#it’s not a mattress problem (i think) it’s a joints issue

[ookaookaooka]

least favorite thing about getting older so far is that there is 1 sleep position that is comfortable for the whole night and even that has approximately a 30% chance of giving me neck and/or back pain the next day

[foldingfittedsheets]

Soooo I just got a new bed and it's too soft for me. And a friend recommended getting an extra firm mattress topper to try to make it firmer. I'm a bit skeptical (would firm on top of soft work?) and thought I'd ask the resident Internet mattress guru! :P

I was folding laundry when I saw this and literally stepped away and I sat down to answer. This is serious business.

Because there’s a lot of clarifying questions for this situation I’m gonna info dump. If this doesn’t answer please feel free to follow up.

So first: there’s a big misconception about ���soft” beds. Beds are composed of two major categories: comfort and support. Soft comfort is great! So nice for joints. Soft support is terrible. So bad for backs.

A lot of people think soft beds in general are bad for your back and this harkens back to the very first commercial spring mattresses. The coils were all one solid interconnected layer, and if they weren’t stiff you’d end up slumped into the bed with no back support. (Not unlike soft sleep number beds- no bueno for spines)

After a lot of research people realized that individual coils standing up inside the mattress was way comfier and less bouncy for partners and bonus- could even feel softer while keeping back support!

There was a big campaign to help people realize their beds didn’t need to be stiff as a board because soft comfort layer beds could still give good back support! The soft was the cushioning on top, but the springs were still down there keeping spines aligned.

Then all foam beds hit the market but they still used the same premise. Soft on top, supportive underneath. But the dense underfoam was just as good as springs for back alignment.

But then dun dun DUNN arrived beds in a box. Now I have very negative views of any bed in a box. They use cheap fire retardants fiber glass, don’t last very long, but most damningly they don’t have good support because a foam light enough to roll up doesn’t have the density to support a spine long term.

On the subject of toppers: a topper is only ever a band aid, and one unlikely to fix your particular issue. People suggest toppers when a bed has caved in over time and a topper can only ever offer “comfort” not “support”.

The only situation a topper can fix is if a bed is too hard on joints. That’s it.

Now to your problem: when you say soft, does you back hurt from the softness? If yes, a topper will not fix it.

Some people don’t like how soft beds feel, like how they can make it difficult to turn or move around but! In this case I usually recommend they try it at least a month to see if they can acclimate because softer comfort helps reduce tossing and turning. A lot of people just aren’t used to it but like it with some acclimating.

If your soft bed came from a box: give up, it’ll only get worse, they don’t have back support and the soft support is a huge red flag.

If you’re unsure of how the bed is making your back feel low down flat on your back, even if that’s not how you sleep. A good bed should sink at your shoulders and hips, but push up at your lower back. This is the hallmark of good back support.

If instead of pushing back on you the bed let’s you slump into a curve, call it.

I hope this was helpful. I know it was a lot but there’s a ton of factors and beds are legitimately so important to people’s overall health. Good sleep is a scarcity and it’s worth finding the best bed you can.

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Still Beautiful

Pairings: James Potter x Disabled!Reader (part of my poly!marauders x disabled!reader) Summary: James sees something you don't want him to see. [wordcount: 1.2k words] Tags: fem!reader, wheelchair user!reader, body image issues, soft!james, emotional hurt/comfort Series Masterlist

The four-poster bed creaks under your weight as you sink into the mattress, a sigh slipping past your lips. Your fingers curl around the edges of the velvet curtains, pulling them closed against the dimming light that filters through the high windows of Gryffindor Tower. You can't help but grimace as the fabric brushes against your swollen knuckles, the pain more intense than you'd like to admit.

Your body feels heavy, the day's strains taking their toll on muscles and joints that have never known such exertion. The swelling in your limbs has grown worse, and each movement is an effort, a battle fought and lost against the limitations of your own flesh and bone. But it's not just the physical pain that gnaws at you; it's the exhaustion that clings to your spirit, the kind that sleep can't touch.

"James," you had said earlier, meeting his concerned gaze across the Great Hall's long table, "I can manage. Go on with Sirius and Remus. There's no need for all of us to miss out because I'm... like this."

But now, alone in the semi-darkness with only the faint crackle of the hearth for company, you question your decision. The ache in your limbs deepens, stubborn as the stone walls surrounding you, and you feel a familiar heaviness creep into your thoughts.

The door creaks open, the sound barely audible. It must be one of the guys, you think, checking on you or bringing something to eat. You're too spent to sit up, but you manage a feeble, "Hey," your voice barely more than a whisper. Your eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion.

"Hey, sweetheart," James replies, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. There's an undercurrent of worry that belies his calm exterior, but he masks it well. His steps are light as he crosses the room, likely trying not to disturb you if you're drifting off.

Before you can protest, tell him you're fine and he should get back to whatever he was doing, the blanket is carefully peeled back. Cool air rushes in, making you shiver. You wince as the sudden change in temperature heightens your awareness of the aches pulsating through your body.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

The words die in his throat, and the air around you shifts. He's seen it. You can almost hear the unspoken acknowledgment in the silence that stretches between you. He's seen your legs—the swollen joints, the skin discoloured beyond recognition. It looks worse today, you think.

You reach for the blanket, intending to pull it back over your body, but James is faster. His hand closes over yours, not in a grip of restraint, but with a gentleness that surprises you.

"Wait—don't," he says, the words coming out as a soft command. He moves to kneel by the bed, his face level with yours, but his eyes are fixed on your legs. The furrow in his brow deepens, not from revulsion but from something else—concern, perhaps. You hate that look; it only drives the point deeper that you're broken, less than whole.

"James, don’t… it’s not your problem, okay?" The words come out sharper than you intend, a defence mechanism against the vulnerability seeping through the cracks of your facade. You don't want him to see you like this, unanchored and drifting in the vast sea of your own thoughts.

"It's not nothing," he insists, his gaze never leaving your face. "I wish you'd told me it was this bad today."

The thought of discussing it, especially with James looking at you as if you might shatter into pieces at any moment, fills you with an acute sense of embarrassment. Your chest constricts further, and you reach for the blanket, wanting to hide yourself away from his scrutiny, but he catches your hand before you can pull it up.

"Hey, it's alright..." James murmurs, not an order but a lifeline thrown out to you. He eases himself onto the bed's edge, careful not to jostle you more than necessary. His hand comes to rest on your leg, a touch so light it's more warmth than weight. Yet it anchors you in a world that seems intent on slipping away.

"Look at me," he says, as if his voice alone could unravel the knots of confusion in your mind. When your eyes stay fixed on some distant point, he lifts your chin with two gentle fingers, compelling you to meet his gaze. "You're still you, do you understand? This doesn't change who you are."

But you don't reply, because how can you when every fibre of your being screams otherwise? Today, with your body bloated and strange, your thoughts slow and muddled, you feel anything but yourself.

James moves closer, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your thigh. His eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see not disgust or pity, but love—unwavering and true. "You're still beautiful. You're still the woman I fell for, and the one Sirius and Remus adore. This," he gestures to your swollen limbs, "changes none of that."

You scoff, the sound hollow even to your own ears. "Right, because this is really attractive."

His expression softens further, if that's even possible. "Your beauty isn't about the physical alone—it's who you are." His voice is firm but kind, the conviction behind his words unshakeable. "And if you don't believe me…"

James doesn't finish the sentence, nor does he need to. Instead, his body leans into yours, a silent plea for understanding. His lips find yours in a tender kiss that leaves no room for argument—not that you would have the strength to resist. His mouth is warm and inviting, mirroring the gentleness you've come to associate with James himself. The kiss deepens, drawing you in, making your head spin with a mix of confusion and longing.

He kisses you as though there's nothing else in the world that matters more than this moment—than you. It's a slow dance at first, a tentative exploration that leaves both of you breathless, but then the rhythm changes. The kiss grows fervent, desperate even, as if trying to convey all the words left unsaid.

One hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer, while the other traces a path up your side, sending shivers down your spine and setting your skin ablaze where it makes contact. You can't help but respond, matching his intensity with a fervour you didn't know you possessed.

His confidence, his easy affection—they chip away at the wall you've built around yourself, brick by brick, until it crumbles. And for a fleeting moment, you let yourself feel wanted, cherished.

You begin to think that perhaps... just perhaps... James might be right after all

When you finally break for air, your foreheads rest together, and he grins, his breath warm against your skin. It's a teasing smile, one that sets your heart fluttering despite everything.

"See?" he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Still irresistible."

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you love me for it," he counters, pressing a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

The knot in your stomach loosens slightly, and the pain, though still present, feels a little less overwhelming. For now, with James at your side, there is room to breathe.

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

I've seen several posts discussing the trade-offs of using a mobility aid, and how many mobility aids can cause health issues later on. While this is absolutely true, I want to emphasize something else very important.

It is not normal for your mobility aid to be causing you new-onset issues.

If you are experiencing new pain, muscle weakness, contracture, etc. it's important to look into it asap. Your doctor might have gone over possible issues and their danger levels at prescription or followup appointments for your aid, if they gave you educational material about these issues check that first. If you're experiencing an issue that you're not 100% sure is an expected (and safe enough to not be an emergency) side effect of use, get in touch with a doctor to make sure you're not having a fixable problem and/or a medical emergency. An occupational therapist was able to help me the most but depending on your condition and the issues you're experiencing you might benefit from a physical therapist or a specialist more. Another important thing of note:

Open pressure sores/bedsores are an emergency.

It can feel silly to go to the hospital for a small wound, but if they're not treated and you aren't repositioned to take pressure off the sore you could develop a bacterial infection and die. More than 24,000 people die from pressure sores every year. If you spend a lot of time in bed, sitting in the same place, or in a wheelchair/powerchair you need to learn to recognize the early signs of pressure sores and seek out ways to prevent them. There are special mattresses and cushions specifically for preventing sores. If you have paralysis or another condition that might mask pain you need to either check yourself regularly or have someone check you regularly for sores.

Less important but still good to think about, I recommend talking to someone who specializes in joints (i.e. an orthopedic doctor) about how you position yourself in a bed, couch, or chair if you spend a lot of time in one. Take a picture of your setup, bring it to them, and ask if there's anything more you can do to prevent joint or muscle injury.

[someinstant]

So many, many years ago, when I was twenty and foolish and thought I was immortal, I sprained my ankle very badly hiking with some friends on Spring Break. Being an immortal college student, and also a broke American with a shitty healthcare system, I shrugged it off, wrapped it in a compression bandage for a bit, iced it, and limped around campus for about six weeks while it kinda-sorta healed.

But it turns out that once you do a number on an ankle and don't properly rehab it, you're much more likely to sprain the joint again-- something to do with the tendons stretching and your brain not compensating for the stretch in your balance. I dunno, the doctor explained it to me and it made a lot of sense, but I don't remember the terms she used.

Anyway, I have sprained my ankle a million times since college. I've done the "oh SHIT" slip down the stairs, the "trip over a student's bookbag and land funny" move, the "I swear I was just walking on the sidewalk and there was nothing THERE" sprain-- all of them. So my ankle is pretty shot.

And then about four years ago, I started developing plantar fasciitis-- which is pretty common in teachers, because we spend all day on our feet on hard tiles. The treatment for plantar fasciitis is basically rest-- stay off the inflamed tissues until the irritation goes down, and then do some PT. But that's kind of impossible in my job, so I just... dealt with it. I iced it, rolled out the bottoms of my feet every night, bought hideously expensive and supportive shoes, and when it got so bad I wanted to cry, I'd take some anti-inflammatories and suck it up. Because what else was I going to do? Not teach? It's teaching. Everyone's feet hurt.

But then last April I sprained my ankle really badly taking the trash out, of all things, and it just-- never really got better. I mean, the swelling went down, I had full range of motion, and I was certain it wasn't broken-- I've broken several bones in my life, and am pretty familiar with that sort of pain-- but there was just this lingering, deep pain. But I had things I needed to do, you know? I had the end of the year to get through, graduation duties, and my parents were dead set on a family trip to Scotland. So I sucked it up, took some anti-inflammatories, and pushed through.

But I couldn't walk where I wanted to go on the trip. My mother, who has had two knee replacements, could walk farther and faster than I could. We took a trip to an island one day and I wanted to see the puffins nesting-- was determined to see them, because I love puffins-- and I made myself climb up the cliff face and walk the rough path for two miles, and I saw the damn birds and they were beautiful, but the back of my calf was burning like acid and that night I couldn't stand to let my heel touch the mattress in bed, it was that painful. The next day I could barely walk around the city center without wanting to cry, and all I could think was, "I'm ruining this trip, because I'm slowing everyone down."

So when I came home, I made an appointment with my GP-- not that this is a GP issue, but American insurance being what it is, we jump through the hoops to get a referral to the person who can actually solve the problem. And today I finally had an appointment with the specialist, and--

It is so affirming and such a goddamn relief to have someone take time to listen, and examine, and to then say, "Here is what the problems are, they are REAL problems, and you're not weak for being in pain." At one point she said, "It sounds like your pain is about an eight," and I was like, "Oh, no, absolutely not," because I'd been thinking that an eight on the pain scale was, like, I-am-actively-bleeding-out. But she said, no, if the pain was stopping me from doing things or making me live my life differently than I would if it were more manageable-- that's an eight. And, I don't know, that sort of broke my brain, because I do things like make a list of all the tasks I need to accomplish during my planning period that are going to have me walking around the school, and then I figure out the most efficient route-- all so I don't have to walk as far, because my ankle can't take it.

So then I cried a little, and told her I was glad it wasn't all in my head, and she was very kind and firm and said that no, it absolutely wasn't.

It's my Achilles' tendon, among other things. All the sprains and stresses over the years have made a bunch of micro-tears, and it's inflamed to hell and back. So I'm in an air cast for four weeks and on a course of steroids to just get the inflammation down, and then we'll see about PT. And if that's not helping, then it's time to think about surgery.

I don't know what the moral of the story is, except that there's no virtue in pain, and that when you're twenty and you hurt yourself hiking the AT, you should spend that money on a co-pay to see your doctor instead of those concert tickets, because your forty-one year old self has regrets.

[gavrannoir]

I have been 6’2” since I was 11 years old. It’s been over 15 years and I’ve gone from maybe 180lbs to 360lbs. For as long as I can remember, my mom called me an “anti-talent” when it came to sports, so I spent my free time reading or in sedentary play. I was diagnosed with scoliosis at 9. I started having knee problems at 10 or 11. (I think that my bones, joints, and muscles just had a hard time keeping up with how rapidly I grew.) I did a sleep study at 25 and was told that the snoring I have had my entire life is obstructive sleep apnea, and, while my sleep apnea is disruptive enough to destroy my quality of sleep and induce other side effects of sleep apnea, I do not have enough “episodes” per hour to qualify for health insurance to cover treatment. (My father, a lean non-drinker and non-smoker, has atrial fibrillation. I think it’s because he also has sleep apnea because he and I snore the same.) I have terrible night sweats (a symptom of sleep apnea) which leave my mattress soaked through to the bottom & have caused me to go through a mattress a year for the past five years due to mold.

When I go to the doctor for help for any of these conditions, my weight is treated as a cause rather than a symptom. It’s all well and good to treat the symptom if I have a headache, but when I can’t breathe consistently at night and it causes my body to think it’s under stressors I’m not actually experiencing, I need to solve the breathing issue. When I’m scared to use a flight of stairs because my knee has given out one too many times and now I also have a bum ankle from my last fall, I need to focus on physical therapy for that knee and ankle. The weight is not what is causing my suffering. Not being treated is.

I work at a daycare with infants.

One of our baby girls is fat, in the 99th percentile for her age. She is super cute and sweet. Lately, she has been sick with various breathing issues, so she has been reluctant to take her bottles. Normally, she’ll take 4 ounces of formula at lunch and 8 ounces in the afternoon. Today, I was lucky to get to her take 5 all day.

There was a substitute covering a lunch break in my classroom today. We emphasized to her that we need to keep trying to get the baby to drink her bottle until she finished it. She said, “Why are you guys so worried about taking her bottle?”

My coworker replied, “That’s where all her nutrients are. She needs the nutrients and the water.”

To which the substitute replied, “But she’s so fat. She doesn’t need it.”

Thin privilege is a small, pretty baby getting better childcare because the caretaker doesn’t think she’s too fat to be allowed to eat.

[fandomness--randomness]

Not so Hard Run Ins {Reiner Braun x Reader}

Warnings: none, just fluff and embarrassing stuff lol

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: You just wanted to return a shirt Marco had lended you, instead you found yourself face to face with your longtime crush.... or rather face to chest.

inspired by this tiktok

Anyways - I love Reiner and his hella mommy milkers (I've loved this hoe since season 1, I am the ultimate Reiner simp)

Sasha let out a long groan as she stretched her arms high above her head. Her joints cracked and popped as she did so. “Gah! I’m so hungry!” She whined.

“Please - you’re hungry all the time.” You chuckled softly, landing a light punch across Sasha’s arm. The girl overreacted, splayed herself across the porch banister and placed the back of her hand across her forehead like some kind of damsel in distress.

“Oh woe is me! I have been slain!” She cried out.

Connie, who was walking from the training field with Jean and Marco, quickly joined in on the antics. He laid himself across the banister next to Sasha in a similar fashion and began to lament of their shared demise. Something about how if Sasha, his partner in crime and fellow prankster, died - he too would die of heartbreak and boredom.

Rolling your eyes, you walk into the cafeteria with Marco as Jean attempts to pull them out of their improve scene.

“When those two start acting up, I can’t help but feel old.” You muttered as you snatched a plate of whatever mediocre slop they had been feeding the training corps the last three years and some stale bread.

Marco chuckled. “Come on (Y/N), don’t say that. You’re only a few years older than us. It’s not like you’re some old lady who can barely walk.” He sat down on the bench gently while you plopped down without a care.

Rolling your shoulder, you scoffed. “I sure feel like it with all this hand to hand combat lately. I just want to get back to ODM training already.”

Two more, much taller figures than you and Marco sat down across from you with their own meals.

“Well now, if you’re an old lady does that make Bertholdt and I old men?” Reiner joked before taking a bite of his bread. “We’re the same age after all.” He added, sending you a soft smile.

Clenching your fist under the table, you turned your gaze to your dinner and fought back the oncoming heat to your cheeks. You’re not sure when it happened - but along the path of tough,constant training and awkward teenage development, you found yourself in love with the muscular blond. You didn’t think much of him at first, thinking he was just like the other stupid boys from your village that showed off their muscles in an attempt to woo girls like you and your friends.

But that idea began to crumble when his brotherly nature was revealed and he offered a helping hand to the other cadets when they needed it. The misconception was practically destroyed the day he offered to carry you back to camp after you had rammed right into a tree while using ODM gear. You had originally wanted to curse out Eren for being overly cocky and nearly crashing into you, which caused you to overcorrect and smash into the tree - but the feeling of Reiner’s muscular back against your chest was just too distracting. That night you practically ran to bed in an embarrassed mess.

Tonight would no doubt be the same if Reiner continued to joke around with you.

Shoveling some food into your mouth, you leaned onto the table with your elbows and pointed the old spoon at Reiner. “I’m - what - 3 months older than you? I’ve practically got years of wisdom on you.”

Reiner laughed at your remark just as the rest of your friends joined the table - Sasha and Connie sporting reddened ears and Jean nearly having a vein in his forehead pop.

Smiling at your fellow cadets, you let yourself fall into the flow of conversation. And although you loved and appreciated all your friends, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over to Reiner every once in a while.

Thankfully, there was no after dinner training - so the cadets had a few hours of freetime until the lights went out. This gave you the chance to finally get around to cleaning your laundry and refreshing your ODM gear.

While others found doing laundry to be a pain Sasha, you found the rhythmic pattern to be soothing and comfortable. Because of this, more than often, you would do laundry for yourself and few of your friends.

Popping your head into the giant dorm room, you called out to the rest of the girls. “Hey, does anyone need their laundry done? I want to get it done before it gets dark so give it to me now if you want.” Most of the girls shook their head, thanking you for the offer, but some of the others handed off small baskets of clothes and bedsheets.

“Thank you so much (Y/N)!” Christa exclaimed.

You smiled back at her. “It’s no problem. This way they'll be able to dry overnight if need be.”

Walking back outside with a few more baskets of laundry, you set to work. It was the height of summer and the sun was still beating down on the poor training corps. Thankfully, it hadn’t rained in some time so there was no lingering humidity that would prolong the drying process.

It was so hot and dry that your first round of laundry was done drying by the time you finished washing the entire load. Pulling the dry laundry off of the pins, you brought them inside and to their appropriate owners before going to the equipment building to clean and polish your ODM gear.

By the time you returned to the hanging clothes, the sun was starting to set.

You smiled in victory at the realization that all of the laundry had dried. Setting everything in the appropriate baskets, you lugged the now clean clothes and bedsheets inside. The girls who had taken up your offer thanked you again as they readied themselves for bed.

Taking your own basket to your bed (thank god for having the bottom bunk) you began to unload and fold the laundry. All was normal until you came across a large navy blue shirt. It was certainly too big to be yours and you didn’t own anything like this.

Then you remembered. Slapping a hand across your forehead, you let out a long sigh.

The week prior, Sasha had knocked you right into the mud during some after dinner training. Thankfully Marco and Jean were watching the two of you, so being the kind soul he was, Marco rushed into his dorm and grabbed an extra shirt for you to change into quickly.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glanced out the window. The sun had set, but the torches outside and lights inside the other buildings were still lit.

Turning to Mikasa, you asked, “do you think I have enough time to return this shirt to Marco? Before lights out?”

The ravenette glanced at you, the shirt, outside the window, and then back to you. She nodded lightly. “Yeah, I think it’s safe. The sun set only a few minutes ago. Lights shouldn’t be called for another 30 minutes.”

Letting out a breath of relief, you jogged out the door and called out a thanks to Mikasa for her stable judgment.

It wasn’t uncommon for cadets to go back and forth between the dorms despite their gender. You and Sasha were often found invading Jean and Connie’s space to beg them to play cards with you two and Marco. Eren and Armin always seemed to be calling for Mikasa to come hang out with them too. But that was when the sun was out.

Going to the others’ dormitory building when the sun had already set was sort of...taboo among cadets, even if it was technically allowed.

No one just wanted to walk into the dorms when the chance of walking into the other cadets changing or even bathing were at its peak. But this was just a quick trip in and out. You’d be fine.

Slipping into the boys dormitory hall, you started the familiar trek to the dorm room Marco was in. It was practically ingrained into your head at this point (not to mention that the dorm buildings’ layouts were the exact same). You expected to run in and run out - no issues.

That was until you turned a corner and came face first with a wall. At least that’s what you would’ve thought if the wall didn’t let out a surprised grunt.

Horror flooded through your veins as you realized your cheek was pressed right against someone’s bare chest, the heat of their skin radiating across your face. Glancing up, that horror doubled - no, tripled - in size.

You hadn’t just ran into some random boy. No - you had just ran right into Reiner Braun, who was only clad in a towel around his waist with skin still damp from his shower.

The red blush you had pushed back at dinner came back full force. The two of you stared at each other for a moment in surprise. Reiner’s own blush spread across his cheeks and ears.

“He’s really warm.” You thought. “And a lot more muscular than I thought. Yet his chest is so soft. I feel like I could fall asleep on it.” You stared at his deep hazel eyes. “I really want to run my hands across his chest. Does he have abs too? Oh what I would do to be able to let my hands wander down furth-”

A droplet of water from Reiner’s hair dripped onto your nose.

“THIS IS FOR MARCO PLEASE GIVE IT TO HIM!” You screamed, shoving the now wrinkled shirt into Reiner’s chest.

Not waiting for a response, you turned onto your heel and ran out of the dorm practically screaming - a high pitched whine and curses following your wake. You didn’t stop until you had your face planted into the mattress and body huddled in blankets.

Your entire body was on fire as your friends questioned what had happened. Some were more worried, like Christa; while others immediately thought the worst may have happened like Mikasa and Sasha. Eventually, when you kept shaking your head and refused to come out of your blankets, your friend retired to their beds. All except Sasha, who sat next to you, swinging her legs back and forth as she waited.

Peeking out of the blanket, you looked up at her.

“I did something so embarrassing, Sash.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Tarnished Knights (one-shot)

Summary: Edge isn't really interested in reading whatever books Stretch seemed to think he needs. He has enough problems trying to read their relationship.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Complicated Relationships, Flirtation, Budding Love, Idiots in Love

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

“hey, edgelord, i found some books for you.”

Edge did not look up from the papers he had spread across the table. He was designing a new puzzle trap and hardly needed any distractions. Not that he shouldn’t have been expecting one. These days Stretch came over often when he knew Edge would be home from patrol, despite Edge’s discomfort at having him in Underfell. So long as he stayed inside the house, there should be no issues, but there was always a prickle of unease when he appeared, a brief moment where Edge resisted the urge to send him home to the safety of Underswap. Then he would remember why Stretch was visiting and that urge would vanish, tucked beneath a more visceral, and pleasurable, one.

Red tended to make himself scarce when Stretch was on a solo visit and while Edge didn’t care for him spending extra time at Grillby’s, he also didn’t blame him for his desertion. Stretch’s normal lazy behavior tended to vanish when it came to bedroom activities and instead were best described as both enthusiastic and loud.

Better that Red left, otherwise Edge might well be treated to another of his brother’s morning score reviews and the less he heard Red say things like ‘wails like a cat stuck in a beat-up aluminum trashcan at the end of an alley in downtown san francisco. gotta give ‘im 6 out of 10’, the better.

Stretch hadn’t asked before coming over, sending a text only moments before popping in as he often did. Ignoring him was always an exercise in futility, for a variety of reasons, but Edge tried. There was something to be said for anticipation, something delightful, and he intended to keep Stretch waiting as long as he could manage.

Despite his efforts, distraction still came in the form of a rumpled paper sack dropped down on table, right on top of his plans. Edge growled impatiently and shoved the bag out of his way, glaring up at his…well, that was a discussion for another day. His semi-clone from another universe would do for now, and said clone was smirking down at him with the stick of a lollipop poking out from between his teeth. Smoking in the house was verboten for both Edge and Blue, and so Stretch often found alternate means of keeping his mouth busy.

Both the innuendo in that and the sight of his tongue curling around the candy behind his teeth threatened another mental derailment and Edge hastily turned his attention to the bag at hand.

“I don’t need any books.”

Stretch made a scoffing sound and plopped down on the sofa with his legs sprawling apart, since sitting properly would have been reasonable and efficient, and Stretch was neither. “everybody needs books. books are the keys to the imagination and, buddy, you need to unlock a door.”

“There is nothing wrong with my imagination and I don’t need any more books,” Edge said. “I have my puzzle books.” And a tattered copy of ‘Peekaboo With Fluffy Bunny’ hidden away where prying eyes would not easily find it.

“oh, yeah, riveting,” Stretch snorted. He unwrapped another sucker and popped it into his mouth, the candy clacking against his teeth as he rolled it to one side. “that’ll get the ol’ imagination roaring like lions on your mind savannah.”

“I beg your pardon, are you suggesting your copy of the ‘Principles of Quantum Mechanics’ stimulates your imagination?”

“yeah, actually, but i also have a copy of this just in case that doesn’t do the trick.” He sat up and rummaged through the bag, yanked out a book to shove directly into Edge’s face. “it works some pretty good magic once you get into it.”

He leaned back enough to focus on the cover, “The Once and Future King,” Edge read aloud without enthusiasm. His experiences with kings were not something he wanted to repeat in his leisure time.

“yeah, yeah, i can feel your doubt. c’mon, you’ll like it, just give it a try. for me?” Stretch wheedled. He batted his sockets and despite the lack of eyelashes, it was not entirely ineffective.

If Edge’s interest in the book was middling, his interest in Stretch was not, lacking definition but not depth. Still, it didn’t pay to give in too easily, especially when it was someone else acquiring the debt.

“What do I get if I do?” Edge countered. From the way Stretch’s smirk widened, his sockets sinking down to hood his eye lights, he’d chosen well.

“well, all that book-learnin’ gave me a hell of an imagination.” Stretch pulled the half-eaten sucker out of his mouth and tossed it carelessly into the nearby trash bin without so much as looking at it. With the sly grace he so rarely showed, he pushed Edge back against the sofa and straddled his lap, tongue gliding over his teeth as he murmured, “bet i can think of something.”

The taste of his magic was sweeter than the candy, and coupled with that kiss, it was headily addictive. Edge forgot entirely about puzzles and kings and books, lying back and letting Stretch’s imagination sweep them away.

~~*~~

Much later that night, Stretch was curled up sleeping next to him and it was a good thing that once he was asleep, he tended to stay that way no matter what. Normally the tendency was (terrifying) annoying. He’d never have survived his childhood in Underfell.

Tonight, Edge found he was grateful for it because despite the unforeseen exercise of the past few hours, he found himself restless and unable to sleep. Normally he might get up and clean, a deep scrub of the bathroom tiles made for an excellent mindless chore, but Stretch staying over was a rare occurrence and he wanted to stay close by. If he woke and found himself alone, he might think himself unwelcome and that would go against Edge’s very much unspoken wish that he stay over more often rather than shambling off after sex with a faint limp and a laconic smile.

Asking for such a thing was more likely to get Stretch sprinting back to Underswap than wish fulfillment, so Edge said nothing and quietly hoped actions spoke louder than words, at least enough to either get through Stretch’s thick, brilliant skull or beneath his prickly, non-existent skin.

But none of that helped tonight. Sleep lingered out of reach and Edge rolled over again, sighing to himself as he stared out into his bedroom.

Artificial light streamed in through his barred window and landed on his desk, illuminating the contents. He’d tidied up the living room before they’d gone upstairs to finish what was started on the sofa —leaving any mess only gave Red leverage for maddening sock placement— and the bag of books was sitting on his desk, set there by Stretch as evidenced by its haphazard placement. It had fallen over and books were spilling out from the top.

Since getting up was out of the question, Edge reached out with his magic, clumsily using two bones like an oversized pair of chopsticks to grasp the book like a grain of rice. He made a mental note to work on that particular exercise again, who knew when it might come in handy, as he flicked on the small lamp on the bedside table. He’d try a page or two, if only to make Stretch happy, and then claim his reward for the attempt.

He opened the first page, already unimpressed with the first nonsensical sentence, and wondering why Stretch thought he would find this interesting. He hoped whatever reward he received for the attempt would be worth it.

Some hours later, his spine ached from hunching over the book that was gripped so tightly in his hands the pages occasionally threatened to tear. His eye sockets felt dry and gritty as he greedily scoured the last page and at the end, he stared at the final words, hardly able to believe there was no more. His mind was still awhirl with thoughts of knights and wizards, a fallible king who was worthy of following and yet still betrayed, honor earned and lost by those who were rich in virtue and brought down by their foibles.

“you liked it, huh.”

Edge startled, the book falling from his hands, and jerked around to see Stretch was watching him. He was still curled around the pillow, sunk into its soft depths with only one eye light visible from within a barely opened socket. Normally, that drowsy, inviting warmth was a temptation in itself, but this morning Edge’s thoughts were in turmoil.

Underfell was home, whether or not the people here wanted him, they certainly needed him, a tarnished knight to fight their battles, and here he would stay, stubbornly some (everyone) said, but weren’t there times he wished to escape it, if only briefly? Traveling to the other universes for a meal or for company, a chance to go somewhere else, be someone else, not the Great and Terrible Papyrus, but Edge, who was neither great nor terrible, and somehow still appreciated for it.

It never occurred to him he could leave without even stepping through his front door and bring his adventure back with him when he returned.

“Yes,” Edge admitted. “I did."

“yeah, i liked that one, too,” Stretch rolled onto his back, stretching out his long limbs beneath the blankets and letting out a satisfied groan as joints popped, “figured you might dig in.”

“Is that why you brought it?” Edge asked, curiously, “did you wonder if I would like it because you did?” When they’d first met the others, there had been some experimenting to determine the differences not only in their worlds, but in each other, down to their taste in condiments. That had dwindled off as they’d gotten to know each other, but he wouldn’t be surprised to learn Stretch still want to test a few theories.

Instead of agreeing, Stretch pushed up on an elbow in automatic protest, “no! i just—” That burst trailed off and he sank back down to the mattress, his face twisting in complex emotions.

Edge said nothing, only waited without demanding an answer. He wasn’t particularly skilled at reading others and worse when it came to Stretch, but he was slowly learning. If he didn’t press, there was a chance Stretch would give him an honest answer rather than a pun or some other deflection. It said less about himself and more Stretch’s issues when it came to any kind of emotional intimacy, but he still found himself holding his breath, almost superstitiously afraid of frightening him off.

Finally, Stretch shrugged, a certain forced carelessness in the roll of his shoulders. “i just wanted to give you something you’d like.” Then, a little softer, like a confession, “you deserve nice things.”

Edge glanced at the paper bag still sitting on his desk. He wouldn’t be able to stay up reading every night, only ones where the restlessness refused to abate, but that happened often enough and there were plenty of books still inside, more worlds to explore and adventures to be had.

Meanwhile, Stretch had been busily shoring up his defenses while Edge was distracted. His expression was closed off, set in the lines of his normal carefree easiness as he sat up, yawning deliberately. “seriously, edgelord, it’s only a damn book, don’t read too much into it. heh. anyway, i should head home so you can go on patrol.”

He should, time was creeping into late morning. Red was probably already napping at his sentry station. There was no reason for him to lean in and press his mouth to the tempting curve at the back of Stretch’s skull where it met his spine, except for the fact that he knew Stretch was sensitive there and always shivered at the lightest touch. He did now, a quiver rattling through his bones as he ducked his head to allow better access, a little groan catching in his throat.

“or not,” Stretch sighed out. He sank willingly back to the mattress with Edge following him down. His hands settled lightly on Edge’s back, fingertips drifting delicately against the scar-hewn bones with renewed promise.

At the cusp of giving in to temptation, Edge thought briefly of Arthur and Lancelot and Guinevere, their successes and mistakes, endings and the hope of new beginnings. Then he set those thoughts aside. As rich as that fantasy was, there was something to be said for reality and as he drew Stretch into his arms, Edge was content with his own.

For now.

-finis-

[seancekitsch]

Prize Buck

I’m out of my hiatus. I was asked for Klaus Headcanons, wrote a smut fic after work today instead whoops

A/N: drug use, addiction, oral(m/f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap that shit folx), female or nb afab reader, thinking sad thoughts while doing sexy things, sorta sub!Klaus, mental health issues, roughness, unedited, i added a line that only makes sense if you read the comics

———————————————

“You’re seriously telling me you’ve never done this? You?” Klaus asks, bringing the bowl and the lighter closer to you. You hadn’t, in honesty. You were the worlds most casual of casual stoners. You’d roll a joint if the mood struck you; meticulously crafted and thin for the perfect little heady time. Or you’d take a hit from a bong at a friends house, only if they offered to smoke you out. Really though, weed wasn’t your thing, it just had to become a part of the routine now because there weren’t other options. You couldn’t get your normal poison, amphetamines, so feeling uncontrollably sluggish instead of uncontrollably wired was the new normal.

A non-committal head shake was all you could offer. He was right to be incredulous at that revelation. You had met in rehab, for god’s sake. Klaus had, no HAS, a lot of problems, some you watched him scream and sweat through during his first week in the room across the hall from you. You were the one that he woke up constantly, because your crash left you near coma and crying when you were conscious. Despite making your recovery hell, he was the only one you could talk to when the tears subsided. Before rehab, you were a a published scholar at the height of your career, working with a newly discovered artifact from an anthropology dig. You’d spent your career hopped up on all of the meds you could find, culminating this research, staying up for thirteen days before having a breakdown in which you break the artifact from shaking so hard and crash your car fleeing the research center with your writing.

Weed was new. It was never your thing. But Klaus was new too, and he was your thing. You’d become fast friends in group therapy sessions, and inseparable out of them. It was unorthodox and frowned upon, but you became roommates once you’d gotten out. Just a small studio above a shop. A couch and a mattress that you’d switch off sleeping on, or you’d just both crash on the flood a hairs breadth away from snuggling. But it was the option that worked. You’d both confided that true sobriety wasn’t an option. So instead of anything hard, it was weed and alcohol. This was something that wouldn’t kill you or get you sent back. Controllable. And maybe one day you’d be able to go into a different field. Get an apartment with an actual bedroom. Maybe he could be able to shut out some of his power. But for now, this is what would work. It was a transition that made sense to you.

“I just can’t believe you’ve never shotgunned a bowl. Don’t all the great writers have their little parties where they smoke each other out? Isn’t that how Mary and Percy had that orgy with Lord Byron?” You wanted to correct him that you were a disgraced anthropologist, not a writer, but his warm thigh nudging yours reminds you now isn’t really the time. You give a weak smile instead.

“I guess since you’re the only person I smoke with, you’d be the only person to shotgun me.” He scooches closer to you, earthy scent already working wonders to entrance you. You wonder if he knew he had this effect on your mind and body.

“So you’ll let me shoot you now?” He asks. You smile, a little anxious, a little toothy.

“Shoot me? What am I, a ten point buck?”

There’s going to be a great feat of self control to keep yourself from jumping the curly haired man next to you, and self control is not one of your strong suits. You were head over heels in lust with Klaus and you didn’t even know if he was into women.

He begins with an unceremonious prodding at the fresh ground bud in the glass bowl with his pinky. Then he flicks the gas station lighter once. Twice. A spark. The flame dips into the bowl and there’s a soft crackle that’s accompanied and fueled by Klaus’ plump lips wrapping around the head of the pipe. It’s almost obscene to look at and you find yourself shifting uncomfortably. Well, not uncomfortably, but not in a way that’s appropriate for this setting. There’s probably more than a slight chance Klaus knows you’re aroused, but he’s being polite about it. Even now, as his lungs are filling up with smoke, and he’s puffing out his cheeks like a chipmunk, there’s this ebbing and throbbing between your legs.

And now, for the shotgun itself. You know he’s blowing all the smoke in his body into your mouth, but the last thing you expect is how it feels to actually have his lips on yours. At first he’s methodical, a slow diaphragm push of smoke into your mouth, your lips parted slightly and drinking in the smoke as it comes. But no, that’s not enough; not giving Klaus enough access to deliver the goods. He makes quick work of parting your lips further by a harsh squeeze to your jaw. The way the smoke and his tongue invade your mouth does nothing to help curb the lack of self control you possess as you moan wantonly into the kiss. The shotgun. You could be addicted to this alone.

By the time he pulls away, you feel like a balloon in that you’re floating, and the hand you have securely placed on your roommates thigh is the only thing keeping you from floating out the window and into some electrical wires or into a tree for birds to choke to death on. You start low, reddened eyes looking from your hand on his thigh, up to his chest. Klaus’ chest is almost always bare. His arms and the muscles of his abdomen were littered with the odd scar and tattoo here and there. He told you they’re from fighting in Vietnam in the 1960s and France in the 1400s. When he said it, he was so earnest you could do nothing but believe him. Then your eyes travel a little more north, to his lips. He needs a shave; his mustache and his chin getting a bit too scraggly, but they tickled when you came together for the smoke. And then you finally meet his eyes, unabashed that you just drank him in like lemonade. His pupils are blown wide when you finally look into them; not something weed would do to you. No, this was something else.

“Another?” He asks, voice trembling and breathy, not above a whisper.

“I- I want more.” Your voice coming out a tad huskier than you intended, not masking how his actions had an effect on you. Your skirt feels entirely too open right now. If you were wearing jeans, or tight pants like his, you’d feel some kind of restraint. Like a chastity belt, you think, some real medieval torture. But it would be all too easy to lift this skirt, or even to shift your hips and grind against something for even a tiny iota of relief.

You don’t even watch Klaus take the hit this time, only turning your head back to face him when you hear him stop sucking. This time, he sets the bowl down before leaning in. Your mouth is open and ready for him, already a quick learner from what just transpired. So Klaus doesn’t grab your jaw this time. Instead, he grabs the hand that’s still resting on his thigh.

And he shoves it towards the crotch of his pants.

Where your open palm lands clumsy and hard against the hardness straining at his pants.

He groans as contact is made and almost coughs the rest of the smoke into your mouth, but you’re there to suck it down in stride. There’s only a quick pause for you to exhale this now twice filtered smoke before your lips re-attach to his, the bowl and lighter now forgotten.

His hand drifts to your jaw a second time, before sliding down further to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, until it strains your back. He knows you fell asleep on the couch last night, so he knows how much this burns your taught muscles. All to his advantage it seems, as you shift your weight to your knee before turning and straddling him, all without breaking the kiss or your removing your hand from his clothed cock. Your skirt pools at where both of your hips meet, and he readjusts it -ever the gentleman- for you as you begin to knead and squeeze him beneath your hand.

Instead of smoke now, your mouths fill with the moans and sighs of each other, both refusing to end the kissing first and both running out of air. The onslaught of kissing continues through some under the shirt fondling, through Klaus less than gently pinching at your nipples, through you unbuttoning Klaus’ pants- now much too tight. He only breaks the kiss finally to beckon you,

“Stand up, I’ve got something else I want to show you”

Wobbly, you give his clothed cock one more squeeze before you rise to your feet.

While you move to reposition, standing over him now with your skirt bunched in one hand and your panties in another, he shimmies his pants down to his knees. All of your wondering if he was into more than just men is silenced when his tongue makes first contact with your clit. He takes the time to swirl his tongue tantalizingly slow, then quickly flicking his tongue upward, making your knees buckle until they land at the back of the couch just above his shoulders. You lean into it as he writes letters to you with his tongue, teasing the entrance to your cunt with his fingers and gathering the wetness until his fingers are slick.

You’re about to beg for it, cry for his fingers to penetrate you, but you don’t have to because he plunges in to the hilt. There is no easing into it, he thrusts his middle and ring finger at a break neck speed. Your skin feels white hot and the only purchase you can find is in squeezing the fabric balled in your palms and Klaus skewers you and torches every one of your nerve endings with his hot mouth and fingers.

Your high is coming to a head, literally and figuratively, when Klaus retracts all attention. You whine, pouting and pitiful, when he says something that surprises you:

“You’re gonna cum, right? Order me. Order me to make you cum. I’ll obey.”

So you do.

“Fuck— Klaus. Fuck! Make me cum. Make me cum on your face.”

When he returns to your cunt he’s unmerciful, working you back up to and through your high before you can even realize it’s happening. You barely savor it before you’re convulsing, sinking your knees further until they rest on his shoulders and he has to grab you by the ass to hold you up. You hadn’t been touched like this since before you had met Klaus, and you wanted more. Insatiable and prone, you make your next move untangling yourself from his grasp.

Sinking down, you feel the old wood creak beneath your stiff knees. This would hurt like a bitch, but when Klaus smiles down at you with his face covered in the wetness of your orgasm, you can’t find a reason to care. His smile is genuine, wide and splitting, the same look he gives you when you come home with pizza. Well, this was about to be better than pizza. The tip of your tongue touches the head of his cock first, a tiny testing lick earning a full body shudder from the man in front of you.

“Please don’t tease. Do a guy a favor. Please baby?”

You’re a sucker for his pleading, and just as he didn’t give you time to adjust, you don’t give him any warning before you sink your entire mouth down on him, only stopping to hollow out your cheeks when his tip hits the back of your throat. You hold it there for a moment, and then only gag as your lungs run out of oxygen. Klaus could be a substitute for oxygen, you’d gladly rather take him in than anything you would have tried before.

He whines, you notice. High pitched and needy. He would probably do anything I asked right now to cum, you think, but you quickly dismiss the thought. In a way you’re glad it’s you sucking his soul out through his cock and no one else, because he’s putting so much of himself into this. You wonder if he’s been taken advantage before. You hope not.

You banish the thought by moaning around the head of his cock. You revel in his reaction, to bury both of his hands in your hair as he all but sobs out “oh god please keep doing that” or something like that, you can’t really tell for sure over the rush his touch sends straight back down to your core.

As much as you want to worship his cock, your own tears from gagging on it start to sting your eyes. So you pull off him, just long enough to ask,

“Do you want me to finish you like this? Or another way?” Pausing to kiss the underside of his cock before adding, “You can have any part of me you want”

It’s like a flip switches, and he’s pulling you back up, pulling your skirt down and off of you in fluid motion, before you take your spot straddling him again. Impatient, he pushes you down onto him, thrusting away immediately finding a groove.

“Oh I’m gonna make you cum— gonna be real good for you. M-make you feel real good.” He’s a stuttering, groaning mess as he thrusts up into you.

“You feel amazing inside me. You’re doing so good, Klaus. Making me feel amazing,” you coo, doing everything to praise and encourage him. “I’m gonna cum, can you feel that? It’s all for you, do you want that— OH”

The thought caught mid air stopped short by a particularly accurate thrust right into a spot that makes you scream, your second orgasm of the afternoon now much closer than it had been. You feel your muscles clench as you bear down on him, trying to make Klaus hit that spot over and over. By the way his rhythm is almost non existent, you can tell he’s almost there too.

Something crosses your mind, and before you fully process the thought, one of your hands is wrapping around his throat, fingers and thumb squeezing deftly so that you don’t close the airway, but that he sees stars. That does it.

Klaus cumming is almost more beautiful than it feels. His cock twitches and paints your insides, and you cum from the sensation as well, but the blissed-out fucked-out face smiling up at you is to see heaven itself. His eyeliner is streaked with tears, his lips swollen and bruised, a smile splitting his face in two.

You move to get up, maybe clean yourself up, but at least put your panties back on. Klaus stops you though with his hands gently but firmly on your hips, holding you in place.

“Just stay. For a bit. I’m not one of those dames you can deflower and avoid their calling cards.”

A snort of laughter. A joke covering real insecurity; you can see right through it.

“Klaus, you were deflowered long before I ever got here, but I’m not gonna go anywhere. You shot me, I’m your prize buck.”

[chikoriita]

Even in my dreams pt. 2

Part 1

Read on AO3

She should be worried. At least once a day, Marinette found her partner staring off into space and refusing to make eye contact with her. Not enough where he stopped speaking to her (that was her m.o.), but she had to admit that this was weird, even for Adrien. Other than those few moments, he seemed normal. But should she rock the boat?

Marinette thought they had finally reached a steady pace in their friendship. Finding out that he was Chat Noir explained so much about Adrien. Ever since that day in the closet, Adrien had been so supportive and sweet, both with and without the mask. He visited with Plagg for storytime and brought her coffee the next morning for her post kwami exhaustion. After a particularly hard akuma or sentimonster, Chat listened to her rant about Hawkmoth and offered notes from his perspective. As Ladybug and Chat Noir, they were stronger than ever before.

Still, Marinette worried that a simple mistake would endanger everything they held dear. After all, her last mistake cost them Master Fu. Whenever her doubts threatened to scare her away from Adrien, he simply held her hand like he had in the closet that day and anchored her to reality. She only wished that she could return the favor somehow. Maybe this could be her chance. So instead of a crazy convoluted plan, she took a page out of Adrien’s book and just asked him.

“What are you up to, kitty?” Ladybug tugged him toward her by the bell. They just finished their joint patrol and were taking a breather on the school roof. Marinette didn’t lie to herself; she picked this time purposefully. Asking while he was Adrien did something to the connection between her tongue and her brain. She knew he was her goofy Chat, but her past insecurities still got in the way sometimes. Thus, here they were. “You have been acting strange lately.”

His ears perked up, and he grinned. “Why, Ladybug, whatever do you mean? Have you been gossiping with Plagg again?”

She giggled and pushed him away by the nose. It was a familiar action to them both, but instead of annoyance, she did it with love. “Stop that you goof,” Ladybug said, turning away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him droop a bit. “Seriously, Chat. Are you okay? Being partners is a two way street,” She reminded him.

Chat placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. She met his eyes, his bright green eyes, and he took a deep breath. “I…” He paused.

She held her own breath. What happened? “Chat?” She whispered.

Her partner sighed. “I promise I am fine. Not just to placate you, either.” He held his hand up. “Chat’s honor.”

“I told you that I was fine just a few weeks ago,” Ladybug pointed out the slight hypocrisy in that statement.

“Ah, but I actually am fine. Still,” he began to placate her. He must have seen the furrowing of her brows. “You are welcome to ask me at any point if I am doing okay. It’s your right as my one and only partner.” Chat gave her his thousand-watt smile

Ladybug turned away before he could see the red on her ears. She wished he wouldn’t say things like that. They were doing just fine without Marinette’s latent feelings about Adrien and Chat getting in the way.

“Okay,” She finally said. “If you insist you are fine, I will take your word for it. But if I find out there is something, Chat Noir, I will hoist you from Montparnasse Tower for everyone to see. Got it?”

“Got it,” he squeaked.

“Good.” She gave him a small hug. “We’re still on for story time tomorrow?”

Chat nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, milady.”

Her stomach flipped at the nickname. This was the first time in a long time he had called her that. Don’t read into a pet name, Marinette. It will do you no good. You missed your chance.

“Goodnight Chat!” She shouted as she quickly swung away from the rooftop and that conversation. It was all she could do for her sanity.

—

Adrien landed in his room and detransformed. He thought he was ready for the onslaught of teasing from his kwami, but instead, he received a cold welcome.

“Why did you lie to Pigtails?” Plagg asked with his arms crossed.

Pigtails? “I thought you were over that nickname,” Adrien commented as he walked over to the cheese refrigerator.

“What I call Ladybug is between me and her. And don’t try swaying me with that delicious cheese in your hand. Why didn’t you tell her?” Plagg asked floating away from the outstretched offering.

Adrien sighed. “It’s not a bribe. I figured you were hungry. It was a longer transformation than usual.”

Plagg scoffed. “You think that was long?”

“So you don’t want the cheese?”

“Don’t be an idiot Adrien.” He swiped the cheese from his chosen. “Now confess.”

Adrien fell back onto his bed. “It’s not the right time. Marinette has enough to deal with right now. She doesn’t need me starting my romantic nonsense again. You should’ve seen her face when I called her milady.” He stuck his face into his pillow. “I might as well have called her Hawkmoth.” His voice was miserable even while muffled.

“Why couldn’t Master Fu wait until you two were done with puberty to leave?” Plagg muttered to himself as he hovered over his charge. “Get up, kid. You look pathetic.”

He sat up and frowned at him. “Thanks Plagg.”

“No problem. Now start acting like the suave Chat Noir you are, and tell Marinette how you feel!”

“I’m not sure if you noticed over the last year, but she doesn’t think I am suave at all,” Adrien moaned.

“That’s because you never ask for my advice.”

“No, I did. You told me to focus on cheese.”

“That was then. This is now.” He landed on Adrien’s head. “The most romantic figures in history have been my chosen. They’d be nothing without me.”

Adrien grabbed Plagg with one hand and another piece of Camembert with the other. “Start talking, cheese vacuum.”

—

Snacks? Check. Pillows fluffed? Check. Laptop charged? Check.

Nothing could stop Marinette from getting Adrien to admit what was bothering him tonight. Well, nothing except Adrien himself. After all the progress they had made, she couldn’t go back to the way they once were. If he wasn’t comfortable sharing yet, she would wait.

Tikki gave her cheek a hug. “Don’t worry too much, Marinette. You’ve pulled off more convoluted plans than this before,” her kwami reassured her.

“Those plans didn’t have such high stakes.” Marinette played with one of her pigtails.

“Oh yes, the akuma sent to steal your Miraculous has nothing on spending time with your partner,” Tikki said with a giggle.

“Exactly!”A soft knock on her trapdoor interrupted her before she could continue. She checked the time on her alarm clock. Why was he early?

“Are you going to let me in or what?” His voice came through the ceiling.

Marinette unlatched the hook and in fell her partner with Plagg floating behind him. He laid in a heap in front of her on the mattress.

“Thanks for the warning, Marinette,” Adrien grumbled.

She laughed. “It wouldn’t have hurt so much if you didn’t lean against the roof trying to eavesdrop on me and Tikki.” She raised an eyebrow.

He sheepishly grinned. “Guilty as charged. I wanted to see if you were okay with a little change in plans tonight.”

No I am not. "Yes?” Marinette asked carefully. She didn’t want to reject his idea outright, but she put quite a bit of thought into her plans!

Adrien took her hand and pulled her onto her rooftop. “Maybe instead of story time, we could try something else?”

Why that sneaky cat! Marinette felt the tears pool in her eyes as she took in the sight of her balcony. Her fairy lights were reconnected and set to twinkle. The plants that she had neglected recently were watered and the pots were repainted with Ladybug patterns. He brought two chairs for them to sit (of course nothing cheap or flimsy, not for an Agreste). To top everything off, three perfect roses sat on her little wooden table.

Adrien tugged her toward a chair and pulled it out for her. She took it without a word, still trying to figure out what he was planning.

He must have seen the gears working in her brain. “Marinette, I have a small request. Can you wait till I finish saying what I need to say to overthink it? Don’t say you don’t!” He teased when he saw her mouth drop. “I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to do this again.”

Marinette sighed and nodded. Compared to her, he never asked for anything. She could honor this small request.

“I know that as Ladybug and Marinette, you are stressed beyond belief. I didn’t want to add to it. I didn’t realize until yesterday that you found my behavior weird. Plagg told me to just tell you what was going on. But this was my problem. You already have a huge burden, and you don’t need me to make it worse. Honestly, I thought that I would get over it soon enough. The problem is, however, you’re amazing. Period. I knew you would be,” he said with a sigh.

His words had already stunned Marinette. She easily stopped thinking without an issue.

He continued, “I told myself the first day we met that you would be even better without the mask, and the last few weeks has proved that over and over again. I guess… what I’m really trying to say…” Adrien trailed off. He took in a deep breath and stopped speaking. With his eyes scrunched, he looked away from her.

Oh no, he did not get to stop there. She grabbed his hand, just as he did hers when she was having trouble speaking. With both her hands, she relaxed his fingers and massaged his palm with her thumb. Marinette sat there, caressing his hand, until he was ready to say something.

He looked up at her, green eyes glistening in the fairy lights, and gave her a wobbly smile. “Marinette, I love you.”

Her heart stopped beating for a quick second as she registered what he said.

I. Love. You.

“Excuse me?” She gasped and dropped his hand.

Despair washed over his face instantly, and Adrien backed away. “This was a mistake. I am sorry.”

The sorrow in his voice snapped Marinette out of her shock. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

“You already told me that you weren’t interested. I should have taken the hint back then. I know there’s another boy, but over the last few weeks… If you can believe me, I fell in love with you again.”

Marinette processed everything he said tonight. He fell in love with her again? He didn't want to burden her with his feelings? Another boy? Once it hit her, she stood up and crossed her arms. “You- you- complete idiot,” Marinette began. He flinched, but she did not back down from all the feelings crashing inside of her. This is what happened when she wasn’t allowed to think! “Who did you think the other boy was? No I don’t want to hear your guess. I’ll just tell you!” Marinette grabbed him around the waist, pulled him toward her and whispered, “His name is Adrien.” With that admission a year in the making, she softly pressed her lips against his.

Adrien pulled back quickly with a dazed look. “Just to be sure, you mean- Yeah you mean me.” He wrapped his arms around her and returned to the kiss. One they both would remember for a lifetime.

A little ways above them, sitting against a chimney flue, Tikki and Plagg watched their charges finally moon over each other in person.

“I still can’t believe your Chosen thought Marinette liked someone else!” Tikki giggled. “It was so obvious it was him.”

Plagg didn’t take the insult to his kit in stride. “And what about Buginette? She almost left him to be with the dragon girl. As if my cats would have eyes for anyone but the best.”

Tikki poked him in the cheek. “Marinette is the best?” She teased.

“Of course. You wouldn’t have chosen her otherwise,” He grudgingly admitted. Plagg leaned against his sugarcube and purred. She cuddled back and chirped. At least for tonight, he could rest easy and watch his kittens be happy.

[polyjql]

So I have joint hypermobility/hypermobility spectrum disorder/ehlers danlos syndrome/something (Dx’d hypermobile and in pain but the waiting list is loooong for the actual conditions). I am also autistic and have ADHD.

I’ve just bought a weighted blanket and oh my God it feels good. It feels so good.

Except that I like to get to sleep lying on my side, and when I do that plus blanket, the extra weight seems to do something to aggravate my bad hip, which is my lower hip when I’m lying on that side.

I already have a nice new bed and mattress. It’s still being paid off as a matter of fact. It’s medium firm I think, with like a gazillion springs, and an “iGel” topper as part of the mattress. I’ve loved it so far, until like, right now.

Any recommendations on how to win this battle? I was hoping the blanket would really help me with the sleep issues I have. I’m a very light sleeper, which is a pain in the butt, particularly when my partner visits. I’m loathe to just dump it as an idea, but I guess I could? Or I could chug painkillers before bed and hope they get me through the worst of the night (getting to sleep)? Or is there a mattress anyone with hip pain really swears by? Or anything else?

I have my suspicions that the blanket is pushing my hip through the topper and onto the springs, where the resistance is causing pain. If so that's going to be an expensive problem to resolve :/ Happy to take mattress recommendations (or any other recommendations) anyway.

[backpain369-blog]

The Best Way To Get Rid Of Lower Back Pain

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 -> Stick to on the internet pain relief program: You actually could also get relief from on the internet workout applications, DVD's, E: book, electronic mail training, free 12 months membership to the month to month e-newsletter, free wellness related posts, tasty recipes furthermore to pain relief tips. Consider assistance from expert furthermore to save a program of exercise This can get rid of your pain also as make sure that it continues to be clear of returning during the entire long term.

[theamberfang]

Journal 216: Painful Start, Comfy End

Mystery Pain

As much as I complained yesterday about my old spring mattress not working for my back, I did manage to confirm that laying on my left side works to alleviate that pain, assuming I can find a spot that keeps my spine level. There still was a problem with my left shoulder being mighty sore once I woke up though, so a new mattress would still be very welcome.

Something strange happened as my morning went on; while some of the pain in my left shoulder lessened, I still seemed to be experiencing a dull pain throughout the whole arm. Not only that, but my right arm was feeling a similar pain! My first thoughts turned to my recent case of anemia: maybe one experiences more pain if there isn’t enough blood to go around, for like, physical maintenance and such? I then turned to that multivitamin: can an overdose of some mineral or vitamin cause joint pain? Whatever the cause, it may very well have been exacerbating my back pain last night.

As the day went on, after both a nap and a shower, the pain began to subside. From here, things began to come together after the pain resumed after I ate a slice of leftover pizza: leftover from last night. I recalled from “What I’ve Learned” that gluten—and even sugars from carbs in general—aggravate the blood and can cause joint pain. I wonder if my experiments with keto have caused me to become extra sensitive to these sorts of things as well. It probably doesn’t help that I had spaghetti for lunch—another leftover from the past weekend—which may have primed this pain response, with the pizza only tipping things over the edge.

It looks like, as long as it’s within my power to choose, that I’m pretty much done with pasta and pizza. It literally hurts me, for hours, to eat these foods. Well, at least not fast-food pizza and not pre-packaged pasta noodles; I might still be willing to give home-made, gourmet, and gluten-free options a shot.

Virtual Support

I didn’t commit myself to any more engagement today than merely attending, but I think today was the most I’ve contributed yet. I commented on the issues of a few people; I think it was four messages in total, where two might have been my max in previous groups. One of those messages was explicitly about journaling, so it even felt appropriate to link to this blog at the end, when everyone shares contact details. If anyone is actually reading this from the group, hello!

I’ve still been anxious about showing up on video and voice, though I actually have the tools for these things. It’s still that same combo of perfectionism and social anxiety that I haven’t worked through yet, for this specific situation. Part of it is from a technical standpoint: I’ve actually never used this laptop’s webcam, so I’m not even sure if it works. Beyond that though, there’s the issue of not feeling “good enough” to put myself out there: despite not having any idea what “good enough” would even look like.

My immediate inclination was to try and make sure I process these feelings out on the weekend or Monday before the next group. But after thinking about it for a moment, I figure I could set up some groundwork at least while these thoughts are fresh. Well, admittedly, my joints still hurt from that pizza, so that’s an actual excuse to put things off, but I’ll give it a shot anyway.

First of all, I can’t be comparing myself to these people that have been at this game for years. It’s an unrealistic standard for so many reasons: the biggest being a lack of insurance and finances to support the proper medical costs, let alone the time it would take to go through “second puberty.” That’s the sort of stuff I would want help with from the support group anyway, and it would be better to let them see me from the very beginning.

Okay, so even if I’m not comparing myself to those who have made the most progress, I still have in mind this existence of some arbitrary threshold that would provide “proof” that I’m actually transgender: that if I don’t meet this requirement, I might get kicked out for being a “not-actually-trans person” that is intruding into this space. What I do know for sure is that I’m uncomfortable when I’m referred to with male pronouns and my dead name, and that I’m significantly more comfortable when people use my preferred pronouns and my chosen name. This has held consistently true for the 3-4 years I’ve known I was transgender without transitioning—due to being fearful of the political climate—and I still feel the same about my retroactive perspective on my life that convinced me I was transgender in the first place. I’m confident that I’m transgender, and I shouldn’t feel obligated to prove it to anyone: certainly not with appearance alone.

One last thing is that I don’t necessarily need to go through any hoops at all. I haven’t difficulty imagining it for myself, but it’s a possibility that I’ve become more aware of lately. It’s largely due to following @applejuicewerewolf recently—a few weeks ago maybe?—and they reblog a lot of LGBTQ+ content that’s been subtly helpful for me. (Funnily enough, I just followed them because they had posted/reblogged a bunch of stuff related to Enter the Florpus, so it’s been a bit of a surprise how positive this one follow turned out to be. This is also my first attempt at tagging someone in a post, so guess I’ll see how that goes.)

DBSA

Tomorrow is the day for the DBSA support group, and I have quite a bit I could talk about. There’s everything with my half-brother and his family’s visit: from how I’d always isolated in the past from them, to all the time I actually ended up spending with them this time. There’s also the related subject of how all that activity made me feel sick on multiple fronts: from which I learned to make sure that I eat more when I’m going to be more active—especially for iron!—and to avoid eating pasta and pizza.

Due to Dorian, I expect there will be less people attending than usual. As anxious as we can all be, I wouldn’t be surprised if some people evacuated early, just in case, and won’t be showing up. Many of us also aren’t very well off though, so I hope no one went overboard with hurricane preparations somehow.

Outlook Catch-Up

Today, while showering, I thought it would be a good time to write an “Extended Outlook” about my goals for transitioning. As long as my arms and wrists feel up to it, I’d like to write it tomorrow morning—if not then, Thursday would also work. Since I’ve been coming out to more people lately, which in itself is a form of transitioning, I’d like to outline for myself other ways I’d like to considering transitioning, particularly options that are within my means. I’ve spent much too long focusing on what I can’t do due to financial reasons, and not enough time thinking about what I can do.

Tomorrow’s Tasks

Dance for exercise; 1000

Consider writing an Extended Outlook; 1100

KA: Any subject; 1300

DBSA group; 1700

Journal; 2000

(Still keeping things conservative for now, until I’m sure all this anemia and joint pain stuff is done with.)

[dabblinginmarvel]

New Problems, New Tests

Plot: Y/N’s health begins to fail and on top of that, there is a pregnancy scare.

Blog Tag: @whennoonethinksyoucanyoumust, @farfromjustordinary

A/N: I know many people like the ‘requests’ part, but this came to us during a conversation for a third part to A Benched Bucky (Part 1) and We Have A Problem (Part 2). Thank you to the inspiration and partner behind this, @whennoonethinksyoucanyoumust, without whom this would never have existed.

Warnings: Minor angst, illness descriptions

Word Count Total: 1600

Long Imagine #21

Title: New Problems, New Tests

You had been home again for a few months after the incident, finally settling back into your regular life. Or, as regular as living in the Avengers compound could get.

Bucky had insisted you live with him and ever since then, every day had been an adventure. New people, new places, new everything. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that with this new life, you were going to have new problems.

- - -

You woke up sore, which wasn’t unusual for you, being in one position for that long. You figured it would wear off with movement. Sometimes, Bucky was there to help get you going, but he had extra training today with the team, and then he and Sam were going to stop at the bookstore in town.

The walk to the bathroom was excruciating. Your joints felt like they were grinding and your muscles protested. Every step was painful and you nearly fell to the floor.

The light in the bathroom was too bright. It had been tailored specifically to your preferences, but now it was too bright.

This was not going to be a normal day. When you finally made it to the bathroom, you tried to hold onto the counter so you could take some pain medication. It was tough but you made it. Your hands shakily opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a prescription bottle with your name on it. You sat down on the closed toilet.

Five tries. It took you five tries to get that bottle open. You sighed.

After taking two pills and a glass of lukewarm water, you made a call on your bed to the compound’s physician.

“Y/N, what can I do for you today?” his calming voice answered.

“Hey Doc, I’m having more trouble than usual today. I can hardly move and the pain is so much worse than usual. Would you be willing to make a house call?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there soon.”

As soon as you lowered the phone from your ear, you felt nauseous.

When the doctor arrived, he knocked on the door.

“Doctor Shelton,” you greeted.

“Y/N. May I come in?”

“Sure.”

He entered and you two discussed the situation and he discussed filling a prescription for you. It would fill by the middle of the day and he would have it delivered as soon as possible, as it was put on rush-order.

“Check back in with me in a week after you start taking it and I’ll bring your doctor in rather than just a phone consultation.”

“Okay. Thank you, Doctor Shelton.”

You had to stay in bed until your prescription came in. Bucky was texting you the whole time, but you hadn’t the heart to tell him what was going on yet. You knew this most recent pain was not pointing to anything good for you. Your health was getting worse.

Over the course of the week until your regular doctor made the trip out, you still hadn’t told Bucky. You were scared to tell him. The fear grew when you were diagnosed with a new disease. Bucky got more concerned as you began to drop things, but you blew it off, saying it was nothing, but you were getting tremors in your hands.

On top of that, you were getting morning sickness, which furthered your dread.

Quietly, you talked Natasha into helping you get a pregnancy test. She shared your worries and bid you the best of luck.

You locked yourself in the bathroom and held your breath as you waited. You were too afraid to look, so you set it aside. A pregnancy for you was too dangerous. Especially not now with your brand new health issues.

But you had to know.

Looking at it made you feel sick again. “Oh no.”

Of course it would say you’re pregnant. Nothing was ever simple in your life and every problem came in multiples.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting, or how long tears had been spilling, but when your phone alarm went off to remind you to take your daily medications, you were very stiff as you stood up.

You opened the day’s pill pod in the weekly sorter and poured it into your hand. The total came to ten. You put the pill sorter away and looked around for a glass. Great, you needed a new glass for the bathroom.

You made your way out to the kitchen, unknowingly passing by Bucky, then grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it, and then took the pills sip by sip.

Bucky watched you swallow the many pills and felt sick to his stomach. You passed by him again, glass in hand, and into your room. Why did you not tell him? Were you hiding an addiction? Did all of these years turn you into an addict?

He had to talk to Steve. He ran to find Steve, who was in the small library researching more pop-culture references on the computer.

“Steve,” Bucky said, “I need to talk to you about Y/N.”

Steve turned around in the swivel chair. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah. I just saw Y/N take a handful of pills. I’m worried she’s addicted.” Bucky pulled up an identical chair and sat beside Steve.

“Are you sure she doesn’t normally take that many?”

Bucky nodded. “Positive.”

“Have you asked her, yet? Maybe she’s dealing with something else.”

Bucky stopped. “I never thought about that.”

“Well, yeah, you were too panicked to think otherwise.”

Bucky smiled sheepishly. “I guess I did act a little rashly.”

“It could have been worse. You could have told her about your panic.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah. I’ll go talk to her. Thanks.”

Your shared room’s door was closed when Bucky got there, but he knew you were inside. He knocked softly before opening the door slightly.

Bucky spoke softly. “Y/N?”

You gingerly turned over, the movement painful, but not excruciating anymore. “Hi, Bucky,” you whispered.

He shut the door, then slowly sat beside you. “Hey. I need to talk to you about something.”

Nausea picked up again. You opened your mouth to talk, but he held up a hand.

“Don’t worry, I just need to ask you a question.” He waited for you to close your mouth before he spoke again. “I saw you taking your medicine and I need to know why you didn’t tell me you need to take more pills.”

“It’s new,” you whispered. “The doctor said a new disease popped up and this one brings immense pain. I woke up the other day hurting more than usual and feeling terrible, more so than usual.”

“When?”

“A few days ago. I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t tell you.”

He reached for your hand and you stretched it out slowly, bearing through the stiffness, to grab it. “I’m going to worry whether you like it or not, doll.”

You smiled, but it dropped quickly. “That’s not the worst of it.”

His mouth opened a little. “What else is there?”

“I may be pregnant.”

He started to smile, but his dropped, too. “Oh no.”

“Thank you. That’s what I said.”

He crawled into bed beside you and helped you crawl into his embrace. “It’s late. What do you say we’ll figure it out in the morning together?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky helped you get comfortable and then slid his hand under yours on the mattress to hold it.

In the morning, he helped you out of bed, to and from the bathroom, and then get breakfast. Your stiffness still existed, and Bucky helped you stretch it out before you got breakfast. Then, you and Bucky went to the compound’s physician and he ran a couple of tests.

“Well,” he said, “your oxytocin levels are elevated, but I’m not seeing any other signs. I looked into the pain medication symptoms and I believe you may not be pregnant. It is possible that the medication stimulates some of the glands that produce pregnancy hormones as an unfortunate side effect when it comes into contact with another one of your medications, and then mimics some of the symptoms of pregnancy.”

You sighed in relief. “So I make an appointment with my regular doctor, get some tests done, and it’s official? I know you don’t have the resources provided here for it.”

“Right. Make that appointment, and we’ll see if we can get you put on a different pain medication.”

Three weeks after switching pain medications, you had started to feel less nauseous and a little better. But you still had to see if you were pregnant. You took another test and it came up negative, but you didn’t want to celebrate just yet. You still had a test at the doctor’s to take.

Bucky drove you to your doctor and they took a couple of samples and had to pee on a stick again. After all of the results came through a day later, you could finally celebrate. It didn’t mean that everything was fixed, because you were in fact still ill, but you had one less thing to worry about.

And you had Bucky and Bucky’s family to support you when you needed it. You felt safe and loved, and that was something you were grateful for. After years of your illness being the first thing people tended to see about you, you now could surround yourself with people who listened to what was on your mind instead of asking what was coming out of it.

For as long as you lived, you now knew you would always have them.

 - - -

Masterlist

Permanent Tag List (please alert me if you change your username, want to be tagged for only one character, or if you want to be untagged): @abbybills22, @coffeebooksandfandom (for Steve tags), @dreamer821, @everything-but-the-not-natural, @elxrini, @estelgilvala, @fangirling-equestrian, @feelmyroarrrr, @hellomissmabel, @httpmcrvel, @iamwarrenspeace, @kudosia, @m4df4n, @marrvelle-fics, @mindlessnerd89, @ms-cellanies, @mylittlefandomfanfictions, @space-helen, @susiejustsusie, @tea-with-loki, @wkndfrvr, @wxnchestervevo (tag list is open!!)

Strikethroughs are blogs I can’t tag.

Reminder, if your name is not linked and you are not getting notifications you have been tagged, please refer to this guide here: https://dabblinginmarvel.tumblr.com/post/168371559776/strikethroughs-i-cant-tag

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Pet the Kitty ch.2 (spicyhoney standalone)

Summary: Edge does not resent that his cat is utterly shameless when it comes to Stretch. (He just wishes he could do the same)

Notes: This was supposed to be a oneshot but achirding had a thought and it became chapter 2! Based entirely on their idea, please enjoy!

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Lemon Goodness, Rough Sex, Yearning, Jealous of a Damn Cat

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge lay back on the sheets, panting, legs clumsily sprawled apart and one arm dangling off the side of the bed. His long fingers grazed against the carpeted floor, the sharpened tips catching as he tried to convince his wits to gather themselves back together in a coherent fashion. Slumped next to him, Stretch was much the same or at least Edge could pretend that his gaspy breathing was not only from exertion. If they were both equally overwhelmed, then there was no winner, was there, no matter what Stretch’s sly grin said.

The radio was on and playing cheerful pop music, a feeble concession to his neighbors, and Edge had long since moved the bed against an unshared wall where the thump of the headboard wouldn’t earn any irritated shouts or worse, glares in the hallway on the way down to get his mail.

Edge shifted again, grimacing as the linen beneath him clung clammily to his bones. They would need washing again, he noted absently, the sheets. Damp with sweat and other various fluids, heavy with the cloying scent of magic tangled in sex, spicy-sweet. Black sheets, the color not chosen for its aesthetic but for its tendencies to hide stains and purchased more recently than Edge wanted to admit. Before Stretch, his sheets had been simple and utilitarian, simple white cotton washed once a week with hot water and strong detergent. It took less than one night with Stretch to convince him that those would no longer suit. Once Edge found himself inviting Stretch over to put the bed to regular use, he’d gone for something a little more pleasing. It was well worth the price of a higher thread count when they slid against his bones as he was dragged across them, knees and elbows digging in as he scrabbled to brace himself or the achingly sensitive rub of his sacrum grinding into the softer linens. Sheets that hid a multitude of stains and were gentle against bones? More than worth the price.

Sex with Stretch was not what he’d expected when they first started this. For one, for such a lazy shit, he had more stamina that Edge would ever have expected and that blasted, obnoxious attitude of his was much less annoying when coupled with a sly grin and a tongue that was clever with far more than silly puns.

Sex with Stretch. Words that Edge would never have imagined putting together in a sentence that included himself, but if he’d ever managed to put aside his disbelief long enough to consider it, he would have pictured himself as the one in charge. Taking control, guiding their sexual calisthenics to the foregone conclusion. But from their very first time Stretch trod right over the very idea to pin Edge down, his slim fingers bracketing Edge’s wrists like cuffs of bone and keeping them there until he’d crudely teased out a first orgasm with nothing more than the subtle, rhythmic pressure of his knee.

Thus far, he’d dominated every one of their encounters and even less believable to him was that Edge found he liked it. Fuck that, he could at least be honest with himself in the privacy of his own mind; he loved it. Loved being able to lie back and hand over the steering wheel to someone else, his usual iron need to command shoved firmly into the backseat while he could only shudder with bliss, writhe against his expensive sheets and take what was forcibly given to him in hitherto unknown delight.

If there was any minor complaint, it was only the increase in his laundry and…ah. Well. There was one other issue.

Edge felt the faint brush of soft fur briefly against his dangling hand and then Doomfanger leapt on the bed, her loud baby cry demanding attention as she butted her head rudely against Stretch’s bare hip.

“hey, there, pretty miss.” Stretch automatically reached down to pet her, scratching the delicate points of her ears as she began to purr loudly enough that Edge could feel the vibration through the mattress. Edge bit back the entirely unreasonable demand for that easy affection to return to him. The faint ache at his pubis, the disjointed feel of his hips and knees was a fair sign he’d just gotten plenty of attention, not to mention his very recent memory of Stretch’s tongue curling wetly against his cunt. Driving into him as Edge tipped his head back and stared unseeing at the ceiling until he could no longer bear it. Closing his sockets achingly tight, his hands scrabbling desperately over Stretch’s skull and leaving behind faint scratches as he arched up and came.

He’d had all of that not even a half hour ago and he refused to be jealous of his damned cat, even when Stretch cooed to her about being a pretty girl while he struggled to his feet. His knees seemed to still be unsteady and Edge bit the tip of his tongue against asking Stretch to stay at least long enough for his joints to settle.

Pathetic to quibble about the aftermath. He’d gotten what he wanted, Stretch gave as good as he got and took what he wanted from these…sessions. Whatever else he wanted was as nebulous as the night sky Stretch liked to watch with the others, their telescopes set up in the backyard as they went over star charts and internet pages, and Edge sometimes brought them hot chocolate and snacks, listened to Stretch’s teasing laughter and silly puns, and it made some emotion clench in Edge’s chest that felt almost the same as seeing Stretch being so gentle and sweet to his cat.

Doomfanger made a sound of displeasure as Stretch stopped petting her to skin into his pants, the waistband already drooping enticingly down his pelvis as he hauled his hoodie over his head and hid the exposed bone. Something rattled in his hoodie pocket and Stretch reached into it with one hand, gripping beneath the cloth. He coughed faintly and looked ill at ease as he said, “oh, uh, by the way, i brought you something.”

That made Edge blink in surprise. Presents certainly weren’t a regular occurrence, past the one time Stretch brought a sackful of Chinese takeout with him, both of them slurping delicious noodles and fried rice right from the waxy white containers, and when Stretch finally pushed him down on the sofa, his kiss tasted of orange chicken and soy sauce, rich and ridiculously delicious.

This was no cheap offering. The box Stretch pulled out of his pocket was long and narrow, bearing the mark of a local jeweler. He held it out wordlessly and Edge tugged the sheet carelessly over his lap before he took it, his fingers trembling faintly as he lifted the lid to see the contents.

A collar.

All the heady anticipation rising in him deflated, draining out of him like water through a sieve. It was a lovely collar to be sure, obviously handcrafted and the leather precisely stamped with a delicate skull motif surrounded by ornate curlicues and shapes. Dangling from it was a gold tag etched in flowing script, a single word, his own name, ‘Papyrus.’

Lovely, yes, but it was difficult to stifle his rising disappointment. Of all the gifts in all the world that Stretch could give him, it was something for his cat.

Ridiculous, he told himself savagely. It was a gift and certainly a pricy one, and he was not about to let Stretch see any ingratitude for it.

“It’s lovely,” he admitted, and he could only helplessly admire the way Stretch lit up, his odd uncertainly brightening into dazzling glee.

“yeah? i was hoping you’d like it, i…i wasn’t sure,” he laughed a little unsteadily, “i spent a lot of time thinking about it, you know?”

“Of course I like it,” Edge assured him. He hefted it in one hand, admiring the dark leather against the paleness of his bones. It was certainly excellent craftsmanship and if its intended audience wasn’t likely to fully appreciate that, then Edge could certainly do it in her place.

“good, that’s good, ‘cause i was thinking—” Stretch trailed off as Edge pulled Doomfanger over, ignoring her plaintive meows as he slipped off her old collar, a basic affair from the local pet store, and carefully fastened on the new one. He noted grudgingly that the dark brown leather looked even better against her wheaten fur. She twisted in his hold, tail lashing as she tried to see what he was to do to her, and Edge soothed a hand down her spine as he adjusted her new adornment.

He frowned, tugging at the collar. It slid far too loosely, he could easily fit three fingers or more beneath it and the buckle was on the very last hole. “Hm, it’s a little big.” He glanced at Stretch and his face was falling into dismay, his previous delight fading. Edge added hastily, “Of course, it shouldn’t be a problem to add another hole.” Or three, honestly, the creator should have asked for a better measure before he made it. It was a shame to see any shoddiness in such lovely work.

A hectic flush was rising in Stretch’s face, a bright mottled orange against his cheekbones and Edge cursed himself for bringing it up. He could have had it adjusted without saying anything and instead he’d made Stretch self-conscious about his gift. “I love it,” Edge said, trying for reassurance.

From the way Stretch flinched, his attempt was miserable failure. “…great. yeah. that…that’s great.” Stretch ducked his head and ran a hand over his skull, slim fingers clattering softly over the bone. “i’m glad. um. i guess i better get going.”

It was peculiar to see him so discomfited and uncertain, especially here in his bedroom. Stretch fairly oozed confidence whenever they were together, and Edge let that dominance wash over him every time with the force of an ocean wave, trusting enough to give himself over to Stretch’s control.

Trust, yes, he trusted Stretch in a way Edge never had another, and a renewed sense of guilt filled him for making Stretch think he didn’t like his gift when honestly Edge never expected any to begin with. Edge wasn’t particularly skilled in seduction in any sense of the word, but this time he made an attempt. He gently pushed Doomfanger aside despite her offended yowl of protest to lounge back on the messy sheets, stroking a hand down his femur in generous offering as he tried out a purr of his own, “Are you sure?”

Pale eye lights flicked over his bare bones lingeringly, tracing his femurs, his pelvis, the scarred bones of his ribs, only to falter at the level of his chin. Stretch only stepped further away, towards the door as he stammered out, “y-yeah. see you later.” And with that, he turned abruptly on his heel and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Edge sighed and flopped back again without any pretense of eroticism, dragging the comforter over his suddenly chilled bones. Fanger took that as an invitation of sorts, picking her way delicate across the sheets to settle into Edge’s covered lap. He stroked her soft fur and tried to push aside his unreasonable upset. It certainly wasn’t her fault Stretch gave her a present. It was still difficult to even believe. A present for his damned cat, even if it was a lovely one. Edge rubbed his knuckles against Fanger’s throat where the purring vibration met the collar, fingered soft fur and leather. When he touched the delicate tag, it tinkled against the bare bone with a bell-like chime. Absently, he traced his name with a fingertip, the delicate, curling script flowing across glimmering metal. His name.

His…name…

A flashbulb went off inside his head with a near blinding pop and Edge was scrambling to his feet before he even fully understood, snatching clothes haphazardly from the floor and hopping on one foot as he struggled to pull up his trousers, already calling a frantic, “Wait!”

The pavement was cold against his bare feet as he dashed outside and Edge paid it no mind, jogging out to the sidewalk to look down the street. The sidewalk was empty, hardly a surprise, Stretch wasn’t about to walk home when a quick shortcut would do. He stood there uselessly in rumpled trousers, his unbuttoned shirt hanging open and his hands dangling emptily at his sides as he groaned aloud, a frustrated, wordless growl. He was an idiot, an absolute fool, and—

“looking for something?”

Edge whirled around with a gasp, his soul pounding. Stretch was leaning against the side of the building, a cigarette in hand, and the sight of him, slouched down in that ridiculous hoodie of his and a curious, lopsided smile curving his mouth did unreasonable things to Edge’s soul.

“More like someone,” Edge said. He took a step closer and hesitated, assaulted with vague uncertainty as he asked, “That…that wasn’t for my cat, was it.”

That smile widened teasingly, “dunno, it did look pretty good on her.”

Edge swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Stretch—”

He shrugged and took a drag off his cigarette, exhaling a perfect smoke ring that drifted towards Edge, hovering briefly over his head in a nicotine-tainted halo. “guess it’s for whoever you think should wear it.”

An offer and a compromise in one, giving him the choice. As if there was one. Edge licked his teeth, their sharp points prickling lightly against his tongue, watched Stretch watching him, that slow, sinuous movement crackling in his darkening eye lights.

“Come put it on me?” Edge asked hoarsely.

“i can do that, kitten,” Stretch said, only his voice was the one purring, titillatingly rough, shivering its way down Edge’s spine. He tossed his cigarette aside and stepped forward, his touch cool against Edge’s suddenly overheated face as Stretch cupped it in both gentle hands and kissed him.

-fin

[mrbeds]

All You should Know About Adjustable Beds

Despite availability in varied range, nowadays, country folks are getting inclined towards a special kind of bed namely adjustable beds. These are the ones that help in reducing medical complications.

If you are thinking of going with an adjustable bed instead of the traditional one, then most probably you are one of the highly updated individuals among the country folks. Still now, few of the individuals think that the adjustable beds are just a commodity for hospitals because these are the only places you see them placed.

Here are a few pros and cons that will make you aware about these special beds.

Pros

Circulation Control

With the ability to adjust a specific height for your various body parts, you'll get a control on the blood circulation within your body. This will reduce the stress that your heart bears for you; it's a good thing. The arthritis patients find these very much useful.

Aches

Better control of blood flow will help in minimising aches and alleviate joint pains. If you raise or lower your bed, the weight concentration on a particular area reduces, thus, reducing pain and aches. This is the most preferred bed by the ones who suffer from lower back pain.

Snoring

Snoring is a common problem these days. Laying flat while sleeping prohibits the proper circulation of oxygen to all vital body parts. This is the major cause of snoring. With an elevated position in bed, sinus congestion gets affected as well.

Acidity

For the individuals who suffer from acidity issues quite often, sleeping with the upper body slightly elevated from the rest can help considerably.

Cons

There are a few major cons due to which these beds are not widely preferred. Some of them are:-

Cost

These special beds are far more costlier than the standard beds. This is not necessary that the expensive bed frames will be adjustable in nature. People with medical complications are bound to use these inspite of the high cost. This ultimately strains the pocket of a commoner.

Power

Adjustable beds usually have electronic adjusting system. Thus, these beds need motors to make adjustments; this means the adjustable beds need a constant supply of electricity. These small yet complex motors can break or simply fail during power cuts. The buzzing sound is quite irritating that most of the users have reported.

Weight

The standard weight of these can be 200lbs. With additional features, the weight goes on increasing. This reduces the portability of your bed. Moreover, you should be very clear about the strength of the floor as it must be strong enough to handle at least 1000lbs of weight that includes your medical bed, mattress and one or two individuals.

I hope this will help you enough in your decision-making process. Have a nice day and stay healthy!

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