#and damn I had all the symptoms y'all

[mothman-did-nothing-wrong]

Okay was anyone gonna tell me that I was like actually shadowbanned or was I supposed to just find out after my friend jokingly brought it up

[ant111fragile]

MY VOID SUCCESS STORY!!

My Void state Journey+Baby steps

I first came to know about the void state when @gorgeouslypink shared her success story and like everyone else I got obsessed with the idea of having everything at once since I didn't put my all in manifesting and couldn't manifest consciously except for ice cream that shit always manifests lmao. So like I said I was obsessed I started trying like any amateur but every time I'd lay on bed and affirm i wouldn't even realise when I would fall asleep and wake up to the same shit but one thing good about me is i would never spiral.. So for more than a couple months I tried the 10k affirmation challenge for void concept/void state affs cuz everyone was suggesting it but guess what i never actually completed it. I would start over and over cuz I didn't had no consistency and never completed it until last week I FINALLY did!!

What I think worked for me

I actually completed the 10k aff challenge and reached 12000 affirmations on 7th jan It didn't have any specific effect on my mind since I feel like I had always believed in my vc but I think what went right was my brain ACTUALLY REALLY was saturated after the consistent affs I fed myself with. And then at night of 8th Jan I tapped into the void.

Entering the void+experience.

So i went to bed at the usual time I'd always attempt the void and this time I sat upright on bed with pillows to support my back well. I put on the void state/epsilon waves subliminal by slade. From YouTube (this shit is good.)

and did my routine as I had scripted : I counted till 300 with deep breaths but you can count less. I did it cuz it takes me too much to relax and kinda concentrate (Till then I had already experienced the being pulled in feeling and it had went away but I was calm I did not even pay attention to it.) My body was numb by then and I started to affirm "I am in the void state " Bringing back my normal pace of breathing. After a while i started to float and get the usual symptoms like spinning and and an inner earthquake lmao but yeah I tried my best to keep focusing on affs which automatically results in ignoring symptoms. again that ascending feeling of being pulled came back. So I kept affirming and I visualised the black hole kinda shit in my head take me to the void and the next thing I know I'm in a completely feelingless place no subliminal sound and I was damn relaxed but that the same time too excited and even though I didn't like instantly got thrown out I still got out without even affirming I kinda forgot? Sounds funny but might happen. That's pretty much it. So I took a day off to relax and sustain that feeling I'm entering today again to manifest my desired life.

Tips + advice

‌do not follow somebody else's methods if your conditions don't align with the routine or something.

‌try the 10k aff challenge for your vc. If you don't enter at 10,000 try 15k then 20k then 30k and don't fck with me you'll reach by then alright.

‌since it's your own state you just have to tap into it sooner or later you will so don't be stressed and attempt. Just tap into it cause you will.

‌everytime you wake up to your same reality affirm you are one step closer. Or you did enter and you're entering again. Don't repeat the old story.

‌subliminals or music they only serve to relax you only you hold the ultimate power.

‌don't look/ask for methods. There are enough methods already and it's only a matter of time when you'll find your own.

‌chile

All the blogs who helped me with my mindset shift are @uniquelymeandmyworld @rosellesworkshop @fleurlx @konniesreality @gorgeouslypink thank you all so much for everything you guys do it's literally selfless and I can't with the people who throw shade on y'all!!

Also thanks to @voidsuccess they really help with the success stories!!

[strongheartneteyam]

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!human!reader/female!dreamwalker!reader

Chapter 3

CW: angst, reader is a loner, reader works her ass off every day at the lab, fluff, neteyam being cute towards reader (even tho it still has weird vibes lol), mad jealous neteyam, TRIGGER WARNING for depression symptoms (such as being moody n having less appetite than the usual), stalking, obsessive and toxic behavior, also TRIGGER WARNING for reader mentioning the word “suicidal” in an internal monologue (she IS NOT actually suicidal, she just feels really sad and mentions the word. if u read it, you'll know what I mean)

Not proofread. I'll do it as soon as I can ♡ I hope it's a good chapter 🥲 & thank u to everyone who's reading this fanfic, who left a comment in the last chapter and, of course, to everyone who asked to be in the taglist I LOVE Y'ALL 😘💕💕💕

Chapter 2

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Mother looking at me

Tell me, what do you see?

Yes, I've lost my mind

(...)

Will I ever be free?

Have I crossed the line?

All the things she said, running through my head

All the things she said (t.A.T.u)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You woke up feeling like crap that morning.

Your last shift had been so demanding. You had to cook just so much food that you started to wonder if there was anything left in the pantry. You had gone into that room just so many times yesterday to get ingredients and kitchen utensils, your legs felt heavy and sore now, as you stretched them in your small bed.

There were just too many people to eat in that damn laboratory.

Meanwhile you, the cook, barely had any time left to eat. There was always just so much work to do. So many dishes to wash, so many vegetables and meat to cut, bread to prepare from scratch... Your head hurt just thinking about it.

You felt so stressed out that you preferred to unwind a little instead of eating, sometimes. You would find a quiet place, sit somewhere, put your headphones on and press play on one of your many curated playlists or in one of your favorite songs. Listening to music seemed to work like a medicine to your wounds and, going to the cafeteria and having to socialize, to have people all around you felt too much, so, you just tried to avoid it. You even started to lose a little weight because of it. Nothing too much, though. You were only slightly thinner than you used to be. But in the back of your head, there was always a voice saying "Please, take better care of yourself...". Despite knowing that voice was right, you were too tired and apathetic to care.

Ever since you started to Dreamwalk, it was like your whole world had changed. That old life you led did not seem to be enough anymore. It never was, in the first place. It could never compare to the heightened senses you had when you were in your Avatar, helping you smell and hear everything better.

The first time you spent a whole afternoon running alone through the Pandoran forest next to Hell's Gate, you felt alive like you had not felt in years.

But nothing gold can ever stay. Way sooner than you expected, you had to be awakened from that magical dream. Everytime you came out of the technological machine you had to lay inside of to be able to drive your Avatar, you thought "Damn! Why wasn't I born a na'vi? They're so freaking lucky to have such an incredibly beautiful Planet to call their own. If only Earth was still as beautiful as it used to be..."

When you were not in one of your free days, you would always work until you felt exhausted and fed up with everything. It was not a walk in the park to be a cook. Even though you loved cooking since you were a teenager, when you used to always mix different ingredients and spices and create new recipes, this profession forced you to spend most of your time standing up and to have little time to sit and rest your poor fatigued legs. In some days, all you wanted was to sleep for 12 hours straight. And God knows you were capable of actually doing that.

Not a long time ago, you slept so much that, when you eventually woke up, it was 2 pm and you almost got fired from the lab when you finally showed up at the kitchen you were supposed to be in since 6 am.

You promised yourself you would never do that again. You just could not afford to lose that job. And you wanted to cry just thinking about not being able to Dreamwalk anymore. Exploring Pandora was the peak of your life, currently. It was when you felt high as a kite. As funny as it sounded, it was true. You felt euphoria run through your body everytime you got to have blue skin and be over 8 feet tall.

You liked to cook and was good at it, but, you were a smart, intelligent girl who knew much more than people thought you did. Unfortunately, you could not manage to get a higher position at the lab. Your forte was not sciencey stuff. It was subjects like Human History, Languages, Philosophy... At best, you got to use your language learning skills to learn basic na'vi fast and was able to get an Avatar from the lab. At least that was a good thing that your tiring job provided you. God knows that privilege was one of the few things keeping you alive. You goddamn hated you life, your job, everything... All your days seemed to be the same. Same chores, same annoying people... Most scientists did not try to hide that they did not see you as an equal. Even though they were always really polite to you, they would not let you in in their little groups, in their upbeat conversations through the laboratory corridors. You could count in one hand how many of them used to talk to you with genuine interest in hearing what you had to say.

You sat every day next to the less valued lab employees: janitors, cleaning ladies, other cooks just like you and so on. Your race had never been good at realizing the worth that these hardworking people had, anyway. Why would they do it now? You thought it to be so sad...

Those employees were nice regular people. Even thought some of them were idiots and treated you badly, there are people who behave like that anywhere. You were thankful that most of them were polite to you and treated you well enough. You also had a close friendship with one of the female employees, a cute, humble and really kind girl called Crystal. But she was your only actual friend. You did not remember the last time you had made an actual effort to make a friend, to be nice to someone in hopes you could get to know them better and they could become a part of your life. You had to admit you had been really grumpy lately.

You could easily blame such moodiness on your lack of will to keep living that life you currently had. It’s not that you were suicidal, it's just that you wished you could live a better life.

There was also Derek, the tall, cute boy you would make out with every now and then. You did not have a proper name for your relationship with him. He was always lovely towards you and you two would have really interesting conversations together and sneak around to kiss each other and do other types of heated stuff (though you never had sex with him) anytime you both felt like it. But it did not happen that often, anyway. You did not put much thought into it, to be honest. Derek was just a friend you would fool around with. You could not be farther from being in love with him or anything of sorts.

After another tiresome day, you walked fast towards your room. All you could think about was how nice and cozy your bed would feel when you would lay your body on it. Only five minutes after you finally laid down, you fell asleep. Slumber had been bugging you all day. Lately, it had always been like that.

They say you have to be careful what you wish for. That your words and thoughts have power over what happens to you. And you learned it the hard way.

In one of your infamous busy but boring afternoons, something unexpected happened to you.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a na'vi young man appeared outside of your glass window and tapped slightly on it. You almost choked on your own saliva when you saw that huge, blue creature staring at you with wide yellow eyes. A scream got stuck right in the middle of your throat, since you got so startled you could not get your vocal chords to obey the command your brain was sending them. What the hell was that na'vi doing in front of the laboratory? They did not use to come to Hell's Gate. And why was he looking at you through the kitchen window?

The na'vi boy just would not stop staring at you. His gaze was so intense it made you feel unbelievably uncomfortable. Suddenly, he pointed to the left. The big, ample door that led to the open area in front of the room you worked in was right at the same direction his four fingered hand was pointing to. You realized he was signaling to you that he wanted to see you outside of the lab.

You started to say, in your own mind: "What kind of weird situation is this?"

"Please?" You heard the alien plead in fluent English (he only had a typical na'vi accent), his voice coming through the narrow gap that existed between the glass and the window frame. His eyes reminded you of the eyes of a small kitten asking for food.

You got surprised by the fact that he was able to speak English. You wondered why he had learned it and who taught him the language.

You tried to reach for the door to try and inform someone that there was a na'vi around and ask if anybody knew who he was when you heard the alien say:

"Don't go, please! I just want to talk to you! I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your back was turned to him. When you turned around, he was smiling.

"It's incredible how you're even prettier up close."

"I'm sorry?!" You answered

"Oh, forgive me. My name is Neteyam. Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan. It's really nice to meet you." He was still smiling.

That name was familiar, Neteyam te Suli... Oh, of course! Neteyam was the son of the Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya clan, Jake Sully. He was very famous between the na'vi and the humans.

Neteyam Suli was one of the most feared na'vi warriors out there. A great archer and very skilled with the knives the Omatikayas made themselves, he fought fearlessly against the recoms, including Colonel Miles Quaritch, an old enemy of his father. Quaritch used to lead the RDA soldiers when he was human, before being "revived" and given an Avatar body. He died in battle against the na'vi. But that did not mean that there was finally peace between humans and the na'vi race.

But why in hell was Neteyam Suli trying to talk to you? It is not like the na'vi liked the humans. On the contrary, they despised your race.

"Uhmm... okay. Nice to meet you..." You tried to be polite and peaceful towards the na'vi boy, like you were advised to be by your teachers, back when you were studying and training to get your Avatar "But I'm sorry, what did you say? That I'm prettier up close?" Your brows were furrowing, your face full of confusion. Despite all, you were calmer now that you knew you could communicate with him in English. Your na'vi was not the best out there.

"Yes." Neteyam's big amber eyes shone when he looked at your face. You were beyond dazed. "I've seen you before. Many times actually. But only from far away. It doesn't compare to seeing you right next to me." His voice had a weird warm feeling in it, like he was already acquainted to you. But how could it be? You did not even know who he was before he revealed his identity to you.

"When did you see me...?" Your mouth was slightly opened, so bewildered you felt

"Don't you wanna come outside so we can talk better?" He said, seeming excited.

"Unfortunately, no. I'm good, thanks." Neteyam looked sad after you declined his offer.

"Why not? I told you, I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise." He smiled faintly. You could tell he was hurt by your blunt answer.

It pained you to act like that towards him. You admired the na'vi so much. Damn, you even would choose to be born a na'vi if you somehow could go back in time, before you were inside your mother's womb and you could talk to Eywa herself. But how were you gonna trust him? There were some na'vi out there, his mother, for example, that hated humans with such a boiling passion. What if he took after his mother? You would be in trouble if he tried to kill you. Even though the na'vi were a peaceful by nature race, everyone has a limit, so, you had to be careful when interacting with them. You learned about all the genocide your kind had committed against his kind while simultaneously destroying his Planet slowly, in a cruel, despicable way. You honestly understood the contempt the na'vi felt when it came to humans.

You looked at Neteyam with honesty in your eyes and said:

"Please don't take this the wrong way but I can't really trust you. I know you told me you're not gonna hurt me, but, I'm still human. How can I know you trust me, to begin with?"

"I trust you because you're different. You're nothing like the others from your kind. You're more like my people. And I love that about you." Neteyam said, smiling at you.

"Can you please just tell me how do you know me? Because I've never seen you before. I've only heard about you because you're the Olo'eyktan's eldest son and Olo'eyktan to be. But you talk to me like you somehow... know me. I'm really confused, Neteyam." He felt his heart race when he heard you pronounce his name. Your voice sounded so sweet to his sensitive na'vi ears, making him move them somewhat to the sides. It was the same voice he heard in the forest, when he watched you talk to yourself saying how beautiful you thought some yellow, bioluminescent flower that you saw in the grass was.

"You're a Dreamwalker. I've seen you around. I love how much you seem to appreciate and respect my Planet instead of destroying it like the others from your kind do. That's why I think you're more na'vi than human." He chuckled happily and you got confused by his last sentence.

You had to admit he looked cute when his fangs escaped from under his upper lip whenever he smiled or chuckled. But you felt so weird thinking that.

"I'm more na'vi than human?" You were intrigued "What do you mean?" You laughed a bit and he continued on staring at you in an intense manner.

Neteyam heard footsteps approaching, so, he started to move just so he could hide. He did not want any other human but you seeing him. He knew he could not trust them as he could trust you.

"Wait! Where are you -" before you could finish your words, he was already gone.

The brown wooden door behind you opened and Derek appeared carrying a pile of plates in his arms.

"Hey, cutie." He walked towards the sink, leaving the dirty dishes there to be washed by himself when he would be back in the kitchen.

"Hi, Derek." You smiled faintly. You were still recovering from that odd interaction you had with Neteyam Sully.

Derek came close to your ear and whispered:

"Feel like meeting me tonight? I miss you." You sighed

"I don't know... I'm not really in the mood, sorry." You answered, uninterested

He got a little surprised by your answer and moved his eyebrows up, making wrinkles appear in his forehead but quickly remembered he had much work to do outside, so, he walked towards the door and got out of the room without saying another word to you.

Neteyam was still out there, next to the window, leaning against the wall. He was listening to the conversation the whole time. He had to use all the self control he learned to have with the years to not hiss when he heard that human call you "cutie" and ask if you wanted to meet him tonight. Who was he, anyway? And why was he saying he missed you? Neteyam had never seen you show any sign that he was your mate before. He had to find out what was going on. Neteyam would not let anyone get between the both of you. It would not be a weak human male that would be the obstacle that would make him give up on his future mate. He was used to challenges and was not afraid of another one. That would probably even be fun. Neteyam could imagine that tiny mate of yours shivering in fear when he showed him his big, sharp fangs.

Neteyam decided he was gonna find out who the hell that mate of yours was. He was sure he was not better than him. That human male would never be as strong as he was. That human would never be able to hunt fresh food for you, walking through the forests of Pandora and confronting big, dangerous animals, like Neteyam would. He knew he outbraved that human. He could never be a good mate to you like Neteyam could be. You deserved better than him.

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

@xylianasblog @samistars @crazy4books1 @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @explosiongamora @lik0 @your-girl-mj @darktyrantwinner @xxunnie @sereisstuff @yeosxxx @die4niyahhh @henhouse-horrors @lala-1516 @iman-lu @manumanulau @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @hana-yuri

I tagged some of you that did not ask to be tagged but left really cute comments on the last chapter that made my heart feel warm 💓 if u don't wanna be tagged, just lemme know

Also, if someone wants to be added to the taglist too just leave a comment below saying that 🤍

[sunthyme]

Hehehe. Part two baby! Be prepared! (Pun absolutely intended) Also, to the people who are yelling the the tags, I love you guys! I read them all and I can't say thank you enough. It genuinely means a ton!🩷🩷🩷

Enough of me being sappy,

🌻Savanaclaw🌻

Disclaimer: Savanaclaw is like lowkey my favourite dorm, not in terms of redesigns but I love the characters. Huge Leona fan and Jack and Ruggie are my children so I will not stop talking about them. You have been warned.

First up, though y'all have seen him already,

♟️Leona Kingscholar♟️

(he/him) - Unlabelled but doesn't care about gender

I snuck in a lil treat of my work in progress housewarden card. The jumpscare it was to toggle my version with the og card underneath, y'all. Am I making my version of pretty much all his cards? Yes. Will they ever be finished? Who knows? Anyways, onto the headcanons...

- Physically, I feel like I changed a lot and not a lot at the same time. I gave him some more scars which I guarantee you are from really stupid accidents.

- Piercing on his ears just cause I felt they fit him and snakebites because (I'm so down bad for them) it gave the illusion of fangs even with his mouth closed. Gave him moles cause they're pretty.

- I textured his hair and gave him a shit ton more because if the og design won't AT LEAST give him fluffier hair, what's the point? Yana Toboso, if you don't give this man a high ponytail in the Clubwear Card, I will hunt you down. Also made his front, larger braids the colour of Cheka's (And presumably Farena's) hair because honestly? They didn't really look similar enough? Also threw in some smaller braid to 'tie' them in more (haha).

- Someone gave him like this cool inverted pupil due to a scene in the movie but I simplified it to basically heterochromia.

- This might be hardly noticeable but I give give him slightly more muscle? I felt it suited him more idk.

- Onto non-physical headcanons, he has 💕depression💕! This is kinda not up for debate given how much he exemplifies the symptoms. Hell, he made me realise that I may have depression cause I was like, "Damn, he's so relatable, not wanting to get out of bed, no motivation to do anything, struggling to care of himself. He just like me frfr- oh..."

- By the way, I see a lot of people talking about Ruggie's reaction to the fallout of Book 2 but I think that on Leona's side, he felt horrible and probably locked himself away for a WHILE. I think his mental state must have been terrible and I'm SO PISSED HIS FCKING PROBLEMS NEVER GOT BROUGHT AGAIN WTF! Well, I'm on Book 4 so maybe???

- Anyways, I saw someone posit he could also be autistic, more on the asymptomatic side which is actually growing on me a lot. Picky eater, doesn't like tighter clothes, not fond of loud noises, smaller things but I'm a fan.

- Really random but I like the idea that he's one of those people who kids love for literally no reason, he just doesn't like to be around them.

- Is actually extremely book smart, though that's kinda already canon but I mean this bitch was a nerd when he was younger. Knows way too much on various topics, especially about his homeland.

- He can purr. I know lion's can't but there are literal mer and fae. He's just a big kitty. My and Idia like 🤞 when it comes to thinking of Leona as just a big meow. I have a cat who doesn't like anyone but I'm her favourite, I could win him over.

I could talk about him for sooooo long tbh so I'll shut up now.

Anyways, now for my boy,

💸Ruggie Bucchi💸

(he/she) Bigender - Biromantic Asexual

God I love my bigender child.

- I made him black, though probably mixed and gave him vitiligo for both visual flavour and a mild(?) reference to like hyena spots?

- He originally was going to have her hair down but then I realised how many of them had their natural hair already so I gave him dreads? I'll have to render them out at some point.

- Gave her more scars too, since she grew up in a more rough environment. Made his eyes really big and cute 'cause I feel like she can get extras when she hits 'em with the puppy eyes.

- Probably got mad ADHD, has to constantly be fiddling with something or another. Wears spinny rings a lot. He's actually really good at paying attention in class and likes to learn.

- Steals from Leona, whether it's money or items or clothes he leaves out (which, while Leona would never admit, he purposefully leaves out for Ruggie).

- Oh and a post pointed out that hyenas can purr, so have fun with that.

That's mostly it for now, but expect this list to grow lmao.

Now for,

💪Jack Howl💪

(he/him) - Queer (he doesn't know lol, just knows he likes dudes at this point)

Not me struggling to find a weight emoji (I failed) 😭😭😭

- Ah, I made a reference in the Heartslabyul post about my concern about darker skinned characters with white hair and I was mainly talking about Jack. I also had to make Kiki, and I figured that wolves have pretty naturally salt-and-pepper hair, so why not. I actually love how it looks omg, it's very pretty and marbled.

- Gave him darker skin, since I headcanon him as black but I did see someone who designed him as indigenous so it might change in the future idk. Also it makes his eyes almost glow and I love that for him.

- He gets more scars too, though likely from sports rather than fights or anything.

- He's autistic. Apologies that so many of them are autistic to me, not only am I autistic but like, the way they're written speaks to me. His whole moral compass being the reason for Book 2 playing out like it did was an immediate 'yes' from me. He's my boy and my son and I will fistfight anyone that smack talks him (looking at those Savannaclaw NPCs in one of Deuce's vignettes).

- Oh, I forgot. He listens to K-Pop. I don't know if it?s canon that he has younger siblings, though I totally think he does, but one of them accidentally got him into K-Pop and J-Pop so whenever he's at the gym, that's what he's listening to lmao. Specifically girl groups, he likes them enough that he knows all their names. He insists it's out of respect, which it is but he's also lowkey a stan too lol.

- Generally has a weakness for cute things, even if he doesn't show it. Also a total plant nerd omg. He could instruct you on pretty much any houseplant on how much sunlight and water it needs, seasonal changes, etc.

Final note is that I'll make a separate post about him and Epel, cause I love them and have some headcanons there too.

Now for my ocs!

💎Kiki Adebayo💎

Third Year - (she/her) Transfem - Aromantic Demisexual Sapphic

- Twisted from Rafiki? I think that's his name, the baboon. I'm crying sobbing throwing up that you can't see her eyes in this.

- She got the white hair since the fur on a baboon is directly white and took inspiration from Dislyte's Isis design. Her eyes are a pale gold like her earrings and she has red to blue eye shadow.

- Natural resting bitch face but she's just tired most of the time. She'd probably be the actual vice housewarden as I think her family has been close to Leona's for a long time, though she earned her spot with her own skills.

- Additionally, I wouldn't call her and Leona 'childhood friends' but she's known him for a long time. She's like, concerned about him as he's changed so much but she also worries that it's not her place. As a result, she tries to make sure Ruggie's not taking on too much and handles most of the dormhead duties herself.

God, she's so pretty omg anyways

👟Mandisa Jelani👟

Second Year - (they/she) Demi-girl - Pansexual

- Mandisa is also based on the hyenas, though I don't know if her and Ruggie are from the same pack necessarily.

- I gave her scars, moles, and some piercings as well, I just felt like they'd suit her.

- I think she and Jack would be relatively similar in terms of personality, I see her being the gruffer upperclassmen. I think she'd be rather protective of the first years, knowing how harsh the older dorm members can be and she does her best to make everyone feel welcome.

Next up,

🤘Rocío Chávez🤘

Second Year - (she/her but doesn't really care) Transfem - Panromantic Asexual

You'll never guess who she's based on /j

- My girlie based on Kronk from The Emperor's New Groove! Yes, she is a big and buff bimbo? Himbo? I don't know but she's got a heart of gold and head empty.

- I wanted to keep her physique cause it always annoys me when people genderbend a character but don't keep them proportional to their og design. Mini tangent over, she so silly I love her.

- She and my Yzma character met as first years and have been inseparable since, though I'll talk more about that later.

- Not a massive ton of characterisation sine it's been a while since I've seen this movie too but I'm always open to suggestions.

Finally, my silly

🎸Abayomi Furaha🎸

First Year - (she/they/it) Nonbinary - Bisexual

- My final baby from Savanaclaw, also based on a hyena. Specifically the lil bug-eyed one, but I gave her a lazy eye instead. Not sure how well that comes across but I tried.

- She's got scars, was definitely bullied as a kid and I think that once the dorm members consider her a part of the pack, they'd be super overprotective as a result.

- That being said, she's more than capable of defending herself as she's good at various martial arts.

- She's into rock music and joined the music club as a result. Probably a drummer or guitarist as I think she's insecure about her voice.

- She and Mandisa are quite close and she convinced them to dye the edges of her hair red. Abayomi wanted touch up hers and managed to get Mandisa in on to lol.

That's all for now! Stay tuned for Octavinelle and thank you so much for reading!

[pinkbeanii]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

This is so fucking niche, but today was my first day using my cane in public! So here's some thoughts of Jongseob being the most supportive bf and an absolute mobility aid advocate.

Warnings: talk of chronic pain, mentioned ableism, run on sentences (sorry)

It was not a surprise to him when you were recommended a cane.

After a long time of helping you with flare ups and trying to understand your mental and physical pains, Jongseob was well versed in your world of disability.

So he was so undeniably in support of a mobility aid. Though he knew it was going to be an adjustment for the both of you, Seobie was more than prepared.

I imagine he'd research about all types of mobility aids, and since it would be a cane that you'd be using he focused on that.

Seobie is passionate about anything he cares about, and that mindset extends to you and your well-being & health.

He'd have already done his research on your condition or symptoms, and you have already coached him through a lot of situations so he knows his shit!

But mobility aids are a different beast, so Jongseob dived head first into learning about canes: how to use them, care and maintenance, different types of handles & --, and he even read stories & messages from cane users on the internet.

Of course, it wasn't easy for you to admit to yourself that a cane would be helpful, internalized ableism is a bitch that way. But Seobie would be the best bf, making sure you knew he's proud of you for taking care of yourself and reassuring you that a cane wasn't going to change your relationship & how he saw you.

Jongseob never coddled you, never treated you with anything but respect. Your disability & pain were part of you that he accepted fully, and he knew his place was not as a caretaker but a partner for you. It was never just him taking care of you, it was a balance of leaning on each other as needed.

After browsing options together (Jongseob had opinions on styles and even ideas on how you could decorate it to feel more like you) it came time to learn how to use it

I personally practiced at home before using it outside, so I can picture you both in the living room learning together about what the most comfortable way to walk and stand with your new mobility aid was. Seobie would be like a personal cheerleader, making sure you knew how good you were doing and having you take breaks as you went.

Y'all would also have a little date where you work on decorating the cane, adding stickers or rhinestones, making a beaded wristband and adding charms. He would be so attentive to how you felt about it, understanding if you don't want it to stand out. Jongseob just wants to make it feel like you.

The first time you use it out in the world Jongseob is doing his damn hardest to make it an easy adjustment for you. He holds all your stuff, opens doors and avoids any obstacles, and most importantly he's holding your free hand and reminding you he's right there by your side.

While you try and avoid any weird looks from judgemental assholes, it's hard to ignore it sometimes. Seobie is great at distracting you and often glares right back at anyone who stares for too long. Looking was fine, you both understood that it's not the most common thing, but unrestrained gawking was unacceptable in his book.

More boyfriend points are scored when he reminds you that you're allowed to use the disabled toilets and accessible seating and amenities. He's the biggest advocate for not only you, but anyone else he sees dealing with casual ableism.

Something you learn from being around any disabled person (mental, developmental or physical disabilities) is that people are often unintentionally bigoted in how they treat us. Of course it's more obvious when it's intentional, but casual words or actions that aren't meant to harm are harder to spot at first.

Jongseob is well versed in picking up those clues and is the best person to address it. Of course if you want to directly call someone out he's happy to just support and be backup. But if you aren't confrontational he's handling it immediately in a respectful but direct way.

If anyone directly questions your cane or if you are just doing it for attention Jongseob is your biggest protector. If you want to answer questions he's all for it, Seobie won't stand for invasive people who feel entitled to others' medical information.

In conclusion, Jongseob is the most supportive partner and his goal when it comes to you is to give you anything and anything he can, to the best of his abilities. And that extends to disability and mobility aids. He'd be proud of his partner for persevering and letting themselves get the help they need.

A/N: to any other mobility aid users, hi I'm new here, but I'm excited to have more support and do more since I have it. I thought this would be cute bc it's been bouncing around in my head since I got my cane.

[hotpinkstaples]

i think one of the most jarring takes i've seen of superboy 1994 is ppl thinking it's victim-blaming when calling out kon for his weirdo behavior in the early stages of his writing. it's like it goes over their heads that some of the hypersexuality and showmanship is a direct mirror to how knockout behaves in the story bc the thematic point here is the cycle of abuse and how easy it is to get caught up in it. like the whole knockout closer highlights how close kon was to murder-suiciding BECAUSE he was growing to become like her. if victim-blaming is all you take out of an arc exploring the raw and real consequences of being a victim of abuse without the support to HEAL from that abuse.... ya missed the point.

kon being overly sexual and prone to violence are symptoms of a broader problem - aka the fact that's he's exploited and doesn't even really UNDERSTAND how bad it is until it's too late. if knockout hadn't given up, they WOULD HAVE DROWNED. kon would have died with her bc it was better than becoming like her and letting her continue to traumatize ppl the way she was traumatized. it's not SUPPOSED to be swept under the rug. it's not supposed to be a moment of 'knockout is the devil and she hurt kon-chan.' it's a moment of 'here's what happens when a kid who thinks he's a grown ass man gets caught up in an abusive situation with an adult who is abusing him on purpose bc she never healed from her abuse and can only make peace by hurting others.' he doesn't get it until it's too late, and by then, knockout's destroyed a piece of his soul.

a lotta ppl chalk it up to 90's writing, but everything in that era post crisis was all about fucking around and finding out the hard way. and kon's story WAS rooted in the real life issue of society exploiting the hell out of kids and having them go through the worst trauma imaginable entirely for their entertainment. see: child stars after they grow up. see: how the world looked at r kelly and aaliyah

being uncomfortable with kon's writing 1993-1998 is fine, bc that shit IS DARK. horrifying even. but that does not mean calling out his very violent and hypersexualized behavior is suddenly victim-blaming. it's an observation of the fact that he was not normal and could not be or act normal because he had no social training and was not even RAISED to be normal. wild how some of y'all will read this mofo's origin story for timkonnie dreams, but not for its contextual prowess. kon was a TOOL. he was a representation of america's obsession with abusing children for ENTERTAINMENT. when ppl get hurt, they act out. kon acted out. he acted out so damn bad, supergirl had to roll up on him, and even she, a victim of lex luthor, struggled to get through to him. his early arcs are a cautionary tale, not a prop for ship angst.

[akunoniwa]

Reconciliation

AN: i really like the priest trope y'all and dottore continues to plague my being.

Synopsis: In which you confess to your earnest, local priest about your most wretched sins...

Pairing: Priest!Il Dottore x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, he's a priest all of the sudden... for some reason..., dirty (blabbing) talk, mutual masturbation ig, you two just drive each other mad

WC: ~2.7k

Also, if anyone is interested, for the last couple years I have been curating a playlist of Evil, Macabre, Scheming classical that I usually write to. You can find it here! (Spotify :/)

Dottore himself may possess a universe-worth of deranged secrets, but his malevolence was the most obvious truth of all.

He’d be a resourceful and dutiful liar, a rehearsed cosmopolitan who knows what to say to get not just underneath your frail blouse, but your skin. He’d often get hyperboles thrown his way, how he must be able to read minds… Surely… That is impossible, right?

How Dottore managed to slip in through the ancient cracks of the Church of Favonius, one could not trace with their finger alone, as he found a special way to bypass the seminary. Growing morbidly bored in his lab as his segments took care of the more ‘menial’ things, he had a thought, twisted and contorted as usual: Where could he get a true, mouth-watering taste of humanity, bare and earnest before him? Naturally, a church is a place where sin may be denounced, but in a sense is romanticized and encouraged in its fashionable banishment. How he’d not considered this his first time around was… Perhaps a symptom of his inability to have all of himself in one place, both cognitively and literally speaking.

Dottore couldn’t merely walk into the cathedral in search of employment, however. The fame he’d acquired was not for his victories, but rather his shortcomings, though the public wouldn’t discern them beyond atrocities, successful or not. While the Fatui had strange footholds in every part of Teyvat, his presence would not be shrugged off, especially should Seamus get word of his meanderings.

His plan, then, was simple– dispose of a working, familiar priest, and he could replicate him as he’s done before in Inazuma, promptly and quietly taking his place. The edges of his ears tingle with anticipation as he imagines all of the degeneracy and blasphemy he’d bear witness to in confession, perhaps he could absorb some inspiration for other projects… Or so he initially thought before you started coming to him for ‘advice’, blotting his mind with a different genre of filth.

In the confessional, he’s able to indulge in hearing various grim sins and tales, his tarnished soul getting off on the compiled suffering in one way or another. His coos of nurturing advice would aptly dilute any evidence of that, though, as he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to hear your most vile fantasies should he somehow get removed.

You came in routinely, your voice shrouded in its faux shame, so close to his ear as it was only separated by a mere wooden screen. He could damn near feel your tongue as it pushed your impure thoughts to him on its crests and troughs. He was well aware of your intentions, convinced you’d not step foot on church grounds were it not to hand-feed him samples of your depravities. The image of you kneeling, in such a decadent position while you granted him whispers of obscenities, made it hard to restrain a grin of utter, vulgar satisfaction.

Knowing who was approaching next, he allowed himself to loosen his grip on his character only slightly, “My… I never would’ve expected your prompt return…”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” Your voice crept beautifully through the holes of the screen like a miasmic mist. He allowed his still-unfamiliar title slipping past your lips prick chills all over his body, the blatant implications of hierarchy stoning him.

This was all between you two anyhow, so he decided to play with you to his content, “I can only imagine.” His true voice, too, lingered like smoke through to your ears, dense yet airy, “Perhaps the Lord will find it within His grace to admonish you of your consistently licentious behavior… Tell me, dear, what ails you?”

“I just can't seem to stop thinking about you, Father…” You always had a hard time dropping the guise immediately, as if you haven’t shared these thoughts with him numerous times before.

You heard him shift, his robes moving slowly about his tensed, upright form, your voice drowning him when it was shaped in such a needy tone, “Ah… Quite the predicament, indeed. You know this is a safe place for you to air your sins out into the open, you must proclaim them clearly to Him.”

Your light giggle sent wakes of delirium through him, “I could never conceal my true self from you, Father… Although, I find myself wondering if you’re really an envoy of God or a spawn from Hell.”

“You wound me, darling, deeply so, though that will not divert my faith and divine purpose to ensure your merciful forgiveness.” He improvised artlessly, your implications alone rustling his guts, a friction he was growing addicted to. His entire being salivated at the thought of what mangled ideas you’d bring right to his feet. How you returned to him, beckoning for attention like a crow as you’d gift him with gleaming desire.

“A true messenger of God’s word would surely not get giddy at the thought of fucking one of their devotees… Wouldn’t you agree?” Your words were somewhat daring on your part, as you couldn’t entirely surmise just who was inches from you, but he has more than revealed his insatiable lechery.

You swore you could feel his breath through the screen as he pushed out an arrogant chuckle through his nose, as if there were no other place for you but the palm of his hand, “It’s that very thing, your passionate devotion, that compels Him. Though it seems you’re trying to parry attention away from your misdeeds…”

You noted, much to your pleasure, how he didn’t deny your accusation, “It’s just… Often when I go to pray before bed, I get distracted…”

“It’s entirely normal to get distracted,” He briefly paused, you could almost feel the breath that was perched in his throat in your own, “Perhaps you’re neglecting a piece of your conscience, an inherent part of yourself that you’ve yet to reconcile with.”

An inherent slut, that’s what he thought. How you come in here weekly only to tempt him, your mind is devoted to nothing nearly akin to a god. Truly exquisite.

You continued a bit more blatantly, toying with him, “That could be… It’s so hard to not lose my train of thought when I’m on my knees and can’t think of anything but your voice in place of His.”

His body was bleeding soot, he felt a build-up of carnal animosity trickle into his veins as you spoke, “Is that so… Was I not conveying His word as I usually do, darling?”

Your knees were quickly growing sore from kneeling, but the pain was blunted by the dull buzzing in your abdomen, “If His words are usually detailing what terrible things he’d like to do to me, but I can’t be so sure…”

His legs inadvertently parted, weakening upon your implications, a heat radiating between them that he wished was due to your body being between them. He was trying with every atom that built him to keep his hands in a neutral position on his thighs, but so desperately wanted to alleviate the growing strain in his slacks, “Terrible, indeed… I think you’re not truly allowing Him to touch you, darling, letting Him resonate deep inside you…” His veiled smirk ought to run laps around his entire face as he shuffled through his deck of delirious innuendos. He just enjoyed the theater of it all as his hands clawed at polyester.

While his acting was laughable from a more rational perspective, you were too intoxicated with want to mind and his prods were becoming too potent, “You may be right, Father,” You hoped to any higher power that calling him that was fucking with him. Not being able to see him was making you spiral, the need to merely touch him was stacking as you were beyond yourself before even making it to the church. Being that his voice was all you knew, you were sure that should he actually graze your skin, you’d be all the more susceptible to his antics.

As much as he likes to indulge in teasing you, he so badly wanted to drop the act that you’ve both rehearsed so many times before and insist that you meet him on this side of the screen. Your honeyed voice is always shredding him to dust, his mind disintegrating at the thought of how reprehensible it’d be to take you right here in the confines of the confessional box. Look him in the eyes from your precious, kneeled perspective and tell him how far from God you’ve fallen, how your repentance can only be properly demonstrated on his cock. Your delectable moans would drip right into his ear as he takes you, making your sex the only sacrament you’ll ever require.

“Father?” You called to him through his mental escapade delicately, his silence unsettling in several ways, though it seems you’d successfully wedged your way into his head.

“Yes, darling.” His ability to respire becomes all the more taxing, the facade threatening to shatter as he almost forgets his role for a moment.

“Could you… Do me a favor?” Curling, winding, your vague presence was constricting around him so deliciously.

“What is it…?” You already had him at the heel of each consonant. You debated in your fantasies what you’d lose yourself over more: Being told what to do, or telling him what to do… Did you have to choose?

You bared your fanged will, “I know you want to touch yourself desperately, if you’re not already…” You began, confident in your assumptions as you heard an eroded breath tumble from his lips, “Could you do that for me…?”

His brows collided in a furrow, dumbfounded with how forward you were finally being, “Of course, darling…” He easily committed, “Anything to bestow God’s love, even to the undeserving…”

He didn’t care to hold back his heady exhale upon finally kneading a palm into his already well-hardened cock, cuffing it now and then to outline the silhouette through his pants. You, too, let him in on your movements, ensuring he heard your sweet, lofty mewls as your fingers padded your clit ever so slowly.

“How do you feel, Father… Tell me…” You sang to him, oh how he wished he could see your flushed face, how you urged him to pleasure himself.

“I know it wouldn’t compare to your vile little mouth.” He groaned through another wavered exhale, “I would go as far as to guess you were wet before you got down on your knees, before you got to this Church, thinking about how badly you want to be fucked in such a sacred place…” Saying this knowing damn well how his body faltered at the sight of your name being rightfully branded on his list for another confession.

“Maybe that’s just how I show my devotion, Father…” You bit your lip as your clit gradually stiffened with need, cycling just the right spot, hardly able to resist rutting into your hand.

“Fuck, and you keep calling me that,” His grip tightened, though he’d not let himself free from his constraints yet.

“Is that not what you are? Or are you, God forbid, hiding something?” You pressed him in unison with your hand.

Him revealing his true identity would benefit no one, including you, but something about being able to fuck you as his true self set him ablaze. His expression tightened into one of brief apprehension, he could feel the knocking of his heart in his throat– There’s no feasible way you’d know who he is…

“Of course,” He assured himself more than anyone else, “But when you say it the way you do, in that sickening little whine of yours… It’s too good, darling, too much.” You reeled as you could hear the grin that tugged at his lips, though the struggle to maintain composure between you is what spoiled you.

“Are you moving… Fast or slow?” You forced him to elaborate, though your voice only continued to dwindle.

“Painfully slow…” His hips instinctually rose and fell in his vice grip, “I wish it were any part of you, darling… Your hand, your pretty mouth… Maybe you’d be sitting in my lap…” He mused wickedly.

You hummed in a whisper, “I wish I could touch you…” You decided to admit, “What would you want me to do to you, Father…?” You dug your interrogation into him as you wandered to your cunt, overflowing with slick need as two fingers dove inside in a curl. How you could have his cock pushing through you right in this moment but you both opted for this pitiful demonstration instead…

He adored how you were tearing yourself apart for him, desperation infecting your words, “Perhaps I’d want you to start with your hand in place of mine so you could realize how utterly insane you make me feel… How hard I am for you with just your voice alone, darling.” The rhythm of his breaths was becoming more hasty, the timbre of his voice growing more tangy as his lust snuck through the confines of his weakening dignity.

“Fuck, I really just wanna feel your hot lips wrapped around me, that filthy mouth of yours… Your flattened tongue running against the underside…”

You egged him on with a moan of approval, his mental painting distracting your movements from exceeding a slow massage inside you, “That sounds so good, I want to be the one making you feel good…”

On that note, he found himself needing to corrupt you. Requiring it. It was a perfect setting to do so, beheld in the eyes of sanctity at its most intense. It made him want to rip his own heart out, how this feeling ravaged his entire being. He wanted to be the only one who could make you feel like you served a purpose, symbiotic destruction as he’d fuck you until you could recall nothing else but the sensation of his cock filling you to the most dizzying brim. As much as he wanted you to worship him, he found the prospect of making you ascend with pleasure more gratifying.

“I bet you’d be the kind to get off on me fucking your mouth, neglecting your aching little cunt…” He loved denying himself the raw contact with his cock, but it was becoming quite the task to uphold as he moved to fumble with his belt buckle.

Your face managed to insulate itself with a blush that, should he have seen it, he would’ve taken you upon first notice, “I’d want you to grip my hair, forcing me to keep eye contact…”

“Good, darling, now you’re imagining… How I’d make you gag looking right into your eyes, as that’s only what you deserve for punishment’s sake.” He managed to free himself from his slacks, with no patience to adjust himself beyond his length protruding through the opening of his fly. Your shallow pants were so close to his ear, through the fine holes of the screen he hallucinated a face to imagine. He watched the apparition of you sway and twitch as you were barely able to remain upright while your fingers pumped inside you.

“Do you often touch yourself in prayer, darling?” He ventured.

“Only if it’s to you… Your voice truly haunts me, especially when you tell me all of this worthless shit, I just… Can’t help myself, Father.”

“I think of you all the time, how close we are right now, how I could fucking destroy you but we continue like this anyway.”

“Why don’t you come out of your little box and fuck me then?”

His damned laugh that drove you up the vaulted cathedral walls sounded once more, wondering how long he could be stowed away like this. It is Sunday after all, but perhaps this schedule 10 minutes before mass was intentional. Dottore was adeptly full of himself as he’d not mind if your screams were heard over the choir, in fact, that’d be ideal. While the confessional wasn’t in the main hall, it wasn’t secluded enough to dampen how his hips would assault the skin of your behind as he took you…

Your offer was too divine to refuse.

[acorpsecalledcorva]

How psychiatrists actually diagnose DID because the DSM is a manual not a diagnostic tool

Excerpts written by Paul Dell from Dissociation and the Dissociative Disorders: DSM-V and Beyond

I am begging y'all to understand that "E. The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment" applies to ALL of the symptoms listed. Not distress over being a system itself.

The DSM and ICD are not suitable diagnostic tools because they're a list of all the currently accepted disorders, for brevity's sake everything is condensed. Diagnostic tools that focus on a smaller subset of disorders are able to get into much more precise symptomology and phenomenology.

A successful diagnostic tool:

a) Can satisfy the criteria set out in the DSM and ICD

2) Is able to detect as many people with the disorder as possible (doesn't under diagnose)

iii) Is able to exclude as many people without the disorder as possible (doesn't misdiagnose)

And most importantly for DID) Is able to capture and identify the full range of patient experience (doesn't diagnose you with depression and calls it a day)

For instance, I know for a fact that my local psychiatric team use a tool that includes a possible diagnosis of BPD but not DID, so if I went through that assessment process I would get a diagnosis of BPD, whereas the MID can diagnose both (plus the other Dissociative disorders and PTSD).

DID is a really tricky thing to diagnose because it's designed to hide itself. The DSM criteria really only focus on the main most obvious and blatant symptoms and are therefore only useful in a minority of cases, the DSM-IV criteria used to require a switch being witnessed by a therapist for fuck sake lmao. Now I might switch in therapy a lot but my alters do their damned best to hide it when it happens. The disorder was hidden from me for a whole 25+ years, did I not have DID when I didn't know? I was just depressed and anxious right? How could I be distressed by alters I didn't know I had? I was absolutely distressed by my symptoms and damn was I relieved to find out I had alters to help with them but I still have DID, I always had DID.

And look, this isn't to tell anyone they're wrong about themselves or their own experiences, but the diagnostic criteria are not for US to interpret. They're for professionals to interpret and discuss and debate and refine to make sure they're actually doing their job properly.

So much of the bullshit in syscourse is just arrogant pedantry over ambiguity in definitions and for a lot of it, other much more qualified people have done it for us

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

TRIGGER ME. (18+ AIZAWA ONE SHOT) [REQUEST FILL]

Pairings: NONE 

Synopsis: In which Aizawa decides to take matters into his own hands to try and ease his stress a little more, but what starts as something fun and interesting when he stumbles across a hypnosis video catered to stronger orgasms turns into a BIG problem when he finds himself unable to break away from the hold his new addiction has on him. (Request Fill for @princeasimdiya12)

Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS BEGONE), Hypnosis (both consensual and non-consensual), Dubcon, Public Stripping, Public Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Edging, Trigger Word for Hypnosis, Heat-like Symptoms, Hints of Dacryphilia, Degradation, Getting Caught, Aizawa in Heat, Comedy 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you! 

Writer’s Note: Thank you so much to @princeasimdiya12 for sending me my very first request! I really hope you enjoy it! And yes, I do requests so I'll be uploading something for it later in the month. Stay safe, y'all! -Jazz

**********

“Fuck!” 

Usually, in the type of activity Aizawa was indulging in tonight, this word would be something he shouted in the sweet privacy and darkness of his bedroom in the late of the night when the dorms were all quiet for the night.

It is that one word that encompasses all the sheer pleasure he feels as he finally, finally, reaches the peak and spurts his cum all over his stomach and hand gripping his fat, veiny cock before the sweet ache of a good orgasm sedates him. 

But tonight, as it has been for the past month, that word does nothing but voice his frustration and peaking anger. Aizawa is not at all pleased for tonight and it’s all because of the stupid stress this month has settled onto his broad shoulders that he can’t escape from. 

Irked, he takes his hand away from his still-achingly hard dick shiny and slick with coconut oil, the head bubbling with precum. He pauses the video on his laptop, the screen depicting the xVideos website where a very gorgeous woman is living her best life as a rope bunny. She dangles from the ceiling, arms, and legs tied, where a very naked and muscular man is fucking her stupid. 

It’s a good video and one of many Aizawa finds himself coming back to. Usually, it hits every single time, but now? It barely does anything to make him burst. He knows that logically it isn’t the porn. It’s him. He’s the problem. 

This has been happening for over a month now. And it’s fucking kill him. Whenever he has the time to finally relax and wind down over a long day of teaching, grading papers, and yelling at the little snots he calls his students, he can never relax or wind down at all. No amount of masturbation is working for him anymore, including his favorite genres of porn. 

Being able to have this time to himself usually fills Aizawa with joy. Call it ridiculous or weird, but to sit back and allow his mind to go to naughtier places as his hand strokes his cock is a form of self-care to him. He doesn’t fuck with drugs or alcohol. A good orgasm is all the addiction he’ll allow himself. For a moment, he doesn’t have to think about training or if his students will pass the next exam and if they’ll ever move past their insecurities to be the best damn pro heroes they can be. All he has to think about is cumming. 

But that hasn’t been the case this month. He hasn’t had a successful orgasm in weeks, and he knows that it’s because of stress. Unfortunately, this has taken its toll on him. He’s been noticing he’s way more hostile at work, snapping at his students more than usual and ready to tear anyone a new one.

Not to mention his appearance–while he’s primarily known for looking like he hasn’t slept in ten years, the dark circles under his eyes have been more prominent lately. Maybe it’s because he’s been staying up all night trying to bust a nut, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep properly without one. 

Even his good friend Hizashi Yamada, aka Present Mic, has taken notice of his friend’s appearance and change in personality. A week ago during their lunch break, he sat down with Aizawa to chat with him. “Yo, ‘Zawa!” he greeted him, usually being way louder but softening his voice to not startle Aizawa. He appreciated that because he was sure he would’ve had Hizashi’s head. 

“What?” he grumbled, slurping down his ramen and holding the cup with the force of a thousand men. Earlier that morning, he attempted to grip his dick the same way and get a quick cum before he was due for classes. 

As you can guess, that didn’t work. 

“You been feelin’ alright?” Hizashi asked, concern evident on his face, his thin eyebrows furrowed at Aizawa. The dark-haired pro looked at his blonde friend, noodles in his mouth. “Yeah?” he replied, but it sounded more like a question. “Why?” 

Hizashi looked a bit nervous as he crossed his legs over each other, his own lunch forgotten. “Well,” he began with a huff, “you just seem tired. And it just seems like you’ve been…well, a bit of a dick lately.” 

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at him, prompting for more of an explanation. Hizashi sighed, twiddling the end of his mustache. “I’m only sayin’ this because you’re my good friend and I hate to see you in this predicament.” 

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Aizawa asked, annoyed. 

“You clearly haven’t been sleeping,” Hizashi explained quickly so as to not piss off his friend more. “Those bags under your eyes get any darker and you’ll have raccoon eyes. And now, some of the students and staff are noticing your behavior. You’re flying off the handles more than usual.” 

Aizawa slowly chewed his noodles and swallowed, but a lump in his throat appeared. ‘Fuck,’ he thought, upset that everyone has been noticing too. Shit, did Principal Nezu notice it? What if he got pulled into the office? 

“You’re not gonna get pulled into Nezu’s office, man,” Hizashi said. Aizawa blanched, realizing he voiced his own humiliating thoughts aloud. “That lil’ mouse loves you! No one’s gonna whip those kids into shape like you do.” He nudged Aizawa’s arm with his elbow. “That’s why I’m here to put an end to this tragedy! So, have you been cumming lately?” 

Aizawa nearly choked on the broth he had in his throat. He had to gulp down tons of water to stop himself from coughing. “What?” he demanded, gawking at Hizashi. 

“Have you been cumming lately?” the blonde repeated simply. “Orgasming. Has that been happening for you lately?” 

Aizawa was at a loss for words. Was his friend really asking him this? “Why the fuck do you care?” he growled lowly. “My bodily functions are none of your business. And plus…hello? We’re in a school?” 

“Oh, come on!” Hizashi scoffed. “There’s no one in here! And we’re friends! We’re supposed to share this kind of stuff with each other, especially if it’s fuckin’ with our daily routine.” He quirked an expectant eyebrow at Aizawa. “So, have you?” 

Aizawa flushed underneath his scarf. How did Hizashi know? Was it all over his face like a book cover? Slowly, he nodded. “Mmm-hmm!” Hizashi hummed, pleased. “I knew it! It’s the same with me–whenever I can’t give myself a good nut, I become a total beast.” 

He leaned in, planting an elbow on the table as he regarded his poor friend. “Is it stress?” he asked. 

Again, Aizawa nodded. “It’s been messing with me,” he sighed, at least glad to have an ear to talk about this to. “All the teaching, the papers, constantly worrying about a villain attack…” He leaned his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do. It’s like I’m stuck in limbo.” 

Hizashi patted his friend’s back comfortingly. “There, there, my friend. I have a solution to this problem!” 

Aizawa glanced at him. That quick, huh? “So what do you suggest I do?” he grumbled, already knowing it’ll be a bullshit idea. 

But Hizashi looked more than happy with this idea. “You usually go for the video porn, yes?” he asked. Aizawa hesitantly nodded. He never really talked about porn like that with Hizashi. “And I’m sure you watch it often.” 

Aizawa nodded again but quickly grew irritated. Where was he going with this? “Then that’s just it!” Hizashi laughed. “You have to think outside the box, my friend! You might be getting tired of the same old shit, and you’re becoming desensitized to it. When you’re stressed it only compounds it, adding to your lackluster orgasms.” 

Aizawa blinked at his friend, never thinking of it that way. “Have you ever tried audio porn?” Hizashi asked. “It’s all the rage these days. Sometimes, all you really need is to hear something rather than see it. Personally, I always go for the masturbation audios aka ramble faps. They get me every time. Something about stimuli.” 

Hizashi then took out his phone and texted Aizawa something that made his phone buzz. “Try it out for yourself and see if you like it,” he said. “I just sent you a link to my favorite website for audio porn. If this works then you owe me a free ramen dinner.” 

Aizawa didn’t agree or disagree with that. He only picked up his phone and stared down at the link leading to the website. “But be warned, my friend,” Hizashi added, his voice dipping into a warning. His eyes grew serious, and Aizawa knew better than to tune his friend out. “Some of this shit can be  become addictive real fast, so watch yourself. After all, it is porn. Just don’t go over your head.” 

Aizawa now glances at his semi-hard dick. Already, the arousal he felt is leaving him, but that need for release is still settled in his core. “Need a shower,” he grumbles to himself, hoping that will ease the tension and hopefully relax him enough to sleep. 

When he gets in the shower, he first sprays himself with cold water to stop the blood from flowing to his cock. Once he’s flacid, he raises the temperature and takes a quick shower with his favorite soap, allowing the water to wash his sins down the drain. Once he’s done, he steps out of the steam, pops on a black hoodie and some sweats without underwear, and settles back down at his computer desk once he’s pack in his living room. 

But even the shower wasn’t enough to get rid of the urge to explode. He glances at the time on his laptop: 12:15 PM. He’ll have to be up in at least 5 hours. “Ugh!” he groans, frustrated and quickly reaching the tipping point of desperation. He runs his hands down his tired face. 

How is supposed to sleep like this? Trick question. He can’t. There is no way in hell he’ll be able to get a good night’s rest if he can’t watch or listen to some good stimuli. 

Listen. 

Hizashi’s advice comes flooding back to him and immediately, he goes into his messages on his laptop where, sure enough, the link Hizashi sent him is still there, untouched and unread. He stares at it for a moment, weighing his options. For one, he’s never listened to straight audio porn before. Sure, sounds help, but he’s always been a visual type of guy. 

And the second thing that makes him hesitate is Hizashi’s warning: “Some of this shit can become addictive real fast, so watch yourself. Don’t go over your head.” 

As fast as the thought comes, it’s gone as Aizawa scoffs to himself. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles incredulously. He’s been watching porn since his teens and he hasn’t become addicted to it. Plus, if audio porn is so addictive, why even send it to him? Hizashi probably said that just to scare him or be dramatic. 

So, with that being in mind, he first connects his AirPods to his laptop (which Hizashi also advised for him to do for a better experience) and then clicks on the link. The link takes him to a website by the name of “Ear Sex” where a set of red, sensual lips are settled between two muffs of a headset as a logo. Below are dozens of audio recordings, either as links or videos, with different choices for genres and tags to search by. 

Aizawa scrolls for a bit, impressed with what the site has to offer. It seems like a big community with many followers and contributors on it. Curious, he decides to scroll through the random collection of the top audios celebrated from 2022. The audio that earned its spot at number one is a video titled “Hypno Sex” with an audio link attached at the bottom for those who prefer links. 

Aizawa clicks on the video and reads the small bio written by the creator “Earwave”: If you decided to click on this audio, thank you, and welcome to my world. Please listen to this at your own discretion with the knowledge that there is a trigger word and know that this audio is only made for the intention of kink. Thank you. 

“Kink, huh?” Aizawa mumbles. Despite his better judgment and figuring it’s just for dramatization, he clicks on the video. It shows nothing but a black screen for a moment, only the sound of someone’s very soothing and sensual voice heard in his AirPods. 

“Thank you for clicking on this video or audio link,” the voice says, “and welcome to my world. In a moment, you will be transported to a world very different from the one we occupy. It will be one of complete nothingness. Nothing but bliss and submission. A loss of control that you will give to me in exchange for utter and complete pleasure.” 

Aizawa sits back in his seat, getting comfortable, and places his hands on his toned stomach. No shame in giving this a try. And if he hates it, he’ll make sure to tell Hizashi exactly how he feels and that he gets no kind of ramen lunch at all. 

“First I would like to disclose that this audio does deal with hypnosis and a trigger word,” the voice announces, her voice still soft and soothing. “If this makes you uncomfortable or turns you off in any way, please exit this audio now. If you’re still here, allow me to take you away from the stress and mundane that may currently be in your life right now for the time being.” 

Aizawa’s brows furrow at the mention of hypnosis. That’s a kink now? Fuck, is this what the kids are into these days? He can’t see how this would have any effect on him though, especially when it’s just an audio recording. 

“Before we start, I’d like you to first relax completely,” the voice gently orders. “Get comfortable, close your eyes, and slowly breathe in and out…” 

Aizawa does as the voice tells him, figuring relaxing would put him right to sleep. The voice keeps telling him breathe in and out and he does so, his chest falling and rising evenly. With every breath, he can feel his stress start to melt away. Maybe he should’ve been doing this instead of watching porn to relax himself. 

“Good,” the voice coos. “Now open your eyes.” 

Aizawa opens them and is suddenly face to face with a swirl of colors: reds, oranges, pinks, blues, yellows. They all swirl and collide like a kaleidoscope on his screen. He is transfixed by it, unable to look away, and he isn’t sure why. 

“The next step is to put you under,” the voice explains, still sensual and soft. “I’m going to give you a trigger word now. The very first time you hear the word, you will immediately start stripping every article of clothing off of you. Socks, underwear, all of it off. I want you completely…naked.” 

Aizawa sharply inhales, gripping the arms of his chair at the seductive whisper in his ears. 

“Then, after you are finally ready for me, I want you to cum all over yourself until you can barely think. Then, and only then, will you finally break the trance you’re in. If you don’t cum, you’re stuck giving all of your control to me. Is that clear?” 

“Y-Yes,” Aizawa whispers into the darkness of his dorm, not sure why that came out. Is this shit really taking effect this quickly? In a fucking audio porn recording? 

“Now let’s begin,” the voice coos. “In three…two…one…mind.” 

In that split second, something happens to Aizawa. Something that has never happened to him in his life. As soon as he hears that word, first, he feels warm. Hot even. He feels suffocated under his hoodie and in his sweats, skin flushed and cock suddenly hard now. 

Then all the control he had over his body previously is gone. It feels as if something, or someone, is controlling him. Like he is inside of himself looking out as he suddenly strips off his hoodie and tosses it somewhere on the floor. Then off goes his sweats until he is sitting completely naked in his desk chair again, the audio still playing. 

“That’s it, honey,” the voice purrs. “Strip for me.” 

If Aizawa had any other clothes on his body, he certainly would. But he doesn’t. He is completely nude, sitting in the semi-darkness of his dorm as the moonlight peeks through the curtains. The light coats his toned abs and pecs in silver, illuminating the hard peaks of his nipples and making the precum coating his cockhead glisten. He is panting, wanton mess, waiting for the voice to give him the next order. ‘What’s happening to me?’ he thinks. 

“If you’re naked now, go ahead and start,” the voice giggles as if the person behind the screen knows exactly how he feels and what they’re doing to him. “Make yourself cum for me, baby.” 

That’s all Aizawa needed to hear. He takes his swollen, hard dick in his hands and immediately starts stroking. He doesn’t go too fast at first–just trying to get a good rhythm going. He is shocked to find himself completely slick and wet with his own precum that must’ve dribbled down his shaft and balls without him noticing. No lube or oil is even needed. 

That’s how Aizawa knows this shit is really working because there’s no way he’s able to lube himself up naturally without some help. ‘Holy shit,’ he thinks. A shocked yet pleased chuckle leaves his lips, quickly turning into a moan as he hits that sweet spot located right at the base of his dick. 

“Good boy,” the voice croons. “You’re doing so well. I just know you’re close to exploding all over yourself, aren’t you?” 

Aizawa lets out a strained grunt that he attempts to muffle by biting his lip. He begins to stroke a little harder and faster as he feels his balls begin to swell. That familiar feeling of release begins to rise, egging him on. He wants desperately to cum. Wants to feel his cream spurting into his hand and his stomach. Strings of moans and curses leave his lips as his hand grips his cock tighter, pumping faster. He doesn’t give a fuck who hears. He just wants to fucking cum. 

“Close,” he grunts to no one in particular. “I’m so, so close!” 

As if hearing him, the voice urges him to finally release. “Come on now, baby,” it teases. “Don’t disappoint me. Cum all over yourself. Cum for me.” 

And sure enough, Aizawa does just that. The feeling tightens in his heavy balls and shoots up into his cock, spurting all over himself. “Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck me!” he whispers fervently, followed by a string of moans and groans of pleasure that would make anyone blush if they heard them. His nut spurts all over his hand and splashes onto his stomach, naked thighs, and (embarrassingly) his laptop screen. 

But he isn’t done yet. The satisfaction that comes from a good orgasm and makes him tired doesn’t settle into his bones. The aftermath of a very strong, insane orgasm has him curling his toes and clenching his muscles, feeling those aftershocks that rock him. His hand continues to stroke his dick, tinier spurts of cum still shooting out. 

“F-fuck!” Aizawa gasps, seeing stars despite his eyes still being open and staring at the screen. He can’t remember the last time he had an orgasm this strong. It nearly knocks him out of his seat. 

“Thank you, baby,” the voice purrs. “You did so well for me. Now that you’ve cum, you should be coming back to your body soon.” 

The aftershocks finally fade after what feels like forever and Aizawa finally slumps in his seat, eyes closed and breathing heavy. When he blinks, he is briefly startled to find himself sitting completely nude in his chair in the dark. His cum-covered hand is on his flacid dick and his laptop screen is now completely black. 

“What the fuck?” he whispers, confused. How long has he been sitting here? Obviously, he knows he was rubbing one out and whatever he was watching worked, but what exactly was he watching before? Why does his mind feel so fuzzy? 

Now in control of his body again, with his free hand not stained in his nut, he moves the mouse on his laptop. Seeing the hypnosis video he was just listening to jogs his foggy memories. ‘So the damn thing worked,’ he thinks to himself, in awe at how quickly it happened. All it took was a trigger word. 

Aizawa smirks to himself, finally feeling less stressed and more than relaxed. He sits back in his chair, smiling. Unfortunately, he’ll have to treat Hizashi to some dinner eventually because now he has the perfect remedy to his problem. 

************** 

The class bell signaling the next period of the day finally rings. Music to Aizawa’s ears. 

After an hour of lectures, his class finally begins to pack up for the day to transition to the next class. “Not repeating this, so listen up,” he says, not even having to scream because his voice has a natural bass. “Exams are next Monday, so make sure you come in here prepared ‘cause I’m not giving any retakes. And next Friday you train with me, at 12 PM sharp. Stretch between classes.” 

“Thank you, Aizawa-sensei!” Mina Ashido hollers as she exits the class, always the bubbliest one in his class. Some other students do the same while others rush out the door, hurrying either to lunch or to their next class. 

Once his classroom is finally empty and the next student shuts the door behind him, Aizawa leans against the wall behind him and exhales in relief. “Finally,” he whispers to himself. Lunchtime. Which means alone time. 

Which means he can finally get his second nut of the day before nightfall where he’ll probably have about three or four until bedtime. For the past two weeks, he’s been able to finally relax and rid himself of the stress of his work through the joyous moments of stroking his dick, uninterrupted by the troubles of his daily life. He’s never felt better! He’s less hostile to his students, wakes each morning ready for the day, and has been getting the best sleep he’s had in months. 

All because of that Earwave hypnosis audio. He listens to it religiously: day, afternoon, evening, and night. Any time he can score himself a moment of silence and privacy, he races for his earbuds, turns on the audio, and allows himself to submit completely to the creator and their trigger word. It’s crazy how it works every single time! No matter how many times he listens and cums, the orgasms and the effects are stronger than ever. After listening to it the first time, curiosity got the best of him, and did some research on hypnosis being used as erotic or kink play. From what he found, erotic hypnosis can increase arousal, create or enhance sexual pleasure, cause hands-free orgasms, and produce new sensations. ‘That explains the intense orgasms,’ he thought to himself as he read through the articles he found. 

He then found himself going to videos where erotic hypnosis was taking place. Most of them involved hypnotizing partners for hands-free orgasms or stimulating them in bondage. Aizawa hadn’t been so fascinated with research since his days in school. He’ll have to find the time to practice having a hands-free orgasm one day, but for now, he has his little piece of heaven which he downloaded into his phone for easier access. 

Call him a junkie, but he has inducted nutting to this audio into his daily routine. He listens to it when he wakes up, during his morning and evening showers, on his breaks during work, before he goes off to sleep…okay, yes, he’s a junkie. But he considers masturbation the healthiest drug and form of relaxation out there. Better than alcohol and drugs, definitely. Plus, it increases stamina. So a little too much isn’t really too much, is it? 

Aizawa keeps doing these mental gymnastics as he moves to his desk and rummages around in his messenger bag for his earbud case. His dick is already hardening in anticipation for this time alone. He looks in every pocket until he can’t look anymore. Then he pats himself down, wondering if he forgot that he stuffed his earbuds inside his clothes. Nothing. 

Then he remembers he left them plugged up to his laptop this morning on his desk. “Fuck me!” he growls, irritated. How did he forget to grab them? How the fuck is he supposed to enjoy his alone time now? 

He realizes seconds later that his alone time was never in the cards for him because, still unbeknownst to him, his kids have decided to want to fuck around and find out in the hallway. “Bakugou, what the hell did you do?!” he hears Mina shriek from down the hallway. Knowing Mina is usually the one to be bright and upbeat, Aizawa realizes this is some deep shit. 

With a huff and now feeling his hardened dick softening from the interruptions, he makes his way outside and down the hallway where he sees Mina alongside Bakugou, Denki, Sero, and Kirishima. Bakugou is up against the wall, his fists clenched. Aizawa doesn’t need to look closer he knows he used his quirk. 

“Damn extra was laughin’ at me!” he angrily growls, glaring at Denki.  “He should’ve known better than to try to fuck with me! You should be mad at him!” 

“Bakugou, you just put a hole in the wall!” Mina shrieks, looking like she’s about to have a heart attack. “What if we get in trouble? I can’t get kicked out!” 

“We?” Sero scoffs. “Shit, who’s ‘we’?” He jabs a finger at Bakugou. “He’s the one who decided to use his quirk out in the halls and break the rules; not me!” Bakugou goes to snap at his friend, but at the sight of Aizawa looming over them, each one of them buttons their lip. 

“The hell is going on here?” he grumbles, glaring at each of his students. “Why aren’t you four in class?” 

They all advert their eyes, except for Kirishima who stands at attention. “Aizawa-sensei!” he exclaims hurriedly. “I was walking to class and saw Bakugou and Denki fighting. I tried to split them up, but then Bakugou pushed Denki against the wall and tried to use his quirk. Sero pulled Denki out of the way just in time, but…” 

He nods over at Bakugou who is standing with his arms crossed, eyes adverted from Aizawa’s. However, Aizawa can see the damage his student is trying to hide: a big ass hole in the wall. “Aw, fuck,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Katsuki, you know the rules: no using quirks for violence OR destroying property.” 

“He started talkin’ shit!” Bakugou yells, snarling at Denki. “I had to teach him a lesson!” Aizawa closes his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. So much for the effects of the audio. 

“Yeah,” Mina scoffs, “and almost kill Denki AND destroy school property so we all get the boot.” She runs a hand through her unruly, pink curls. “Like are you out of your mind, Katsuki?!” 

The two begin to argue, and soon the rest of the friend group jump in to add to the fire. However, all of their yelling seems muffled to Aizawa all of the sudden, like they’re all under water. Then he notices his body seizes and his skin becomes overheated, his clothes suddenly too much for him. 

When he notices how swollen and hard his cock becomes in his slacks, almost like it has a mind of its own, he realizes what just happened. Mina said the trigger word. Mind. ‘Oh, shit,’ he thinks in a panic. ‘Oh, shit, no, no, no, no!’ 

He cannot stop his mind from immediately going blank, his conscious taking the backseat. How is this happening? How is this possible? His fingers begin to itch with anticipation as he goes for his scarf, clutching it in one hand. Mina notices this and blinks at him. “Aizawa-sensei?” she questions. “Are you okay? You look flushed.” 

The others look at him too, confused and startled at their professor’s sudden change in attitude. “Are you feeling sick?” Sero asks, quirking a brow at him. “Should we walk you to Recovery Girl’s office?” 

“Uh…” Aizawa struggles to come up with a lie as his body temperature reaches new heights, making him feel flush with heat. “N-no, just…just…gotta get this shit off!” He wrenches his scarf off and flings it on the floor, revealing his bobbing Adam’s Apple as he swallows harshly. The kids continue to stare at him, shocked. “All of you get to class now or you’re spending lunch with me,” he growls. “We’re done here for now.” 

He abruptly turns away and practically runs down the hallway, hurrying back to his classroom. “What the hell?” Bakugou grumbles from behind him. 

“Aizawa-sensei, wait!” Kirishima shouts. “Your scarf!” But Aizawa is too damn horny to even look. He can’t even think straight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeatedly huffs with each hurried step he takes, his cock painfully hard and his body in need of release. 

When he finally makes it to his classroom though, he is highly disappointed and enraged to find Izuku Midoriya standing by his door. He turns when he hears Aizawa’s footsteps, his emerald eyes widening. “Aizawa-sensei, there you are!” He immediately bows apologetically. “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping I could talk to you about next Friday’s training session.” 

Aizawa is practically bouncing on his heels, the anxiety of stripping in public and whipping his dick out making him hyper. Not to mention how painfully erect he is. He’s never been this hard in his life. His dick is aching, pulsing, desperate to be freed from the clutches of his briefs which he’s sure are soaked in precum by now. “Fuck, Midoriya, can it wait till later?” he sharply inhales. “I-I’m kinda busy right now.” 

His hand immediately goes for the doorknob to his classroom door, clutching it with the strength of God. Izuku looks even more sorry. “Oh, are you?” he gasps, pink coating his cheeks out of embarrassment. “Sorry, sir! Uh, maybe I could email you about it or…” 

The boy’s voice seems to float into the background as Aizawa’s state gets worse and worse. He knows he couldn’t possibly relieve himself with his student standing outside. No…he’ll have to go somewhere else. But first… 

Quickly, he rids himself of his shoes, the urge to strip reaching tenfold. Izuku stares at him in confusion. “Uh, sir? W-Why are you taking off your shoes?” 

“‘Cause they fuckin’ hurt,” Aizawa growls, kicking his shoes off. He’ll remember to scoop them back up later. “Listen, just email me, okay? I-I’ve gotta go.” Before Izuku can even take a breath, Aizawa is quickly running around the corner to find the nearest empty room. Maybe a classroom or a breakroom. Shit, he’d take a broom closet at this point. 

As he’s zooming down the hall like the cops are after him, he barely notices Hizashi standing against the wall on his phone until he nearly knocks him over. “Whoa, Shouta!” he calls after him. “What’s the fire?” 

Aizawa says nothing, too strung out to apologize or even acknowledge him. Finally, when he makes it to a point in the hall where there is no one to be found, he looks from right to left. As if God was answering his prayers, he sees an empty classroom, completely dark and chairs hung on the desks for sweeping. Like a madman, Aizawa hurries to the door and finds the door unlocked. Quickly, he rushes into the room and locks the door from the inside, internally thanking Principal Nezu for his insistence on doors that lock from the inside. 

Once he knows he is alone, he can finally relax. Immediately, he starts to strip. Jumpsuit unzips and comes down to his ankles, revealing his muscled body, toned thighs, and stomach sinewy with black hair. Briefs come off, freeing his aching cock dripping in precum that his happy trail leads down to. Even his socks are pulled off until he is completely and utterly nude. 

Now that that problem is out of the way, he can focus on the bigger issue that is only getting bigger as we speak. Like muscle memory, his hand immediately moves to his aching cock and grips the base the way he likes. With his shaft being so slick, he has no need for lubrication. He begins fucking his hand immediately, slowly at first, allowing himself time to build up the tempo. 

The feeling is euphoric to Aizawa. His head drops back immediately, eyes fluttering closed. “Oh, fuck,” he moans softly. “Fuck me.” 

He bends his knees a bit and thrusts into his hand a little bit faster, the urge to explode quickly building. He can feel that familiar knot in his stomach tightening, warmth in his stomach spreading to his toes and fingertips. “Goddamn,” he whispers into the darkness. The only sounds are of his hushed moans and the wet, slick sounds of his hand stroking his dick. At this rate, he’ll cum. 

“Yoshimada-sensei!” Aizawa’s heart lurches into his throat at the sound of Kirishima’s voice coming from outside the classroom. His quickened stroking gets slower, but he never stops. “Did Aizawa-sensei go run by here? We have his scarf.” 

“Really?” Hizashi is outside too. Aizawa can see his silhouette standing in front of the classroom door. He scuttles back farther away from the door, biting his lip to keep his sounds at bay. “Seesh, he never goes without this. Must’ve been in a hurry.” 

“He seemed like he was ill.” Mina enters into view in the classroom window too. “I wanted to talk to him, but he said he was pretty busy.” 

“Oh, was he now?” Hizashi hums, sounding suspicious. Aizawa inches farther and farther into the darkness, not wanting to be seen through the window. “Thank you, children!” Hizashi cheerfully says. “I’m sure he’d be very happy to know you have his precious scarf back.” 

Aizawa turns to hurry to the back of the classroom to avoid being exposed, but doesn’t count on knocking into a desk. The sound of the desk’s legs scidding across the floor makes fear surge into his stomach. ‘Fuck!’ he thinks. He is sure to get caught now. But the fucked thing about it is that it doesn’t turn him off at all. In fact, his cock gets harder and his balls get fuller at the idea of being found in here–a naked, desperate mess. 

He’s a fucking pervert, he realizes. 

“The hell was that?” he hears Bakugou grumble, confused. With his eyes set dead on the door, he begins to grow closer to reaching his limit, just as he sees Hizashi get closer to the door, no doubt reaching for the doorknob. 

Aizawa begins to sweat all over as he hears the door click. His hand doesn’t stop, and neither does the urge to cum. It’s rising, building, threatening to spill over his hand and expose him. He bites his bottom lip to keep from shouting, even tries to think of anything that will turn him off. ‘God, please, no,’ he thinks, panic settling in his chest. ‘Don’t cum, don’t cum!’ 

Fortunately for him, the bell ending the current period cuts through the silence. Hizashi’s shadow moves away from the door. “Oh, there’s the bell!” he announces. “You kids should be heading off to your next class. See you later this afternoon!” 

Aizawa can’t hear anything else he and the kids say afterwards because he’s too busy cumming his brains out. It ascends on him in a rush that has his ears ringing and his cells on fucking fire. “Fuck!” he groans, biting his lip to keep his volume to a minimum as he finally releases into his hand. He feels his cum spurt onto his hand and lower stomach, all warm and creamy. Whimpers and grunts leave his lips as his toes curl against the tiled classroom floor, lost in the abyss. 

When he finally is released from his state, it doesn’t take long for him to realize what happened. Quickly, before someone comes in for class, he takes a few tissues from the teacher’s desk and wipes himself off. Then he’s hurrying back into his clothes (minus his shoes and scarf) and composing himself as he walks to the classroom door. 

He peeks his head outside to make sure no one is around before he slowly exits the classroom and shuts the door behind him. He goes to sneak off to his classroom, trying to seem as discreet as possible. So far, so good. The sound of someone clearing his throat stops him short. He turns, finding Hizashi leaning against the wall with Aizawa’s scarf in his crossed arms. “Your kids left you this.” 

He tosses Aizawa his scarf who catches it and clutches it to his chest. Hizashi pushes himself off the wall, eyeing Aizawa down. “I was wondering where you were at lunch. Why were you in there?” He nods at the empty classroom, suspicious. 

Aizawa feels himself flush as he thinks of a good lie to get his friend off his dick. “Phone call,” he grumbles, and that is all he responds with as he heads back to his room to start the next class, leaving Hizashi with a confused and skeptical look on his face. 

One thing he knows for sure: he’ll have to surely wear earmuffs from now on. 

************** 

To say Aizawa is losing it is an understatement. 

He sits on his couch in total silence, the TV cut off and his phone untouched. He sits shirtless, only in his jeans that sag below his narrow hips and V-line. He doesn’t feel bad for walking around like this all day due to it being a Saturday afternoon, but instead of relaxing and taking the load off for the weekend, he is cooped up in his dorm, slowly going insane and living in total isolation. 

He’s been living like this for almost three weeks since his incident at UA High. Since then, the hypno audio he’s come to love has taken the back burner and he’s been very, very careful about existing in the outside world. In between classes, whether he’s walking the halls or eating his lunch in the breakroom, he puts in earplugs to block out the sounds of background conversations, afraid of hearing his trigger. 

He did this for about a week until he bought himself some earmuffs and explained to his students that he had eardrum surgery. “I’m sensitive to loud noises,” he had lied through his teeth. “So do me a favor and keep it the hell down.” He glanced at Bakugou who sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. It seemed to work on the kids, but his friends were a whole other story. Hizashi and Nemuri aka Ms. Midnight were all over him, asking him what happened and how long he’d been stuck like this. 

‘As long as it takes me to shake this shit,’ Aizawa thinks to himself now, staring up at the ceiling. His laptop sits on his coffee table open, revealing multiple tabs of research to undo hypnosis and un-trigger certain words. He hasn’t found much yet. 

He runs his hands down his face, frustrated. He hates living like this: avoiding his friends because of his bad choice. He’s been doing a good job at it too. Sure, he’s an introvert, but he doesn’t mind a good dinner with his closest friends to unwind after a day of teaching and training. 

But he’s been avoiding that too, going so far as to head straight to his dorm and order takeout after work is through. He’s been avoiding people altogether, so afraid of hearing that word and humiliating himself in public. This is better than stripping himself naked in front of people and whipping his dick out, he tells himself. He won’t give up though. Not until he’s free of this trap, no matter how earth-shattering the orgasms are. He’ll just have to find another way to cum. Maybe he can buy himself one of those prostrate vibrators or– 

The sound of his doorbell buzzing makes him jump. “Helloooo?” Nemuri’s voice like tinkling bells drifts through his door. “Shouta, you up? It’s your friends!” 

Aizawa huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose hard. “Oh, fuck,” he laments. He should’ve known they’d visit him, especially today. After all, it’s a special occasion. Sighing, he rises from his couch and makes the short stride to his door to open it, revealing Nemuri and Hizashi dressed to the nines. “What?” he grumbles. 

Hizashi, in his black tux with a red rose tucked in his coat pocket, leans against the door. “Hello to you, too, friend,” he greets with a grin. “Where’s your fit at? The Pros’ Gala is in, like, fifteen minutes!” 

The Pros’ Gala, specifically in Japan, happens every year to celebrate the accomplishments of pro heroes and to meet others that are up and coming. Not to be confused with the Heroes’ Gala which happens all over the globe to celebrate heroes, both pros and those still in school, in different countries and doesn’t happen until the end of the year. Though specifically thrown in Japan, Pros’ Gala is still one of the most highly publicized events in the nation. 

Aizawa remembers getting an invite (as he usually does) a month ago. He also remembers getting a reminder for it two weeks ago and ignoring it. He didn’t plan on attending, especially in his state. There would be nothing worse than to hear his trigger, strip off his suit, and jack off in front of his peers and those cameras. He huffs, rolling his eyes. “I told you I wasn’t going, alright? I’m busy with grading exams and plus, I don’t even have a suit.” 

“Good thing we brought back-up.” Hizashi grins cheekily as he presents Aizawa with an Armani suit, still in the plastic, that he hid behind his back. “Aren’t we such good friends?” Nemuri giggles, looking dashing in her burgundy dress and matching heels. Aizawa shakes his head. “Thanks but no thanks.” 

“Shouta, what’s going on with you?” Nemuri asks, frowning at him. “You always make an effort to come out for the Gala!” She leans in, lowering her voice an octave. “And not only that: we’ve been noticing you seem…off, lately.” 

Aizawa’s heart picks up speed. They noticed. Of course, they noticed. “Off?” he parrots. 

Nemuri looks at Hizashi who nods, giving her the go. “You barely socialize with us anymore,” she pouts. “Sure, you’re an introvert, but you come out when you want to. But we haven’t seen you in almost three weeks! Not to mention how you rush off to your dorms whenever school finishes.” 

“And then there are the earmuffs,” Hizashi adds. “You told the kids you had eardrum surgery, which we know is BS, now they think you’re going deaf and started blaming Bakugou for his constant screaming.” 

Aizawa flushes with embarrassment and shame. He hates lying to his friends, but they’d never understand his situation. They’d ask too many questions and even look at him like a perv. “We’re just worried about you,” Hizashi says, concern in his eyes. 

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Aizawa reassures him. “I’m just…” He tries to think of a good lie, but nothing comes to mind. He’s exhausted all of his resources for something to stop his peers from worrying. 

But at the sight of his friends’ concerned stares and the Armani suit they paid for with their own money for him, he knows he can’t refuse anymore. Dammit. “Alright,” he groans, defeated. “Alright, fine, I’ll go.” 

Nemuri shrieks with happiness while Hizashi pumps his fist. “But,” Aizawa adds, cutting into their celebration, “I only go for two hours and if there’s no alcohol, it’s one.” 

“Deal!” Nemuri squeals excitedly. She shoves the suit at Aizawa. “Now go get dressed before the car gets here. Ooooh, this is gonna be so much fun!” 

But it’s not fun for Aizawa, at all. While he’s in the backseat of the car with Hizashi who sings at the top of his lungs to the radio with Nemuri, he puts his earmuffs on to one, avoid Hizahi’s ear-piercing voice (even without his quirk) and two, avoid being triggered into his hypnotic state. He doesn’t calm down–he grips the leather seat underneath him so hard that he can feel his nails digging into the plush seat. His body wound tighter than a drum, and his muscles seize as if bracing for that word. 

He doesn’t get any better when he finally arrives at the Gala with Hizashi and Nemuri. He doesn’t pose for pictures on the red carpet nor stay to converse with his peers, only giving some a nod, but then again, they’re used to his introverted, socially awkward behavior. When inside the Gala building and goes into the ballroom, he is sat at a table with Nemuri, Hizashi, and Emi Fukukado aka Ms. Joke who makes it her mission to flirt and crack bad jokes that he can barely hear after switching his earmuffs with his earplugs. 

Half an hour passes, and though nothing happens, he still can’t calm down. He’s full of two glasses of champagne at this point, but nothing is soothing him. He is on edge, his eyes jetting from the jazz band playing next to the main stage to the mouths of the guests moving as they chat and laugh among each other. The main ballroom is packed with pros of all ages and statuses, most he knows. But he can’t bring himself to say hi. He’s just too damn scared. 

Someone taps his arm and he turns, finding Hizashi looking concerned. Aizawa takes a plug out of his ear and leans toward him to hear his friend better. “Man, are you okay?” he murmurs. “You look like you’re ready for someone to shoot up the place.” 

“Don’t joke about that,” Aizawa hisses as Hizashi chuckles, sipping on his third glass of champagne. “And yeah, I’m good. Just wondering when these paparazzi are gonna take a hint.” He glares at the camera lens he clearly sees peeking out of some potted plants along the wall for decoration. Of course, they’d be here. 

“Least they’ll get your good side,” Hizashi jokes, clinking his glass with Aizawa’s. 

This manages to make Aizawa crack a smile until the band’s rendition of a popular jazz song fades and the sound of a mic turning on makes him grip the tablecloth. All attention is now on one of the hosts standing on stage. “Attention, ladies and gentlemen!” he cheerfully says. “We’d like to begin tonight by giving you all a generous welcome and a thank you for coming together tonight. Invited to the stage now is someone who isn’t just better with words, but with bringing others together in dire times of need. Please give me a hand in welcoming the symbol of peace, All Might!” 

Applause fills the air as Toshinori Yagi aka All Might takes the stage, shaking the hand of the host. He isn’t in his All Might form–he has decided to take his real form for tonight; all skinny and lanky. Though he still has a considerable amount of muscle mass, it’s nothing compared to his buff All Might form. He is dressed in a nice gray suit as he moves to the podium with some cue cards. 

The ballroom falls silent, ready to listen in on his speech. “Thank you,” he says into the mic, “and good evening. I decided to not take the stage in my usual form tonight. I wanted to be real in front of you people.” He stands tall and proud of his form, which Aizawa respects most about him. “I stand before you tonight as not the symbol of peace, not the number one pro hero, but as a man who only wishes to protect others.” 

He glances down at his card before continuing, eyeing the entire ballroom. “Together, we sit here as people who share the same dreams of protecting others from harm. We share the same heart. The same soul. The same mind.” 

Like a drug taking over his system, the trigger is immediate. Aizawa’s body and mind react before he can even process what’s happening. His mind immediately goes blank and a switch is flipped that instantly has him panting, sweating, and hard as a rock. ‘No!’ he thinks, panicking. ‘No, no, no, not here!’ 

He grips the table with so much force that his knuckles turn white. He grits his teeth as he feels his cock push against his pants, aching and desperate for release. Oh, God, it hurts. He can feel his eyes prick with tears at the ache in his pants, wanting, needing to be touched. He begins to feel hot in his suit, his collar too tight and the fabric uncomfortable on his skin. “Oh, fuck,” he whimpers quietly to himself. 

Nemuri suddenly turns to glance at him. “Hm?” she hums, her eyes worried. “Shouta, are you alright, honey?” 

Aizawa doesn’t notice his hand on his tie until he’s undoing it and tossing it aside. “Y-Yeah,” he softly stutters. “J-Just feelin’ hot.” He goes for his suit jacket next, stripping himself as Nemuri watches, confused at his change in behavior. He tries to focus on Toshinori’s speech, but he can’t. The urge to strip himself and get his hands on his dick is too much. 

Now Emi is staring at him too, along with Hizashi. “Hey, what’s the matter, Easerhead? Champagne got your tongue?” Emi snickers at her own joke, but no one else is. They’re too busy staring at Aizawa as he pops a couple buttons to his crisp button-down shirt. ‘No!’ he tells himself. He can’t do this here. He refuses! 

Quickly, he rises from his seat. He does it so fast that he nearly knocks over his glass of champagne. The sound of the chair squeaking across the floor causes several people to stare up at him curiously. “Shouta, what’s up?” Hizashi questions, a confused scowl on his face. 

Aizawa backs away, leaving his tie and suit jacket at the table. The heat of his body grows, desperate to be free of his clothes. “Excuse me, but I-I’ve gotta get out of here,” he gasps. “I need air!” He turns around and hurries out of the ballroom, heading right towards the hall leading to the bathrooms and emergency exits. 

“Wait, Shouta!” Hizashi calls behind him, but Aizawa doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He knows if he stops he’ll strip himself naked and cum in front of everybody. He’ll never be able to live it down. So he ventures out of the ballroom’s double doors into the hallway. He knows from being here dozens of times that the nearest bathroom is right next to the ballroom, meaning he’ll definitely be found and heard. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he shouts, rushing down the hallway. Luckily, it’s empty so no one sees him acting crazy as he looks from left to right, up and down the hall. When he turns a right corner, he comes to another ballroom with unlocked double doors. 

Slowly, he walks towards them and peeks inside, finding the entire room to be dark and empty. He could cry with happiness. “Thank you,” he whispers to the ceiling, promising to go back to saying grace before he eats for this gift. 

Quickly, he rushes inside and shuts the door behind him. When he is sure that he is alone, standing in the pure black of the dark room, he gives into the trigger. “Last time,” he whispers hoarsely as he strips himself completely of his clothes. “Last fuckin’ time.” 

The rest of his Armani suit comes flying off of him, the articles of clothing lying discarded on the floor. This includes the dress shoes that he kicks off and socks. He now stands in the warm, dark room, feeling completely and utterly relaxed. He looks down, finding his cock to be unbelievably hard, twitching, and dripping in precum. “Jesus,” he whispers. 

He gently brushes the base of his dick and shivers as the warm yet rough pads of his calloused fingertips graze the sensitive skin. He grips his cock and immediately begins to slowly pump up and down. He twitches and throbs in response to the tight grip on his dick, causing him to begin to slowly fuck his hand now wet with his precum. “Fuck,” he softly moans. “Oh, fuck!” 

His head falls back and his eyes flutter closed, falling into the bliss of being completely out of control of his situation. His hips begin to move on their own, pumping and thrusting faster into his hand which strokes in time. Wet, slick sounds of his hand stroking his cock fill the air along with the soft moans and grunts that leave his lips. His balls, heavy with cum, begin to swell, signaling that he’s ready to reach the point of no return. 

His mind is blank, only filled with the urge to cum. That warm feeling he has come to love fills his core as he pumps his hips faster and faster. Tears pool in his eyes, threatening to fall down his face. “Gonna cum,” he whimpers. “Gonna…gonna…” His eyes squeeze tight and his arm begins to ache from how fast he’s stroking his dick, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to cum. 

‘Cum all over yourself, baby,’ he hears the voice of Earwave coo in his head. ‘Cum for me.’ 

Finally, he does. The pleasure he feels reaches heavenly heights, causing him to curl his toes. “Fuck!” he shouts, throwing his head back to the tiled ceiling as tears of relief drip down his handsome face. He doesn’t try to keep his voice down as he cums all over himself–his hand, his stomach, his thighs. Cum spurts onto the floor at his feet and some onto his toned abs, load after load dripping down his cock. He keeps stroking, his mouth open in a silent O at the pleasure. 

He goes and goes until he can’t anymore. Until his balls are empty and he is sure he’s overstimulating himself. The fog of his hypnotized state vaporizes and he finds himself naked and standing in the aftermath in the dark. His body loosens and he heaves a sigh, feeling normal finally. He expects to find himself in his situation so he doesn’t even try to get dressed too quickly. 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to be suddenly washed in a bright light that penetrates the cloak of darkness he once stood in. He also doesn’t expect to see the number of people standing in the room with him, staring at him with wide eyes as if they can’t believe they’re seeing a pro hero with his dick in his hand. 

On his left stands a group of waiters in their uniforms setting up for the next course, trays and glasses in hand. On his right stands a camera crew testing their cameras for pictures and footage from the Gala. 

And behind him are by far the worst group of people who could’ve seen him like this: Hizashi, Nemuri, and Ms. Joke stand on the threshold of the ballroom, mouths open and eyes wide at the sight of their friend and colleague in some predicament. Two security guards stand behind him too, equally as shocked and disturbed. 

“Oh, shit,” he utters. 

The silence is tense and thick; you couldn’t cut it with a knife. You’d need a damn chainsaw. Aizawa feels like a zoo animal being gawked at from behind a cage. He is frozen to the spot, not able to process words or movement as he stays stuck to his spot, humiliated and embarrassed. 

Hizashi is the first one to speak and cut through the deafening silence. “U-Uh,” he cuts into the silence. He abruptly turns towards the two guards behind him. “Sorry about this, fellas! Looks like Eraserhead isn’t hurt. Just…preoccupied.” He glances at Aizawa who does his best to cover his now-flaccid dick. 

Hizashi steps into the room, arms raised. “Don’t worry, folks! He just needed some time alone. Everyone gets socially awkward now and again. I know I do.” He chuckles nervously before waving everyone out of the room. “If everyone could please give us some privacy? I need some time to chat with my friend here.” 

The waiters and camera crew waste no time doing so. Each one hurries out the door, one at a time, walking past Aizawa with adverted gazes. Hizashi stands by the door, waving everyone out. “Everything’s cool, everything’s fine, don’t worry, thanks!” he hurriedly says with a wide, false grin on his face. He nods at Nemuri and Emi who stand there, cheeks pink and all nervous smiles. “You ladies, too.” 

Nemuri does her best to hide her smile as she turns to leave. “Oh, my,” she giggles, a hand on her mouth. Emi is still staring at Aizawa’s physique as Hizashi shuttles her out the door. “I’m glad to know that foot size thing isn’t a myth,” she purrs, making Nemuri cackle. Aizawa blushes, quickly moving to put on his briefs. 

Once the room is empty, Hizashi shuts the door. With a huff, he crosses his arms and saunters up to Aizawa. He is neither mad nor disappointed. If anything, he looks sorry for Aizawa. “Well, my friend, you’ve got some explainin’ to do,” he hums. “And not just to me. You’ve got Nemuri, Ms. Joke, the poor staff you violated by jacking it in front of ‘em, and the security guards we had search for you alongside us in a panic after you left the room.” 

Aizawa flushes with embarrassment and guilt. “Hizashi, I–” 

“And the poor souls behind that security camera,” Hizashi continues, nodding up at the top right corner of the ceiling. Aizawa’s eyes widen in horror. “Behind the what?” he snaps. 

He turns, finding the obvious lens of a camera stuck to the top right corner of the tiled ceiling. There’s no doubt whoever is behind it saw him and his dick. “Fuck!” he shouts, running his hands through his hair. “I’m screwed. I’m gonna lose my license and my job and–” 

“Oh, hush!” Hizashi scoffs, patting him on the shoulder. “Principal Nezu adores you; someone has to be hard on those kids and it can’t be me. Plus, you’re Eraserhead! You’d have to do way more to lose your license as a pro hero than simply beating your meat.” 

Aizawa cringes at the term, but then again, that’s what the fuck he was doing. He sighs in defeat, standing in his briefs with his very supportive friend. “So I take it I was right then?” Hizashi asks, a hand on his narrow hip. 

Aizawa doesn’t speak, his pride enabling him not to admit it. But Hizashi knows better. He chuckles pridefully as he wraps an arm around his friend, winking at him. “How ‘bout that ramen dinner, hm?” 

Aizawa has no choice but to do so. After getting dressed and sneaking out one of the exits, they ditch the Gala, call an Uber, and head straight for the nearest ramen place. An hour into dinner, they sit at a private booth in front of two steaming bowls of ramen (one spicy with extra pork, one not) and several empty glasses of beer that Aizawa definitely needed after the night he’s had. 

Hizashi eyes him from under the warm glow of the lantern above them. He stripped himself of his suit before coming in to reveal the Plus Ultra tee underneath. “You didn’t heed my warning, did you?” he sighs. “You got caught up in that site, didn’t you?” Aizawa doesn’t respond, slurping down his noodles to avoid admitting to his sins. “Which audio was it?” Hizashi pushes, raising an eyebrow. 

Aizawa glances nervously at him from over his bowl. With a sigh, he lowers his chopsticks. “It was a hypnosis audio,” he mumbles. “I got curious, listened to it, and…” He leans back into his seat, his body shivering at the thought of the many good nuts he’s had because of that one audio. “It gave me the strongest orgasm of my life,” he sighs. “Fuck, Hizashi…I’ve never felt that good. My stress was no longer a problem!” He balls a hand under his chin, rubbing at his scruff in thought. “Except there was a trigger word.” 

“Oooh, yeaaah,” Hizashi hisses through his teeth. “That’ll do it. I’m not gonna ask about the word, so don’t worry, but what happens to you when you hear it?” 

“I always get the undying urge to strip and cum on the spot,” Aizawa confesses. “Doesn’t matter where I am. I’m immediately hypnotized.” 

Hizashi makes a noise between a wheeze and a gasp. “Well, that explains a lot!” he shouts. “Shit, Shouta! Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve told you those erotic hypno audios aren’t to be fucked around with. You have to be very careful.”  

“I didn’t think about it, alright?” Aizawa grumbles, flushing under the lantern light. “Even when I did the research, I didn’t stop listening to it. I-I couldn’t!” He feels like a perverted loser even explaining this to Hizashi. Giving up everything else important to him in his life for a good orgasm? He’ll never be able to live this down. 

“So you only made it worse,” Hizashi huffs. “Well, I hope you learned your lesson, ‘Zawa.” 

Aizawa slowly nods as he takes a sip of his fourth beer. “Have I,” he grumbles. “No more audios for me, at least not for a while. And though erotic hypno is nice, that might have to take the back shelf too.” He’d find another way to ease his stress. Maybe a nice trip to a sauna or a sex toy. Plus, he’s sure his body and his cock won’t be desensitized to porn anymore after so much time without it. So maybe there are some silver linings. 

Hizashi nods, agreeing with him. “Yeah, that would probably be in your right mind to do so.” 

At the same time Aizawa’s eyes widen as he stares daggers at his friend, his body goes rigid, his mind blank, and his cock hard. Hizashi’s eyes widen in astonishment as he watches his friend’s demeanor change right at the flip of a switch. Aizawa grips the table and he begins to kick off his shoes. “You son of a bitch,” he snarls. 

Hizashi caws like a bird with laughter as he claps his hands. “Oh, shit!” he cackles. “That actually fucking worked!” 

Aizawa stands so fast that the beer glasses clank together. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” he growls, enraged, but he can only think about getting himself out of his clothes and blowing another load into his hand. Promising to murder his friend later, he quickly moves away from the table and practically races to the bathroom, not caring if anyone is in there or not. 

Hizashi stays put, giggling at his friend’s pain as their cute waitress comes back with a pitcher of beer. “More beer, fellas?” she chirps, then frowns when she sees Aizawa’s empty seat. 

“He’ll take two, please,” Hizashi says with a wink. He snickers as he watches Aizawa disappear into the bathroom, leaving his shoes outside the door. “Believe me; he’ll need ‘em after this.” 

THE END.

[steviewashere]

Still a WIP

Hey, so this is part of a chapter I will be posting in my fic: We Share This Life. It's already not a very happy story, I'm telling you right now. And this chapter is also not that happy at all. But, I feel like torturing y'all. So I'm posting it. And y'all will have to painstakingly wait until the rest of the fic is flushed out to get the entirety of this chapter. Enjoy :)

For full context, I encourage you to read the current story. Yes, I'm still updating. Yes, it's slow going. Yes, I wrote this first.

CW: Medical Diagnosis, Talks of Death, Mentions of Disordered Eating (In reference to symptoms) (That's the most you're getting out of a content warning, I don't want to spoil the whole thing.)

———————— He hunches over in pain three days after Thanksgiving.

Steve’s using his crutches. He’s standing in the center of their living room in the middle of a game of charades. The word is ‘Bartending’. His hands, glorious and large lift from the crutches. They mime the glass. The alcohol. And then—

He hunches over in pain three days after Thanksgiving.

The rest of them—Nancy, Robin, and Eddie—are sitting clueless on the couch. Elbows leaning hard onto their knees. Robin shouts, “Food poisoning!”

And Nancy scoffs because, “Why would we have put food poisoning in the hat of topics?”

Eddie’s clueless, but concerned. Concerned because the pain seems too real. Too visceral. Too…Obtainable. He hesitates a guess, “Childbirth? No…What would the—“ And he takes a closer look at his wonderful Steve. His legs are shaking. And he’s biting his lip hard enough to make it pale. And his eyes are watering behind his glasses. His skin turns a light shade of grey. “Baby?” Eddie softly calls. Steve is wearing his hearing aids. And he doesn’t hear him.

He doesn’t hear Eddie at all.

“Steve?” Because fuck petnames right now. “Steve, are you—what’s going on?” But when he can only hear the guttural, gargling pained moan part from Steve’s lips, he realizes this is no charade. This isn’t some game. Steve is hurting. Miserably.

He finds himself standing and rushing over before he can catalog he’s even doing it. His palms swamp the bony knobs of Steve’s elbows. He’s half-dragging, half-walking him over to the couch. And then he’s sat and Eddie’s crouched on the floor.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Because Steve is sobbing and moaning like somebody is carving him from the inside out. He can’t form words through the pain. His breaths go labored, both from the pain and the panic of having so many eyes on him. But Eddie can’t make Robin and Nancy stop looking. He can’t bother. His eyes are on Steve. They’re tracking the sweat beading on his forehead. His limp hair. His everything.

A palm, his left. Or…is it his hand? Is that his hand, is it somebody else? There’s a gold band on one of the fingers. The skin is pale. Eddie’s pale, he’s seen his own skin. He’s seen his own skin and yet he can’t make out the colors or the shapes in front of him. Steve is moaning, groaning in pain. So, Eddie can do what he knows is best. Setting his hand where Steve is clutching.

Because Eddie massages him on the couch. And he smears that disgusting weed cream on his aching joints. And he loves Steve, god damn it. He loves him like the moon can love the ocean or a person loves the spirit, not the body.

Where his palm lands under Steve’s, he stills. He’d wondered about the recent weight Steve had gained, not out of anything malicious, more out of adoration. He’ll have Steve in all forms. He’s been soft for many years at this point. This shouldn’t be anything new. Yet, under the softness of his palm, is the taut hardness of Steve’s abdomen. Almost bloated. Though, if Eddie thinks on it, their dinner hasn’t even been delivered yet. And Steve hasn’t had anything to eat since…well, since breakfast. He should’ve taken that as a warning, shouldn’t he have? When Steve looked up at him at lunch time, when Eddie was offering him a bowl of soup, when he said through a new roughness in his voice, “Stomach hurts. Not hungry.” Shouldn’t he have taken the warning when he thinks back on the days before? Steve’s erratic, disordered eating. His whimpers at night, even in his sleep, though no nightmares prevalent. Or the hisses as he twisted. Even the grunts when he was simply reclining on the couch, television playing some static cable premiered football game.

Eddie swipes his palm back and forth over the hard muscle. And he holds his other hand on Steve’s left bicep. And for the first time since he was forced to as a little kid, he prays. Already on his knees, hands on his body of choice to worship, and he prays like it may save them.

The groaning turns to yowling.

And Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

Steve starts hunching over in pain three days after Thanksgiving.

——— The doctor appointment is next day.

There’s growth on his stomach lining. The protruding to his abdomen and the hardness under Eddie’s palm, it’s a tumor. He gets the phone call while he’s at work. While he’s behind the desk at the record shop, maintaining his inventory, readying himself for a weekend trip out of town to pick up some more music. But then his phone rings.

“Y’ello?” He answers.

“Hey,” Steve greets, breathy. Shakily down the line. He’s walking somewhere. There are cars zooming behind him. The rustle of the wind. Eddie can only hope he took his scarf with him to this appointment. He would’ve gone, but he couldn’t find anybody to keep the shop open.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie greets back. He keeps his voice soft. Like they’re laying under the blanket in their bedroom, sharing kisses, whispering secrets into one another’s mouths, fingers tracing over long ago healed scars. “How’d it go?”

By the way Steve sighs, Eddie knows to not expect good news.

“There’s a growth in my stomach,” he mutters. Then he’s exhaling hard. “It’s…They’re saying it’s possible that it’s adenocarcinoma of the stomach? I don’t—“ He huffs and Eddie’s chest pulses. “—They suspect it’s from a combination of cigarettes and stomach surgeries. Y’know, the surgeries after the bats? And then from stomach ulcers that I had to get surgically removed.”

Eddie sits in the silence of his shop for a moment. He’d turn off the music for the day. Just to sit and calm himself. To recollect his mind and be able to figure out the numbers. He’s worked better in silence a good majority of his life. But now. Now, it’s suffocating. “What’s the next—“

“I have an appointment in three days to get it better looked at. They suggested a cancer center not too far from here. I’m driving out there. Get a better understanding of this,” he nonchalantly explains. As if, maybe, this isn’t affecting him as bad.

How is he not terrified, Eddie has to wonder.

Steve takes another deep breath. And on the exhale he admits what Eddie wanted to know, “I’m scared, Eds.” His voice tiny. Breaking in a way Eddie hasn’t heard since Steve’s seizure diagnosis back in 1987. He continues, “I don’t know—This is gonna be the way I die? I’ve sacrificed so much bullshit. And I die from fucking stomach cancer?” He’s getting angry. A place where Eddie won’t know how to calm him down over the phone.

“Stevie, honey, you’re not gonna die. That won’t happen—“

“How can you be so sure?” He sniffles and chuffs. “How can you be so sure that I won’t die from this, Eddie? That I just—That I just won’t wake up one day?”

“Because I know you, Steve,” Eddie urges. Voice becoming firm and large. ���I know you. You fight things tooth and nail. You don’t like failure. And you don’t like giving up.” He stands from his stool at the counter. And paces up and down the aisles of miscellaneous records. The album their wedding song is from—The Stranger by Billy Joel—is tucked neatly at the front of the bin he stops at. It’s cover worn. Tattered. Aged with memories and time. His eyes are watering. “You don’t give up,” he pushes on. “You’re gonna get this checked out. If you have to do chemotherapy, I’ll be there to hold you and to steady the vomit bucket and to rub your back.” He sighs. “You don’t give up. And you trust me when I say right now, you won’t die.

“You won’t. You’re resilient and you’re lovely and you’re the beacon of light that everybody in our lives relies on. You are a torch, a flame. You are everything, Steve Harrington. This cancer will be nothing, you hear me?

“You live because you’re Steve Harrington, my husband. My husband and my soulmate.” With a sigh and his mucus slick voice, “And I love you.”

The other side is quiet. A stillness to it that horrifies him. Though, there is the background noise. Cars and wind and birds and people and cars and wind and birds and people and cars and wind and birds and—

“I’m scared,” Steve mutters again.

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie says, shrinking back to softness. Because it’s true. And his heart is breaking. And there’s fire under his feet. The store is dusty and the blinds are shut. Everything is closing in on him. Music can’t save him from this. The silence, it’s suffocating, but it’s nearly all he can handle. “I know. I’m—I—I’m scared, too.” His heart is breaking further. And his hands are shaking. The thrum to his pulse is red hot and pouring into every crevice of his body. He’s a bag of blood with thoughts and feelings. Mushy and red. The sorrow on his tongue, bitter like bile. He wants to kiss Steve, wants to taste his morning breath, hear him whimper, feel the vibrations of every bitten back moan, the stretch of his sleepy smile. Wants to kiss the furrow between his eyebrows he knows is there. Wants to just hold him. Hold him and hold him and hold him. “I’m on my way home,” he rushes out. “Fuck this inventory bullshit. I’m coming home. I’ll pick up our Chinese food orders. We’ll put on a movie and I’ll scratch your scalp and we’ll forget about this until we have to go to that cancer center.”

“You don’t have to come with—“

“Of course I do,” Eddie guffaws. “My god, Steve. You’re all that matters to me, don’t you understand that? All I think about. What I dream about. Everything I do has a little bit of you in it. And everything I see is in the shape of your soul. And all I hear is your laughter. And all I smell is your skin.

“What other choice do I have? I’m going with you. You won’t be alone.” He’s panting, he realizes. His chest is tight and his stomach is twisting. There’s bile on his tongue. There’s bile in his throat. There’s bile and spit and breathlessness. But in the end, all that he has is love. “You won’t be alone,” he says once more. “Because I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve squeaks, his voice wet. “Drive safely, please. I don’t think I could plan a funeral and go through chemotherapy.”

Eddie’s fingers trace over his chest. He kisses his fingertips. Whispers, “Cross my heart, Stevie. Cross my heart, I will make it home to you.” And then his thumb hovers over the end call button. Waiting. Steve ends the call.

And all that’s holding Eddie is silence.

————— Let me know what y'all think. Also, don't hate me for making you have to wait a while until this chapter is out. But I felt like posting some angst after all my fluffy steddielovemonth prompts the last several days.

[ordinarytalk]

Dopamine, migraines, and ADHD

Y'all.

I had a bad migraine today, pain 8/10, and I noticed I was yawning constantly all day. Out of curiosity, once I had recovered enough that I could take off the blindfold, I looked up "do migraines make you yawn."

Yeah. Migraines can make you yawn. They make you yawn because it's a dopaminergic symptom. Migraines involve fluctuations in dopamine, and people who have more of the dopaminergic symptoms (yawning, drowsiness, fatigue, nausea, mood swings, and increased urination) also tend to have migraines that are longer and worse.[1]

Not only that, it turns out that migraines are much more common in people with low dopamine.

"ADHD is caused by low dopamine," thought, so I looked up ADHD and migraine. Yeah! ADHD and migraine are correlated.[2] Low dopamine levels can increase the risk of ADHD, migraine, sleep disorders, and pain disorders. Dopamine-signaling cells are part of neural pathway for perceiving pain.

Here's how low dopamine makes migraines worse:

If you naturally have a low level of dopamine in your body, your body will try to adjust by increasing the amount or sensitivity of your dopamine receptors.

Dopamine levels rise during the migraine prodrome (the part before the pain hits).

The dopamine receptors will start firing at a lower dopamine level than normal, because they're all super-sensitive to deal with chronic low dopamine.

Now everything hurts for no damn reason.

Outside of me realizing that the low dopamine is, yet again, my personal villain, I also learned something else kind of cool: Dopamine antagonists (meds that lower dopamine activity) can help stop a migraine once it's started, but dopamine agonists (meds that increase dopamine activity) can prevent migraines from happening.[3]

That makes sense, if you think about it. If you're already mid-migraine, you need the dopamine turned off so your pain receptors can reset. And if you don't have chronic low dopamine to start with, your body won't make your dopamine receptors super sensitive.

My point for this entire post: There's evidence that taking ADHD meds can help prevent migraines.[4]

All I could find was one single preliminary study looking at this, but the results were very promising. I know that I personally have noticed less frequent migraines since I got on Adderall.

The fact that no one is studying this is driving me bonkers. I might actually try to email some college professors out of the blue to look at this. Hey! If you're in neuroscience and you're reading this, maybe study dopamine agonists as a method of preventing migraine!

(sources below cut)

[1] Barbanti et al. (2020). Dopaminergic symptoms in migraine: A cross-sectional study on 1148 consecutive patients. International Headache Society. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0333102420929023

[2] Hansen et al. (2018). Comorbidity of migraine with ADHD in adults. BMC Neurology. https://bmcneurol.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12883-018-1149-6

[3] Gelfand, A.A., Goadsby, P.J. (2012) A Neurologists's Guide to Acute Migraine Therapy in the Emergency Room. Neurohospitalist. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3737484/

[4] Haas, D., Sheehe, P. (2004) Dextroamphetamine pilot crossover trials and n of 1 trials in patients with chronic tension-type and migraine headache. Headache. https://headachejournal.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1526-4610.2004.04199.x

[castielspahdehrah]

Post-Therapy Vent

Keep reading or don't. Either is fine, but just know that my therapist gives y'all her seal of approval.

So, I told her about my experience w/coming back to Tumblr and how empty and meaningless it seemed.

First, she was proud of me for being vulnerable enough to take that step of even logging back in. She knows how isolated I've purposely kept myself for a long time now, so the fact I'm even back here and talking to people is a giant leap in the right direction.

Second, I told her what I write and why. Believe it or not, it's not just for the smut lol. The angst stuff I've written was me workin' through things, maybe not specific to my life, but workin' through general pain nonetheless. She said it beats her advising me to start a journal because she can see the value in writing fanfic and bringing about catharsis via fictional characters which is a safer, baby step towards IRL catharsis.

Like you guys have all said, she also hopes I keep my foot in the door, at the very least, because shutting this door and locking it back up now would only unravel the progress I'm making on my own, even without her help. She's told me before it's not so much that I need therapy, per se. I know very well where I stand and I know what's wrong and why it needs fixed. I just need a support system to keep going forward and she'll gladly be that for me.

Now, for the heavy.

When I first started seeing her, I told her I wanted to start fresh. I didn't want to tell her about my past history with therapy; the good, bad, or ugly, and I wanted her to give me her 2 cents after getting to know me. Now, without me ever saying a word, she knew I've already been or damn well should've been diagnosed w/C-PTSD.

She was absolutely correct on that one and I told her that I am ready and willing to do what's necessary to start working through it. She was surprised and impressed that I'm open to EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) and/or DBT (Dialectal Behavioral Therapy). I do draw the line with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Group Therapy though. Even without giving my reasoning, she's not a fan of them either, but at this point I'm open to almost anything that will allow me to feel again, instead of shutting down like a damn robot. I don't even care that I could potentially feel 12-24 years of trauma all at once...at least I won't be both numb AND heavy at the same time.

Today, I felt comfortable enough to give her another breadcrumb...a diagnosis I was given at 16 yrs old and believed wholeheartedly that I had up until about 10 yrs ago. Like she said, it's like my symptoms had upended themselves and did a complete 180. Well, not only is that diagnosis "fluid" or "transitional" or can go into "remission" in a sense, it can also exist alongside a diagnosis that my surrogate sister thought I had. This is all to say that she agrees with me that a "re-diagnosis" is in order especially considering it's been 30 fuckin' years since the last one.

So, here's where we stand...

I'm gonna get referred to a psychologist for the "re-diagnosis" testing. In that same building, there should be a psychiatrist who can not only handle the C-PTSD therapy, but take over for my Primary Care Physician and put me on some meds that might actually help me.

Don't get me wrong, my PCP gets major points because he thought ahead enough to do a GeneSight test to see what medications I can metabolize and what ones I can't which is a damn sight better than anyone else has cared to do...however, he still didn't quite pick the right ones, as far as she's concerned.

In the meantime, she wants me to channel my inner nerd and really research my previous diagnoses compared to how I feel now. She's adamant (and correct) that nobody knows my body as well as I do and if I have a general direction to go in, the psychologist that "re-diagnoses" me won't waste anyone's time by looking in the wrong places first.

This is my healing era and it's been a VERY long time coming...but I had to be ready and willing to face it in order for it to do any good. The fact that I recognize this speaks volumes on how much I've already healed and just didn't realize it.

I'm no longer upset with myself for waiting this long to get back into therapy. I'm proud of myself for recognizing that it was finally time.

[i-arch-my-backula]

To, I was wondering if you could write a FTM reader x Rick grimes where the reader is really exhausted and depressed and doesn't have motivation for anything and Rick helps him?

I'd love to write this for you. I haven't been watching TWD as much recently so forgive me if this is out of character. I'm also still on season three. But I love writing gay things for y'all. This is also set in the after the prison and in a random location because I don't know where they went after that lol even though I'm decently into season four. Can be read as romantic or platonic.

I do care: Rick Grimes x ftm reader

Warnings: Vague descriptions of readers body, mention of top surgery scars, depressed reader, Rick tries his best, Rick helps reader shower in a non-sexual way

It's been becoming clearer and clearer that you're not doing well mentally. A month ago you were barely able to help out around camp, but now all you can manage to do is stay in bed, and maybe go to the bathroom if you can gather enough energy. Now that you're staying at a farm house it's very clear you're not doing well.

Rick noticed how you've been declining mentally over the past month. When he was a cop he had to do wellness checks and he can see those symptoms in you too. So when he got up extra early one day and found you still awake he knew he had to do something to help you. He pushes your 'bedroom' door open further and walks in.

"Hey uh Y/N. I need to talk to you," He says. You look over at him from where you're laying but you can't bring yourself to sit up, "I've noticed you've been acting like this for awhile and I wanted to know what's going on," Rick takes a seat by your bed and looks up at you, "Is it that uh, feeling you get sometimes where you don't feel man enough?" You'd laugh at his words if you weren't so exhausted.

"I feel man enough Rick. I just can't get myself out of bed right now. If you want to feed me to the walker outside go ahead." You mumble. Rick stiffens and quickly gets closer to you.

"I'd never do that. I'd also never let you die on my watch. Has someone suggested that's gonna happen to you?" He asks, his tone coming off more aggressive than it is comforting. You shake your head.

"No one said that to me. But I know y'all are thinking about it. I mean why not. I'm a burden right now anyway. Why not do it?" Rick runs a hand over his mouth and sighs.

"I'm not going to let you die. I'm also not going to let you waste away in bed anymore. When was the last time you showered?" He asks, his tone still more aggressive than it is comforting. You shrug.

"I don't know, probably a few weeks ago," You say. Rick stands up and holds out his hand for you, "You're trying to get me to shower?" You ask, looking up at him.

"I'm going to make you shower, even if I have to stand behind you and keep you upright. Now make this easy on me." You sigh and slowly sit up. Rick watches carefully and makes sure once you're up, you'll stay up. Once you're sitting up, Rick pulls you up to your feet and lets you lean against him as he walks you to the bathroom.

"Rick we need to save the water we have. I know there's that well pump outside but showering shouldn't take priority." You say and he sits you down on the sink counter.

"I want you to shower because you're starting to smell like a damn walker. Doesn't help you have all that dried blood on you." He says. You sigh in defeat.

"Fine. If you insist on getting me clean I'll shower." You say. Rick smiles and grabs some soap and turns on the shower head. You take off your shirt and start to undo your pants. You notice Rick staring at your top surgery scars.

"I told you about them before Rick. They're just surgery scars," You say, slipping off your shoes and pants. You feel the water and quickly tell you can't wash your body fully. You look back to Rick and he seems to understand what's going on, "Can you help me?"

"Of course I can. Just tell me where I should wash." He says, taking his shirt off and tossing it aside to keep it dry. You slip off your boxers and manage to keep yourself standing.

"Upper body is fine. I can do my lower half if you help me stand," You hold your arms up and stand under the water, letting it wash over your hair and body. Rick starts to wash the soap over your arms, avoiding looking down at you, "You don't have to try to hard to ignore my body. I've already done enough of that for a lifetime." You chuckle. Rick smiles slightly and moves over to your other arm.

He washes over the rest of your upper body, being more careful around your scars, making you chuckle again. He eventually hands you the soap and hold one of your hands.

"I'll uh, help you stay standing." He says, looking away from you as you start to wash off your lower half. Rick keeps his eyes off of you the entire time until you turn off the water. He hands you a towel and you wrap it around your hips.

"Thank you Rick. Now I can go sit in my bed again but this time I'll be clean." You joke.

"No. I actually wanted to take you to go eat something since you haven't been eating much at all." He says. Still holding your hand he walks you back into a bedroom and starts digging through some clothes.

"I thought me not eating was a good thing. We need to ration some food." You say, taking some boxers Rick hands you.

"Carl and Deshawn went out and got more food. Enough for you to eat a small meal. Don't fight me on this or I will force feed you." He says in the tone of a joke, but there's an air of seriousness to it. He hands you some jeans and you put them on too.

"You're really set on me not dying huh?" You joke back as Rick hands you more clothes. You pull on a shirt and flannel. Rick adds a belt with an empty gun holster, socks, and your old shoes.

"I am. Now you'll get your knife back after you eat something," He says. Helping you up from the bed and walking you downstairs, to the kitchen. He sits you down at the table and gives you a water bottle with lots of dust on the outside and an opened can of fruit cocktail and three fried pieces of spam. You look down at the food and he hands you a fork, "You're not leaving this table until you eat at least half of that."

"Alright Rick," You say, picking up the spam and taking a bite out of it. You eat in silence for a couple minutes until you feel it start to become awkward, "Why do you care so much about me?" You ask, opening your water bottle.

"Is there something wrong with caring about you?" He asks. You shake your head and take a sip.

"I just haven't been here as long as everyone else and you didn't have to take me in. You don't have to care about me."

"But I do, and I will."

"Thank you Rick." You say before you start eating again.

[hearth-and-veil]

I stopped drinking a year ago. (Way to be a millennial stereotype, Mags!) Since mid~July I have had a few drinks, but kept it to one or two at a time. This past weekend was the first time I got drunk in a year and whoooo boy, y'all I did NOT like it.

I got drunk Sunday evening and my mood was fucked until today (Tuesday). I got so melancholic it's not even funny. I hated my life, I was pretty sure everyone hated me, I got super irritable.... Like damn, no wonder I was so miserable all the time. Maybe tossing back downers isn't good for depression 🙃🤡

I'm also now pretty sure that alcohol was responsible for my IBS. I have diagnosed IBS but I didn't realize until my stomach got fucked up yesterday that I haven't really had symptoms for the past year. Got drunk once, my symptoms came back. Mysterious.

I'm starting to think maybe this shit is bad for you 😀

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

I had a rough week last week. Tuesday my dog gets sick, so I look up her symptoms. And bc I'm a crazy person, my mind automatically latched onto the worst possibility. So I spent three hours crying hysterically and having panic attacks bc I was so scared she would die. Then Wednesday I had to take my dog to vet and was still super stressed out. Thursday and Friday I have to deal with medicaid and disability paperwork. Saturday I had a panic attack so bad that I couldn't stop it and had to text my brother to come help me (he lives with me. we're too poor to live without a roommate, and we've basically lived together our whole lives, so it was whatever). Sunday morning I have a panic attack and can't leave my house to play my weekly dnd game bc the thought of spending hours with other people away from home was...bad. Sunday night, I got completely (and irrationally) terrified of being alone. I was so afraid that I called my mom, and of course she offers to come over. And I'm freaking out so bad I let her, even though it was late and I know she has to get up early for work. (She only stayed until my brother got back around 10:30)

BUT, today is a new day. I managed to get my blood work done today, and talk on the phone to my case worker, and pick up a pair of contacts from my eye doctor to wear until my order comes in. And I didn't have a panic attack. I mean, I still had to have my dad take me, bc leaving home alone isn't something I can do right now. (Mentally or physically. My brother's car broke down, and since he's the one who has a job, he's been using mine. i stg it's like a fucking family curse; every time someone is already in a financial bind, their car will break down.)

So I have decided to take the next few days to just relax. My two besties that I've been friends with since middle school both have kids with autism and they said I'm probably going through autistic burn-out. I'm pretty sure I'm autistic and my doctor thinks I'm somewhere on the spectrum, though on the lower support side. I'm gonna play bg3, and unwind. And try to work on some fic. (bc I have the next chapter of 16 Days damn near finished, and it's the last chapter that ties up the current plot, then there's an epilogue that takes place later that played out like a movie in my head, so writing it will be a breeze.)

Side note, did y'all know that some school systems still use 'high/low functioning'. I've had to say to my coworkers that autistic people would prefer not to use those terms. But it isn't surprising; one of my cousin's kids was literally diagnosed with Asperger's. Which has fallen under the autism spectrum disorder since like, forever ago. And also there was a TA in the autism classroom I worked in once who literally told me that autism was caused by demonic possession. I'm so glad I left the school system. Bc I eventually was going to fucking explode with rage after the way my kids were treated. (My students, not my actual kids. I don't have or want any)

Working in EC has really shown me how little the school system actually cares about helping the disabled; they will cut corners and do shit that 'technically' meets a kid's IEP, but doesn't do a damn thing to help them. And if you say something like, 'i don't think that counts' your coworkers will not be happy. But to a certain degree you can't be too mad, bc there is literally not enough time or resources to meet every child's needs, bc they cram as many kids in one EC classroom as possible, hire the minimum amount of TAs required by law and expect one teacher to be able to magically meet all their needs. My last job had 3 kids in wheelchairs in those tiny ass mobile units schools started using, that literally did not have room to move around, unless the other students stood up to let them get by, and sometimes even move their desk. We had multiple kids with autism. One of them stimmed by screaming, another was triggered by loud noises.

This post kinda went off on a tangent. Anyway, heads up to any parents who have kids starting school, make sure you get a copy of your child's IEP. If you think they aren't being serviced, contact your local Board of Education, and tell them that you have a child with an IEP who isn't receiving adequate services. Then threaten to sue them if they don't start providing your kid their services. It does not matter if you can actually afford to sue them or not, an IEP is a legally binding document. You have the right to sue, and most of the time the threat alone is enough to kick their ass into gear.

[adhbabey]

I wanted to explain some thoughts on my psych critical view.

I find psych abolition to be a foolish thing, and the only thing I would like to abolish is psych wards, not the whole entire psychiatry system.

I believe in therapy, medication and all forms of treatment to be important and helpful. I do not think anyone should be forced to take medication or be in therapy, however.

Autonomy and respecting human rights is key, and I understand those who have been hurt by the way psychiatry has treated them. I am not defending medical professionals who abuse or harm their patients.

I think everyone should express some sort of caution towards medical professionals and not trust them with everything. Also, psychiatrists are not an authority, but should be treated as advisors instead. They cannot (usually) and should not force you to do anything.

Diagnoses are incredibly real and important. Those who self diagnose are true in their feelings. Anyone who says that you should not identify your disordered experience, just because they had their own negative experiences, is foolish. You should use medical terms as how you see fit, and you should respect other people's uses for them.

While diagnoses have helped many people, I do believe the DSM and other diagnosis criteria should be edited and changed to fit a more accurate representation of this disorder. And doctors who wish to gatekeep or limit the symptom list are horrible people.

I believe that psychiatrists should be more well educated on rarer or uncommon diagnoses, and should be tested every so often to retain their license. Doctors should not be able to retain their license when they practice with outdated language and method. It should be more standardized than it is.

I believe disabled people are often times more of an expert on their disorder than psychiatrists are. But we should still continue to research and talk to one another in these disabled communities. New information is always important.

I don't think overlap in symptoms matters too much as much as many of y'all think it does. Yes, there is some overlap, but all of our disorders are distinct in some way. But I wish people would consider comorbidity way more than they consider they are "faking it" or not.

If you have symptoms, you have symptoms, I know not every lived experience is a symptom, but its okay to see them as psychological occurrences. I think people who get frustrated by people identifying their lived experiences as symptoms, need to touch some fucking grass. Symptoms exist, its okay to label them as so. No amount of whining about "tiktokification" will change my damn mind about this.

People who armchair diagnose others with things like "narcissism" piss me off. Stop using mental disorders as a way to judge or insult someone. True crime has ruined y'all.

Outside of that, saying stuff is "crazy" or "insane" or whatever is too normalized in our vocabulary to connect it directly to mental illness. That's completely different from directly naming a disorder as an insult. (sh*zo, psycho, psychotic, autistic, narcissistic, etc.) The only term I am on the fence about is "delusional", I relate to both sides on that argument.

People with aggressive, homicidal, dangerous, etc. thoughts or urges are not the enemy and deserve respect and should not be locked up just because they have those thoughts/urges.

I will always be mentally ill and disabled in some capacity and I am at all times this close from losing it. All mentally ill and disabled people deserve rights, even the fucked up, unhinged and unpalatable ones.

I have several different thoughts, feelings and opinions on topics like these, and it may change depending on who you are talking to. But in general, I am psych-critical. Not pro-psych, not anti-psych. I am cautious and distrustful of psychiatry, but I still need it to exist and I rely on its existence. I do not think abolition of psychiatry entirely is helpful and I think the medical existence of things should be acknowledged, and I am not a bootlicking motherfucker.

I definitely have more thoughts, but this is all I can remember right now. I have no obligation to agree or care about anyone else's thoughts on things like this. I wish the american health system and many other health systems would change to be more accommodating and accessible to all.

Don't trust everyone's opinion on here, be cautious regardless of people's status of mental illness. Always get a second opinion and learn how to trust yourself. We're all trying to have a better life.