#is almost like weird exposure therapy

[femmeholograms]

*

[wolfisland]

honestly one of my least favourite things about online spaces centered around cluster b personality disorders is that they almost treat the disorders as an in joke. like its never quite anti recovery rhetoric but a lot of the times it feels like it becomes this thing where something harmful gets spurred on as a personality trait to nurture rather than a symptom to keep an eye on. freaks me the fuck out.

it could be because growing up i was pretty familiar with cluster b spaces and i lost a couple of friendships due to it becoming this whole "i have this disorder now i have to knowingly indulge the more harmful and dangerous symptoms im supposed to be treating to really prove i have this disorder!" thing.

like babes i still believe youre borderline, you dont need to go full tilt maintaining a numbered and ranked list of the people most important to you and assigning a fp role to someone who frankly is not responsible for your stability.

[shakingparadigm]

I'm really enjoying these new glimpses of Till where he seems rather calm? Naturally he still has big feelings and expresses them accordingly, but compared to past instances it's a lot less explosive.

Most of Ivan and Till's fights seem to happen when they're younger. This is most likely because they weren't familiar with each other yet and were still at the age where most things were taken at face value. They're still getting used to each other's "strangeness", and that could be the cause for certain misunderstandings.

By the time Ivan started developing his "attractive" persona, he was much more aware of what made Till tick. Instead of toning down on his behavior, he used it to his advantage.

Throughout childhood, all Ivan knew was that if he performed certain actions he would get a response from Till (whether he intended it or not). Their shenanigans were incredibly childish, but they made a prominent impact on Ivan's perspective. His thoughts gradually transitioned from "I didn't know" to "oh. this is what I need to do so that Till will notice me."

Despite maturing a great amount and presenting a princely image to everyone else, Ivan never grew up when it came to Till. He continued to apply the same tactics from childhood just to keep Till's attention.

This is why the Anakt Diaries mention that though Ivan is mature for his age, he acts childishly when he's with Till. It's what he knows best.

As they grew older, they both became more fine-tuned to certain aspects regarding each other. Ivan understood what would get a rise out of Till and began messing with him on purpose, hoping to get a reaction. Unfortunately for him, Till started getting used to it (for the most part).

Despite his rebelliousness and bold expression, Till is timid when it comes to people. He only attacks when provoked, and unfortunately for someone as sensitive as him, that's quite often. Ivan took great joy in poking and prodding at him until they resorted to pulling hairs.

However, an older Till seems much less inclined to attack a pestering Ivan. In fact, he seems to brush it off suprisingly well. Of course he reacts, but he no longer reacts violently.

He goes back to a neutral (probably mildly annoyed, definitely weirded out) state almost immediately afterwards. The important part is that no hands are thrown. At this point, it's been years of Ivan and Till knowing each other. Till has watched Ivan grow from this gloomy little boy to the literal "Prince Charming" of Anakt, yet one thing has always remained the same: Ivan stayed by his side. Whether they like it or not, being close for so long will eventually endear someone to another. Thanks to the Ivan Exposure Therapy (and probably a bit of his own growing maturity), Till isn't so phased by Ivan's antics anymore. At the very least he seems to reply instead of taking full offense, poking fun at Ivan's lack of a birthday instead of just saying no. Older Till seems less irritated and more like he's just exasperated. Familiar, accustomed to Ivan's presence.

@geospiral already made a great post about what Ivan's side of this whole development might have been like. It's really interesting, so I recommend checking it out!

[amymbona]

Omfg I love what you've done with the sex therapist Patrick au and there's so much potential for a part or even a part 3 for that scenario 🤤

Buuuut what do you think about Dr Zweig's office as a place to explore new kinks? Like maybe the patient form requires them to share at least 3 fantasies. Cut to reader tied to the bed/chair, panting and whimpering, Patrick kissing their neck, whispering dirty things and assurances in their ear. Sometimes he's gotta put on his soft dom pants to help patients step out of their comfort zone....😏

Cricketcanelane I'm building you a memorial for all the work you've done to us. 🛐🛐🛐 Also I'm sorry this took so long, I was slightly uninspired. :(

Kinks are a topic that you and doctor Zweig took some time to approach, considering your shyness about the topic of orgasms and sexual live itself. But Patrick has assured you that kinks, despite being considered a deviation, can do a lot bring that much needed spark to your sexual life, and can help you approach an orgasm faster.

He suggested you two try to get through some, just the minor and most harmless ones. Judging by your shy nature, he suggested you try bondage, stating that it allows you to let lose, as you're basically forbidden from shielding yourself in any way. An exposure therapy, in his words. At first, you attempted to reject it, but Patrick has assured you that he wouldn't do anything that you're uncomfortable with and introduced you to the concept of a safe word.

Following your eventual agreement, now, you're strapped up in a special kind of chair. Both your wrists and ankles are tied down by padded straps and one belt around your waist is securely holding you in the contraption. Luckily, you're fully clothed, once again wearing a skirt that Patrick has insisted you keep wearing if you want to keep yourself hidden. He can sense it's more comfortable for you that way and he's perfectly alright with that. After all, as he keeps saying, your comfort is his priority.

"Breathe, nice and steady," Patrick's palms massage your shoulders lightly, his voice coming as a velvety whisper around your head. "You have nothing to worry about."

He kisses you behind your ear, down your neck and over the contour of your jaw, already knowing where you like it the most, sensing that today, you're gonna need a far less gentle approach. At least that he believes.

"Tell me, Y/N, do you consider yourself a dirty girl?" Patrick purrs, fingers running over your collarbones, tracing the line of your neckline of your top and wasting no time to dip under it. It's pleasant to notice you opted not to wear a bra today. "I think you are."

"I-" a breathless moan escapes your mouth once Patrick's hand dips under your shirt and fingers flick over your pink nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. "I don't know."

A huff of his hot breath hits your ear, a gentle suck of his lips, and he smirks. "Do you feel it. How hard they are?" he asks, twisting both your nipples.

You nod quickly, head tilting to the side to allow Patrick more space. "Yes."

"Good," he exhales. "It takes so little to get you like this. You're really not as innocent as you make yourself look, hm?"

You have a hard time responding to any of Patrick's words, considering your head is totally flooded with with the feel of the not so gentle touch on your body. His attention is on your breasts for a while before redirecting his hands to a different spot.

A warm palm caresses your thigh, the light scratch of Patrick's stubble working as an element of surprise that's not so soft against you. Still, he keeps all his movements slow and calculated, wanting you to experience it all thoroughly.

He has to bite back a snicker when your thighs part almost automatically, inviting his hand between them. Running a finger over the hem of your panties, he grins upon your wetness coating his nail. "So good and wet for me."

The dirtiness of Patrick's words makes you moan, unable to hide the weird sense of excitement. It's unusual, so odd, and yet despite being, in some sense, made fun of, you still feel safe in his presence. Even with your body straped down. It's true how wet you are, and all of that is the result of Patrick's work.

Carefully approaching, Patrick's finger finds the warmth of your pussy, drawing a gasp of surprise from your lips and a jerk of your body. It's a natural reaction, your most sensitive part being exposed to someone else. The other hand strokes your hair, lips pressing to the side of your head, "It's okay. You're okay."

And it is more than okay when Patrick runs a finger through the wetness of your folds, the juicy flesh of your unsatisfied cunt that's almost begging to be touched, to be kissed and licked and made love to. Your poor pussy is begging for an orgasm, for a proper, real one. And it's Patrick's job to give you exactly that.

"We are going to make you feel good."

We. You and him. Him and you. Because it's not only Patrick's work. You are the main star of this whole play.

A sudden disappearance of the sensation snaps you out of your trance, eyes opening lazily to be met with the sight of Patrick's back. He's standing by one of the shelves, fishing out something from the top drawer. It doesn't take him long before he finds it.

"I'm sure you are familiar with vibrators," he states, walking back to where you are sitting. "Have you ever used one?"

"Yeah. Once or twice," you nod, eyeing the small toy. It doesn't look too big or complicated. Relatively simple.

"Did it help you reach an orgasm? Made you feel any different?" he asks, the velvety understanding in his tone making you throb down there.

You gulp, shaking your head. "No."

"Then it is a high time you try it again, hm?" he suggests, sliding the toy along your thigh. It disappears under you skirt and the cold tip presses against your soaked panties.

Patrick turns the vibrator on, on the lowest setting, looking for every tiny reaction on your beautiful face. And he's delighted. It scrunches up in response, a small wrinkle appearing between your brows, the pace of the toy already quicker than your finger could ever be. It ruts against your clothed clit, the swift motion causing you to stir in your seat.

With his free hand, Patrick reaches to your own that has balled into a fist, gently prying it open. "Don't fight it."

"I-" your voice quivers, "It's so- Can I get more?"

Who is Patrick to deny you right? He pushes the button, the buzzing noise getting louder with the sensation it provides. It's such a beautiful sight, seeing you squirm and moan, nodding at the pleasure you're receiving, fingers tapping against the smooth leather od the armrests.

"Yes, that's - oh my god - so good."

"We'll go a bit further, okay?" Patrick announces softly, moving the toy in small circles, rubbing over the drenched cotton. Your clit is all red and swollen, if only he could see it, getting almost hard under the mechanic abuse. Now, he's pushing the vibrator between your folds too, teasing your nervous pussy.

You have so rarely experienced the tied knot in your body, much different to a usual tummy ache, but it's a bit lower. As if you needed to pee, but not quite.

Patrick leans in, resuminghis precious action of kissing your neck, soft but wet. "Tell me when you feel you're close."

You can only nod, rubbing your cheek against the side of Patrick's head. Fuck. He's making you feel so good, so incredibly good that you're questioning whether it's actually real. The knot in your stomach tightens even further, thighs trembling and begging to be freed from the straps. You seel further friction, ever harder pressure, hips desperately lifting off of the seat.

It's possible that Patrick's soul has possessed that toy. How else would it be possible that a simple vibrator is making you feel this way?

"I'm-" you sigh, moaning eagerly. "I think it's... It's so-"

"Hold it," Patrick instructs.

You gaze up at him through heavy lids, glossy lips parting, startled. "What?"

"Don't let go just yet," he repeats, the smoothness od his voice contrasting the heaviness of the cold toy. "Try to hold it in."

"What? Why?" the question is disrupted by another moan and a violent thrash of your body.

Patrick sighs lightly into your ear, kissing the soft, sensitive skin there. He keeps circling your burning clit with the toy, running up and down though your folds and then back to the clit, abusing it from all different angels. "The built up arousal serves in higher pleasure. If you deny yourself the release, your orgasm is going to hit you much harder."

Deny... Release... Harder... That is exactly what you need, what your body craves. Desperately.

It almost hurts to keep it in, your stomach twisted in the most uncomfortable of ways. Your clit is all swollen, hard and hot, legs trembling where they are tied down. Fingers, again, balling into fists. You throw your head back, lashes fluttering as your eyes close. A wonderful picture for Patrick's eyes.

And it comes higher than you initially expected. Soon, you're genuinely struggling to hold it in, feeling something so incredibly powerful and heavy approaching. It's so different to all that you've felt before, so better to what any man made you feel.

"Patrick, I- please," your voice is weak, quivering, the same way your body is.

"That's good," he coos. "Just a bit longer, sweetheart."

But how much longer can you actually wait, when you're about to have something you've been craving for so long? When it's the sole reason why you have approached him in the first place?

It's unbearable, the scorching motion of a simple plastic toy, the arousing tension in your body and intense burning of your clit. All the tiny muscles and fibres of your pussy spasm, unable to hold it back. "Please."

"Let it go, baby, let it go," he finally allows you.

The pure beauty of your expression, head thrown back and lips parted wide, the arch of your body - as much as the tight belt around your waist allows you - and the way you squeeze Patrick's wrist with your thighs. All of that leaves Patrick in awe, even though he has seen it countless of times before. Even though you are just one of the many women he has brought to an orgasm.

But this is such a powerful one, beautiful, real and almost innocent. It's such a shame he doesn't get to inspect the real actions of your pussy, only imagining how your walls squeeze around nothing and how the warm drops of your arousal drips down only to soak into the soft cotton.

You're a wonderful sight, almost leaving Patrick speechless. He allows you few moments to come off of your high, reaching out to stroke your hair in a comforting motion, a proud smile on his face.

"There you go, good girl. You did so good for me."

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“I read my colleague Hadley Freeman’s column in The Sunday Times this weekend in a growing state of shock. Hadley described how, on three occasions, a man had choked her in bed. I then read the section in Escape, the book she references, written by another journalist, Marie Le Conte. Le Conte writes that choking during sex was “mainstream” among those under 40. “If I were to rank it,” says Le Conte, “I would say it sits somewhere around the light spanking mark . . . not so out of the ordinary that you would mention it to someone.”

Readers around my age, 58, will appreciate how I felt. Never mind incorporating strangulation into sex, we belong to a generation where the “light spanking” Le Conte references is itself regarded as a bit weird, a bit pervy, a bit “why would you want to hit someone, or be hit by someone, in bed?” As regards throttling a partner, a phrase I am shocked to find myself writing, that belongs in my mind to the realm of bullies, abusers, thugs, misogynists, rapists. Very niche. Very sinister. Very illegal.

I would regard even pretending to strangle a partner as an outrage. If a male friend told me such behaviour turned him on, that friendship would end. If I contemplated doing it myself, I’d get therapy. And let’s be clear, the choking under discussion, which a study last year found almost 60 per cent of female students in the US had experienced, does not refer to play-acting, but actual hands round the throat, pressure on the windpipe, possible-loss-of-consciousness suffocation. WTF?

When I got to work yesterday morning three younger female colleagues — in their forties, thirties and twenties respectively — confirmed how widespread the practice is. I suppose when Men’s Health carries idiotic articles headlined “how to do choking safely, according to experts” I should have known asphyxiation-as-foreplay had become, if a long way from normal, then at least normalised. All three women said they had encountered it, along with being slapped, hair-pulled and spat on (eh?!) by male partners. None had welcomed any of these actions.

I should emphasise that these were not super-traumatic encounters with evil psychos, but otherwise consensual acts with otherwise normal blokes. Not pleasurable in any way, but not, I gathered, a massive deal either, such is the extent to which formerly minority, hardcore aberrations have entered the everyday bedroom experience.

The youngest colleague told me several of her female friends did enjoy the experience. I’m sceptical about that. I fail to see how partial suffocation by someone physically stronger, someone you don’t necessarily know well, with no help at hand, can be anything other than terrifying. I find it more likely that some young women, not yet fully confident, have been persuaded that being choked is not only not weird, but now a standard aspect of sex to which they ought to submit. Human beings are hard-wired for self-preservation: oxygen deprivation is something we desperately strive to avoid, not embrace. I’m in no doubt that the vast majority of women subjected to choking do not like it, to put it mildly.

What shocks me is why men, so-called normal men who aren’t sadists who ought to be locked up, would want to strangle their lover in the first place. Of course the easy answer is the malign influence of protracted youthful exposure to pornography. Such exposure has, it is argued, normalised sexual behaviour previously thought extreme. And yet it is possible to view porn without going anywhere near clips of men choking women.

A correctly socialised teenage boy in receipt of the correct moral guidance would shut down such content in a cold sweat should his cursor so much as inadvertently hover over a link. Yet evidently lots of boys and young men blithely consume the dodgy stuff, presumably not knowing it is dodgy. They then expect to mimic it when their sex lives begin to encompass people other than themselves.

Therefore, older people, parents, specifically fathers, are not doing their job properly. Shame on them. They should be telling their sons that all sexual violence is despicable, full stop. We’re not in groovy, liberal, “each to their own” territory here. We’re not talking dress-up or role play. We’re talking about actions which are at best distressing and degrading, and at worst deadly. This behaviour should not be up for discussion. It’s just plain wrong.”

[theladyragnell]

Nervous embarrassment around them for Eponine and Cosette?

Éponine doesn’t rest any part of her identity on being cool. She takes a little pride, maybe, in the way Gavroche still seems to think she is even at the age when his guardian absolutely should not be cool, or in the way Marius calls her a badass and actually seems to mean it, but it doesn’t really matter because it’s not really true, or something she does on purpose. It’s all just bluster, she’s always known that, all her raised eyebrows and pointed silences, but people read it like she’s unbothered and too cool to acknowledge all the shit she has to deal with.

It’s still disconcerting, though, the way it all goes away the second she’s around Cosette.

Cosette, who looks like she should be a fucking TikTok influencer, too pretty to be real, but who’s too genuine to ever pull that off. Who volunteers, who bakes cookies and shares them around like she’s anxious to please her new friends, who ducks out of evening gatherings to call her father and wish him goodnight like it’s something she wants to do and not a weird obligation. Anything Éponine is, she’s pretty much the opposite, and with the history between them, she shouldn’t give Éponine the time of day, but she still does. One week of awkwardness when Marius introduced them and then she was fine, sought Éponine out to clear the air, and now Éponine gets cookies and offers to babysit and Cosette sitting next to her on the rare occasion she makes a meeting or a party.

And Éponine is completely unable to deal with any of it. Maybe it’s the guilt, from being the favored child when Cosette wasn’t. Maybe it’s that Cosette won’t let her apologize without getting this look on her face like she wants to say sorry too. Whatever it is, it glues Éponine’s tongue to the roof of her mouth whenever she tries talking to her.

“She is gorgeous,” says Marius when she complains, with the easy unself-consciousness of a man who pined over Cosette for a solid three months before Cosette apologetically told him she’s gay, another thing Éponine tries not to think about too closely. “So maybe that’s why you have trouble talking to her?”

“I don’t get like that with people I like,” says Éponine, to a guy who never once noticed how much she wanted him until her and Grantaire’s sadsack crush support group got her over him and got Grantaire to get off his ass and make a move.

“Yes, but it’s Cosette. She’s not like anybody else.”

She isn’t, and Éponine doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what Cosette wants her to do with that, when she sits down next to Éponine whenever there’s a free chair at her side and doesn’t mind when every word Éponine says is choked off and she fumbles her drinks and almost falls over when she makes the mistake of tipping her chair back.

Mentioning it to Marius is probably a mistake, because after that, he is way more inclined to call Cosette over and give his chair up to her, so Éponine is suddenly spending twice as much time with her, and the exposure therapy isn’t helping. Her only comfort is that her freezing up is way easier to deal with than if she shared Grantaire’s tendency for word vomit.

Cosette notices. Of course she does. She sees the way Éponine is with everyone else and the way Éponine is with her, and she gets this pinched little line between her brows like she’s getting all the wrong conclusions, but she still keeps seeking Éponine out, so maybe they aren’t all wrong. Or maybe she’s like Marius, going for exposure therapy, though Éponine still wonders why.

And she keeps choking and blushing and looking away, can’t help it, can’t keep her cool.

Cosette walks her home after a meeting, like that’s who Éponine is, like she lives down the street from the fifties sockhop, like Cosette’s not the one deserving of that kind of care, but she insists, and Éponine is tongue-tied, so Éponine doesn’t find a way to say no. And they walk, and Éponine feels stupidly like Cosette is carrying her nonexistent books, but Cosette is walking with her arms swinging easily, and Éponine has hers stuffed in her pockets, because Cosette is walking just close enough that their hands would brush if Éponine let hers swing too.

“It’s just me,” says Cosette at Éponine’s door, all earnest and sweet and ducking her head until Éponine is meeting her eyes squarely. “It’s just me, and I don’t want to scare you.”

Éponine has seen so much shit, and the idea of Cosette and her doe eyes scaring her should be laughable. But maybe, at the heart of it, that’s what this is. Cosette matters too much, deserves too much, for Éponine to feel okay fucking this up. “You’re not ‘just’ anything,” she says, and it comes out whispery and weak, but at least it comes out. “And that’s what’s scary.”

“Well,” Cosette smiles, and now she’s blushing a little, just faintly pink where the streetlights hit her, so at least Éponine isn’t alone in it. “Maybe we just … do this. Go slow. And it will get a little less scary for both of us. But there’s no rush, okay?”

Éponine manages to take her hand out of her pocket and put it on Cosette’s arms for a few seconds until she starts feeling stupid not being able to move in any closer and lets go. “Okay,” she says, and smiles stupidly in response to Cosette’s smile before she walks away and goes inside and feels just a little bit lighter.

In the end, maybe that’s better than being cool.

[happyandticklish]

Exposure Therapy

Notes: Commission for an anonymous doner~ I haven’t had an opportunity to write for these dorks before, so I appreciate you giving me one! The fic itself is set several years in the future, so they’re both around sixteen in this for clarity’s sake. Hope you all enjoy! ^^

Summary: Stan’s crush on Kyle ends up having unforeseen side effects in the form of a sudden and rapid obsession with tickling his best friend. 

He wasn’t quite sure when it had become a problem, only that it had and that he needed to cut it out soon before he ended a nearly decade long friendship over this new weird obsession of his.

Kyle was ticklish. Obviously, Stan had known about this before. It was difficult not to notice it, in fact, as Cartman had made it his goal to antagonize the other with it for years of their childhood after he had found out. Back then it had just been another facet of Kyle’s being, nothing to pay too much mind to. It was just a piece of knowledge in the back of his brain.

Kyle was ticklish.

Then, they had gotten older and things had changed and that simple friendship had changed into what was most likely a very one-sided, and very repressed, crush. Stan wasn’t sure that anyone ever meant to fall for their best friend, but he really hadn’t. He hadn’t really become aware that that was what was happening until the two were partnered up in gym one day and Kyle had casually lifted up his shirt to wipe some sweat off of his forehead. It was a small amount of skin, skin that he had seen a thousand times before, skin that should not have made his heart skip a beat. So, from then on, he had worked as hard as he could to shove down the weird butterfly conservatory that had set up tent inside his stomach and force himself to be Stan Marsh, normal boy and best friend of Kyle.

For nearly a year, with the exceptions of a few minor hiccups, things went great inside that department. Or they did, all the way until Stan jokingly poked Kyle in the side one day and he flinched. And smiled. And nearly laughed.

And suddenly, the butterflies were inconsolable.

He told himself it meant nothing. He told himself it meant nothing when a week later he ‘accidentally’ squeezed Kyle’s knee a little too hard when he stood up. He told himself it meant nothing when friendly jostling kept turning into squeezes and pokes that had Kyle giggling out frantic protests. He told himself it meant nothing when Kyle would smile and Stan’s fingers would flex on the bed in a helpless reflex.

He told himself it meant nothing when Kyle seemed to somehow get tickled almost every time the two of them met up.

He was still telling himself it meant nothing when he went over to Kyle’s house that afternoon to read comics instead of doing the homework they had told their parents about.

“Oh. You’re early.”

Kyle was at the door, hair messy from sleep and eyes squinted slightly like they always did when he first woke up. Stan glanced down at him—he loved that he had to look down now, even if it annoyed Kyle to no end—and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Mom kicked me out for the day, so I figured I’d just head over here early. Are you just waking up? You do know it’s 1pm, right?”

“You should be glad I’m even awake right now. I refuse to be up early in the summer if there are not life-threatening consequences at stake.”

“I count as a life-threatening consequence?”

“Close enough.”

Kyle grinned and the sight was enough to make Stan squeeze the strap of his backpack. He pushed quickly into the house before Kyle could notice his effect on the other. “So, I stopped down at Main St. on the way over to grab some of the newer editions that just dropped. Admittedly, most of them are just reprints, but there’s a couple new titles.”

“What’s the point of getting the reprints if we already have them?”

“Well, the cover art is new, and I’ve heard there’s bonus epilogues at the ends of some of them.”

“Oh, well, if it’s bonus epilogues, I guess I see your point. I rescind my earlier doubt and furthermore will trust in the future excitement of this endeavor.”

Stan frowned. Kyle’s sarcastic attitude had been a staple of his character since he was a kid, but going through puberty had seemed to amplify it somehow. Which was fine if a bit annoying along with his ever-constant cynicism, but Stan could never help feeling slightly offended when it was directed towards himself.

Kyle must have noticed the expression on his face, because he softened a little and nudged past Stan with a smile. “Well, don’t just stand there, let’s look over them. Might as well after you spent so much money on them instead of saving for that car your mom’s always ranting about.”

The subject of the car had quickly become a new factor in Stan’s life, an addition he was less than thrilled about. It made him far too aware that he was sixteen and therefore two years away from college and therefore six years away from the rest of his life.

Stan rolled his eyes but followed the other, trying not to think about being alone in a room with his best friend—trying to keep his hands shoved deep in his pockets where they needed to stay for the afternoon.

Kyle’s room had evolved over the many years Stan had known him. Hungrily collected figurines and a variety of scattered textbooks became replaced by movie posters and memorabilia that in turn got replaced by band photos and useless knickknacks hidden precariously throughout the room. To call it clean would be lying, but it wasn’t messy in the typical high school boy way that Stan’s was. It was almost like there was too much of Kyle to fit into the small space and as such his room was bursting at the seams. Journals were laid open on desks, half-empty water bottles were shoved into various crevices, and amongst the Rubik’s Cubes and comics was a detailed runic sword in the corner from when he had first delved into LARP-ing.

Not to mention, Kyle’s presence lingered so heavily in the room that it was nearly overwhelming at times. Stan sat carefully down on the bed as they delved into the various comic books, reminding himself that friends don’t get weird about being in other friend’s rooms for a simple hangout. Kyle was still in his pajamas too and his movements were heavy from exhaustion as he flopped down on the bed next to Stan. He seemed perfectly relaxed. Stan desperately wished he could share in that sentiment.

For the first hour or so, things seemed fine. The reprints were as uninteresting as suspected, but Kyle made up for it by dramatically reading along to the sections they had practically memorized by that point. Stan made fun of him at first but after a while it was hard to resist joining in. The two switched out parts as they went, but Kyle grew impatient and kept skipping ahead and leaving Stan out entirely.

Which, of course, obviously had to be retaliated.

Kyle’s words stumbled into a yelp when a finger jabbed into his side, his smug grin scrambling into something more helpless. The way he was laying made it difficult to bring his arms down, so he settled on swatting uselessly at Stan’s arm with huffed protests.

“Stan, c-cut it out!”

“Stop interrupting me and I’ll consider it.”

Kyle managed to roll over on his side, curling away from Stan and effectively blocking the tickling for a moment. Stan’s hands were drawn back already in retreat, even though everything in him longed to tease the strip of skin that had been revealed after Kyle’s shirt had rucked up. Kyle grumbled, his elbow darting in to rub away the leftover sensation. “Why is it always tickling with you nowadays?”

It was an innocent enough question and perfectly reasonable at that. Still, Stan’s heart kicked into high gear at the mention of his newest obsession. He scoffed, ignoring the red quickly covering his face. “It’s not my fault you’re so ticklish, I wasn’t even trying to that time. Besides, what’s so bad about it anyway?”

An incredulous noise came from Kyle’s curled form. “Besides everything?”

“Kyle.”

“I don’t know. It’s annoying. And… weird. I just feel so helpless, y’know? I hate that I’m so susceptible to it, especially since you apparently grew out of it since we were ten.”

Stan had not, in fact, grown out of it, but he had gotten better at resisting it. Not that he decided to mention that now. He grabbed Kyle’s side gently and rolled him back over, making sure to keep his hand flat and entirely untickly despite the familiar impulse rearing its ugly head. Stan’s insistent eyes bored into Kyle’s reluctant ones until his look of annoyance became flush with a nervous awkwardness.

“What? What’s that look for?”

“What if you let me tickle you?”

The words seemed to fly out in a breathless rush as Stan said them, and the way Kyle’s eyebrows shot up at the inquiry made him want to shove them right back in his mouth. Instead, he pushed forward before Kyle could disown him as a friend forever. “You said you hate that it makes you feel helpless. What if I tickled you, gently, to show you that I’ll stop whenever you ask me to.”

Kyle’s eyes darted down to the hand on his hip and back up. “And why would I do that?”

Stan shrugged. “Exposure therapy? Resistance training? A way to pass the time?”

Seconds ticked by in agonizing silence as Stan felt the very foundations of their friendship crumble under him. Any second now, Kyle would realize that no normal best friend of over five years would ask their other best friend of over five years if they could tickle them which would of course lead to the realization that something else was at play here. Following that, Kyle would shove him off in disgust, demand that he leave his house, and force Stan to kick himself for months after for making such a stupid mistake.

And then…

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. But only for five minutes.”

“Ten.”

“What? No way!”

“You can’t gain any benefits from exposure therapy in five minutes!”

Kyle sized up him up, but evidently decided that he didn’t know enough about the subject to counter the point. “Fine. But only ten, and you have to stop if I ask you to.”

Stan’s grin was blinding as he agreed. “Deal.”

Several beats of awkward rearrangement later, Kyle found himself splayed out on the bed with his arms stationed hesitantly over his head. At some point he had shifted and his shirt had ridden up, a situation Kyle had not yet rectified. Probably because it would be an inconvenience. Possibly because he wanted Stan to take advantage of that. Realistically because he hadn’t noticed.

The slip of skin held Stan’s attention as he settled in next to Kyle, trying to disguise his excitement as determination. “Alright, so the only rules are that you can’t physically stop me and that you have to at least try to withstand it. It’s cheating if you just give in right away.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but nodded. “Yeah, sure, fine. But if I do say to stop, you have to. And you have to be gentle with it—I’m pretty sure exposure therapy is supposed to be subtle. Not that this is even close to that considering I don’t have a goddamn tickling phobia, but I digress.”

“Are you sure?” Stan quirked a brow. “You know gentle can be worse sometimes, right? Especially considering how ticklish—”

“Gentle’s fine,” Kyle interrupted quickly. If Stan wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of red overtaking his features. “Just get on with it already, everyone knows that the anticipation’s the worst part.”

“Well, in that case, maybe we should—”

“Stan.”

“Fine, fine, let me set the timer.”

Stan messed around with Kyle’s alarm clock for a bit (superhero themed despite his teenage years, which should’ve been dorky but was somehow cute anyway), before assessing the situation at hand.

For as much as Kyle’s ticklishness had been cropping up in Stan’s life, each moment had been brief and rushed due to the scuffle that would arise from it. As such, Stan had never had a proper chance to explore the full depth of Kyle’s sensitivity—he wasn’t even sure where he should start. It was weirdly daunting to tickle someone with their permission and Stan hadn’t thoroughly prepared himself for the pressure it would bring. Where was a normal place to tickle? The sides? And what if he wasn’t ticklish there and they both just had to sit in the awkward silence that ensued?

“Well?” Kyle’s antsy voice cut through his thoughts. “Timer’s ticking, man. Look, if you’re trying to rile me up, I really don’t appreciate—”

“I know, I know, I’m just planning, alright?”

Nervously, Stan set his hands down on Kyle’s sides. He had jumped earlier at the poke, and in the past that general area had worked. Kyle inhaled slightly, shifting as he gripped his bedframe tighter. Good signs. He wiggled his fingers almost clinically over his shirt, more acting out the motions of tickling than doing it. A grin flitted over Kyle’s features, his eyes scrunching shut as he fought to resist the sensations, which seemed like a positive response. Feeling a tad more confident, Stan’s fingers spidered curiously up and around the area in haphazard loops.

He hadn’t told Kyle, but outside of the bullshit he had fed Kyle��s and his own odd cravings, he was hoping to use the experience to sus out where and how ticklish Kyle really was. Mostly for strategic reasons, but also to satiate a growing curiosity inside him. There was something so oddly thrilling about looking at someone, seeing a part of them, and knowing that a simple poke of the finger would make them crumple. Or maybe it was only thrilling with Kyle. Stan hadn’t quite worked out yet whether this was a tickling thing or a Kyle thing or both. For now, he was content to go along with his impulses, especially when given an opportunity as tempting as this.

The giggles had begun, a quiet, stuttered stream of them that Kyle kept attempting to hold back like they were a bad case of the hiccups. The muscles in his arms twitched as Stan kept tickling, begging him to let them block this.

“Tickle?” Stan teased, unable to help himself. Kyle’s eyes snapped open into a glare, but it was a weak one when combined with the flustered expression taking over the rest of his face. Stan held his gaze for a few, electrifying seconds before Kyle averted it. “It’s okay if it does, you know. Everyone’s ticklish. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Y-Yes it ihis,” Kyle gritted out, forcing the words into something comprehensible between all his laughter. “It’s fucking m-mortifying.”

“I don’t find it mortifying.”

“You’re n-not the one being tihihickled—shit, can you fucking move?”

“Oh.” Stan glanced down at his hands, dancing freely over the same spot on Kyle’s sides—a spot that had him fidgeting and squirming like mad on the bed. “The sides, huh? Well, maybe we should stay here then, if this is such a bad spot. That way you’ll quicken your resistance training.”

Kyle let out an indignant strangled sound, fighting through another fit of giggles before he could respond. “It’s nohohot the wohohorst spot!”

“So somewhere else is then?”

“Noho!”

“Well, it can hardly be both, Kyle. So you better start suggesting places or I’ll have to choose for you. Like… what about here?” Stan teasingly crawled his hands up his sides and onto his ribs, allowing his nails to curl around their edges. “Better?”

Kyle did not respond due to the influx of laughter that had just taken him over, but based off the frantic, panicked thrashing the move had induced, Stan assumed it was a safe bet to make. Petty remarks had transformed into a series of nononono’s as Kyle shook his head in protest.

“So, this is your worst spot!”

“No—no, god, s-sHIT, fuhuhuck, c-cut it out!”

“Really?” Stan’s eyebrows shot up. “You seem pretty ticklish here, I don’t know.”

Kyle attempted a growl, but it merely collapsed into a pitched giggle a couple moments later. “S-sure, whahahatever man! J-Just lighten uhuhup!”

“I have lightened up man, I don’t think I can be gentler.”

“Well, it tihihickles!”

“Clearly,” Stan agreed, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at the other’s confirmation. “I mean, this is kind of sad to watch. This really shouldn’t tickle that much, I’m barely touching you.”

Kyle groaned, hiding his red face in the crook of his arm. “Oh my god, shuhuhut up!”

“No, seriously, watching you is making me feel nervous.” It wasn’t entirely just a tease either. Watching Kyle squirm, fingers tightening and loosening on the bed, feet kicking like mad and digging into the mattress, red crawling over his skin like a descending sunset as frantic giggles took him over—it was hard to observe without feeling a little squirmy yourself. It almost made Stan feel bad enough to stop. Almost. “Which is why it is definitely necessary for me to find your worst spot if this is how much you’re reacting from this alone.”

“Maybe I don’t h-hahahve a wohohorst spot!”

A lie, definitely. “Maybe. But you wouldn’t be so desperate right now if you didn’t. So, you can either tell me now, or I can find it.”

Kyle let out a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a groan that twisted something traitorously in Stan’s stomach. “Why i-is thihis relehevant?”

It wasn’t, really, but now that Stan basically had it confirmed that there was somewhere worse than this, somewhere that would truly drive him insane, he couldn’t just let things go there. “Resistance training, remember? And since you’re not offering up any ideas, I guess it’s on me to go exploring.”

And exploring he went. Nine minutes of exploring every ticklish spot he could find, nine minutes of Kyle still not stopping him in either an insane act of stubbornness or a subtle admittance of something, nine minutes of hearing Kyle let out every squeak, squeal, giggle, snort, and wheeze known to mankind before he finally found it. It wasn’t even on purpose either. A simple grab of the leg to readjust and Kyle’s arms were shooting down to shove him off, anticipatory giggles and protests already falling off of his lips.

The two locked eyes for a brief moment as Kyle sat up, staring down at Kyle’s knee and Stan’s hand that had clearly been knocked off.

“Oh—”

“No.”

“I see—”

“Stan, seriously, fuck off, it’s nothing.”

“So that’s it—”

“Stan, I will knee you so fucking hard, don’t you dare—”

“Fine, fine,” Stan held up his hands in defeat, unable to help his own amused grin at Kyle’s desperation. “I’ll let it go, even though you technically didn’t finish your full time. But only because you look like you’re actually going to kill me and I want to live through this afternoon.”

Kyle eyed him skeptically for a moment, assessing the truthfulness of the statement. His knees were protectively tucked under himself and Stan felt his fingers flex anxiously by his side.

"Alright," Kyle said, after a reluctant beat. "Thanks. I still think that whole thing was pointless, but I'm willing to admit that it was nice to have someone actually stop when asked."

"So, theoretically, you would be down to get tickled if I just listened to—"

"Don't push it."

And even though Kyle didn’t untense for the rest of that night, Stan kept true to his word. Primarily because of what he had said, but also because a knot had begun tying itself in Stan’s stomach throughout those nine minutes that had grown to such a size that Stan didn’t feel like he could try anything without either throwing up or admitting to something, neither of which were desirable options.

Because unfortunately, he had a feeling this was probably both a Kyle thing and a tickling thing. Which meant only one thing.

Stan was fucked.

[butchbenrey]

"the science team is all one big happy family post-canon" is cute and all but it's overrated. let's talk about gordie's crushing fear of being alone from her ptsd in the aftermath of all of it.

everything in her fucking life got morphed and changed into something she can no longer recognize, so she feels like she needs to cling on to the science team for some sense of normalcy, some sense of familiarity. who could she even begin to relate to but them? who else went through anything similar to what she did? who else could she talk to about all of it without sounding insane? they provide some feeling of being heard but of course, they could never understand exactly what she went through. nobody else got their arm cut off, in fact, two of them were the ones who did that to her in the first place. she thinks it helps to be around them, she thinks it's some weird kind of exposure therapy and that the discomfort she feels around them will go away if she just keeps ignoring it, but it doesn't.

she wants it to go away, not just so that she'll have friends she can talk to, and a feeling of having conquered it together and making it out the other side (like she assumes these sorts of things are supposed to go), but also because she's wracked with guilt. she feels so deeply and unalterably guilty for all of it— she was the one who caused the resonance cascade, after all, and she was the de-facto leader of the group, so she feels responsible for all of it. she can recognize that she was treated unfairly at certain points (like, y'know, the whole forced amputation thing), but in retrospect she feels like she had it coming, like it was her responsibility to foresee those events and stop them before they happened. sure, nearly all of them attacked her at some point, but they were all under stress too, it was understandable. if you really think about it, bubby and benrey were right to cut off her arm, i mean, they were scared! <- (gordie inner monologue). so if she left them after all of it, that would make her a horrible, awful, cruel person, in her own eyes. so she has to go to all the stupid little outings and parties, she has to excuse herself to have meltdowns... she has to look in the eyes of the people who hurt her so profoundly and she has to sit through the flashbacks and the emotional turmoil because if she doesn't, she'd be worse than them, in her trauma-addled brain.

it feels like atonement, to her. necessary atonement for the shit she thinks was entirely her own fault. and if she ever feels the nagging desire to cut them off, a voice reminds her that she'll forever be known as some cruel son of a bitch who almost ended the world and then abandoned the people who carried her through it. and then she'll be alone. because who would want to be friends with someone so spiteful and miserable.

in my heart of hearts i do believe one day she comes to her senses and realizes she does not have to be friends with that random old man and the guy who tried to kill her and that she will become more outwardly friendly and positive with hard work and therapy. but please imagine the absolute state of this poor girl in the meantime with me

[dimbulb0]

The fabric of Jenna’s oversized, overstretched bra rubbed against the edges of your doorjamb as she entered the apartment. She made a point of pushing her way through the opening, letting her breasts bulge and creep through. Her hips made it, but just barely. Another week, or even another day, and maybe those, too, would struggle to make it through. Already, she had outgrown all of her pants. Somehow she hadn’t been arrested for indecent exposure, but you weren’t sure how long that would last.

“Everything is so small now,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “My feet hang off the edge of the bed, nothing fits . . .”

“Having second thoughts?” you asked. Jenna had started on hormone therapy two months ago, had even renewed her prescription in spite of the dramatic and abnormal growth spurts. 

“No, not one!” she said cheerfully. “It’s just weird, is all. The changes take some getting used to.”

“I bet.” You went back to the kitchen to tend to the bubbling pot and sizzling pan on the stove. “Dinner’ll be ready in a few. Make yourself comfortable.”

You heard her heavy footsteps trail into the living room. Those sandals of hers were at least a half-dozen sizes too small, but what else could she wear? She tried borrowing a pair of your sneakers a couple of weeks ago, a pair of expensive size-10 Jordans, and she outgrew them in a day or two. Her feet grew so much that her big toes had almost torn completely through them. She was apologetic, of course, but there was something else. She seemed strangely . . . proud?

Jenna had always wanted to be taller, but she hadn’t predicted how much her second, artificially-induced, puberty would make her breasts grow, too. Each titanic mammary was over a hundred pounds (she had weighed them) and stuck out several feet in front of her. The heavy-duty spandex bra she wore was custom-made, and if she spun too quickly she could hear a stitch or two pop. It seemed impossible that she could carry that much weight around so easily, but seeing her from behind, those strong back muscles working beneath her smooth, pale skin . . .

Smoke rose from the pan in front of you, causing you to curse.

“Everything all right in there?” Jenna called.

“Yeah–almost ready! Just got a bit distracted.”

The dinner was more of a formality, anyway, as Jenna had no doubt already eaten. Her superhuman growth was only eclipsed by her superhuman appetite, and she started going out to eat on her own in addition to the meals you enjoyed together. You didn’t ask too many questions, but she often came home smelling like fast food. Still, she managed to put away two or three times the amount you could eat. You always made extra. Tonight, you made an extra two chicken breasts, plus enough pasta to feed an army.

When everything was ready, you brought it to the dining table. Jenna was already there, practically drooling at the food. God, she really had grown so much recently, even over just the past week. Even sitting, she almost came up to your eye level. The utensils looked like children’s toys in her hands.

After you sat down, you scooped some pasta onto your plate, then did a double-take as Jenna took the rest of the bowl to her side and started eating out of it. That was just the way it was now, though.

“So good! Thank you for cooking, by the way. I know I can’t help out too much in there anymore,” she said. Your kitchen was small, and as it was, she couldn’t even turn around in it without knocking something over.

“My pleasure,” you said, and it truly was. In fact, as strange as her transformation was, it also fascinated you. You had always loved big breasts, and to be able to grope what had to be one of the largest sets on Earth was amazing, of course, but it was more than just that. After the sex–something that had become more frequent and more intense since Jenna had started her treatment–when the two of you laid quietly together in bed, you were in awe of just how big she was becoming. She had long since surpassed you in weight, and that meant she was also much stronger than you. If she rolled the wrong way in her sleep, perhaps, or decided to do something against your will, you couldn’t really fight back. Would she even wake up if you were struggling against her? There was something both frightening and exciting in that.

She ate. And ate. She had warned you about staring at her over dinner, but as you picked at your food, you couldn’t help but steal a glance. The chair beneath her complained but held firm. Although you couldn’t see it, she must have been growing right there in front of you, each bite adding to her bulk, her curves, her mass. Your hardening member pulsed in your pants as you thought about what would happen later than evening in bed. She could completely bury your head in her cleavage now, a fact that amused her greatly. 

She caught you looking at her chest. Sitting up straight, she sighed. “I guess you noticed. I don’t think this bra’ll last me another day. Next one’s going to have to be Kevlar.” She gave you a wink, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t a joke. “See how tight it is?”

You nodded dumbly. “You can always take it off, if you want. It’s just us.”

“Hmm. I like it tight, though, don’t you?”

As if on cue, her bra seemed to grow even tighter, sending a crest of boobflesh bulging over the cups. Millimeter by millimeter, her nipples grew hard beneath the fabric, fighting against the industrial-strength weave of the cloth to make their presence known. How big would they be tonight, those nipples? As big as thumbs? Bigger?

After dinner, you cleaned up the dishes while Jenna relaxed in front of the TV. She turned on a movie. “Hey, babe,” she called to you. “Let’s watch something together. The dishes can wait.”

You came into the living room to see that the lights were off. Jenna sat on the floor in front of the couch, her titanic chest filling her lap. She had moved the coffee table out of the way and spread her legs in the clearing, inviting you in. Only the light of the screen illuminated the room.

You took your spot, leaning back into her pillowy cleavage as she chose a movie. It was some terrible Netflix comedy, but you couldn’t have cared less. She wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you further into her breasts and closer to her thumping heartbeat. In the dim night, you almost drifted off.

Behind you, you could hear her stomach churning. Over the course of the next half hour, the gurgling grew louder and louder. “Feeling okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, never better. Are you okay there?”

“Best seat in the house,” you said, shifting side-to-side as if to drive home the point. Jenna giggled.

“Careful! This bra is ready to pop, remember?”

And, for the second time tonight, Jenna’s words seemed to be almost prophetic: you could feel the pressure behind you expand as, seemingly, her breasts grew again. You could hear the fabric stretching. Jenna let out a gasp, as though in pain.

“Are you–did you just grow?”

“Mmmph. Maybe. I feel something weird.”

Her grip on you tightened as she shifted and took a deep breath. Nestled as you were between her tits, you couldn’t turn your head to see her face, but to either side of you, you watched in amazement as her legs started to get longer. Inch by inch, they grew closer and closer to the television, while her thighs and calves bulged with burgeoning flesh. Her bones creaked and crackled as she grew bigger. In spurts of growth, you saw her feet first elongate, then widen as she flexed and curled her toes. And finally, as if to prove that your senses were not deceiving you, her bra thwapped and twanged as the hooks in the back finally snapped. Although the cups were still dangling from the straps, nothing stopped you from sinking a bit deeper into her cavernous cleavage, which seemed to swell even faster, now freed from their confines.

“Are you okay?” you asked. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted. “But it also feels really good, too.”

“You want to go to the bedroom?” You stood up and turned around, looking at her essentially eye-to-eye, despite her sitting on the floor, which stunned you. She was huge! How much could she have grown? Your brain struggled to process just how large she looked.

“Oh, honey, I don’t think you understand,” she said, drawing her legs underneath her. She smiled coyly as she looked into your eyes. Every curve of her massive body seemed to pulsate as she stood up, up, up. Those gigantic breasts rose above your head, despite their disproportionate size, and Jenna’s smiling face leaned down to keep from crashing into the ceiling. “I’m too big for the bedroom now, don’t you think?”

Your heart raced in your chest as she grinned down at you. She was right; she had barely fit through the front door earlier, and she was far, far bigger now. You could smell her sweat and arousal fill the air like a thick fog. “Jenna,” you said cautiously. “What are you gonna do . . .?”

You almost added “. . . to me?” but decided against it. It didn’t matter, though, because she seemed to notice your fear. No, more than notice.

She giggled again, leaning down even further until you could feel her hot breath on your face. “Don’t be afraid. Isn’t this amazing?” She pushed up both of her breasts with her hands, then let them drop. “Hey, you wanna know a secret?”

Her eagerness and nonchalant attitude did little to calm your nerves. You nodded slowly.

“I was bad today,” she said. “Before I came home, I already ate. You knew about that, didn’t you?”

You nodded. What was she getting at?

“But I was REALLY bad today. I ate a lot. Like, from three different places. I was soooo hungry, see. And you didn’t even notice, did you? It’s ‘cause I’ve gotten so big, you can’t even see my belly beneath my boobs. But don’t worry, it’s all gone now.” Jenna patted her expansive midriff, which seemed relatively flat despite her assets elsewhere.

Jenna took a pause in her monologue as she seemed to concentrate on something, long enough of a pause for you to look around you. The Netflix movie was still playing, casting shadows on her white expansive skin. A sense of dread filled you as Jenna’s gigantic form again began to creak and shift. Her panties, already stretched to floss, snapped and fluttered to the floor, having lost the battle to her gargantuan hips. 

She moaned with a blend of pleasure and discomfort. “I even ate dinner here, too. Even though I felt so full, I ate it anyway. Mmm . . . and I’d eat it all again, too.”

She crooned again as another wave of pain coursed through her, and she took a step toward you. Planks of the hardwood floor wrenched themselves loose beneath her tremendous weight. She shot up what must have been another two feet taller in an instant, and every part of her goddess-like body similarly swelled with her. Her breasts swung free, and the remnants of her bra looked laughably small now. She was so bent over that she was almost on all fours, looking like someone navigating through a crawl-space instead of a living room. You backed away.

“But the worst thing I did was in the morning,” Jenna said. “I’m only supposed to take two of those pills, you know.”

Wide-eyed, you slowly shook your head. “You didn’t.”

Her grin grew even wider. “Uh-huh–ugh!--I took a whole bunch. And now . . .”

Another growth spurt, this one sending her on her hands and knees. She was still a few feet from you, but it felt like only inches. Her growth was no longer smooth or uniform. You watched as her asscheeks expanded at an alarming rate, rising like a moon behind her. As pound after pound of flesh inflated them bigger and bigger, Jenna’s eyes rolled in lewd sexual euphoria. “Oh god,” she moaned, “I can feel it!” Her thighs and legs grew, too, though not quite catching up in size to her mountainous rump. Her latest burst of growth came to a halt just as her asscheeks grazed the ceiling.

The walls vibrated with her panting. You knew you should run, but you had also never seen something so powerfully erotic, either.

“Like what you see?” Jenna said. She grabbed you in one massive hand and pulled you in for a kiss. You closed your eyes and tilted your head, but her lips covered half your face. She let go of you just in time for another one of her deep cries of lust and pain that was loud enough now to rattle your teeth.

“More?” you croaked, not sure anymore whether you wanted it to stop. She was so big already, what would another foot do? Or ten?

“Mmhmm, more!” This time she arched her back, jutting her tits forward into you and bumping you back. Your hands sunk into the wall of flesh, then it pushed you back as her titanic tits ballooned outward. Each sensuous boulder swelled bigger and bigger each time she inhaled, almost as though she were inflating them herself. Her areolae, dark and several feet across, stretched wider and puffed up. Her nipples, which you had earlier thought must have been as long as thumbs, were cylinders too big to even get your mouth around. You reached out to one, unsure of whether to proceed, but the instant your hand touched the firm, rubbery flesh, Jenna grunted with approval. You gave it a long, slow tug in time with Jenna’s breaths, trying to amplify the waves of bliss that she was clearly riding, but also enjoying the strange sensation of feeling Jenna–a part of her, at least–grow even bigger.

And still she grew. As her body became larger, she eventually took to laying on her breasts like pillows. Her legs had nowhere to go, and as they folded and bent beneath her, her knees began to press into the walls of your apartment. Studs in the walls creaked and cracked as her thick thighs, filled with immense power, threatened to bust down the whole building. Jenna didn’t care, and neither did you.

Her growth slowed, then halted. Her head was pressing into the ceiling again in spite of her prone position, and she looked down at you with an erotic intensity that made you eager to jump on top of her colossal body.

“You’re too big to leave through the door, you know,” you said. “And I don’t think the neighbors are going to like seeing the new you as much as I do.”

“Maybe,” she said, her lips curling into a grin, “you go see if you can find that bottle. I can think of a fun way of getting me out of here, can’t you?”

*******

Image made with NovelAI. Prompt: Doorway with a curvy giant woman with gigantic breasts {crawling through}, torn clothing, taut bra, long blonde hair, outside

[kachowden]

Woah Alan seems cool :0

Can I request reader from another reality talking to Alan at their mysterious place of work, or where ever they’re seeing the other readers from?

Alan’s eyes scanned the waiting room blankly, and with insatiable boredom. There was no one in sight, and while that was music to his ears, it also meant he had nothing to do.

And it was never a good thing when Alan had time to spare.

Alan was an asshole. He knew this, his boss knew this, everyone he had ever met had come to know this.

He didn’t like most people. In fact it took all of his restraint not to spew verbal venom at each one he came across. Everyone was an ick in his book.

Especially any of the ones that were interested in him. Alan knew he was attractive. That wasn’t ego talking it was just a fact. He was odd looking, different, but attractive. And at times that was a blessing and a curse.

Mostly a curse in his professional opinion.

There were many types of people that would talk to him, maybe hoping he’d show interest in them too. That they’d be the one person he was kind to after seeing their friends or family fail. It never worked.

And he was fairly sure it never would.

He couldn’t figure out if he liked the extroverts or the introverts less. The extroverts were loud and it took a “few” harsh words for them to actually get the hint.

But the introverts, truly were the pushiest. Believing they were the “main characters”. They’d be the exception in this one-shot romance they thought existed. That them, of all people would be the one Alan picked. Who would bring out his “soft side”.

He wanted to laugh at them specifically.

The only real main character in this universe was himself. Not because he was this “handsome amazing brooding” individual. But because he was in every universe. Conscious, and aware. He existed on this plain the was split between the many alternate realities of this world, and he was an important figure in each of them.

Because he knew you. If there was someone he actually believed could be a main character besides himself, he supposed it’d be you.

No matter what time, no matter what day or what universe, he always met you. Sometimes only once, other times more. The version of you with the bull seemed to have it the worst at the moment.

He pitied that you. Only slightly, because you and him got along fairly well actually. But he also knew it was not meant to be. Not in that universe.

He knew there were more of you to come at least.

He found it harder to hate you of all people, given all the versions of you he had seen now.

At first, he thought you were insufferable. Irritating, annoying, rude- not that he had much ground to speak on.

But he also has to admit you had your own charms that he would never tell you about.

Your eyes were one thing. Those never changed no matter what universe or reality he was in. Your eyes stayed the same, and with the world always changing around him, he found a bit of comfort in something that was constant.

Your hair changed though. Not often but it changed. He didn’t mind much, you unfortunately looked somewhat good regardless of any physical adjustments.

If he had to pick a favorite of the lot of you, and I mean he had to, like physically being threatened if he didn’t because he would never admit it otherwise, he’d have to pick the newest one. The one with no vermin on your back. No parasite. Clean.

And a bit shy. Smart- but shy.

He didn’t like shy people very much. Didn’t have the patience. Typically. But he could make an exception for you.

Because despite your apparent shyness, you stared him dead in the eyes. Almost challengingly. He didn’t know why exactly, maybe some type of exposure therapy for you. To get over your social awkwardness. He didn’t care though.

You were cute. In a weird way. He didn’t mind the very rare stutter. He was intimidating, it’s not like it offended him. He didn’t mind the way you’d bite your lip when he spoke, especially if one of his comments or responses sounded a little meaner than intended.

He didn’t mind the way your fingers tightened on the end of your shirt, or the way your body swayed slightly. He didn’t think you were unstable. Probably something to help you process your words. He’d met a few like that.

Now don’t get me wrong. Alan wasn’t going to let you be an exception to him being a dickhead.

You weren’t special. (You totally were)

But he’d let himself be humored by you. This particular version of you was in its own way, fun. And with Alan being as bored as he was, he could always use the entertainment.

Maybe it was finally his turn to have you.

————-

A/n: I know I briefly described who Alan was in his first post, but that was mostly a teaser, so I hope this gives more insight to what he’s like and his general thoughts on you. And a bit of the lore of this little world 👀

[blnk338]

COD HEADCANONS 2

Here's the link to the first b/c y'all loved it sm ty &lt;3

Go read my Ghost x Reader on AO3 | Reap What You Sow

Relationship hcs!!!

Gaz:

Undiagnosed dyslexia

Soap will say some dumb shit about it and Gaz will fire back with something like “you need autocorrect irl b/c no one can fucking understand you”

Hates winter; this is a summer boy!

Ghost told him that Soap’s Halloween party was a dress-up party, but Gaz took it as a sexy dress-up party and came in a slutty nun outfit

Ghost had to go to the bathroom because he was tearing up from trying to hold back his laughter

Can’t pull all-nighters

This bitch NEEDS 8 hours or he’s not happy

Like… he can pull them, but you unlock this secret character trait of “ultimate fucking bitch Kyle”

Got really into Overwatch and then didn’t tell anyone after it died (pre OW2), then was fucking insane at every character when OW2 came out

Soap hates his ass for this

Flexes, only character he doesn’t like is Hanzo (still upset about the scatter arrow removal)

Tinyass bladder

“I have to pee”

“WE LEFT EIGHT MINUTES AGO WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

Really gentle with his friends, him and Soap’s bromance goes crazy like they’ll do that thing where they almost kiss and they pull back and go “WOAAAAAAH WOAHHHHHHH”

Thinks hairless cats are gross

Ghost:

The kind of guy to sit back and watch shit unfold unless the person who (is getting / is about to get) their shit rocked is someone he respects

Previously had an allergy to shellfish

Raw dogged it until the allergy literally went away

Exposure therapy, man

Knows what “L + Ratio” means and HAS used it against Soap once

Soap and Gaz lost their fuckin beans when he said it and they’ve never forgotten it

Sorta plain texter – really just like “K,” “Ok,” “Did you eat.”

Doesn’t use a lot of question marks

No question marks or really any punctuation other than a period at the end of EVERY text

Doesn’t use Apple emojis or Android, but the text version

Like :)

BUT ALWAYS ENDS THEM IN A PERIOD :).

Eventually unlearns this but ending everything like a sentence lasted for a while

He won’t say openly if he’s annoyed, but will add a little extra sharpness to his stare

Great at FPS games, chooses to not use the mic because he likes shitting on dumb mfkrs and listening to them bitch when he wins 1v1’s

Played OW for Soap and Gaz and got really fucking good at Zen, but almost always plays DPS

Learned how to build computers and finds it really relaxing

Soap and Gaz both asked for him to make them PCs and he said “no,” then did both of them in the span of one 3-week break cycle

Knows everyone’s addresses

How the fuck does he know everyone’s addresses

Definitely the guy to say a random set of numbers pretending like its someone’s IP address

“The Riley Murders” is a popular true-crime segment; literally avoids all true-crime media because of this

Not really a fan of the holidays, but he does put in the effort to be at the 141 parties and get-togethers for his team

Panic attacks for him aren’t obvious. He just stands there, holding his gaze at one spot while he clenches his jaw/fist, trying to push out the ringing in his ears

Doesn’t dress up for Halloween or does the bare minimum (antlers on top of his head, a single bowtie, etc)

Alejandro:

Uses all emojis

ESPECIALLY THE CATS

Weird about how much he likes Minions

Fucked up knee from tearing his ACL as a kid

Like his knees pop when he kneel down and shit

Bros so anti-drug he doesn’t like prescription drugs

*Bleeding out* “Tylenol? Why would I need that?”

His whole house is carpeted aside from the kitchen

No, you don’t understand. Carpeted bathrooms

Man has cold feet

Socks and indoor slippers but he’s got those luxury Ugg slippers that he wears religiously

Hates it when people chew with their mouth open

WILL MENTION IT

Plays Candy Crush

Owns an old Dell laptop, doesn’t play PC or console games

Price:

POP POP POP his joints are shit but good enough for the army ig

Tried yoga, didn’t have enough motivation to keep going, but still says he does yoga (it’s been like four years n Laswell gets on his ass about it)

“Overwatch? We’re off right now, why are we talking about this?”

“You have three guys on you? What are you talking about?”

Confused dad

Heavyweight drinker; man likes his beers

Gaz called him "dad" once and he owns it like a fucking medal

Says “back in my day” to fuck with everyone

Sings the Star Spangled Banner in the most heinously British accent he can

He only knows “Oh say can you see, by the dawns early light, oh so proud…” and then bullshits the rest

Soap:

Bisexual. No preference.

Not really a “will kiss anyone” but more of a “please let me kiss someone”

Flirts with fuckin’ anyone and everyone but the issue is that he just doesn’t stay in one place because of work, so unless he’s dating someone in the field (which is super rare), it’s mostly just flings

“Guys, let’s do the brown note endurance contest.” (Google “brown note youtube”)

Spells Spongebob like “Spunch Bob”

“I am not paid enough to do that.”

OW junkie, but likes story games a lot

Support/Tank main (Mercy and Reinhardt)

The Last Of Us fucking ended him; fav character is Joel :)

Hard of hearing in his right ear

Yells “WOT?” all the fucking time

[khaleesiofalicante]

About the smut thing, my advice is to add dialogue. Instead of you just writing it and describing it, you can also add them speaking to one another during it like them giving eachother instructions ( LBAF louder scene is a good one) You could also not leave things out for the imagination, in my experience I like it better more graphic because it’s canon what they did and not in my head. You don’t have to go crazy with the details but dont leave all of it to the reader/imagination.

Also to get most comfy writing it, I think you should maybe read more of it to get used to seeing it on ur screen. Or just dive in and try to write the filthiest thing ever for like “exposure therapy .To get better at writing it, I recommend reading others and try to find a style u like and Using “dialogue/ prompts” to get u started can help out u can find some on Pinterest.

I love me some communication during sex so there will definitely be dialogue. And let's be real, Max doesn't shut up, not even during sex lol

I actually don't have any problems reading smut. I also am very comfortable talking about sex irl but writing it seems weird - i think it's because i am very attached to these characters it's almost like writing smut about real-life people 😭

I will definitely spend some time on pinterest looking at prompts. this is very helpful! Thank you ❤️

[wilted-astraea]

Lucifer doesn't always understand why i may struggle to reciprocate sometimes, even if it's very sudden. However, he can easily sense when i'm in emotional distress and can empathize regardless.

He understands where my place of fear is stemming from, and doesn't judge me for it. Earlier, he attempted to soothe my fears in a way I wasn't expecting. He took a step back, and told me he wanted me, but it wasn't just a blanket statement. It was an invitation. If I could muster up the courage to hug him, in that moment of fear, and he didn't pull away then I could see that intimacy wasn't dangerous. He wasn't going to reject me and pull away. I was hesitant, but I eventually tried. I remember just sobbing the moment my arms wrapped around him, and he didn't let go until I did. He was still there.

In a weird way, it was almost like exposure therapy. Even if it was for a moment, I felt.. not alone. Like i could trust.

(This may have been happening in my brain, but it felt as real it could be. I cried so hard into my pillow, but for the first time today I cried happy tears.)

He always has such a reassuring look in his eyes, and I never have to ask for it.

[clunelover]

Okay great, I get to do the intensive outpatient program (half days - mornings) for anxiety/OCD. Starting in a few weeks. I now get to figure out what exactly I say to my boss and when. I’ve done it before but it’s been a long time!

For any of you who didn’t follow me back when I did this - I had terrible PPA after C was born. All my usual anxiety shit was ratcheted up, and I had some new things that seemed to have sprung up due to the Las Vegas shooting happening during my maternity leave. It finally got bad enough that social worker BFF said I should consider treatment.

At the time I did PHP (partial hospitalization - ie full weekdays) and then stepped down to IOP. I think it lasted 10-12 weeks between the two.

The program included some amounts of CBT, DBT, mindfulness, and art therapy, with the bulk of the time being spent on ERP (exposure and response prevention). Just doing exposures to trigger anxiety and sitting with it until it reduces at least by half. This is why I say I don’t want to go back - that shit is HARD. But it really works. Those of us with this flavor of anxiety get in a thought trap where we think anxiety is unbearable and that it won’t go away unless we [insert unhealthy behavior or ritual/compulsion]. But in fact it will eventually go away on its own. I just need to retrain my muscles for tolerating discomfort.

For me, some of the specific exposures were:

- for fear of being wrong, tell someone an incorrect fact on purpose (my favorite was “Massachusetts wasn’t one of the original 13 colonies.”)

- for fear of people thinking I’m weird, face the “wrong” way in an elevator

(Most of these things were done with employees at the facility. Not just random people on the street or something. Oh although one of my things was to send a work email without checking it for typos).

Eventually I built up to something they called “interroceptives” which were activities meant to simulate physical feelings of panic, like spinning in a chair or trying to breathe through a cocktail straw.

Anyway, when I did it the first time, I remember it gave me so much freedom. So many things I’d thought impossible or too scary, I could do. But the disinclination to sit with discomfort can creep back in.

I think my current issues are different than last time I went in! Back then I was still working as a statistician, so I had very specific “I’ve forgotten everything I learned in grad school” thoughts. Now that I do a different type of job, I’m more secure (although less so again with new hard to read boss). My current issues are much more social in nature. I can’t bear talking to other Girl Scout moms. All my friends actually hate me. Etc.

And more agitation about things needing to be “just right.” Almost all household chores except laundry are too overwhelming to start. Anyway, I’m pumped to get it all sorted out! And I hope my favorite mental health specialist is still there although that’s unlikely cause I think it’s a high turnover job. But we shall see!

[aaalanasblog]

hi, I'm really new to pageants extremely camera shy, under-confident but I want to try new things, if you know what can I improve

Thank you 😊

note: I hope this isn’t too long or confusing!

omg I totally understand this feeling! I only recently became comfortable with my looks and seeing myself on camera.

The key to being able to push through any camera shyness/stage fright is to be comfortable and confident in yourself and your looks.

Things that helped me become more comfortable and confident in my face and body:

staring in the mirror and just looking at my face. Sometimes, I’ll even make faces at myself because I can see what my go-to expressions truly look like.

sitting down and doing my skincare in the mirror. I make it almost a ritual, of some sort. I carve out 10 minutes to take my time and truly work with my face. This helps me tangibly understand my features.

doing my makeup on camera without trying to talk it through, vlog, or anything — just music playing. Most recordings I never post. This helps me see all of my angles and get a clearer picture of my facial proportions.

taking lots of pictures of myself for the fun of it. Selfies, upper body, full body, funny face, weird angle…you name it, I take a pic of it. Think of it as exposure therapy.

Once you understand your face, your features, your proportions, your expressions/mannerisms, and your body at its most comfortable, you’re able to practice how you want to look at your pageants.

If you’ve heard the phrase “know your angles” before, this is what they mean!

Most of all, you should know how to affirm and motivate yourself. In a space like pageants, it can be so easy to put yourself down when you look at others. However, the way you talk to yourself directly fuels your performance. Without positive self-talk, the above activities will fall kinda flat. Like blowing up a balloon that has a hole in it.

I know some people use subliminals to kickstart rewiring their brain to be positive, so that’s an option. However, I’ve seen great affirmations on here that are good to remember when you feel less confident.

I hope you know that you are beautiful and truly believe in your ability to be successful at your pageants. I know I do! 🫶🏽💘

[bugsbenefit]

Hello, how are you doing?🌷💓🌞

omgggg lenora you're backkkk hiiiii 🥰🥰💞💗 i missed seeing you on the dash the past weeks so much 💕💕💕🫂

i'm doing good right now actually! (putting a read more here in hindsight because of the ramble lmaoooo)

i'm doing a course to start taking driving classes. which... happens to be in the evening so that does kind of suck actually. but yk exciting to finally get it out of the way! and i'm also almost done with it by now, there's only this week (including the weekend uhm) and part of next week left and then i'll have a normal schedule again akdfhad

(i usually have an atrocious sleep schedule but somehow being out until almost 10 and having to eat dinner then is fucking it up even more. good to know a bad sleep schedule can always be worse if you try hard enough🙏, maybe that'll finally motivate me to improve it when i'm done with the course crying)

and i'm also crossing some things off the list of chores no one in the family has done in ages since i've accepted they're not happening otherwise. like taking my grandma's cat who didn't see a vet in almost 10 years to one last week and she shockingly didn't try to kill me!! (surprising because she's genuinely insane. there's baby photos of her trying to bite people's arteries open. i love her and she has issues. she's cute too, no matter how many of my relatives think she's butt ugly, it adds to her charm. she does look weird tho i admit that. also really fat, big girl, i had to buy a whole new carrier to even fit her into it 😭) big fat cat who hunts mice for fun, looks weird as hell, loves biting people and is also the most touch starved cuddly cat i know, she contains multitudes

she's fine but i'll have to take her again in a few weeks, i'm convinced she'll return to her killer roots now that she remembers what a transport carrier looks like. but i'll just be optimistic about it until her teeth are in my arm 👍

byproduct of that is also that i'm trying to exposure therapy my way through my crippling fear of making phone calls to officials and doctors and so on. thanks insane cat of my grandma 💗 it's a process but it's definitely getting easier

also side effect from all that is that i haven't really been on tumblr much the past 2 weeks either (i mean i say that, i am actually still on here but i usually just scroll and don't have time to reblog/post when i'm on the go. tumblrina is a chronic condition for me i fear)

but there's also not been that much production news for ST or anything i could have missed out on so good timing :D

this is kind of a ramble of what i've been up to adfkjadfj how are You?💞 it's so nice to have you back on the dashhhh