randomly losing my balance; i'll just be standing minding my own business and then i'll start tipping over

related to above, can't just stand still and be still, i start tipping in different directions and i think i've subconsciously learned to counteract this when i'n required to stand in place

walking/moving slowly because it feels like my muscles don't have the capacity to move any faster, even if i'm not really "tired" per-se (decreased state of readiness for movement)

have a very hard time holding my head up spine even remotely straight when i am actually tired/worn out

legs/arms start shaking if i hold them out against gravity

also, legs shake if i sit on the floor/a flat surface with my knees bent upward, or arms quickly start to give out if i lay on my stomach and prop myself up on my elbows

walking feels awkward/uncomfortable and wrong most of the time; anything wrong with my gait is probably only recognizable to a PT or someone else who knows what they're looking for, but things just feel too loose/floppy when i walk; probably the reason why i'm prone to tripping and accidentally kicking stuff (POTS-induced ataxia - or w/e it is - makes this much worse)

also probably contributes to constipation and maybe other digestive problems

there's probably more but that's all i can think of for now. this is not universal hypotonia experience as hypotonia is a symptom that varies in its severity and my case seems fairly mild, but i thought i'd talk a little bit about what it's like since it's an under-discussed thing (especially pertaining to disabled adulthood.)

this is okay to reblog.

[dragonrider9905]

Heart Made of Flesh

Hello @echos-girlfriend! I'm your Secret Santa for @cloneficgiftexchange! I really hope you enjoy it :) @ghostofskywalker, thank you for setting this up!

Anyone else who reads, I hope you enjoy it too! Reblogs and comments welcome :)

Warnings: Talk of insecurity, self depreciation, allusions (very light) to suggestive behavior, talk of blood and wounds

Summery: You and Echo are more similar than you let on. You have a mechanical arm but don’t want that to be the only reason he connects with you. You also just don’t know how to tell him how you feel. A mission gone wrong should fix that for you, right?

You bit your lip harder, unconsciously drawing blood. You didn’t mean to stare but they just wouldn’t stop. 

And it was rather annoying. 

You tried to keep your gaze on your glass, multiple times forcing your eyes down, your breathing even, minding your own business but that just wasn’t working. 

You and the Batch had gone to Cid’s for drinks after a particularly long mission. You all were tired, hungry, dirty—and apparently a little testy. Or at least that is what your case was. Most of the boys sat at a table in the center of the floor while you opted for the counter. It was getting a little uncomfortable, so you thought the boys wouldn’t notice your shifting or rotating your ‘arm’ if you were a little distance away. They definitely weren’t noticing you with all those pretty girls flirting with them. 

Not too long ago, (but too long in your opinion) a Torgrutan, two Twi'leks and two human women came into Cid’s bar, for what was uncertain. They spotted the table of fine young men and immediately started flirting. Even though the boys tried to brush them off, they didn’t leave. Well the boys could have tried harder, the sour thought emerged from the dark, bitter place in the corner of your mind. You couldn’t help it. You knew you were being unfair but…  

“You don’t look too good.” Omega broke through the mud in your mind, concerned eyes searched your face. “Are you ok?”

That was the other reason you felt they could have tried harder. Omega was right here sitting with you. (Granted they were Cid’s patrons and she threatened you bunch often enough about not scaring people away—or she’d deduct your pay and Hunter needed every credit he earned for his squad. You knew the boys were in an uncomfortable spot but still.)

You sighed. “Thanks hun, I’m fine.” You ruffled her hair, a burning sensation creeping up from your gut to your chest. Bile rumbled uncomfortably in your stomach, mixing with the alcohol and threatening your gag reflexes with acid. Not good. It wasn’t her fault you were feeling like her babysitter just so the guys could have fun. You loved Omega and wanted to spend time with her usually; her company was always a delight.  This unusual resentment had a selfish stem and you knew it. It was because those strange women were flirting openly and carelessly with the man you had fallen deep, deep down for, but never had the courage to confront. The fact that they were spending time with someone close to you that by all rights…should be yours. 

Yet he wasn’t. So you really didn’t have a right to feel that way. But you did. Shocker.

“Hey beautiful, I have an idea…” the Twi’lek whispered something in Echo’s ear, causing him to blush. He let his mouth open, shocked. You didn’t have to hear what she said to know what was implied, a subtle rage now coursing through your veins. Thank the Force Omega was oblivious.

You gripped the glass in your hand.

And shattered it. 

Omega gasped at the soft crackle and crink. The pieces falling all around your hand and embedding themselves deep into the thick gloves you were wearing.

“Are you alright?” Omega’s eyes were blown out, hands covering her mouth in horror at the damage your right hand must be undergoing. 

“On second thought, I am heading back to the ship. Go get Bolo to play a game of Djarik with you. Or better yet, ask one of your brothers. I need some air.” You got up quickly, hiding your hand that should be bleeding but wasn’t.

Without turning around, you left the bar. So, you didn’t see the commotion you left behind.

— — — —

You straddled Tech’s workbench, your own set of tools spread out before you. The tiny tools you carried with you at all times in case all the intricate wires in your false, mechanical arm needed to be fixed, fused or fidgeted with. You creased your brows in frustration, watching the yellow sparks fly as you worked the glass carefully from where it was embedded. A sewing kit was carelessly sitting at your side, as you’d have to fix your ruined glove as well. Sometimes you forgot what strength was in this arm. 

You lost your right arm as a child. You’d learned how to cope with it and make it a “normal” part of your life. But a little part of you still was insecure about it so you’d always found a way to cover it up, hiding it physically and mentally from those around you, especially those closest to you. You’d only known the Batch since they came to work for Cid, but since then you grew close to them. And the closer you got, the harder it was to admit your insecurity, wondering if it would change their perception of you. 

Ah crap. You felt the sharp edges pull from your false sensors and you cringed, clenching your jaw.

“Let me see that hand of yours.” A familiar husky voice broke through your brooding. 

“Blow off, Hunter.”

Hunter was the only one who knew about your mechanical arm. He could smell the oil you used to keep it well functioning even though you custom made it to be without scent. His darn enhanced senses picked it up anyway, and thus you let him in on your little secret albeit reluctantly. It wasn’t by your choice how it came about…You knew he knew but he never brought it up…Until the night he found you trying to repair your arm after sustaining an injury. Your face was so red that first night he walked in on you, tears barely being held back while you tried in vain to fix it yourself in the dead middle of the night, he knew how important it was that no one knew.

“Ah, you’re just saying that.” he teased, letting the ghost of a smile appear. Hunter straddled the workbench facing you and grabbed your wrist, gently pulling it toward himself. He kept his gaze down, hyperfocused on rewiring your hand correctly and pulling the shrapnel from the fine work of machinery.

You looked up annoyed and sighed dramatically with a roll of your eyes. He smirked but otherwise stayed silent. You matched his quietness with an ante of sulkiness. 

“You should just talk to him about how you feel, you know.”

“You don’t understand. NONE of you do! It’s not the same for me as it is for you guys. When men look at this, they automatically see me as incomplete and undesirable. Do you know how…how…” you choked up, swallowing hard. “You men always have an air of awe when there is a wound but a woman? I can’t tell you how embarrassing it is.”

“That’s not fair.” Hunter wasn’t one to sugar coat. “And you know it.”

You did, so you sucked on your swollen lip instead.

“Echo would understand, though. Wouldn’t you feel better being able to talk to him about some of this?”

“I know he does. He probably is the only one who does. But I don’t want to be pitied. And worse off, I don’t want him to like me just because we’re similar. I want him to like me for me…the way I love him for him.” You nearly whispered that last part.

Hunter sighed and gently said your name.

“Look, I’m sorry that we all made you uncomfortable and that we don’t understand what it is like. I really am.”

You looked up and saw his eyes searching the floor, as if it would give him the answer. His genuine concern melted your bitterness away, just like the night he’d found you.

“Hunter, it’s ok. I’m sorry too. You didn’t deserve that…I’m out of sorts and took it out on you; which was wrong. You may not understand but you’ve always tried to make me feel valued… and you never treated me differently, which I appreciate. Thank you.”

“Hey, I learned it from the best…that’s Echo, I mean. I learned it from Echo.”

A smile pulled at your lips. “Sure you did.” 

— — — —  

You didn’t think anyone would notice your absence but it most definitely was. Everyone heard the glass shatter, Hunter immediately slipped away slyly to check on you with a quick “I got this” and Omega ran right to Echo. She initially reached out to help you but you were faster in your quick departure. He stood up so fast, with such an angry outburst, worried about what happened (you shattered a kriffing glass in your hand?!) and it frightened the ladies away.

He felt concern rising from somewhere in his chest, written clearly on his brow. He took a step but Omega held onto his hand.

“Hunter said she was ok.”

“She’s hurt, I should go check on her…” 

Granted, he knew how private of a person you were. You didn’t let anyone near you—ever—when you were injured, but your hand must be torn to shreds…he winced at the ghost pain that flared up in his own. He flexed it a few times to convince himself the cold, sharp shards he felt were in his mind and not real. His hand wasn’t really bleeding. It wasn’t hurt….he took a deep breath.

Echo needed to make sure you were ok. Even if you didn’t want to be helped…

“Echo, why don’t you just talk to her about how you feel?”

Echo eyed his large younger brother but found no hint of humor in Wrecker’s question. Instead, he saw that gentle gaze of honesty in his eyes.

“Because she deserves better. Plus, she’s not even interested. I don’t want to ruin our friendship by blabbering how I feel.” 

“Did you notice the glass she shattered was only after that suggestive comment was made to you.” Tech adjusted his goggles. “She’s heard people flirt with us before on various missions and occasions. There is a special scowl that only appears when such an occurrence happens to you. She thinks she hides it well but she doesn’t. She never has such a negative reaction until you show up, Echo.”

“How is that relevant?”

“Are you asking a serious question?” Tech blinked. “Or are you trying to be jocular.”

“I literally have no clue what you are saying or trying to imply!” Echo threw his hands up, scowling in his voice as well as his expression.  

“You don’t? Or don’t want to?” Wrecker raised his eyebrow. 

Echo crossed his arms and tapped his foot. 

“Echo, perhaps…” Omega nervously wrung her hands, obviously trying not to upset him, “maybe it would be better to say something sooner rather than later. Life’s too unpredictable. One day the person you care about is there and the next, they’re gone. Wouldn’t it be better to let that person know they’re loved than regretting never telling them?” 

Echo sighed, shoulders dropping in a tired slump. 

“Maybe you’re right,” he chuckled and ruffled her hair, “when’d you become so wise?”

“Eh, always was. Nice of you to notice.”

“So, you will take advice from Omega, and not us?” Tech fought a smirk.

“Yeah what’s with that?” Wrecker chimed in, visibly pleased.

“Didn’t you hear? Omega is the wisest.”

Echo ran his hand down his face with a sigh of anticipation. He knew he had to do this soon, but….a little time wouldn’t hurt right? He needed the right words.

— — — —

It was a few rotations later and the Batch was assigned a new mission from Cid…and Echo still hadn’t said anything to you. He pointedly ignored his brothers’ silent prompts and either sighed or shrugged at Omega with a “it’s not a good time” or “I don’t know what to say yet.”

The job was a two parter.

Hunter paired you up with Echo for the intel, Tech would stay on the ship with Omega to be ready for a quick get away, while Wrecker and Hunter went for the cargo that was demanded. None of you knew what the two pieces had in common, especially on a pirate ship, but you were getting paid a good price. Hunter initially wanted to turn down the job but the credits were needed, and Cid didn’t give much room for negotiation. 

“You ready?” Echo had some strain in his voice.

“Yeah, how hard can an extraction be?” You shrugged. “It’ll be fine.”

Echo opened his mouth and shut it a few times, flustered, searching for words. 

“Just keep your head up.” He finally said, putting on his helmet and hiding his face. Not really what you wanted to hear…he sighed then walked away. You stood there for a few minutes, digesting the strange conversation. Echo never acted this weird before a mission.

You wanted to ask him about it but never got the chance, it was time to board.

— — — —

Something went wrong. Hunter and Wrecker gave you and Echo the signal they had the cargo but you were still getting the intel. They headed back to the ship to make sure the crate was secure. Apparently, from the sounds of Wrecker’s grunting, it was heavy. 

“Echo, come on, hurry up!” You trained your blaster down the halls, looking left and right. Your brows scrunched up and sweat beaded your forehead. 

“Almost got it. Be patient.” he snapped back.

“Echo…I have a strange feeling. I don’t like this.” You turned to see your reflection staring back at you with a strange expression on Echo’s visor. His head was turned at a curious angle, his breathing slightly heavier. He always took your feelings seriously; at better times he joked that they rivaled the Jedi’s ‘feelings’. 

“Okay, hold tight.”  

Was there slight fear in his voice?

“Echo?” Now your breathing started to increase rapidly. You’d never felt this unsettled on a mission. 

You didn’t have time to ponder more, shots came out of nowhere. You threw yourself in front of Echo and started firing back.

Karking pirates. 

“I got it! Let’s go!” You felt Echo pull his scomp out of the portal and wrap his arm around your waist. You’ve done this move before. There was a door next to you. You’d just roll over each other into the other room…but something caught your eye. The door opened, a sneaky pirate trying to get at Echo from the back. He raised his arm to aim and…

Bam!

The shot went off; but before it did, you twisted yourself in front of Echo. Shots rang out (you assumed Echo shot the man behind you) in unison with your scream. You heard Echo shouting your name in panic, pulling your writhing body behind the door, and barricading you on the other side. His calls went from panic to insistent now, then confused. He expected blood…not sparks.

You peeled your eyes open and brought your other hand up to detach your arm. The flames crawling up to your brain telling you your arm was shreds immediately stopped. You heaved a breath and sat up. 

“Shoot.” You mumbled, looking at the shambles your arm was in. How many times had that pirate shot it?

“Hey, you ok?” Echo removed his helmet and his eyes were searching your body. “What were you doing? You could have gotten killed!” Despite his reprimand, his voice was soft, probably still processing what happened.

“I was thinking I didn’t want to see you dead.”

“I don’t want you dead either.”

“J-just he-lp me, will you?” You started scooping up the pieces into your pack. Echo quickly came to help. 

“Your balance will be off a little, will you be ok if I rigged the ship?”

“Yeah, yeah,” still trying to catch your breath, you wanted to give an air of confidence though, “go for it.” 

Echo stuck his hand back into the scomp and commed the boys. You tuned it out, the world (the ship) around you starting to shake. You knew you were spiraling but you couldn’t stop it. 

He knew. Now what was going to happen? He took that rather well. He was sort of ignoring it and you didn’t know if you were relieved or upset. 

And…how lucky were you that it was that arm, and not your good one? 

You hugged your pack. It felt a little morbid carrying pieces of your arm in your pack. It was mechanical but still. It had been a part of you for so long, it was so strange. Echo’s hand appeared on your shoulder, giving it a grounding squeeze. 

“We have to get to the hanger! They’ll meet us there!”

Your musings would have to wait.

— — — —

The ship was falling apart. Explosions wrecking the hangar and surrounding you and Echo with fire, causing the ship to shake and the floor to become unstable.  

“Echo look out!” Your warning came too late. Echo was knocked off his feet from an explosion next to him. The force pushed him out the hanger and plummeting toward the earth below. You cried out in terror, shrieking as you threw yourself toward the edge. Echo had grappled onto a loose piece of the ship. You wrapped your legs around some metal beams where the wall of the ship was blown away. You then balanced your body so it could support the extra weight of the one you were trying to reach. It was difficult not having the balance of your other arm.

“Take my hand!” You shouted above the din.

“No! If I do you’ll fall too! I can’t let you die!”

“Why not? I can’t let you die either, you idiot!”

“What do you mean ‘why not?”

“Just shut up and take my hand or I swear I’ll jump.”

Echo didn’t move so you started shimming closer, loosening your grip a little. That seemed to spook him so he darted his hand in your direction. You stretched out your hand further to meet his and gripped him hard as he let go. You were now his only lifeline.

“Alright! You are so stubborn.” 

“Only because I love you, you idiot.”

“You’ve said that….wait, you love me?”

It was almost as if you could see the look of shock through his helmet. You started to chuckle, looking at his dazed dangling form. The piece he was hanging from fell not two minutes later.

“You’ll have to climb…I can’t pull you up!”

Darn fine time to lose your arm again.

You felt like your rib cage splitting in two from the pressure. You couldn’t remember the last time your breathing felt so constrained. Every breath in stretched your chest impossibly farther, trying to lift the invisible bantha sitting there, every exhale set your chest on fire. Echo’s hand gripped your good arm and his scomp dug into your flesh. You wanted to cry out but couldn’t. An invisible hand gripped your throat as you pulled, trying to get him to the ledge. 

Then Echo slipped a little. Another explosion went off and jolted you. You had to fight hard to keep your grip even if your balance was lost. 

“Co-ome o-ohn Eeekoo, don’t. Give. Up. Climb!”

“Mesh’la, you have to let me go. I’m too heavy. Save yourself. I need you to be safe.”

“D-don’t you dare gih-ive up.” Tears were streaming down your eyes now and you didn’t care. “Don’t ask me to do that.” 

Echo’s grip loosened a little, and your heart, already overworked, started to increase its speed. “I can’t let you die either; because I love you too. I’ve loved you so long and should’ve told you. I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“Echo, don’t let go, please.”

“Mesh’la…”

“Echo, stop speaking gibberish and use the strength to climb instead of talk!”

You had to imagine the smile on Echo’s face. You felt the hardened grip return, along with the agonizing feeling of being split in half. You started to count to keep yourself calm.

“One…two…three…”

The world around you was falling away. Not just literally from the sky but the ceiling and walls started to blur, black clouded the edges of your vision.

“Seven…eight…nine…”

Then a buzzing sound broke through the haze. It sounded familiar…close…Echo whooped. It got closer…and closer…then the lights and hum of The Marauder announced its saving presence. You heard the hatch open and the shouts of the others. Echo’s grip suddenly disappeared and his weight was gone. Air forced its way into your lungs in a gasp. You wanted to call out to Echo but your energy was gone. You heaved and started to lift yourself. 

Until a chunk of metal came falling down, smashing your body. 

Shoot.

You couldn’t move. Your body crushed to the floor, the ship started to shift, gravity pulling you out the door. Your head slammed against another falling object, hard enough to draw blood, dizzying enough to disorient you, but not enough to knock you out. The taste of copper made itself known to your tongue, soon your whole mouth felt the presence of a hot liquid. The black specks returned. They danced and spun, swirling with the flames as your world tilted. 

Your body started to slide in the opposite direction, a hot sticky trail left in your wake. You clamped your eyes shut and found you couldn’t open them.

Well this is it…

Footsteps skidded next to you, shouting grated against the complaining durasteel that creeped and groaned as it was ripping apart, the durasteel was lifted from your body. Strong arms wrapped themselves around you, the distinct feeling of a hand cradling your head and the hard inflexibility of a scomp supporting you. A gentle voice you’d know anywhere whispered:

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to fall, you aren’t either.”

You started to chuckle but a coughing fit replaced the giggle.

“Y-you got to go before the whole thing falls.”

“I’m not leaving you. We end this thing together. Hold on. It’ll be okay, okay? Just stay with me here.”

“Th-e world i-is black…Echo…”

His name stumbling out your mouth was the last thing to ring in your ears.

— — — —

You had the various pieces of your false arm scattered about, fidgeting with a piece here and there but not really doing anything with it. The despondency you felt starting from scratch made you wonder if it was even worth it. You reached up and felt around the stump on your shoulder. The uneven scars, the healed over tissue, the ghost of what was, teasing you in their silent haunting.

Your hand then slipped to your bandaged ribs. Apparently, according to Wrecker (talking excitedly while Echo blushed feverishly in silence), Echo had let himself down onto the boarding ramp and looked up expecting you to follow. When you didn’t, he jumped back up without a second thought onto the unsteady, crashing doomed ship and watched helplessly as…well Wrecker didn’t make you relive it. That was nice of him. 

Echo apparently also didn’t let anyone touch you, too busy bandaging you up himself, barking orders at everyone to get the supplies he needed to wrap your middle and head. 

Wrecker said he’d never seen Echo so “frantic”. It was hard to imagine as Echo was only ever calm….don’t worry, Wrecker re-enacted it for you (until Hunter ushered him through a door and left you alone with the man almost combusting from embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” Omega whispered to him before slipping out herself, “she already knows. And don’t mind Wrecker, he’s just happy it’s finally happening.”

The memory faded and the silk between your ribs and fingers became real again. Echo hadn’t said anything to you. He’d only taken your hand and squeezed it tight, not looking you in the eye for the longest time. 

“I may have a body of steel…but I’ve got a heart made of flesh, believe it or not, it’s real. And it’s yours. It beats for you. Don’t forget that, please. We’re the same, and I couldn’t have loved you more. I wish you could have told me about it…because I know.” 

With the whisper he left. Despite the ship being small, he had avoided you for an entire rotation already. You knew he was around, you’d heard Hunter talking to him, but you didn’t seek him out.

You looked down uncertainly at your project again and sighed heavily. 

Maybe remaking it isn’t an option. You could ask Tech or Hunter…in a few days. You didn’t feel like this now…maybe you shouldn’t fix it at all. Maybe this was the key to stop working for Cid.

The door opened with a whoosh, footsteps clomping a path toward you. A body slumped on the floor next to you and you felt Echo’s leg brush your own. The contact made your heart leap, eyes darting toward him to find his signature smirk on his face. You scowled and looked away. Your throat was sore and the lump you swallowed only made you feel pitiful.

“I’m sorry…I needed time. Thank you for giving that to me.” 

You nodded, eyes ahead.

“Hunter told me why you didn’t tell me…I figured that but hearing it also pushed me out of my slump. I know you didn’t owe me anything, not an explanation or anything, but I can’t let a moment go by without telling you that this doesn’t change how I see you….I was hurt that you thought I’d …. well it does and it doesn’t, let me start there. It doesn’t because I love you, but it does because I know how brave you’ve been. How could I not admire that! You’re beautiful to me no matter what. Don’t doubt your worth or your beauty which is more than superficial because of this.”

You choked on a sob and Echo brought his arm around slowly, giving you time to shrug him off if you wanted or to move away. Instead, you leaned into his touch.

He leaned close to your ear. “Tell me where to start and we’ll have it back together in no time.”

“I-I don’t think I can, Echo.” 

Tears started to well in your eyes. You couldn’t do this again.

“I…I’m so tired. Of all of it.”

“You don’t have to do this alone; we will do it together.” 

Echo took his real hand with his real fingers and entwined them with your own real hand. You could feel the warmth through his gloves and it went right to your heart. The courage that fled you long ago started to return. Your throat was swollen, so you nodded instead, lips turning up in a smile. 

“Together.”

“But first, I have to finish fixing something else…” 

You looked at him confused, cocking your head to the side, eyes still glistening from the unshed sorrow.

He chuckled but his next words came out airy and nervous.

“Your heart…” 

He leaned in slowly, soft lips latching onto yours. He smiled when you gasped and nearly laughed when you pulled him closer, hand gripping his collar like your lifeline.

“Hey, stop laughing. You have a lot of fixing to do.” You mumbled against his lips. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Yeah, the arm could wait.

Both your hearts needed some healing, and a kiss was the perfect medicine.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 16

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, suicidal ideation, self-pity, humiliation, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Backslide. The essential trajectory of your life. The expected. The predictable outcome. Nothing ever gets better, but there can always be worse.

Lloyd's large hand spreads across your skull, lurching you forward. An echo of the past, a mirror to the present, you on your knees, him with your life in his palm. Humiliation, hatred, helplessness. All at once and more.

You grasp the front of his pants as they droop beneath his wanting length. The acidic bile of revulsion glosses over your tongue and pools in your throat. You close your eyes as your fingers wrap around the veiny flesh, your lips hovering before his swollen tip.

A ring on your finger cannot erase what you truly are. A thing. An object. Another cog in the machine of Lloyd's massive ego. 

You stretch your lips around him and swallow the shame. Let him use your body, let him win, you can't handle any more disappointment. You can't keep letting yourself feel, to reminisce, to dream of a world where you are truly wanted. 

Colin never wanted you. Not really. That was a dumbass thought. This man before you doesn't either. No, he only desires the same of you as he does from everyone else. Whatever worth they can give him. 

You descend down to your limit. He pushes you further as he prods at the back of your throat. You gag as he urges past the resistance and he issues a satisfied snicker. That's all he wants, for you to bend, to be nothing more than a hole. 

He drags you up and down his dick, your saliva coating him, body rocking to his desire. He grunts and his deep voice radiates around the foyer, underlined by the wet noises of his merciless intrusion. Your eyes roll back wetly as you puff through your nose, pumping him with your hand against your lips in a rampant motion.

You numb yourself, taking him without feeling, without tasting his salty anticipation, without hearing the rumble of his rising release. And when it comes, you hang limply from his grasp, eyes sealed shut as he slides out of your mouth. He rests his throbbing tip against your lips and works himself over the edge, cumming with a snarlish moan.

Ribbons streak along your nose and cheeks, stretching to your hairline and dripping along your lips. He puffs as he releases you, nearly throwing you onto your ass. He clears his throat, the whisper of his zipper loud in the tense silence. You lean back on the heel of your hand and lower your chin, reaching to wipe the sickening sliminess from your face.

“No,” he grabs your wrist and jerks you violently, “I didn’t say you could do that, baby cakes.” His grip tightens painfully as your eyes flick open, lashes sticky from his release, “I want you to wear me… and nothing else.”

You curl your lip in disgust but do not resist. You do not try to free or hide yourself. He lets you go with a wink and a scoff. He stands over you, looming, arms crossed as he sets his feet wide.

“Take your clothes off. Now, I want you naked.”

You clear the grimace from your face and nod. You slowly stand, hiding how your legs wobble. You reach for the hem of your shirt, brushing the curve of your stomach. You pause, chest knotting. You don’t want him to see how ugly you are, how your body is growing, distorted by the child’s weight.

“I didn’t hear you,” he sneers.

“Yes, daddy,” you meet his eye with a defiant gleam, a spark of that woman who walked in these doors with a vow not to let him break her.

He smirks and his tongue rolls over his teeth. He clucks and drops his hands to his hips, “you missed me,” he tilts his head coyly, “didn’t you?”

You stare at him as you undress, gritting back the embarrassment as you drop the clothing into a heap before him. You step closer to him, refusing to look away.

“What hole?” You challenge.

💎

He sleeps against you. Roiling like a furnace against your naked back. The crustiness across your face and body mingles with the damp sweat, a repulsive cocoon around you. His hand rests on your stomach, as if mocking you, as if declaring, I did this to you. He snores against your hair, breaths gusting along your ear.

You repress a shudder as you touch his thick fingers, testing him as you slowly lift it away from your middle. He grumbles but doesn’t awake. You slide out carefully and replace your form with a pillow, draping his arm around it.

You surpass the en suite and go down the hall. You enter the bathroom nestled at the other end and wash yourself at the sink. Warm water in a hand cloth, scratching away the remnants of his control. You pause, dropping your fist against the granite, and you spit up a mouthful of thin bile into the porcelain. You rinse it away then swish cool water to dull the sour taste.

You wring out the cloth and leave it to dry over the faucet. You step back and look at yourself in the mirror. The full expanse of glass gives a generous view of your body and the room. Your eyes drift down to your middle, your engorged tits hanging lower than ever, your stomach rounding slightly, and as you turn, you really notice the growth. 

Ugh, you never thought you’d let yourself get this fat. How wonderful, a new stretch mark, and another. It’s how you know Lloyd is full of shit. He doesn’t want you as anything more than a toy. It wouldn’t matter if you looked like roadkill, he just needed your holes. He said it before and you should’ve listened.

It’s only going to get worse. Like everything else. You shut off the light and tiptoe through the dark. You go downstairs, Lloyd’s snores carrying from the open bedroom. You flip on the television and turn on an old movie you used to watch with Colin. He used you too, for different reasons, just like your mother, just like every other person you’d ever known.

You recline against the arm, wrapping yourself in the throw blanket as the dialogue plucks at your tears. Self-pity, no, it’s just honesty. Knowing who and what you are is something not many can acknowledge.

And when the baby comes? You’ll be even less. You’re a vessel for a moment but after the birth? A caretaker. A baby sitter. Needed by the child only to keep it alive, the most basic form of codependency. A cow to be suckled on, a pair of hands to change the diapers.

With your luck, he– she– whatever they are, will be just like their father. And that will be your life. Waiting hand and foot on those who couldn’t care at all for you.

You stay as you are for an hour, maybe two. Not quite dozing but not quite awake. Drowning in the dread of your existence. The realisation that it was all another trick. A false sense of security you feel into so stupidly.

Restless, you sit up. The movie credits roll as another title is recommended. You let autoplay roll as you hug the blanket around you. You go to the front door and stare out the slender window. It’s dark and the spring night is laced with a sliver of frigidity.

You open the door, carefully not to squeak a hinge or click the latch too loud. You step out and let the blanket flutter to the floor behind you. Naked, you step out and shiver in the nocturnal breeze.

You cross the porch, one foot in front of the other. You come to the edge and peer across the expanse of the lawn, green and dewy, blades and hedges trimmed precisely. As everything in his life, it is curated exactly to his preference. What Lloyd wants, Lloyd gets.

Fuck that shit. He can’t have everything. He can’t take everything. You just can’t let him. You can play puppet but you will not be his broodmare. And the only way to deny Lloyd anything, is to take it all away.

You walk out along the wet grass and round the house, exploring the vast property, the shadows looming over the gazebo and shrouding the covered pool. Another chill runs up your spine, raising painful bumps across your skin. You go to the very edge, where the trees loom at the boundary, and lay yourself down on the lofty ground.

You stare up at the moon and sigh. You always liked the outdoors. When you were a girl, you loved sitting out on the roof and watching the sun rise. Your mother caught you once and threatened to throw you off. And you and Colin used to go to the park and have picnics on sunny afternoons. A measly spread of crackers and cheese, but you truly believed then you only needed each other.

You close your eyes as the damp air grazes over the wetness on your cheek. You exhale and let your body shake, soaking up the coolness below, letting the wind encase you. You could sleep like this, sleep forever with the scent of dirt and pollen in your lungs.

[alexandraisyes]

You guys make me feel so loved and I know my emotions are kinda fucking broken but I appreciate all of you very much regardless. 😭♥️

I try so hard and work so hard to make safe places online and this is all the reward I need to feel like it’s worth it.

This is a flag I found for ASPD. There's an entire archive of support flags for people with different kinds of Cluster B Disorders. I just really like this version.

Antisocial Personality Disorder can be disabling and is considered a social disability. Depending on the psychologist it’s also considered an emotional disability like ADHD or Bipolar.

This may not make sense at a glance, but there’s psychologically found logic behind this.

People with ASPD have severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Chronic Depressive Disorder, and General Anxiety Disorder GAD).

The disorder also tends to be comorbid with Bipolar Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder (DDD), as well as some psychotic disorders like Brief Psychosis Disorder and Schizophrenia. although these last two aren't as common.

There's also a chance for people with ASPD to have overlapping traits from other Cluster-B Disorders (NPD, BPD, HPD). And many people with ASPD struggle with impulse disorders. Common impulse disorders related to ASPD are as follows:

Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED): Characterized by recurrent outbursts of verbal or physical aggression that are disproportionate to the provocation.

Kleptomania: A recurrent urge to steal items that are not needed for personal use or for their monetary value.

Pyromania: An impulse control disorder characterized by recurrent and deliberate fire-setting behavior.

Pathological Gambling: Persistent and recurrent problematic gambling behavior that leads to significant distress or impairment.

Trichotillomania (Hair-Pulling Disorder): An irresistible urge to pull out one's own hair, resulting in noticeable hair loss.

Many people with ASPD also struggle with addiction and may be fighting addictions to drugs, alcohol, sex, shopping, binge eating, and social media because these are quick endorphin fixes that help us feel something due to the inherent nature of ASPD to be numb almost 24/7.

It's extremely rare for someone with ASPD to get disability aid. Which probably sounds ridiculous, when you look at this massive list of issues. A large part of it is our society. People tend to see someone who has a label that is synonymous with Sociopath and Psychopath (there's a difference between the two) and immediately want them in jail. And it doesn't matter how long they've known that person, or what their relationship is. (I got dumped last year when my ex found out I have ASPD and almost disowned during Christmas when I told my dad. The only reason I haven't been being that he thinks it's a demonic issue that can be "cured with prayer".)

On top of that, our psychology system isn't built to handle someone with a personality disorder like ASPD (or even NPD). I get told a lot "You're really self-aware." Which is basically them saying they aren't going to help you. Of course I'm self-aware if I'm going into the therapist's office for advice (at the least) and actual help (would be great), but I get turned away because if I'm "self-aware", so I should be able to figure it out. This isn't an issue that pertains directly to ASPD, it's also one that affects every disorder that's hard for a neurotypical to understand.

This is more personal. Feel free to read this in a mildly irritated, but not very much, tone of voice. Preferably a tired scholar from Skyrim, that'll make my day.

I cannot function in today's society. I can't hold down a job, and I've tried time and time again. I get a few months in and I hit a wall and my mental health goes to shit. I had to quit my last job for my physical safety because I got bored with just life in general, to the point I was seriously considering sticking my arm in a fry vat.

I haven't even managed to get a proper diagnosis because I don't have health insurance, and I have so many false disorders on my medical diagnosis sheet from my narcissistic father bullying my long-term therapist into giving me damn near every disorder except for ADHD and Conduct Disorder (I was below the age of 18, but it would have helped me in the here and now with securing the diagnosis I need for medical reasons.) Growing up several doctors I worked with wanted to get me set up for an ASPD diagnosis and my father told them no. And because of where I lived I had no say in it, and even if I did my father was abusive, so goodbye to ever speaking up for myself.

On top of that, I'm a woman. There's a severe gender bias in ASPD, as well as the fact that women with ASPD are reportedly less likely to be physically aggressive and more likely to be mentally aggressive, so our symptoms show up slightly differently than the stereotype. And don't even get me started on the stereotypes. Plus women are more likely to be studied for comorbid disorders than psychologists even considering ASPD. This is the same shit autistic women struggled with.

There's a massive underreporting in the female ASPD populace because of this, and a lot more masking going on because everything gets chalked up to "she's just a bitch" or "hormones". There's also just not enough research done on females with ASPD to understand how it may be different from a male with ASPD.

I'm tired. I've been fighting for a year to get people to recognize me as an individual who deals with ASPD. Every time I run into threats of being abandoned (which is horrible, considering I was abused and then abandoned by my biological mom, then put in foster care for the next 4 years), or the road block of "You're a woman. Are you sure you don't have BPD? That's the female disorder." Or just getting tired of the uphill slope. I only have so much stamina, and sure I have a lot of spite for the world, but eventually that's going to run out too. And then I'll probably kill myself.

The suicide rate in general is less than 2%.

The suicide rate for people with ASPD is 23%.

[fablesuntold]

🃏Biography. The Joker🃏

Most of this is made up by the mun— do not steal or reblog as I’ve put a lot of thought into this. Also do not copy this layout.

Basic info:

Real name: Jack Oswald White— but this information has never been disclosed to anyone else so only he knows his real name.

Preferred alias:

Joker.

Mister. J.

John Doe.

J.

Age: 31 years old.

Birthday: Born October 31st.

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio.

Gender: Male.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Nationality: American.

Born in: Gotham City, United States.

Currently residing in: Gotham City, United States.

Morality: Chaotic evil.

Occupation: Full time menace to society/Self proclaimed King of Gotham City.

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Appearance:

Height: 1.8m / 5’11”

Weight: 76 kg/ 12 stone.

Hair: Neon Green/Brunette before the acid incident.

Eyes: Bright blue.

Tattoos: Joker has a range of tattoos from head to toe. Most resemble his alter ego. From jesters to playing cards and toothy smiles, his skin is decorated like tapestry with the art. His favourite tattoo of all is the ‘Damaged’ on his forehead as it best describes his mental state of mind. He plans to get more, possibly something that could be used to mock Batman with because why not~? He just loves to rile the caped crusader up.

Piercings: The only piercings Joker currently has are his ear piercings and a tongue piercing. He much prefers tattoos but will likely get more anyway in the future.

Scars: Due to many battles and run ins with Batman over the years, Joker has sustained many injuries much like his archnemesis. Scars litter his pale skin, some jagged and deep and some faded. Luckily his tattoos cover the worst of them— partly the reason he got them to begin with.

Other: Thanks to a rather intense fight with Batman before being escorted to Arkham Asylum, Joker’s regular front teeth were brutally smashed out and had to be replaced with silver caps— thus why his mouth takes on a more metallic look.

Faceclaim: Jared Leto.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

Family/Friends:

Mother: Sophia White.

Status: Unknown.

Relationship: Joker doesn’t remember much about his time spent in his mother’s care. At the age of seven, he was placed into an orphanage due to his parents not wanting him anymore, though he briefly recalls his mother’s hand combing through his hair one last time before she turned on her heel and made a swift exit from his life— a strange display of affection for somebody who so easily gave up on him. The true reason as to why she gave him up remains unclear, but the abandonment has stuck with him more than he likes to admit. He can’t help but to wonder though.. was there a part of Sophia that regretted leaving her son behind?

Father: Damien White.

Status: Deceased.

Relationship: Much like his mother, not much is recalled about his relationship with his father. All he remembers is that his father used to shout a lot and smack his mother around when she stood up to him. Perhaps the reason he was put into care? Joker doesn’t know, but he no longer possesses the quality to care about why exactly they’re no longer around.

Siblings: He’s an only child as far as he knows. Given the fact that he doesn’t know his family at all though, it’s a possibility that he could have siblings somewhere out there.

Spouse: N/A. (Depending on the verse, I usually ship him with Harley Quinn and have a few plot ideas if anyone is interested. Bruce Wayne is also an option too as an enemies to lovers/enemies with benefits plot.)

Kids: N/A. (Again, depends on the verse.)

Pets: He once owned a pet Hyena called Chuckles, but it was quickly confiscated and sent off to a zoo when Joker was apprehended by Batman and sent to Arkham Asylum.

Friends: Joker doesn’t consider many people his friends, but his closest companions are Harley Quinn, Jonny Frost and of course he’ll claim Batman to be his best friend even though Batman loathes the bones of him.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

Other:

Personality traits/Characteristics: Narcissistic, sarcastic, witty, cruel, unpredictable, brazen, overconfident, wild, crude, apathetic, heartless, clever, impatient, impulsive, aggressive, cynical, enigmatic, obnoxious, possessive, envious, greedy, menacing, loud, immature, twisted, wicked, evil, mischievous, irritable, selfish, boastful, excitable, assertive, demented.

MBTI Type: ENTP. He’s an extrovert who is creative and loves a good plan. However, he’s easily distracted by new possibilities and can often stray away from his original plans to pursue another manic idea. He’ll do anything to achieve his goals even despite the resistance from others he knows he’ll be met with.

Any mental illness: Joker suffers from schizophrenia— psychotic disorder which often results in random bursts of violent outbreaks and excessive delusions, hallucinations included. His mind is often muddled with wild fantasies that can only be described as insane and no amount of therapy has been able to provide him relief. Past therapists at Arkham Asylum conclude that he may be bordering on dissociative identity disorder too.

Weapons: Depending on his mood, Joker uses a range of weapons from handguns to bombs and melee weapons.. but his absolute favourite of them all is his trusty submachine gun. Nothing gives him a thrill quite like letting those bullets fly all while laughing hysterically about it.

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Backstory:

A rough childhood behind him, Jack was born into an abusive household and exposed to violence at a young age. With his father mercilessly beating him and his mother almost every night in an alcohol induced rage, it’s no surprise that his morals were corrupted from the get-go. However, he wasn’t around his father long enough for him to be a major influence in his life when his mother decided enough was enough.

Waiting for her husband to consume enough alcohol for him to pass out, Jack’s mother wasted no time in driving her son to the nearest orphanage and after a whispered ‘you’ll be safe here’ and a quick kiss to his forehead, she disappeared off into the night never to be seen or heard of again.

Growing up, Jack always knew he was different to the other kids in care. He wasn’t interested in what they were interested in, dolls and action figures only doing so much to appease his tormented little mind. Instead, Jack found himself fascinated with crime and death which quickly caused concern for staff at the orphanage when told time and time again about his morbid curiosity. To say the least, staff often found themselves uneasy around him, especially when he started to display symptoms of early schizophrenia— the exact same symptoms that deterred any potential foster parents away from adopting him.

By the time he reached eighteen and with no success of a foster family, Jack was released as a young adult into the world— and that’s where his life of crime began. Quickly getting in with the wrong crowd after a club brawl gone wrong, Jack joined one of Gotham’s many notorious gangs of thugs where he quickly began to climb the hierarchy. For the first time in his life, Jack felt as though he had a purpose. Like he had a life worth living with people who understood him. But all of that came crashing down within the blink of an eye.

One stormy evening, Jack found himself on the end of a drug bust when Batman intercepted the deal. Him being the supplier, he was chased through the streets of Gotham until a promising escape route beckoned him in the form of a chemical factory. Little did he know this is where his life would take a drastic turn.

On the cusp of escaping, it wasn’t until Batman took a swoop at him from the top floor did he lose his footing and take a tumble into a burning container of acid that quickly burned and bleached his skin a sickly white, lips stained red and chemically altering his hair to a neon green once he finally emerged after almost drowning. It was that exact same acid that drove him further down the road of insanity. Pronounced dead by Batman, he’d once again been left behind.

Following that night Jack became obsessed with Batman and swore revenge, and in the following years he adopted his alter ego— becoming well known and greatly feared as ‘The Joker’ thanks to his unique appearance which oddly resembled that of a clown.

From bank heists to mass murder and destruction across the city, it didn’t take long for Batman to find him once again and many altercations with him later, Joker unfortunately landed himself a one way ticket to Arkham Asylum after a particularly lethal fight with the masked hero. Therapy sessions were made a mockery of, and Joker only laughed at anyone who attempted to help him, only requesting to speak to Batman. This resulted in him being doomed to spend most of his twenties confined by white cushioned walls and restrained in a snug straitjacket for everyone’s safety— including his own.

**MORE TO BE ADDED**