#i hate my brain i hate that the only things to soothe me are harmful

[sensitivegoblin]

Really need to sext to cope rn✨️💕✌️🥹 help please

Tw for venting tags

[gravytrainnaturebornn]

the power of self-talk in the fight against self-sabotage (for binge-eaters and ppl who have never been skinny🫶)

disclaimer: this is not proana. this is for people who struggle with binge eating as a form of self-sabotage, emotional comfort, self harm, etc. overeating can cause just as much harm physically and mentally as undereating. please be safe. now, on with the show!

weight loss, but specifically extreme weight loss, equals change. change equals discomfort, so people tend to subconsciously avoid change. this is why starting to see progress on the scale or your body can trigger the urge to self-sabotage that progress and binge eat.

for people who have been big their whole lives, that fear is heightened by the fact that being thin is completely uncharted territory. by following through, youre entering a new world that youve never navigated before. your brain might get scared, say its much too big a mountain to climb, and tell you to give up. its easier to say fuck it because for most people, unhappiness is a comfort zone. if youre used to hating your body and wanting it to change, then actually *changing* it poses a very serious threat to your comfort and the lifestyle youre used to.

questions like: "what if i reach my goal and im still unhappy/unattractive?" "what if i dont look like myself?" "what if i reach my goal, cant sustain it, and then i gain it all back and humiliate myself?" can all make someone feel anxious about succeeding in their weight loss journey. and for people with overeating issues, this is a big trigger for binge episodes.

so how do you combat this instinct to self sabotage? well, im not a psychologist so take this with a grain of salt, but for me it helps to soothe these subconscious fears and train the brain to fight these urges. self-talk and thought-correction play a HUGE role in rewiring the pathways in your brain that lead you to bingeing. truly, practice and consistency are the only things that are going to cause a big change, so stick with it !

correcting problematic thoughts *immediately* when they form is key to preventing problematic behavior in the future, and that starts with being able to identify those thoughts. the moment you catch yourself thinking about food, cut yourself off with a correction. maybe even think about food on purpose a few times to practice recognizing and correcting it.

for example, if you just ate an hour ago, chances are youre not actually hungry yet. tell yourself that as soon as you realize youre thinking about food. i like to tell myself "i dont need to eat, and im not gonna sabotage myself by eating that." by acknowledging it and calling it what it is--literally an attack, by my brain, on my own progress--i immediately attach a sense of accountability to the actions that follow. there's no deniability. its no longer a passive choice. theres no mindless eating or "i wasnt thinking about it." if i eat after acknowledging the act of eating as self-sabotage, then that is me *actively* choosing self-sabotage over self-control. accountability alone can change a lot if you let it.

what i tell myself changes depending on the situation, but i find that repeating some of these phrases throughout the day helps to fight urges in general, and certain ones help for specific cravings and situations.

below are some examples of things i tell myself that have helped me fight the urge to self sabotage. they dont all have to be true when you first say them, the point is training your brain to think a certain way. it may feel unnatural at first, but the more you say them the more natural it becomes, until eventually it becomes apart of the way you actually think and you dont have to work so hard at it. remember: consistency. is. key.

okay ill stop blabbing! here:

•i allow myself to be thin.

•i accept the change that comes with losing weight.

•i am ready to see myself differently and cope with any complicated feelings that may come with it.

•i am prepared for my body to change.

•i will deal with my wardrobe when the time comes, and im not afraid of dressing differently for my new body.

•i will adjust to my new dietary needs and appetite when i reach my goal weight. i will not always be hungry; eating less will be my new normal, and i will be okay.

•i am not afraid of being hungry.

•food does not comfort me, nor does it solve my problems or make me feel better.

•i am ready to navigate a life that looks different to the one im living now.

•i am not afraid of reaching my goal. if i do feel afraid, i am confident in my ability to work through difficult feelings and continue towards my goal.

•im not going to sabotage myself by eating that.

•i accept that people will perceive me differently, and i am ready to navigate that change.

•i am prepared to receive comments about my weight loss.

•i am not afraid of getting what i want.

•i believe i deserve what i want, and im dedicated to working towards getting it.

•i am capable of adapting to new routines and habits.

•fear is not a reason to give up, and i will continue to work even if the possibility of change makes me uneasy.

•i am prepared to face the future, even though i do not know what it looks like.

•i allow myself to make mistakes, and i will not use them as an excuse to quit.

•my long-term satisfaction is more important than what i want in this moment.

•i am in control of my actions and i am capable of resisting the urge to binge.

•i allow myself to have the body i desire.

•i allow myself to change.

•i allow my life to look different and i am not afraid to see a new person in the mirror.

•i am excited to reach my goal, and prepared to navigate any changes that come with it.

•i am ready to meet and introduce others to the new me.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

my dysphoria has been very bad recently and i have found it very difficult to do things like showering, changing and sleeping especially. ive been over wearing my binder a lot because i find it very difficult to bring myself to take it off, and i keep wearing it for 30+ hours at a time which i know is bad but i currently have no other alternative and not wearing one feels worse than the pain i get by overwearing. i hate wearing sports bras and ive run out of transtape, i have ordered more but it probably won’t be coming for another couple of weeks. i don’t know what to do because i don’t want to damage my body severely, is there anything else i can do?

Lee says:

As you know, wearing a binder for extended periods can lead to severe health issues, including respiratory problems, rib fractures, and skin conditions.

When you feel like doing something that's harming you physically is your only option to cope because your dysphoria is that intense, you should look into getting a therapist.

Frequently binding for 30+ hours isn't a sustainable option and finding alternative coping strategies will be easier with professional help to help you deal with what you're doing through.

Two posts that might help with your specific questions are Staying clean and coping with shower-related dysphoria and Dysphoria when you have to sleep and those two posts really cover most of what I have to say on those subjects so I won't reinvent the wheel by typing the same thing but I encourage you to read both links.

Apart from that, in the next couple of weeks as you wait for your TransTape to arrive (And start the process of seeking a therapist!) here are some strategies you can try doing:

1. Layered Clothing:

Wearing loose, layered clothing can help obscure the chest area. Consider wearing baggy shirts, jackets, or vests to help reduce the visibility of your chest.

Luckily it's fall time (at least here in the East Coast) so it's starting to get a little bit cooler, some days, and I wear a sweater (at work) or sweatshirt (when at home) like 100% of the time just because I'm always cold and it's also an Autistic sensory friendly thing for me too.

See more: Body neutrality

2. Distraction Techniques:

Engage in activities that take your mind off your dysphoria. This could be reading, drawing, journaling, listening to music, watching movies or TV, or any other hobby or activity that you enjoy and find absorbing.

Engage in self-care activities that actually make you feel good about yourself, not just doomscrolling social media. And for those times when you are on social media, if you're currently following anyone who makes you stressed/unhappy, stop following them. It's your feed and you're in charge!

But if you find that it's hard to do the necessary activities of everyday living because you find yourself spending most of your time engaging in distraction techniques, and you're falling behind on homework/work, that's another sign that you need additional support from a mental health professional.

3. Grounding Techniques:

Practicing mindfulness can help you stay present and reduce distressing thoughts, but the kind of nebulous meditation stuff never worked well for my ADHD brain.

Guided meditation

15 meditation tips

How to do progressive muscle relaxation

Body scan relaxation exercise

Mindfulness skills and worksheets masterpost

Imagery

Imagery self-help

Relaxation

Relaxation audio

Safe-place visualization

I found specific things like grounding exercises, like the "5-4-3-2-1" technique (identifying five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste), can help divert your attention from dysphoric feelings if you're having a Moment. This type of strategy is useful when you start to notice yourself spiraling to try and re-center yourself.

Soothing grounding exercise

Physical grounding exercise

Mental grounding exercise

Grounding techniques

How to make a grounding box

Grounding exercises

How to ground and center

4. Stay connected:

Connect with in-person and/or online LGBTQ+ support groups who understand what you're going through. Sharing your feelings and hearing from others who have similar experiences can be comforting and it can help you to learn new coping strategies and things to try.

In general, avoiding isolation is important. Join a club or volunteer for something, join a sports team, hang out with your friends, etc. Just don't stay alone in your room. Get out of the house if you can, or invite people over or have video calls or phone calls if aren't up to being out and about. Just stay in contact with people.

See more: Motivating yourself to socialize

5. Set Alarms:

Consider setting alarms or reminders to take off your binder and give your body a break. Even short breaks can help reduce the risk of injury.

Here are some links that may help in general:

9 strategies for dealing with body dysphoria

How do I deal with dysphoria?

20 Small Things To Do When Gender Dysphoria Gets You Down

25 Things I Do To Make My Body Dysphoria Feel Smaller and Quieter

More on coping with dysphoria

Dealing with dysphoria

A post with suggestions for coping with dysphoria

Take care of your mental health

8 tips for managing dysphoria and mental health

A coping tip

Disablity-friendly dysphoria tips

Dysphoria that prevents you from leaving the house/doing activities of daily living

Your feelings are valid, and it's essential to find ways to manage your dysphoria that prioritize your health and well-being. There isn't a secret dysphoria cure I can share with you, to be frank it just sucks sometimes and there's not a lot to do about it but you gotta find a way to cope and keep going and stay safe.

Eventually it gets better-- you either find a way to cope more effectively and manage the dysphoria and/or time just passes and you grow older and eventually find a way to access surgery, but either way you will eventually become an adult who is managing life somehow and overall doin' okay and yeah there's hope at the end of the tunnel so please keep going!

You deserve care, support, and understanding, even if your family isn't able to provide that right now. And again, apart from the two links that I started the response with, the main advice I have is that you should ask to speak with a therapist (even if you are closeted and don't tell your fam that it's gender/binding/dysphoria related) and just let them know that you're struggling with your mental health in general.

Please reach out for help if you need it, and consider seeking medical attention if you experience severe pain or discomfort from binding. Good luck!!

As some of you may have noticed, our blog has been around for a decade or so and some links may be broken because we're all busy etc so pls let me know if something is wonky in a post I'm trying to link to!

Followers, any advice for anon?

[themuseandantarctica]

* 𝒊 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏

sentence starters from joanne greenberg's novel i never promised you a rose garden. change however necessary. i never promised you a rose garden is a semi-autobiographical account of a young girl admitted to a mental hospital for treatment for her schizophrenia, which means...

tw: mental hospitals, medical, self-harm, suicide, suicidal ideation, ableism, ableist language

it should look as if we trust her. she must feel that we trust her…

they call it a mental hospital, but it's a place where they put people away.

we should have expected them. why should we be so surprised?

i told you the truth about these things you asked. now are you going to help me?

you are just in time for the patient's soothing tea and the end of the world.

it was considered advisable to terminate the interview.

well, i'm a hundred square yards sane.

you will not have to give up anything until you are ready, and then there will be something to take its place.

the prisoner pleads guilty to the charge of not having acute something-itis and accepts the verdict of guilty of being nuts in the first degree.

someday i hope to help you see this world as other than a stygian hell.

it seemed like a good life -- a very good life she had. now they say it wasn't.

i can't really see you and i can't really hear you.

they think that both of us would be too much just now.

it's without a cause, you see, and that's what is so frightening.

i hated it and had no talent for it. it was one of the flags to capture, you see, and he had to try to win it, even through me.

it's going to cost us -- everything. you know that, don't you?

am i not what you wanted? do you have to correct my brain, too?

you see, she knew, in her own way, that she was not attempting suicide, but making the call for help, the call of a mute and confused person.

waiting for the blows… and then there came a time, later -- a time where she began to arrange for blows to fall.

i swear to you that i will not use you.

they never said they were sorry, not one of them.

is this… forever?

that was not my doing. i was not even in on the consultation.

you are walking around your destruction and poking a little finger at it here and there.

it's funny… i never figured that kid was really sick.

i scratched my arm a little -- that's all.

do you know what a coldsheet pack is? i'm going to set one up for you.

this is the little tart i was telling you about.

there are flowers in a hospital and strength, too. you will live and be strong.

i could not be sure. i am good at getting deceived, you know.

you know… the thing that is so wrong about being mentally ill is the terrible price you have to pay for survival.

there is no injustice being done.

don't hit me, [name] -- don't hit me! i know how hard you can hit!

once i greeted my best friend and she turned from me. when i asked why, she said, "after what you did?" she never spoke to me again, and i never found out what happened.

none of the others laughed, really. you were only afraid that they might laugh. you alone made yourself lie.

there are other deaths than death -- worse ones.

we might someday… have to be "well" and be in the world.

i didn't want to hurt you -- to make you sicker.

when i get around to it, i'm going to do your portrait.

my hair feels dirty.

it is my selfness and it is poisonous. it is mind-poisonous.

another camouflage is to blame it all on someone else. it keeps you from having to face what they really did to you, and what you did to yourself and are still doing.

somewhere there is a thief who has heard that people bury and hide their gold and jewels. can you see the expression on his face when he comes on what i have buried!

i like being somebody's punishment; it makes me feel needed.

their religion doesn't permit them to commit suicide.

i found out about being insane. it really is something.

lay off [name], will you?

do you think the sick people are all in hospitals? do you think you have a corner on suffering?

you ought to know mental trouble when you see it.

it's envy! the best and smartest are always envied. walk straight and don't let them know if they touch you.

i thought i was going to die, but at last they came back.

that kid looks through me as if i'm not here at all.

i am a hair in my eye, and so are you.

a pacifist is one who uses his open hand.

i never promised you a rose garden. i never promised you perfect justice, and i never promised you peace or happiness. my help is so that you can be free to fight for all of these things.

it's because of the maybe. it's because of the little, little maybe.

she never took your world at all, don't you see?

what do they want with me, broken into and spoiled already? i'm not good enough for anyone else.

i could still be crazy if i wanted to?

i wish i could have made it to that narcotics cabinet.

are you calling me? is it me you want?

you have quite a number of bits and pieces all copied down on those papers of yours.

who ever told you that learning facts or theories or languages had anything to do with understanding yourself?

there is nothing you can do to me that my own craziness doesn't do to me smarter and faster and better.

i'll be around. you could even get privileges to come and visit me.

i never could ask for anything. i thought you knew that. when i have to ask, something happens to me and i… well, i start to fight.

i always wondered why those reports seemed to be more about [name]'s thoughts than about her body, like pulse or temperature.

maybe the cannon blast we were fearing was only what we heard.

you are captive and victim. we did not want you to escape.

it's going to hit -- please -- it's going to hit harder than i can stand up under.

god, they build their tortures cunningly!

everyone is so afraid of getting blood on the living room floor. "i can't stand to see suffering," they say, "so die outside!"

i think now, though, that you are little too happy with yourself for this trouble you have.

mommy and daddy are shelling out plenty on that bitch who isn't fit for saving.

get away from that door, [name]. you have no business there.

you are trying to hurt yourself now. what happened?

don't forget what i know about you!

i had known all those years and years how sick i was, and nobody else would admit it.

if you're seeking objective reality, this is one hell of a place to start.

even if you didn't really talk out loud, it was that look you get…

i'm not giving up; i'm just tired, that's all.

occasionally, others are damned by you to punish you.

this you have earned. i don't often give presents either, so take it.

this is one-by-one from the jawbone!

my difference is not my sickness.

when i get upset… i usually have trouble seeing properly.

did i hurt anybody? did i hurt anybody?

kid, i never knew you had it in you. you can really fight!

if i want to die, what am i saving myself for?

you've seen this… awfulness before; why are you so shocked?

measure the hate you feel now, and the shame. that quantity is your capacity also to love and to feel joy and to have compassion.

i would be worse than wasteful to give a moment's time to a hopeless case.

you will find no shortage of moral issues and hard decisions in the real world.

i have decided not to be immoral, because of what happened to [name].

where is what you used to scratch this?

it is why you need a hospital.

you are worn out, but no longer so very frightened, are you?

what am i doing here with all these crazy people!

i don't want to think anymore! i'm tired and scared and i just don't care anymore what happens.

i like an anger that is not fearful and guilty and can come out in good and vigorous english.

we just didn't get on. we didn't like each other. i think perhaps we were too much alike…

you've only got one kind of cold, the kind coats can fix.

you may not even have to do anything about it. you may not even have to think about it.

it was just a simple statement in my mind that i was going to live, to come up alive.

what hurts is being kicked by the forces that everyone else lives by and years of being nuts and not being able to tell anyone and have them believe you.

i tried to go easy. i hope it didn't hurt too much.

grapevine never told me you were back.

it can be very, very tough, but people are sometimes better than you think they will be.

somehow lately, there's been something like a caring in her.

now, am i crazy or did you make that story up?

you can have something on which to model yourself.

stop it! will you never end it!

if everybody would stop dying over the big secret, it'll be a lot easier.

you're not here that much. i want to see you this week.

no, [name], he was weeks ago -- i just went to the party with him.

when she blows, she's going to cover the ceiling.

sometimes you have to fight what won't yield and put yourself where it's safe to be crazy.

whose idea was this in the first place?

if i weren't scared to death of it, i would be so grateful!

you're not just rubbing it in good to get a little free suffering out of it?

alive is fighting. it's the same thing. i still think [name] could have made it.

well, i hope you like the room.

now, when you have come again to the world, you are able to remember what was also there with the darkness. much of it was darkness only because it was balanced against the light of loving and experiencing truth.

what about your new friend, [name]? do you still see her sometimes?

the one place i could never go… the one hunger i could never admit.

do they know how beautiful and enviable their lives are?

i can't go back to my merry high-school days again, volleyball in the gym and teeth-teeth at the school dances.

could you call them for an appointment?

just… well, i liked to think of you being outside and starting along, that's all.

hey! you know what happens when you burn yourself? you get burned, that's what!

is it true that you bring me beauty lately only when you are threatened?

if it's okay with the people down at that place she mentioned, i'll be ready whenever they are.

say "hello" for me. throw something at her and be rude so she'll know it's me.

she is prompt and obedient and never insane in the classroom.

does it all have to go? do we pile it up and throw it all out?

i will never have that. not by fighting or study or work or withstanding will i be able to walk with one of them or be warmed by their hands.

we had to call your landlady and tell her you weren't coming back there tonight and that you were here.

you rotten whore! let me go!

i am going to hang with the world. full weight.

[pagodazz]

OKAYYY,,, SOO I HEARD THAT YOU MIGHT WANT PEOPLE TO ASK MORE

Soo,, I ask of you

Evan headcanons

:] not forced though !!

YAYAYAYAY!!! MY FAVVV GUY IN EVERRR, I have so many thoughts about him please forgive me if I ramble on and on.

Evan Myers is deeply misunderstood. Like, you all can talk about how you love him and how hot he is, but none of you ever seem to grasp his story and just how complex and beautiful it is. It's so insanely tragic.

And I don't just mean the fact he ate his own friends and child either. Don't get me wrong, of course that is a major part of his story, but ITS ONLY A PART OF A MUCH MUCH BIGGER THING.

He has so much to offer, so much to give, he's full of so much love, only to be possessed by something who is so hateful.

The conflicting thoughts he must of had in his head, the nights he probably spent very wide awake holding head in his hands just repeatedly hitting himself trying to to knock out the poisonous words HABIT is feeding him.

Knowing Evan, he's going to act like he's completely fine the next day, and of course, Vinnie will always be the one to notice. And Vinnie will always get Evan to open to him and he'll do anything to distract Evan from his thoughts.

-------------------

To me, Evan is a really confident yet deeply insecure guy. he's really good at deflecting his feelings by using humour, even if he's aware he's doing it or not.

He's set up basically an invisible border to get through, If you're able to kick past all the the jokes he makes you can see how deeply he's hurting and how much the things in his life affect him.

But even though he's got this sadness in him, he's VERY MUCH SO A PARTY GUY.

He's the life any party, everyone will always have their eyes on him, he will always be doing something to make someone laugh or to make them swoon, he's just that kind of guy.

He's like the type of guy to grab his friends by the hands and force them to dance with him in the kitchen even though there's absolutely no music going on.

He'd probably say something like, "You just gotta feel it man."

-------------------

I think Evan himself is a violent man. especially after years of being inHABITED, I think his brain struggles to separate his own thoughts from habits sometimes, he still has deep internal blood lust, something that can only be soothed by taking the life of the one who wronged him.

That being said, I don't think he enjoys that part of himself AT ALL. to the point where I think he would start trying not to touch things out of fear of destroying it or killing it.

Like say you gave Evan before everything started a kitten, he would be silly with it and mess with it.

But if you gave Evan AFTER everything went down a kitten??? he's gonna hold it like he's never held one in his life. He's gonna look at it with wide eyes, That sweet innocent life on his face, Evan doesn't want to see that go away again, hes almost never in control of his body, but he's always left with the memories. He'd basically force you to take the kitten back before he could accidentally cause harm.

I also think that this applies to people too, we see him being very very affectionate with his friends in the beginning, but later on, of course we don't get that. If anything, the most him and Vinnie can do is sit side by side.

They both would ache for some kind of affection but, Evan is afraid of hurting him and sometimes, Vinnie is a little afraid of getting hurt.

------------------------

I believe that of course like most other slenderverse characters, he has horrific night terrors. But I personally think that his might just have some of the worst.

His nightmares probably include the things HABIT has done to his many victims, and it's probably in extreme vivid detail too.

It's enough to wake him up sweating and running to the bathroom because the shit is so horrific it makes him sick.

Usually after those nightmares he'll take a cold shower and he'll go to the kitchen and get water and he'll most likely be met by Vinnie who hasn't slept yet, and they'll end up talking on the couch until Evan passes out next to Vinnie. Being next to another person probably brings him alot of comfort. (even if the man he finds comfort in is betraying him.)

----------------------

in a good world if the baby lived and slenderman wasn't around, I think that Evan and Steph's relationship probably would not have worked out in the end and Evan would be the best single dad he could be.

I think he'd have his own apartment and he'd throw away each cent of his paycheck to his rent and to spoiling his daughter.

Of course Evan wouldn't be raising her alone, Steph would still be around and they'd be best friends, just not lovers. (Steph is a lesbian, and she's in love with Jessa ‹𝟹) And I think Evan would of course have Vinnie and Jeff to help.

I think they'd actually all be roommates, considering their house is actually one, it just seems right to not separate them.

Evan needs his guys and they need him.

I also think he's just got that divorced dad energy, where he's pulling up blaring his dad rock and he's gonna drive too fast and recklessly, and he's gonna go to a gas station to get food instead of stopping at some fancy restaurant, but it's still one of the nicest times anyone could ever have.

----------------------

PLEASE I HAD SO MUCH MORE I COULD'VE SAID. I LOVE HIM BAD. I JUST. yeah.... so I don't talk too much.

[xerserise]

1. I have something going on with dopamine (many of my issues are correlated with dopamine stuff) which makes it hard to be happy.

2. The dopamine stuff and possibly other neurology of mine (combined with the world I was raised in) mean I have significant executive function issues—making it hard to start things, keep doing things, finish things, plan things, and even to want things.

I'm trying to find more joy in life, because it sucks being miserable all the time. But finding things that give me joy is hard work. Getting myself to start the thing that might be fun is work. Pretty soon, doing the novel and interesting thing that made me happy becomes work, because it's not new and doesn't keep my interest and doesn't hold as many secrets to uncover—it's just another thing I did/learned/tried, and forcing myself to maintain it becomes a hated chore.

The more interests I've gone through, the more overlap there is with other potential interests. I've already done something like that, so why do it again? (But also sometimes: I've already done something like that, so I have some skills that can transfer over.)

Do I constantly chase a new interest? Do I try to reignite passion for an interest I'm losing passion for? Do I pick up an old interest again, in the hopes that a spark flares up? Do I expose myself to new things outside my comfort zone (Hah! No.)?

The problem is, interest can't be forced, only attention. So most of the time, if I'm not trying to make myself wash dishes or brush my teeth or call the doctor or something, I'm disinterestedly whiling away the time with something relatively mindless and mildly entertaining (often while trying to get myself to stop doing the mindless thing and get myself to do the important thing). Which is no way to discover new interests or take care of the home or get a to-do list done. It is soothing, though. Sometimes. Occasionally.

On the other hand, getting joy out of doing things kicks my brain into high gear (heavily focused on the fun thing) without giving me choice of where my focus goes, often leaving necessary things undone (leading to future misery).

Forcing myself to care for myself and do necessary household stuff uses so much of my energy and my limited capacity to choose where focus goes. After that, my brain needs a break. But the first break of the day is often the end of the 'working day'. Regardless of when the break occurs. The next day, I once again have to push myself to get fed and washed and take care of stuff around the house, collapsing before it's all done. And again. And again. And...

My attempts to connect with others (because doing fun things with people is fun, and I want to have more fun) online leads to idly scrolling my feeds, which have been curated to show me things I think are important. So an idle decision to check my notifications will result in idly scrolling for hours through post after post about how people are being harmed by the systems of society, and by genocide and by individual acts of bigotry. And in person, you can't block people or choose to skip over their rants or check someone's profile before making a choice about whether to engage in conversation.

Anyway, the moral of this story is: [possum_screaming.png]

[tordenvejr]

hey vic 💓

i would love your input on something if you’re willing. my eating disorder has gotten unmanageable and i want to recover but i feel like i can’t without an audience, if that makes sense. a big part of me wants to be sicker, and the part that wants to recover thinks im not sick enough to warrant recovery yet. i think about trying to challenge a behavior and it feels useless unless everyone around me knows about it and is proud of me for it, like i can’t just do it for myself to be happier. i’ve been to treatment twice, and i think now my brain thinks that im only allowed to recover in that setting. im also really struggling with the possibility of weight gain. i gained a lot of weight during my second round of treatment and maintained that for 2 years until this relapse, but the whole time i was absolutely miserable and felt awful about myself. i feel like if i gain weight again it’s going to be the exact same thing and i can’t deal with that again; i hated myself so much. now that i’ve lost most of the weight i’d gained i recognize myself again and i don’t want to go back to how i felt before. any thoughts or advice would be immensely appreciated. thank you vic.

hi 💛 be curious to get to the root fear of the resistance to getting better, we'll ask a lot of questions to cover a lot of ground, some may be resonant and have big answers, others may not be relevant. go with what makes sense to you ✨🌻

• what are you protecting yourself from?

• what are you truly trying to control?

• what emotional needs do you have that are not being tended to right now?

• which parts of yourself do you reject or shame?

• what do you perceive that you gain from being sick?

• do you feel that you are allowed to be visible and take up space, emotionally and expressively? do you feel comfortable with this? why, why not?

• are there any people you are not comfortable being perceived by? when and how did that begin?

• what need is your disordered eating fulfilling albeit in a harmful way? control - if so what are you afraid of surrendering to, what are you afraid will happen if you don't have it? comfort - what do you need comfort around, what other ways could you fulfill this need? being invisible to certain people and feeling safer as a result - how else could you tackle this need for safety? gaining approval - whose approval do you want? why would disordered eating provide this?

you can extend the curiosity to things that you yourself are saying:

• why do you need to be witnessed to care for yourself? go with whatever answer intuitively comes up. has there ever been a time where you were rejected, alone and you tried to justify the treatment by also abandoning yourself?

• what does your story look like in terms of health and the care you've received growing up? has there been a certain extend of suffering needed to be cared for?

• do you feel others are proud of you, in general and/or in various aspects of your life? do you feel that they care or that they are indifferent to you? do you feel that your recovery matters in their lives? it doesn't matter what you think, what do you feel?

i find that little of disordered eating is actually about the physical aspect, it's how it shows up and how we recognize it, but it's almost always tied to something else

i'll give you my experience for insight. when i was experiencing disordered eating as a child and as a teenager - anorexia, binging, bulimia it was at a time i didn't feel there was any space for me. i was anxious, scared, actively experiencing trauma. dissociating all the time as a result of said trauma. i didn't feel safe or "good", i felt i should disappear. i felt no one understood, listened, or could help me. i needed food for comfort, to soothe because i didn't have any emotional regulation tools, and i couldn't bear being visible to others. this was after many years of being groomed online as well, plus having a very strange relationship to my body in terms of my gender identity and experiencing dysphoria. i'm sharing this because the environment around me, my emotional state and the state of my nervous system was a huge part of my disordered eating. and for me, what really helped me get better was healing my relationship with me, gaining tools for emotional regulation, fostering acceptance and then love for me, not my body, me. it doesn't mean it can't still be hard for me at times or i can't be triggered, but when i do i understand why and what happened and i don't spiral. know your triggers. for me my main one is getting misgendered a lot in a short span of time, so when that happens, i'm aware, i tend to myself, i give myself space to struggle - while tending to and giving my body care and food. it is possible to have a very sturdy healthy baseline, and at the heart of it, i think, is emotional healing + feeling safe ⭐️

[majorbaby]

What is it like writing a story that nobody asked for?

humbling: being unpopular is a kind of an enforced boundary. you want so badly to be liked or appreciated or ‘make something good’ but there’s a distance you can’t overcome because of something you can’t control, which is other people's reactions to you… tbh I’m not great at setting boundaries so having one put in place for me is better than nothing. it’s healthy for me to assume that I’m making something that cannot be good or that people will either not like or be neutral towards. there’s nobody left to write it for except myself. 

therapeutic: in the past, making something that is doomed to be bad because it's a flawed concept, or I’m working with subpar tools, wouldn’t just be something I would run away from, it’d be something I’d openly scorn. I hate the ‘low art/high art’ binary for how oppressive it is, but I’ve found that a lot of quiet despair can be soothed by committing 10000000% to leaning into the thing that oppresses you - if you have the safety to do so. I find so much relief and joy from leaning into the degeneracy/ugliness/undesirability/otherness thrust upon me, i think that is the point of 'reclamation'. I’m making art so low it is basically in hell and i’ve accepted it’s going to be cracky and unrealistic and if i try hard enough, perhaps even objectively bad

i am also a recovering workaholic, and the slightest hint that I might be ‘adding value’ by doing something makes my brain vibrate happily, distracting me from my wellbeing so that i am free to work myself to the bone to produce the value-adding product - i am used to being rewarded for this behaviour (which only makes my brain vibrate harder the next time) so much so that it became the way i approached any kind of labour. So this is part of the treatment plan, to try to unlearn something that was causing me harm. though I’m normally one of those everything-has-inherent-value types, it's easy enough to forget about that when it comes to oneself - that actually benefits me here. again, it is healthy for me to work from a place of ‘absolutely nothing is riding on this, there are 0 stakes�� sometimes and i would recommend that experience to everyone. 

fun: I’ve made lots of stuff that people in my surroundings have raved about and it has often sucked ass the entire time/gave me actual mental illness/actively ruined my life. this write-up makes me sound like a tortured artist but truthfully, i’m a lot happier than i’ve been in my whole life in no small part thanks to how much stuff i’ve been able to make this year and how much i’ve enjoyed doing it. If this were to stop being fun consistently, i wouldn't do it anymore. 

lonely: yeah, it can be. but there’s my friends who always support whatever weird thing i’m up to so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. and there’s you, who cared enough to send me this ask.

[ejaydoeshisbest]

The day before Christmas Eve. I just want to be useful. I want to give back. It isn’t about me anymore.

This happened on December 23, 2023, but only had the time (and strength) to write what happened now, January 03, 2024. This is because I felt that I was too emotional and lonely to write something so emotionally charged and depressing. What happened was I video-called my aunties as they were being festive and preparing for Christmas Eve. I was alone in the house with only my grandmother for company and combined with the feelings of anxiety, stress about the past and future, the struggle to breathe, and the isolation I felt with all my family abroad, having fun this Christmas and New Year, while all I wanted was to desperately cross the ocean to be with them, it all got to me.

I was in no-shame tears as I video-called them, my breaths hitching, my voice quaking. At the time, I cried about being a useless leech who wasted his prime years to be a couch potato, and now that I am feeling physical symptoms that make life more challenging, I regret it. If I had known that this would happen to me, I would have worked harder, summoned more patience at work, and saved more than enough money. I told them how I hated myself, and how I was disgusted with myself as the eldest son and an eldest sibling. I should be out there facing the world and its harms (like getting a job, firstly) so that I can not only be a financial burden but also be a source of financial assistance when needed. I just want to be useful. I want to give back. It isn’t about me anymore. The lies, too, got to me. I was deaf to rational but listened to the negativity in my head. (Note to self: DO NOT LISTEN TO BRAIN WHEN IT BECOMES A BULLY). I felt like a child again, asking for directions, and seeking help from older people. My aunties, of course, comforted me. They listened to me as tears flowed down my face. They shushed me when I became incoherent. They soothed me, as always. They told me that being a stay-at-home carer was a good thing. That without my help, my parents would have had a harder time situating themselves in a new place. It is a comforting, thought, but I wasn’t sure. I guess, the thing that worries me is the recurring thought of, AM I USEFUL? I know one of the solutions now: it is to avoid what I have been doing these past years. The 20s that disappeared. I wasted it all by being a lazy bastard, a depressed loner, an anxious leech. It’s time to force myself into a different mindset. I’m not sure if I can handle life, but I’ve got to believe that I’m doing good by contributing somewhat to the family. I guess it also helps to remember my dreams and daydreams and goals in the middle of all the nastiness of my surroundings. To fight for it, even if it looks bleak. The point is that it keeps me hopeful, and it keeps me happy. To not conform to society, but still participate in whatever goodness it offers. Words: Ejay Diwas Art: taken from TORRANCE on Pinterest https://www.pinterest.ph/pin/1125968650656703/

[bobofsuburbia]

Stacking up little emotional victories when you can really helps you when the shit gets heavy.

Time change always fucks me up, and a steady 30 day diet of war crimes footage from Gaza has literally assaulted my brain in bad thoughts.

As wrong as it feels to watch, it feels worse to look away. It is such a terrible, inhumane way to die, but it seems a mercy after living in the constant terror of something falling from the sky and killing you in an instant every day you've been alive. Imagine learning the language of a distant country simply so that when your family dies, you have the ability to appeal to the citizens of that country for mercy via social media, and those people ignore you.

The horrors of humanity happen when we willfully turn away, but I've seen things the last month that will haunt me forever. I've wanted to shove those images in people's faces to sear them in their minds because I hate them for looking away, almost as much as I hate the folks who say that bombing innocence is the only way to get at the guilty.

It makes it easy to feel despair and hopelessness and that's where I've been for a solid month. I'm grateful that I have the ability to process it from so far away, and that my family is not the ones in harm's way, but that doesn't soothe the anger and pain. If anything, it's an amplifier.

But I have so many more tools these days to deal with that constant grief, and I realize my ability to process has grown. It doesn't mean I'm a fortress now, but that I bend more before breaking. And despite all efforts, I haven't broken yet.

This is just me checking in with myself, by the way. I don't quite know where I'm at unless I free-write from the hip sometimes, and I'm doing better than I thought I was. Still fucking wrecked, but better.

[thebibliosphere]

I receive many wonderful and kind comments about Phangs in my inbox daily, but the ones that stick with me the most are always from fellow neurodivergent people, usually elated or crying because Phangs is the first book they've been able to read since their teens, sometimes even decades.

"I thought I'd lost the ability to read; I thought there was something wrong with me; I thought I was broken," over and over and over again.

I've talked about it before, but just in case you need to hear it: it's not just you; it's the publishing industry.

If you follow my Twitter, you may have seen the thread where I talked about what that was like, and how I was often handed the "problem" writers who struggled to conform to the industry standards. (The original thread is gone, but for context, it was about the lack of accessibility in publishing for people with ADHD) I didn't know it then because I wasn't yet diagnosed, but I understood the problems these writers were having because our brains functioned on the same wavelength.

I understood why they felt specific changes harmed the text, but I also understood that it was the cost of being published, and it was my job to help them with it. I went above and beyond to make it as painless for them as possible. All the while listening to my colleagues around the wine water cooler deride these writers as "pretentious" and "too thin-skinned for publishing."

I hated them. I still hate them, and I hate that the industry is the way it is because it's really not that difficult to accommodate.

Suppose an ADHD author tells you the changes you've made have made a sentence incomprehensible to them (and I cannot stress enough how distressing it is to have something you wrote be turned into something you cannot read). In that case, it's likely because you've removed certain critical elements for the sake of brevity. It might not look like vital elements to you, but for ND brains, longer sentences with additional qualifiers and descriptors can really help us latch onto the "rhythm" of a text, which can help us feel more immersed and hold our attention better*.

Filler words can help with this; it gives our brain time to process but also figure out which parts are essential and to hold onto. It's sort of like, uh, how people say "like" and "uh" a lot (😋). These act as both social cues that indicate that while we might be pausing in our speech, we are not done talking yet, but also help keep our brains jogging along via the act of vocal stimulation. (If I can find the study I read on this, I'll come back and post the link.)

Regarding "superfluous" adjectives and "weak" adverbs, they often function to provide emphasis and context we might otherwise miss. Sure, you can go overboard with them, and they can lose all meaning if you do, but the general writing advice that "adverbs NEVER be used" is not only lousy in general but also means those of us who struggle with social cues and emotional context can be left feeling out of the loop.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had to go back and verify that a character is experiencing an Emotion because it wasn't emphasized, or the author tried to make it into a gut punch by using "sharp, punchy" language (but all they use is "sharp, punchy" language!), and my brain glossed over it because, well, if it's not part of the greater sentence structure, it's irrelevant.

And this shit is my job! I'm being paid to notice these things! It's just not how my brain works naturally, and forcing it to do so long-term is not only exhausting but distressing. Why would I keep trying to read something that causes me exhaustion and makes me feel stupid because I'm struggling to understand it?

Now, obviously, there will be times when a text needs sprucing up. Everyone has their "comfort" style of writing, and while repetition can be soothing to read, it can also make the text hard to engage with. Same with run-on sentences. Sometimes you need those one-word gut punches. Or everyone's favorite, the italicized "oh."

The trick is finding a happy medium between the two that retains your personal voice and writing style. A good editor will work with you to make this possible. A bad one will hack everything to pieces and tell you, "that's just how it's meant to be."

I was lucky with my editors. Sometimes, I had to tell them that the proposed changes wouldn't work and were causing me distress because I couldn't read them. And I knew. I knew if I couldn't follow the sentence structure, a good chunk of my prospective readers wouldn't be able to either. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were doing their jobs and ensuring my book had as much mainstream readability appeal as possible. However, the problem is that "mainstream readability," as we've already established, isn't accessible to a large chunk of the population. So we found ways to work around it. We made it work.

As is evident in the messages I get in my inbox daily.

Every single day, someone else tells me their friend recommended Phangs to them, and they were skeptical because they haven't been able to read a published book in years. And every single day, someone new tells me they loved Phangs, but the biggest thing they loved about it, was that they were even able to read it at all.

So thank you for the greatest compliment you can give me. A lot of work went into ensuring Phangs would be accessible to as many people as possible.

Also, sorry the industry is like *gestures* this.

----

*This is a generality and not true for everyone. People are not monoliths. I am merely speaking from my personal experiences from the things I have observed in the industry as an editor, a writer, and a lifelong reader who also now struggles to read the current style favored by the mainstream industry.

[falling-pages]

A hug and chicken noodle soup: Takashi x Reader

Feel better @ohshcscenerios <3

-

Maybe love was as simple as a hug and chicken noodle soup.

-

Takashi Morinozuka x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: None

-

Takashi was not used to being disobeyed.

The national martial arts champion, head of his own security firm, and father of three was used to holding power in his massive hands, for the room to fall silent at his command. He made the decisions, though with valid input from others, but he was the top dog, the one on whose authority they relied. Respect emanated from his veins, care and courage were his pedestal. When he gave an order, it was for the greater good of his company, or the safety of those he loved.

So when he returned home to find you washing the dishes, he was absolutely livid.

Not at your disobedience, per se. He was used to your sass, your jokes, your spitfire ways. Fourteen years of marriage would do that to a person, especially one as easygoing as him. But at your abject defiance, going against his advice for your own good--did you not trust him?

“What are you doing?”

You dropped the cup you were washing, the water splashing against your apron and the wall in retaliation. Soap bubbles clung to your arms, and with your deer-in-headlights stare, one would have thought he had just caught you stealing the Hope Diamond rather than just a simple chore.

“Takashi, I…” you sputter, wiping strands of hair away from your face. They had escaped from the bundle atop your head and creased your neck and forehead, though sticking with sweat or water he couldn’t be sure. If it were sweat, so help him, he was going to tie you down to the bed himself.

He left the shadows of the threshold and walked noiselessly towards you, groceries weighing heavily in his hands. You dare not move, pinned to the spot by his steely gaze. Your husband was a quiet man, not often prone to outbursts of emotions despite a wildly passionate heart. But like a predator towards prey, he came closer, until you saw the disappointment lining his brow.

Disappointment was always worse than anger.

But when he approached you, so close you could feel the energy radiating off his skin, so close but not touching, all that was left in his eyes was concern, a worried quirk on his lips that left knots in your stomach. Kindness framed him as he set down the groceries, took a towel, and wiped down your arms, leaving them soft and dry.

“I thought I told you to get some rest, love,” he whispered.

You swallowed, wincing at the ache in your throat. “I tried, I really did, but this was the only time I could get some chores done,” you whined. “The kids are with your parents this weekend, and it’s finally quiet and I can do stuff without worrying about watching them--”

“My parents took the children because you’re sick,” he responded, voice measured and even. His tone was stark, hands lingering on your wrist. Not tight enough to bruise, but enough to remind you of his strength. “You need to rest. I told you I would do the dishes once I got back.”

“But I--”

“Darling.”

His eyes flickered with hurt, and though he was never a man prone to begging, he would do anything to stop you hurting. Every weak inhale you took he felt in his own lungs, trapped and weak and congested. With the raging fever you were sporting this morning, it was a wonder you were even standing right now.

With a sigh, you let the dish fall into the puddle and stepped off your footstool--everything in this house was freakishly tall to accommodate his height--as he untied your apron, hanging it on the peg behind you. While his hands wandered around your waist, enjoying how you felt in his embrace, he bent to press a kiss behind your ear.

“I hate it when you’re hurting,” he murmured.

His warm voice broke through the gauze wrapping around your brain, and you sighed, relaxing against his chest. So warm, the only stable thing in your swimming vision.

“There’s nothing you can do about it,” you said.

“Yes there is.” He scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, and smashed his mouth against your neck, kissing and nuzzling your sweaty skin. “Go to bed, and I’ll make you some soup.”

Despite your squeals, broken and congested before they left your mouth, hiccupped and weak, you didn’t push him away, finally letting him baby you into bed. He walked seamlessly to your bedroom and pulled back the covers with you still clinging to his neck. As he lowered you down, you could have cried at how soft the sheets felt, cool silk against your sore muscles, warmth immediately drawing you into sleep. He layered the blankets on top of you before walking to the other side of the bed, climbing in and drawing the sheets around him before spooning you back against his chest.

His arms were rapture in and of themselves, an escape from your burning head and weak lungs, so tight and strong that you knew he would keep you safe from any sickness trying to harm you. His gentle breaths against your ear calmed your heart, tickling that part of your brain that sparked with love. Even as his lips traveled across your cheek you could barely find the energy to scold him.

“Taka,” you whined, as seriously as your hoarse voice would let you. “Stop...you’ll get sick…”

“I’ll be fine,” he whispered, smooth and comforting like chocolate or rain. Another kiss to your temple, slicking down to the underside of your jaw. “My body has been through worse.”

Though that much was true, it still irritated you. How could he reprimand you for disobeying him and then not even listen when you do the same?

“‘S not the same,” you mumble. “Being shot is a different kind of pain, I’d imagine.”

Takashi chuckled against your neck. Your mind traced over the diagram of his body, the scars stretching across his chest and neck, dyeing his hands and striping through his legs. His line of work was dangerous, full of deceit and corruption, but you knew he’d never have it any other way. “You’re right, my love. A bullet hurts like hell.” He wrapped you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe, but you welcomed the loving suffocation. “But I’d take them all over again if it meant you and our little ones were safe.”

Grisly and gruesome though his words were, they comforted you, lulled you into the security that he worked so hard to provide. Though you prayed it would never come to it, you knew he would lay down his life in a second to ensure yours or your children’s happiness. He even showed his love in less extreme ways--for example, forcing you to rest, holding you as you slept, even at the risk of his own health.

Over and over again you were amazed at the selfless love of the man you married.

Before you could even stop it, the tears were falling from your eyes, stinging the hot skin of your cheeks. Your heart felt full to bursting, and its hammering through your chest didn’t help at all. The world felt full of sunlight yet you clinched your eyes shut to keep in the tears, but they didn’t fool him.

Takashi felt you shake and quickly turned you over onto your back, laying you beneath him as he hovered above, one hand wiping your tears as the other held fast to your waist. “Look at me,” he whispered, the urgency in his voice making your eyes pop open. He stroked your cheek, running his finger along your nose, cooing and shushing until your gaze met his. And as soon as you saw that beautiful smile split his tan face, you knew everything would be okay.

“There she is,” he whispered, tenderly stroking beneath your eye. “Does it hurt that badly?”

“No,” you whispered. “It’s not the fever. It’s the feeling of being loved so terribly.”

Never a man of words, he furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I love you so, so much.” A dry sob creases out your throat. “I’m so glad I married you, and I’m so glad you’re the father of my kids, and I’m so glad I not only know, but get to love such a wonderful man for the rest of my life.”

He chuckled at your delirious confession, words he had all heard before but sounded more tender in the context of your sickness. Such tenderness in your voice soothed the aches and quells of his body, the wounds he had sustained inside and out during his life, until all that was left was you with a rag and antiseptic and a bandage. He adored you so deeply that though he wanted to hear you say more, it was imperative that you rest.

“I’m so blessed to have you by my side. I love you,” he whispered, giving you a gentle kiss. He frowned at how hot your lips were and resigned himself for the afternoon. “Go to sleep, beloved. When you wake, I’ll make you soup.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, the crying finally tuckering you out. Pliantly, you rolled back over onto your side, and he laid back behind you, guiding your head to rest against his bicep and laying his other arm over your waist. As you drifted back off to sleep, you could only think of one thing.

Love really could be as simple as a hug and chicken noodle soup.

-

Kofi

[letterstotheflre]

my drug is my baby

summary: sirius is glad he was patient enough with you and takes part of what he has been craving most

warnings: daddy kink, a smidge of religious references, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering and oral sex (fem receiver), innocence/corruption kink

word count: 3.2k

a/n: i kinda hate this now but i think it’s because i read it too many times, idk || i think it's a universal experience to not being able to cum from your own fingers... right?? and we all know that sirius has a crying kink... also i think it’s so hot when they make you thank them for letting you cum, sue me!!

Sirius Black liked to believe he was a patient man when he needed to be.

He was known for being reckless, always jumping into the next adventure without much thought, ready to follow James wherever he went. Most of the time he spoke without thinking, especially if he knew his comments would make his parents red with rage. Sometimes he didn’t even mean what he said, he just spewed whatever progressive or controversial opinion he had in hopes of making his mother’s heart stop beating.

He revelled in making rash decisions, somehow always ending up being benefited by them. He never gave much thought to anything: always doing his homework last minute yet somehow still getting top marks, taking some jokes too far, never taking into consideration other people’s safety unless they were close friends.

Some may call him selfish, but he liked not having to put too much thought into every single action. He spent most of his childhood walking on eggshells, afraid of saying the wrong thing and being punished or worse, Regulus taking the beating for him. But now that he finally escaped the Black family, he enjoyed the freedom that came with leaving Grimmauld Place.

He enjoyed breaking rules and creating chaos. It made him feel mighty, knowing he had the power to make all of those choices, still coming out on top, and see how they affected certain people. Most applauded him, revered him for being so spontaneous and adventurous; others couldn’t stand him, complaining about his mean jabs and sometimes harmful pranks.

Yet he knew how to wait for the things he deemed important or worthy. He knew that it was best to wait for Euphemia’s cherry pie to cool down before eating it, to wait for three days after the full moon to make a werewolf joke to Remus, to wait a few hours after James lost a Quidditch match to suggest a quick trip to The Three Broomsticks. And he knew it was best to wait for you.

Good things come to those who wait, that was his mantra. Of course, most of his restraint when it came to you was because he cared deeply about you and your comfort, but his conscience also drove him to keep his hands to himself. Every time his hands were about to go under your skirt, every time he heard your breathy moans when he kissed your neck, every time you looked at him with pouty lips begging for a kiss and his fingers craved to squeeze your neck, he took a step back. He felt so guilty for tainting something that in his mind was so pure, so he just held you close and peppered your face with kisses until you giggled.

But the thought of you being so untouched and how bashful you looked when he teased you or someone made a sexual comment made him want to ruin your innocence. Something inside him craved to see you tainted, to have you writhing under him as he rolled his hips against yours while you clutched his shoulders. He wanted to take that holiness you had and turn it into something so sinful that there was no way for you to ask for redemption.

And when you opened the door and took the first step, who was he to deny you?

He dragged everything out. Since the day when he taught you how to touch yourself, he wanted to make you wait for every sexual act that followed. He wanted to see how long it would take for you to beg him for some relief.

So today during a lecture when you looked at him with glazed over eyes and begged him to help you relieve the strange ache you felt in your stomach since you woke, he decided to be benevolent and give you some relief. He swiftly moved his hand under your skirt (thanking God that most of your closet consisted of that particular piece of clothing and dresses) and pushed aside your underwear before his fingers made way between your dripping folds. He didn’t enter you, just played with your clit until you had to bite the back of your hand to muffle your moans.

But when you whispered a small “thank you, daddy” and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, the only thing he wanted to do was take you back to his room and press you to the bed until your legs shook and tears ran down your cheeks. His eyes quickly scanned the classroom to make sure no one saw or heard anything, shoulders tense because of your words. All he could see were students with their own glassy eyes as they listened to whatever the professor was talking about. Fucking tease, Sirius thought.

And now, as he watched you on your knees and clutching his leg, lips pouty and cheek nuzzling his jean covered thigh, he was thankful for being patient enough.

“Please, Sirius, they’re back,” you said. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but played dumb as one hand petted your hair. “What’s back, baby?”

“The tingles,” you explained.

“And you need me to fix it, hm?” A small taunt was evident in his tone. “Your hands aren’t enough anymore, right bunny?”

Your cheeks warmed up at the implication, nevertheless, you shook your head. You still managed to make yourself cum, but the way Sirius could play with your clit like an experienced musician and how his big hands moved your hips along his jean covered leg would never compare to your dainty digits. The thought of his big fingers inside of you was enough to increase the tingles, and your hands pressed down on your stomach trying to soothe the pain.

“Please, Sirius, it hurts so bad,” you whimpered.

“Use your words, angel. Be good,” he said. You looked up at him with watery eyes, your mind already slipping and not letting you form too many coherent thoughts. “Please, daddy,” you sniffled.

He kept petting your head. “What do you want, angel?” He asked, looking almost bored with the situation as he listened to your pleads. “Anything,” you whined.

He shook his head, mocking disappointment. “You know you have to ask for what you want, puppy.” Even though he wasn’t angry, honestly a little amused at your desperation, his voice was stern, trying to engrave his rules in your fuzzy brain.

Your hands squeezed his leg, “I need you… down there.”

“You need to be clearer.''

You closed your eyes. You hated being so crass, but Sirius certainly had no qualms about it. “I need you… in my pussy,” you got out. But it wasn’t enough, not for Sirius who longed to ruin every aspect of your innocence. “What do you want, baby? D’ya want my fingers or my tongue?”

“Both,” you whined. Bingo, he thought with a dark smirk that would’ve sent shivers down your spine if you weren’t absolutely drenching and desperate for his touch. “Up you get, puppy,” he said, “lay on the bed f’me.”

You got on the bed right next to him, your head laying on one of your fluffy pillows. Your dress rode up a bit with your movements, but it didn’t really matter, and you pressed your legs together trying to relieve some of the tension while you waited for Sirius to do something. He simply watched you, taking in the image of you wriggling in place and toying with the rings he bought you for your birthday.

You felt a soft touch on your calves, and it gave you a fluttering feeling in your stomach. Sirius’s hands were moving slowly up your legs, nudging them apart without needing much force since you complied immediately. You were about to burst, ready to scream at him to just get on with it, but decided to keep quiet.

One of his hands made its way to the edge of your dress, swiftly going under it and his fingers slightly grazing your clothed pussy. Your hips bucked at the soft touch, but then just as quickly as it came it was gone. “No, come back!” you implored, reaching for Sirius’s wrist but being too slow.

Sirius arched one eyebrow, “What was that?”

“I’m sorry!” you cried out, “M’sorry, I just need you so bad. It hurts.” But Sirius remained where he was, arms now crossed over his chest as he looked at you. His eyes were full of disappointment and you wanted to cry, “What’s gotten into you today? You were so demanding in class before, so bratty, I don’t think you deserve it at all.” He was stretching the truth, you were by far the least bratty person he had ever been with, but he couldn’t help himself when he saw how much his words affected you.

A few tears fell at his words, “No, no, m’not bratty. I’m a good girl, daddy. I promise I’ll be so so good, your best girl! I won’t ask for anything more, m’sorry.'' You were saying anything you could to convince him that you were still his good girl, his angel.

Your lips were quivering and your chest was heaving with sobs you tried to keep inside; babbling apologies and trying to convince him that you would never act like this again, and he finally took pity on you. His hands gripped your ankles and opened your legs so he could lay comfortably between them. He could see a dark patch on your lavender underwear, and he huffed out a laugh with a slightly amused shake of his head. “I forgive you, bunny, but you’ll have to take everything that I give you. D’you think you can do that f’me?”

You nodded eagerly, choking a small ‘thank you’ as you tried to control your breath. He grabbed the ends of your dress and bunched it up over your waist, not bothering to take it off. He licked a strip over your underwear and the combination of his warm tongue with the friction of the cotton cloth was enough to make you mewl.

Sirius could not deny that he had been craving to taste you once more after he licked your fingers clean that day, and now only getting a smidge of your taste from what seeped through your underwear drove him insane. He needed to taste you completely, so he quickly pulled them off and pocketed them in the back of his jeans.

He used his fingers to spread your folds wide open, staring hungrily at all the slick that had gathered. “Oh puppy, look at the mess you’ve already made,” he crooned. “Y’re dripping, d’ya really need me this bad?”

“Yes, so so bad. Please, daddy.” He was so close, his warm breath hitting your wet folds and making you tremble in anticipation.

You watched, using your elbows to raise yourself a little, as he slowly started to take his rings off. “Hold ‘em for me, bunny, don’t want them to get dirty,” he said as he slid his chunky rings into your fingers. The metal dangled a little because of the size difference, so you closed your hands to keep them from falling.

Finally, his tongue made contact with your clit and you sighed in relief. It was followed by a moan when he started to suck on it, making sure to swirl his tongue all around before slurping. He looked like a starved man that finally came into contact with some sweet fruit, moving his head around your pussy to have you gushing on him. The ache in your tummy was slowly decreasing, now replaced with a nice fluttering feeling.

Your whines and moans echoed through his ears, resembling the most beautiful angel choir he had ever heard. He pulled away for a moment, “I’ve been waiting to taste you for days, puppy. S’better than I remembered.”

The more he pushed his tongue inside you, the more your legs shook. You involuntarily closed them, your pillowy thighs acting as earmuffs around Sirius’s head. He let them rest there for a few seconds before pushing them open once more, adding more fervour to his movements, eager to drink your sweet ambrosia.

Your closed fists went to his head, and you opened them a little to grip his hair, trying to ground yourself. “Gonna cum, daddy, can I?” You breathed out. Sirius just hummed, sending vibrations that were enough to make you let go. You tried to close your legs once more, but his shoulders prevented you from doing so. You felt like you were floating, your brain shutting off for a few seconds before returning to earth.

But Sirius didn’t stop moving his tongue, one of his fingers circling your hole before entering you slowly. Just one of his fingers felt like two of yours, even though you knew it wasn’t an accurate comparison. The stretch this time burned more than when you touched yourself, and you whined while shaking your head. “Too much, s’too much.”

Sirius paused for a moment so he could press your legs to your chest with one hand while the other kept moving in and out of you. The sudden switch in position made you gasp, but not as much as when Sirius thrust his fingers hard. “Are you dumb? I told you you had to take everything I gave you. D’you want to make me mad again?”

More tears fell when he curled his fingers, expertly finding that spongy spot inside you that pumped white heat through your veins. The way they twisted resembled a musician fiddling with a harp, your needy whines accompanying them like the main act. “No no, I can take it” you gasped, drowning in bliss as his fingers kept hitting the perfect spots.

You were already so close, Sirius giving you no respite as he quickly pushed his fingers. Your hand gripped his arm, fingertips digging the ink-covered skin. “C-close,” you whined, eyes rolling back and mouth open as you felt the tension ready to break.

“Going to make more of a mess, angel?” he grumbled, and you tried to nod as much as you could in your constricted position. Sirius chuckled, “Dirty little thing. Go on, I’ve got you.”

You whimpered brokenly as he pulled another orgasm from you. It felt like his fingertips were scrapping your insides to drag it out, and your feet dangled in the air as you swung them while trying to grab his wrist to stop him from moving.

Sirius couldn’t tear his eyes from you, with your pretty tears dripping down your cheeks and your chest heaving with small sobs from how good you felt. For him, all for him and only ever for him, because no one had ever touched you like he has and no one else ever would. “You look so pretty like this,” he cooed. “God I love your tears, baby, look how hard you make me.”

Your eyes moved down his body—when had he taken off his shirt? His tattoos splayed over his toned muscles made you clench around his fingers. You adored the small drawings that covered most of his body, they looked so beautiful on him and you just wanted to cry even more at how pretty your boyfriend was. When your eyes moved lower, following his previous instruction, you could see there was already a bulge in his pants that you knew was his cock, and your mouth watered at the thought of it just resting against his stomach like it did the first time you sucked him.

“I wanna feel you,” you cried while stretching your hands to touch him. He let you, your soft palms going over his chest and grabbing his shoulders so you could pull him down. “Kissie,” you breathed, letting his lips hover over yours for a second before kissing you hard and messily. His tongue played with yours and it only added more fuel to the fire inside you.

A moan broke you apart when his fingers resumed their pace, “P-please, no more” you babbled, the stimulation too much to bear.

“How are you gonna take my cock if you can’t take my fingers, hm?” He asked and you whined, his fingers burying themselves up to his knuckles and making your eyes roll back once more. Your mouth was dry from being constantly open, whimpers and moans constantly escaping from the open cavity. “Come on, one more, I know you have it in you. My good girl aren’t you?”

The squelching sounds were so dirty and they rang through your ears,  yet even through your fuzzy mind you could discern the important words, “Y-your good girl,” you managed to get out with a smile, glad to be praised by him.

His other hand pressed down on your legs even more, and now you could see the way the digits moved in and out of you, a slight sheen coating the skin every time they came out. “God, you were right, bunny, you are tight,” he grunted, “I don’t think I’ll ever fit, m’gonna break you.”

At that, your eyes widened. “No no, you’ll fit, daddy!” But he just chuckled at your desperation, “M’gonna break you in half, angel. Do you want that? Do you want me to split you open?”

A small chant of ’yes’ and ‘please’ echoed through the room. You could feel another wave coming, ready to wash over you as your toes curled in anticipation. It was like you were dangling on the edge, your hands holding on for dear life as you tried to hold on, and your moans grew louder and louder with every thrust Sirius gave.

Your clenching walls around his digits were warning enough for him, and he kept his eyes on your form as you struggled to keep it at bay, waiting for his permission. He watched as your ring clad fingers scrambled to the sheets, gripping them tightly as your head moved from side to side. “That’s it, bunny, let go f’me” and with one harsh thrust, you slackened the hold you had on your release and finally let go.

If you felt like you were still on your body you would’ve screamed. A white heat engulfed you as your vision grew hazy, your hips raising of their own accord and aiding Sirius in dragging your orgasm out. You looked so beautiful like this, a sweaty sheen on your skin and now tangled up hair sticking to your forehead. Sirius leant down, tongue cleaning the fallen tears before they dried, and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you.

He grabbed your face, squishing your spit covered cheeks. “What do you say, angel?”

With a shuddering breath, you looked into his stormy eyes as he cleaned your release from his fingers with his tongue. “Thank you, daddy.”

You tried to lower your legs, but Sirius kept them in place. You stared at him, confused, yet he was staring at your puffy cunt, all shiny and stretched out for him. A smirk covered his lips as he finally looked at you, “I think y’re finally ready for m’cock, angel.”

TAGLIST: @ildm4ev @capsmischief @dracosafety @dracoxgeorge @roonilwazlibswhore @lovelylupinx @sarcasmismyon1ydefence @marxy-06 @remusjlupinisdead @mattefic @artisancowbells @zzzfour @emmaev @gxtitobxby @sam-hollandsgirl —if you want to be tagged tap here

[tteokdoroki]

awake with you | s.todoroki

♡ pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 1.7K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: ua student!au, angst, comfort, fluff.

♡ summary: during the night, bad things happen but your boyfriend is always there to keep them away. by your side always, shoto todorki makes it his mission to fight your demons and make sure you know that you’re loved.

♡ warning(s): please read ! character death, mentions of car accidents, nightmares, guilt, lack of sleep, but a lot of fluff and the best boyfriend in the whole world :(

♡ author’s note(s): guys! it’s shoto’s birthday, so here i am postiing this shoto request from anon a while back, i hope you all enoy and have celebrating the beautiful boy’s bday <3

♡ masterlist | requests

it was hard for you to sleep.

harder, when shoto wasn’t around.

sometimes it was your thoughts that kept you up; late at night— dark thoughts that swirled around in your head and slowly poisoned your brain with heavy black venom. it was hard to sleep when your mind was heavy with fear, but ever since dating shoto todoroki; those nights became easier and sleep wasn’t so hard to come by.

you weren’t so sure what it was about your boyfriend that made it easier for you to get some shut eye; it’s not like he really knew either. todoroki just didn’t like seeing you in pain, the way your face twisted with discomfort or the way sleepy tears would wet your cheeks under the moonlight— but you had somewhat of an idea, that his fresh peppermint smell and warm arms are what often helped you.

shoto would so lovingly sneak into your room, no matter the time, dusk or dawn— he would hold you tight under the sheets until you drifted off to dream land. even if it meant being teased by the others for stumbling out of your room in the morning, his pretty hair a wild mess creating the image that’d you’d both been up to no good, he’d face it all for you, over and over again.

but tonight, your loving, caring and doting boyfriend was nowhere to be seen— everyone’s second internships had begun and todoroki had chosen to work with his father along with izuku and katsuki, so it was no doubt that they wouldn’t be home until late. what with endeavour being the number one and all.

your friends knew about your struggles to sleep, of course, todoroki bluntly mentioning how you ‘like to sleep together’ to soothe your nightmares ( iida had lectured you about it after, saying it was inappropriate while deku and ochako turned as red as your boyfriend’s hair ) so offered to stay up with you— but you needed rest, today’s training sessions  having taken a toll on your body, and wave them off with a smile laced with tiredness.

you could call him, he wouldn’t mind and you know it— but he’s with his father and that takes enough out of him as it is.

you decide, instead, to trudge to the dual quirked boy’s bedroom, instantly calmed by his sweet peppermint scent embedded into every inch of his dorm. you swipe one of his clean sweaters straight from the closet before hitting the lights and snuggling into his bed.

tonight would be fine, todoroki would come home, wrap you in his arms and with the aid of his scent surrounding you— you would sleep safe and soundly.

is what you hoped as you drifted off to the land of dreams.

when you were younger, you watched your older brother, haru, get hit by a car.

the scene haunts you to this very day, crawling up on you while you rest at night— choking you out in your dreams. you see it now, feet glued to the ground as you’re forced to watch the younger version of you, mess with your older brother using your new found quirk. your parents had called it scenery, back then your powerful quirk had been their pride and joy, giving you the ability to create a mirage in a certain targets mind— make them see things that weren’t really there.

back then it was fun to play tricks on your sibling— you made haru see all of his worst nightmares, everything but the road.

everything but the oncoming car.

everything but his untimely death.

you want to scream at little you— tell her to stop and that it’s not funny anymore as she forces your brother back into the road— he’s giggling, he doesn’t know it yet and neither do you. but the words you want to say die down deep in your throat, suffocating you from the inside although they burn at your lungs to burst through.

why cant you speak? why cant you stop her?

adrenaline trickles into your blood stream as you will yourself to run out into the street and protect haru from the oncoming traffic just as he slips off of the sidewalk. your senses are blown out of the water, static noise filling your ears and intertwining with childish screams and the sound of a not so distant honking horn.

you claw harshly at your throat. speak. save him. for god’s sake; do something.

“you’ll kill him! stop! you’re going to kill him!”

the flickering of artificial, yellow light behind your closed eyes has you jolting awake, sweat forming at your brow and hands clenched tightly around your boyfriend’s plain bedsheets. your gaze darts across the room while your heart thumps loudly in your ribcage from the fear that struck you in your dream and finally, your stare settles on a shirtless, bewildered shoto todoroki. his face is a little scratched up no doubt from being on his father’s patrol and he looks exhausted but that doesn’t stop the concern he has for you taking over his expression. “yn—?”

“s-sho,” you hate how your voice caves so easily, the single syllable of your nickname for him falling wetly from chapped lips. todoroki is by your side in an instant, not caring that he’s only half dressed and half awake. he’ll deal with that later.

with tender hands shoto cups the back of your head, letting you sink into the warmth of his flesh. you reach out for your boyfriend and he’s there, taking your free hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze to help ground you. “love, what happened? why didn’t you call? you know i don’t mind—” his timbre voice fills your ears like warm honey, calming your rapid breathing but all you can do is shake your head.

“nightmare ‘n you were working,” you pant, cutting him off while the death grip on your lover’s hand begins increasing. you feel so far from the ground, the scene of haru’s death dancing across your mind. “i killed him, again—“

shoto watches your body twitch with fear and your usually glimmering eyes gloss over in away that makes him feel sick. you’re not here with him yet, still tangled up in the black string of your bad dreams. the world around the dual eyed boy begins to change and it seems you’ve activated your quirk by accident— showing him scenes of the day your brother died.

you screw your eyes shut as flashes of his body tangle with reality to the point where you don’t know what’s real and what’s not. you’re losing control of yourself so easily, fresh sets of tears stinging their way down your streaked cheeks. trapped. you feel trapped like a bird in a cage even while you’re awake and the sounds of cars and screaming burn at your ears once more.

make it stop, please.

“yn... come back to me love, i’m right here,” todoroki’s calm voice cuts through the suffocating song of death, dragging you back to reality while the effects of your quirk drift away. his fingers, although contrasting temperatures, now cup your cheeks to tilt your face towards him so that your eyes lock with his under the crescent moon. “you didn’t kill him. that wasn’t you. it wasn’t your fault.”

you blink away more tears like a helpless child, chest heaving but todoroki doesn’t give up. “but—“

“no.” your boyfriend says softly, yet sternly, leaning down to place an eskimo kiss to your nose. your eyes flutter shut at his simple gesture, although it raises saftey and warmth across your body— black radiates behind your closed eyelids, no longer plagued broken bones and blood. it’s easy to keep breathing from there, focusing on that as todoroki pulls you into his lap and the sheets fall away from your body.

“no,” you repeat back to him while shoto’s arms settle on your waist and his familiar scent of fresh peppermint fills your senses. “not my fault.”

it wasn’t your fault, that day the car had come speeding down a usually safe road in a residential area. the accident was a hit and run, but being a child made you feel every ounce of the blame. shaking the thought away you curl into your lover’s chest, listening for sounds of his heartbeat while he toys with a lose string on his sweater— the one you wear.

“that’s right, good girl...not your fault, here with me yet, love?”

when you glance up, todoroki is looking right back down at you— brows creased with worry but there’s love in his stare, overwhelming amounts that make you hum into his bare chest, grounded by the feeling of his skin against yours. “present and accounted for,” his chest rumbles with relieved laughter, soothing you even more. “thank you, sho. i’m sorry for making you do this so late at night.”

this time, shoto shakes his head— sending locks of red and white flying. “don’t thank me and don’t apologise,” his words are feather light in the dark while he manoeuvres you both onto his back to settle into bed. you’re about to mention that he’s still half in his suit, but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care, already closing his eyes. “i’m yours, your boyfriend and i’m going to support you no matter what. i’ve got you, okay? you’re always here for me so i’ll do my best to do the same for you. what kind of man would i be if i wasn’t?”

“a very unmanly man,” you tease with a kitten like yawn, already feeling the confines of a more comfortable sleep, taking over.

todoroki rolls his eyes but pulls you closer to him anyways. “you’ve been spending too much time with kirishima.”

“at least i don’t spend everyday working with bakugou, now that’s true nightmare.” you counter, narrowly missing a pinch to the side from your boyfriend.

the pair of you sleep soundly that night, wrapped in each other’s arms. you feel safe, knowing that nothing could ever harm you, as long as you were with him. shoto todoroki would give anything for to you to have a goodnight’s rest. no matter what. even if it meant staying awake with you and being late to patrol with endeavour the next day.

not like he cared, he hated his dad anyway.

[astheroid]

S/O is hit with an age-reversing quirk with Deku, Bakugou, and Todoroki

Word count: 1,178

⚠️ mentions of vomit/throwing up

Deku-

You had gone missing after *another* villain attack at UA

Everyone went out looking for you, only to find a baby with your clothes on it.

They brought baby you back to campus to get re-aged in private, but your boyfriend was panicking and soon caught wind of the returning search party.

“Oh my gosh, who’s baby is that?”

“...it’s Y/N, dude.”

*cue Izuku passing out*

He didn’t actually pass out, but he came pretty damn close to it.

After calming down a bit, he immediately started researching things about this unusual quirk (while also playing with you).

He learned the hard way that babies are very hard to take care of

He was frantically looking through every book in the library with you in his arms when you suddenly grabbed hold of his hair and yanked.

“Ow! Please don’t do that.”

You, in true gremlin fashion, pull more of his hair.

Even though his scalp hurt, his arms were sore, and he had drool on his shoulder, he didn’t trust anyone else with you

So you stayed in his arms, murmuring lightly as he pulled book after book out of the library shelves.

Eventually, he found what he was looking for and celebrated, swinging you around in the air.

Baby brain: swing=happy :D

(You threw up on him)

Still, he ran to the teachers with his solution and puke covering the front of his shirt, you clinging to him the entire way.

Once you were back to normal, he told you all about what baby you had done. Burying your head in your arms out of embarrassment, you made him promise not to tell anyone else.

Bakugou-

When you hadn’t showed up for school in the morning, he became worried and decided to skip class for an at-home visit

He was absolutely not expecting you to be waddling around your house as a toddler.

Even though he absolutely hates kids, he couldn’t just leave you there

So he begrudgingly called the hospital to fix you while holding you as far away from him as possible.

Good news: the hospital did have a cure to age-reversal (it seemed to happen quite often…). Bad news: the cure was waiting for it to wear off.

He was not happy about this

You were running all over the place, biting things and making messes

For the most part, he just kind of let you do your thing (such a responsible parent, I know).

That changed when you decided to use his arm as a chew toy

“WHAT THE FUCK. LET GO OF ME YOU DUMB BASTARD BABY!”

He shook you off, yelling obscenities and glaring at you.

You, being a child with no emotional control, started crying

It all went downhill from there.

He was extremely scared that he had hurt you, so he tried his hardest to comfort you

(he patted you on the head and distracted you with hand sparks)

Surprisingly, this worked. Despite never being good with kids, his hands were popular in the entertainment department.

He smiled softly as you stared at his sparking palms. “Do you like my quirk? Yeah, I bet you do.”

It was an rarely sweet moment

After that ordeal, you fell asleep and he stayed right by your side until you woke up.

While sleeping, the effects of the de-aging quirk wore off and you were fine again.

Trust me when I say he was extremely glad to have you back, even though he refused to show it.

“You normal now? Good, you were so annoying as a kid. I wanted to blast your stupid baby face off.”

Very sweet, Katsuki.

After you were well enough to speak, he made you explain what happened.

Turns out you had been hit by a fleeing villain during a freak hit-and-run

Your toddler self had managed to stumble 1/3 of a mile back home, where he found you

After hearing your story, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, scolding you for being such a dumbass.

Todoroki-

Hoo boy. He’s definitely one of the worst with kids.

It’s not like he doesn’t try, but… children hate him, and he has no clue how to communicate with them

Thus landing him in an awkward situation when he was tasked with dealing with you, as a part of his hero training.

You had volunteered as a test subject of sorts, allowing the UA staff to age you down (with the help of a citizen with a de-aging quirk) so they could quiz the heroes-in-training on their kiddie protecting knowledge without the risk of harming actual children.

You, now seven years old, were going to be your boyfriend’s biggest challenge.

The situation was simple enough: you were “stuck” under a collapsed building, and he had to rescue and console you.

Climbing swiftly through the wreckage, Todoroki followed the sound of your cries until he found you.

Your leg was trapped under a large piece of debris, which he removed with a burst of ice.

He grabbed you and held you close to his chest, attempting to soothe your hiccups and frantic whimpers (7-year-old you is an incredibly good actor-)

After he had calmed you down a bit, he crouched down to inspect your wound

That’s when you smacked him.

“Don touch me!”

“I need to. You’re hurt.”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Why not?”

“You’re gross :( I don’t let gross boys touch me.”

(The other students of 1-A, watching this unfold through security cameras, were cackling)

“...I’m not gross.”

“Prove it.” You crossed your arms, limping a bit as you kept up your injured facade

Todoroki let a shard of ice bloom in his hands and watched as your eyes lit up.

He allowed you to hold the little blob, effectively distracting you from the bandages he wrapped around your leg

When he was done patching you up, he grabbed you and carried you off (ignoring your cries of how mean he was for tricking you)

He brought you to the endpoint of the trial and set you down, clearing his exam.

Kid you was still incredibly angry at him, but you were pulled away to be re-aged before you could let him know just how much he pissed you off

“6/10, bonus points for quick thinking and distraction. Minus points for them calling you gross.” -Aizawa

After you had been re-aged, you were still a bit peeved (your memories were blurry, but you could remember being mad).

As you explained your predicament to your boyfriend, he ran his hand through his sweaty hair and smiled.

“I’d much rather deal with regular you being angry. You were a nightmare as a child.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Shoto? Are you saying I was a bad kid?”

“Uh. No? Maybe? I mean, in that situation, yes.”

You flicked him on the forehead. “I think I was a very polite child, thank you very much.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

[outofangband]

Season drabbles for Morwen or well, drabbles might be a bit generous, these are just a few scenes living rent free in my brain that I’m getting out and will hopefully embellish later 

send me a character and a season and I’ll write a ficlet. Or just a character and I’ll do all four to six (basic temperate climate seasons plus the other two named in both Quenya and Sindarin) Heck, send me a non temperate climate season and I’ll try my best!  I did not do the elven named seasons for Morwen. 

Some of them involve the headcanons I talked about on these   posts, not necessary to read, I just like to link things to organize

CW: children displaced after war and violence, aftermath of war and violence, briefly implied sexism and othering, unintentional but still harmful emotional neglect like what’s mentioned here, medical trauma, Morwen thinking…not nice things about herself in the first part housekeeping note at the end

Winter

The healers of Brethil do not like her. They see only her wounds and that she, half taken by the delirium of fever and grief, will not allow them near her. Of course, she is barely twelve, is in no state to stop them and what is it she wants to stop? Foolish, reckless, stupid child. She is held down by her legs and shoulders so she lies on her stomach, her clothes and hair cut away so the burn wounds beneath can be properly washed. They hurt, more than anything she has ever before felt. The cold salve stings over the raw skin surrounding the worst of her injuries.

She had struggled against them until she realized that no amount of thrashing or crying would change anything. Morwen hated herself for ever thinking it would.  It was then that the pain from the wounds suddenly intensified and then faded away with something, everything else. Morwen remembers the cool rough wood of the table beneath her as she went limp, the winter storm raging beyond the fragile doors of the healer’s house. 

They leave her there afterwards, on the healer’s table. It is her own fault. If she had not thrashed and fought them so much they would have let her return to Auntie Beleth and Rían. But she had so they did not. The snowy wind threatens to burst in through the door.

Spring She shares a cramped corner with Rían, the younger girl all skinny limbs and sharp joints that curl against her, prodding the newly placed bandages on her side. Morwen had spent nearly an evening soothing her cousin to sleep while the adults had largely ignored them and ignored or forgotten that Morwen does not yet know how to soothe Rían in the timely fashion they require. So, she does not wake her despite her own discomfort. Perhaps she will fall asleep to the rain outside, the rain that has broken through the frozen ground so their clothes hung to dry will soon be ruined. Morwen has not yet gotten used to how wet everything now is, the leaves and grass, the ground, their few possessions they have since gathered since their arrival.  They are no longer in Ladros and will never be again. 

Summer

The summers here are humid and damp. Morwen has lingered for some time by the well because it lies in a shaded grove and shade is rare among the open plains of Dor-lómin. A man and woman waiting beside the well on the outskirts of the village stare openly at her. There was a grace period perhaps where she could plausibly believe their staring was simply because she was a strange child new among their people. But years have passed since the time this might have been their excuse. Their surprise, alarm even at her returned cold indifference (even after they have only just spoken of her in such a way to imply that indifference would be expected) is a barbed satisfaction as she hears their words, collects them with the water she has been sent for. 

 Their occasional praise of her beauty feels as a poison, cold and alien in the late day heat. 

Autumn “You are going to die!” Húrin cries in a sing-song warning and it is this that nearly throws Aerin off her routine as she laughs, her head back and eyes momentarily closed. She regains her balance however and lands gracefully. Morwen watches the exchange with a mild amusement. The worst of the summer has passed and the air is cool and bright. Leaves scatter along the ground, falling beneath the feet of Aerin as she offers her eager horse a baked treat in thanks and wanders over to sit beside them. 

“I did not die!” Aerin says brightly to Húrin, “And I beat you.” She nods to the old man who had been scoring the competitions.

“You did,” Húrin admits, “I did try.”

“Try to distract me, you mean.”

“Not a very noble tactic for a warrior,” Morwen says, “To distract your competition.” Aerin beams at this. Húrin buries his face in his hands, his hair blown through his fingers by a sudden burst of wind.

Author’s note: the challenge was a jumping one with points based on speed, agility and communication with the horse! Obstacle courses and jumping games are common at Hadorian festivals but are essential to the summer and autumn harvest ones. The spring festival has a more elegant competition involving a complex but low to the ground course and almost dressage like movements. There is the largest horse race in late autumn. As always please feel free to ask about Hadorian world building

(I hope these are ok! I had to fight myself to not overdo the Summer entry. I think a lot about that stuff and part of my just sort of wanted to list adjectives Morwen had been named, both good and bad but that probably would be a waste of time. 

Author’s note: the winter section is not the last time Morwen has cried but it is part of a series of events that sort of cement her belief in the uselessness of tears. I do think she’s certainly naturally less prone to crying, I see her as having blunted or flat affect but the trauma of Brethil and Dagor Bragollach relate to it too

Housekeeping note: I’ve been talking a lot in DMs with one or two people about my two longer dark fics about Morwen, I’ve avoided talking about them too much here because unlike the Angband stuff, they’re a lot less fantastically dark and more just…dark in a realistic way (which honestly is the general atmosphere to me of The Narn but that’s an entirely different story). I still think my two fics have FUN or intriguing and fantastical elements, they just honestly are harder to tag/warn for if that makes sense? ANYWAYS rambling aside I’m always happy to discuss them and other stuff that’s mostly in my brain and drafts and not here with others in DMs