#bc i can't manage my emotions

[halinski]

.

//rant in tags

[starlitmeadows]

Reunion

[flufflecat]

Today I got to have an entire 3 message long dm convo with Alex Hirsch. I am never getting over this high.

[tinyfantasminha]

👍

[hyunin]

learned today that one of the clients i write for for work had a significant increase in call volume over the course of the year directly bc of my work. which means that literally people are calling to get help for their substance use disorders and mental health Because Of What I Write. what if i throw up (positive)

[ukulelegodparent]

Just went to uni and instead of doing anything spent 3h agonising about ending my relationship. I'm sure this is good and normal

[shirogane-oushirou]

trying out procreate brushes again but with more Purpose. i found a fantastic ballpoint pen, alongside some ink-based brushes that give you Sloppy Effects... which i appreciate as someone whose ballpoint drawings always ended up a smudgy mess no matter how hard i tried to avoid it ;;;

(and a colored version to play with his fursona's colors a little + see how he looks with slightly more accurate paws and proportions hehe)

[thedreadvampy]

so me and Sam FINALLY watched the last season of Capaldi's Who

and tell me how, after literally over a decade and for perhaps the first time in his fucking career, Steven Moffat wrote a not just tolerable but really actually good two-parter and fully stuck the landing. like the editing and pacing were still a bit off but the storyline was original, fun, interesting and emotionally invested, and most importantly, rather than ending on a damp fart or the most furious autofellatio in history, the final part didn't fumble it and ended in a way that felt emotionally satisfying and like it made sense for the characters. like the last time he successfully wrapped up a multiparter in a way that didn't feel cheap and hollowly disappointing to me was literally The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances, and a) that was in 2005 and b) tbh The Doctor Dances is about a tenth as compelling and memorable as The Empty Child.

so after 12 years of either hackery or great ideas that fall apart in the second act, Steven Moffat writes what I would genuinely consider to be a memorable Good Doctor Who serial. it ends with bittersweet pathos, a solid closer for all the main characters, and sends Moffat's showrunning career out on a genuine high despite failing ratings and budget cuts (and the fact Doctor Who hasn't been consistently good since about 2009). good job Steve. with grudging respect I admit you pulled it out of the bag on this one.

wait what's this there's one more episode left? and it stars Mark Gatiss? and you literally spend the whole episode inexplicably just shitting all over the legacy of Doctor Who by inventing a version of the First Doctor that bears literally no resemblance to the character that William Hartnell actually played, just so you can spend the whole episode saying misogynistic things to run yourself off to how much more Totally Feminist your version was than the version you made up in your head of what Doctor Who was like in the 60s? and it added literally nothing to the season except to take all the wind out of the sails of the actually good finale you already wrote?

even when he writes a good episode this fucker still finds ways to disappoint me.

[batemanofficial]

who up feeling the ancient hysterical shame

[apocalypticdemon]

y'know. it really sucks to feel yourself back-sliding, mentally, when you know you've been doing pretty alright for a while

[adhdphilosopher]

im so full of anger every day that it makes it hard to function. what do i do

[spiinsparks]

VI’S HOT TAKES  / anon​ / ACCEPTING !         ↳   send a sonic or rpc-specific topic please !!

       ↳  🔥 + drama

        ||. so... the best way to stop drama is to just  ... not engage in drama.

      TL;DR:  don’t go out of your way to read something that makes you mad. don’t head into a tag you’re 50/50 about. don’t go on social media when you’re in a bad mood whether you’re cranky or just really tired. if you think you are in a state where you might become volatile, just take a step back and do not engage. to be quite frank about it, your anger will not only ruin YOUR day if you allow it to, but once it’s posted onto public, it becomes everyone else’s business even in the cases where it shouldn’t be.

         ... y���all it’s okay to ... NOT publish the mean anon you got. just delete it. don’t give it the time of day. 90% of the time the people who say mean things are just trying to elicit a response out of you. do not give them the satisfaction of engaging their playground taunt with a response. 

         FURTHERMORE in the case where this sort of thing just cannot be avoided: always always ALWAYS take a step back before even CONSIDERING a response. some things just get under our skin. that’s okay. that’s normal! frankly, you ought to listen to your anger. it’s just an emotion that is telling you that something is wrong. HOWEVER. that doesn’t make it okay for anyone to ACT upon that anger. not that anon, and not you. or the people who read it after!

         there is a way to go about responding to your own anger and putting down a boundary with those mean people (and / or the people who want to get a rise out of you) in a way that doesn’t fuel the flames. and part of that is walking away. always, always always WALK AWAY before you do anything else. and if you can’t, then you need to respectfully disengage (ie: delete the ask, in this examples’ case), and get your mind off of it for a while. at least, for until you can work through your thoughts and come back to it with a more level head.          write down your thoughts in a word doc or a journal! go punch a pillow! go on a walk or a run to cool off! drink some water and grab a hot shower; do some TLC!  your anger is telling you that you got hurt, and sometimes we just need to let it out and come back later.

        if , when you come back, that mean thing is still bothering you, then - with the understanding of WHY it’s bothering you under your belt - you can respond. but do so in a way that’s polite, and without an attitude. because the second you respond to the other person with cursing, or sarcasm, or just general spite? you’ve already lost that battle. you have not just received drama, you’ve BECOME the drama for actually everyone else around you. it creates a very... awkward atmosphere.

[kitkatpurrpurr]

Let me also add: understimulation-caused drowsiness. It's worse off my meds but possible on them. If I am sufficiently understimulated, I will get super drowsy. Like, can't keep my eyes open type of drowsiness. As soon as I lay down to try and nap, my mind starts overacting and I wind up being unable to sleep despite having been on the cusp of passing out. Being tired worsens it.

But yeah, if you've ever been so bored that you were genuinely nodding off, be it during important conversations, at school, while driving (I've been there and for the love of god put on something you can sing over or listen to that gets you to think), and you have ADHD, it was probably a result of understimulation.

bro im gonna CRY i didnt know this 🥺

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

.

[exactoknife]

[stevesgother]

Let's Hear It For The Boy!

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, oral (f receiving), emotional sex, aftercare, tooth rotting fluff bc i love them, latter half as usual is not proofread bc i can't bring myself to read my own smut. maybe someday!

AN: here’s a little Dress bonus chapter bc so many people loved that series! I know i didn’t let them bang in the final part, so here ya go. I hope it scratches the itch :)

The sounds of a specially curated mixtape drift and settle over the room. Steve has you underneath him, his entire weight crushing you like your own personal safety blanket. He peppers kisses over every inch of exposed skin and then some, giving you a brief reprieve from the steamy makeout session you were previously engaged in.

It had been 3 weeks since New Year's Eve. In that time, Steve has managed to spend every waking second with you that he could. He’d taken you on lavish dates to the only fancy restaurant in this dying town– Enzo’s, and you’ve spent countless days snowed in, watching “borrowed” tapes from Family Video. He takes you grocery shopping and puts your favorite cereal in the cart before you get the chance to grab it yourself. To be loved by Steve, is to be seen. You think he knows you better than you know yourself, in every way except for one.

You had decided to take things slow, for the fear of risking everything the two of you had worked so hard to build over the length of your entire friendship thus far. Steve loved you, and you loved Steve. He had a reputation, or he did at one point, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel taken advantage of. More importantly, he wanted to take his time with you.

In the midst of a sweet, languid kiss, you hear the beginnings of Deniece Williams’ ‘Let’s Hear It For The Boy’ and break away from him with an excited gasp.

“Stevie Baby, this one’s for you!” You brace yourself against him enough to flip him onto his back, reversing your previous position and straddling his hips. He giggles when you grab your hairbrush from your nightstand to use as a makeshift microphone, and sing pitchily to the verse.

“‘Cause everytime he pulls me near, I just wanna cheer, let’s hear it for the boy!”

You give a seated performance as you sing and wriggle on his lap. He rolls his eyes in an attempt to pretend like he doesn’t find your theatrics the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.

“Let’s hear it for my baby!” You shake both his shoulders and give him a smacking kiss on the cheek, “You know you gotta understand!”

Steve didn’t know it was possible to be more in love with you than he already was. The adoration he felt for you was insurmountable; the blood in his veins seemingly replaced by pure sunlight that seeped from him wherever you touched. He wanted to marry you, he was sure he was going to marry you.

When the song finally hummed its last notes, you flopped dramatically against his chest. Hair mussed and chest heaving with the exertion of singing him all four minutes of the song. He deserved it, after all.

“Have I ever told you you’re a horrible singer?” he asks playfully.

You swat his chest and laugh, “Rude!”. Forget the other five, teasing was Steve’s love language.

“I still love you, though,”

“Yeah I don’t know, the juries still out,”

“Alright, I think that’s enough out of you,” he says as he flips you over in one sweeping motion to lay on your back again. You’re a fit of laughter as he presses open mouthed kisses down your neck and over your collarbone. 

Your giggling starts to subside when your senses clock how good his lips feel against your skin. You exhale a breathy sigh when one of his large hands presses firmly up your side, his other hand cupping your cheek. He grins up at you before returning to passionately collide his mouth with your own. You moan into it, presenting him with the opportunity to slide his tongue eagerly against yours.

“Nothin’ else to say, huh?” He smirks down at you. You can only respond with a blissful shake of your head ‘No’.

Your legs are hugging either side of his torso, and he gives an experimental grind of his hips against your clothed core. You can feel the hard outline of him and it elicits a groan from you, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck that you have woven through your fingers.

“That feel good?" You’re embarrassed to be panting slightly already, it's just the effect he seems to have on you.

“Yes– Steve,”

The most the two of you had done until this point was hand stuff, and even then it was few and far between. That’s not to say you haven't thought about doing more; lately it actually seems to be all you can think about. You feel like a horndog teenager again.

Steve continues to kiss you as he slips a hand beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, and he can feel the wet spot already forming on your cotton panties. You let out a breathy whine at the sensation.

“Pussy feels so good baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, “wonder how she tastes,”

Your eyes turn to saucers at his implication, but he only smirks at you as he shuffles slowly down your body, pressing kisses all the way down your torso and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He makes eye contact with you as he slips two fingers beneath your waistband again to ask, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please,” you try not to sound too pathetic as you lift your hips to assist him in removing your layers.

Steve’s never seen you in anything more intimate than a bathing suit on a hot summer day. Now he’s staring at you like you’ve hung the moon just for him. His best friend, the love of his life, and he’s about to go down on you. It feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

“Everything okay?” you chuckle nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze on unexplored territory. It feels vulnerable in a way you’ve never felt before, and you’re scared he doesn’t like what he sees. You weren’t a virgin, and neither was Steve; but right now, you might as well have been.

“Yes, yes, sorry. You’re beautiful. It’s perfect, everythings perfect,”

It always feels like the greatest privilege to watch Steve’s usual dominant and confident exterior melt away. It’s not often you get to make him flustered instead of you, and you can’t help but find it adorable.

He nuzzles his stubbly face into your thigh, and inhales deeply; taking in your scent. It causes your stomach to erupt in somersaults. He locks eyes with you as he slowly removes the last barrier between you and his mouth. Self consciousness takes over when you realize he can finally see all of you, causing you to tighten the space between your thighs.

Steve’s quick, though. He stops you with a hand on each leg, keeping you open for him. “Don’t be shy, honey. I wanna see you,”

“Okay, I trust you,” You stare up at your popcorn textured ceiling to escape the intensity of it all. Just then he places a tentative kiss to your clit. It’s barely anything but the surprise of it makes you cry out in pleasure. Steve takes it as a sign to properly begin, and he laps at you like you’re his last meal.

“Oh, Steve!” Your hands fly to his hair and you tug, eliciting a groan from him that vibrates through your core and amplifies the feeling of his tongue on you.

“Taste so sweet, baby,” you can hardly hear him as he’s nose deep in your pussy. The sharp point of it massages your sensitive bud as his tongue teases your entrance.

If that wasn’t enough, you’re seeing stars when his index and middle finger breach your hole, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that only Steve could reach. He curls his fingers as his lips wrap around your clit and you all but grind against his face. He quickens the pace, and you can already feel the beginnings of your climax in your tummy.

“Steve– ah!– I’m gonna come,” you cry and he doesn't change a thing. No speeding up, no slowing down. There’s not a thing on this earth that could separate his mouth from you. All that matters to Steve is making you finish on his tongue, and hearing those sweet little sounds you make when you do.

Your release washes over you in waves as you sloppily grind your hips against Steve’s face. When he finally looks up at you from between your sticky thighs, his face is shiny with you from nose to chin and he’s beaming. Actually beaming.

“Did so good, baby,” he praises as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans down to kiss you, “so beautiful,”. It’s a strange thing to taste yourself on someone else’s tongue, but you really don’t hate it. If anything, it turns you on more.

He continues to kiss you with a renewed fervor, you reach a hand between your bodies and palm him against his sweatpants. The whimper you elicit from him spurs you on enough to slip a hand beneath his waistband and take his velvety length into your hand.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his entire life, every nerve in his body alight like a live wire. Unconsciously, he thrusts into your hand– desperate for some friction. The soft skin of your fingers feels euphoric wrapped around his length.

“God– I love you,” he half groans into the crook of your neck as he grinds against your palm.

“Baby,” you gasp, “I want you– I wanna feel you,” Your hips start to lift again, in search of any type of stimulation. This seems to break him out of his arousal induced trance as he snaps his head up to look you in the eye.

“I– like you want to, want to–?” he sputters, suddenly nervous at the idea. Still, you find his hesitation at your request charming. It’s obvious how much he cares for you.

You giggle, “Yes Steve, I ‘want to, want to’,” you repeat his words back to him in the same cadence, causing him to roll his eyes, though the action has no real irritation behind it.

“Okay– Yeah, Okay,” he’s reeling as he reaches into the drawer of your nightstand to retrieve a condom from the box you’ve kept there for a little over a week now. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he rolls the rubber down his length with expert fingers. You try not to think about the fact that he’s done this probably a million times before you.

“If it hurts or you want me to stop or you don’t like something–”

“I’ll tell you,” you cut off his anxious rambling with a hand on his cheek, “I promise.”

He nods and presses his forehead to your own. It’s a little sticky with sweat already, but you don’t mind. He smells like cinnamon and mint and something so ineffably Steve.

When he finally pushes into you, you’re both gasping into each other's mouths. He wraps his arms around your back in a sort of hug, not bothering to hold himself above you anymore. He needs to be as close to you as he can possibly manage. You return the embrace, locking your ankles behind the small of his back and placing his cheeks in your palms to kiss him deeply.

When he’s finally to the hilt and your hips are completely flush, he gives you a moment to adjust before setting a rhythm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes– yes, I'm good. You feel so good, Steve,” You can feel tears brimming at your lashes with the intimacy of it all. Having him like this– this is something you’ve only ever dreamed of. The affection you feel is insurmountable.

His hips start at a slow pace, he’s so big you can feel him in your stomach. “Faster, baby, please,”. And who is he to deny you when you ask so politely?

“Don’t cry, love,” He removes a hand from behind your back to wipe away a stray tear, and kisses the salty trail it left down your cheek.

“I just love you– I’ve waited so long,” you hug him tighter around his neck as he starts to pick up the pace.

“I know, I love you,”  You can feel his hips stutter and you realise he’s close. The shared sweetness bringing you both closer to the edge. You cry out again as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot, the small thatch of hair at his base providing the perfect friction.

“I’m close–” he manages to strangle out.

“Me too. Inside me– please,”

He falters only for a moment, “You sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I need you,”

Your nails dig and leave crescent shapes in his shoulders. You miss the sound he makes when you tug gently on his pretty locks, so you do it again. It’s enough to send Steve hurtling over the edge of his orgasm.

“Oh -- I’m coming,” He all but shouts and the sounds he’s making are obscene enough to have you there with him.

“Look at me, baby,” he commands, not unkindly. He’s so pretty like this– cheeks flushed pink, lips permanently fixed in a ‘O’ shape, sweat beading at his upper lip; his brow bone and hairline.

You stare at each other as you come; it’s the most intimate thing either of you have ever experienced. Suddenly you realize Steve has tears welling in his eyes, too. You pull him into a slow, languid kiss. You press your lips to the corners of each of his eyes, as well.

When he moves to pull out, you wince slightly and he soothes his hands up and down your leg as he stands. “I know, honey. Stay there, I'll be right back,”. With that, he slips his boxers back on and makes his way towards the bathroom. When he returns, he’s holding a warm washcloth and a small dixie cup of water. As you drink, he takes the liberty of cleaning you up, as gentle as you’ve ever seen him.

He kneels by the bed to be level with you, and runs a hand over your head to brush away stray hair. The repeated motion in which he does it nearly puts you to sleep.

“Want me to run you a bath?” You almost cry again. How is he real?

“That’s okay, maybe in a little while,” you’re becoming too sleepy to talk properly now, you raise your arms signaling for him to join you in bed. “Just want you to lay with me,”

“I think I can manage that.”

He moves to hold you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, and you fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.