#my anxiety has gone down significantly

[rynpie]

[gloom-and-doom-in-my-room]

Damn I was scrolling through all my old posts and a Lot of them were vents and just. Jesus f christ.

I am doing so much better now.

[noosayog]

gravitate ft. miya atsumu

wc: 2.2k part 2 of 2

part 1

contents/warnings: fwb dynamic, a lil bit of jealousyyy <3, angst to fluff, suggestive but sfw, she/her! reader, referred to as girlfriend, wife, reader has minor social anxiety

Atsumu thinks he did the right thing. 

It’s the truth after all, that even if he got a committed partner now, he wouldn’t be able to give them the time and attention they deserve. 

It’s the responsible thing to do. 

Never mind the fact that he’s fallen absolutely head over heels for you. It’s okay, though, because you had always seemed so on board with casual. At the end of the day, he’d only be hurting himself by getting more involved with you; you were the better one at drawing boundaries and saying goodbye.

Yet, after that night, he’s never been more grateful for a lull in the season, a brief break before the games begin again. He could dedicate time to practicing and conditioning and more importantly, no games meant no afterparties for him to give himself the wrong idea.

The idea that you might also have feelings for him. 

It’s wishful thinking right? He’s reading into the fact that you asked if he could wear his jersey right? Logically, he couldn’t stop you from wearing it, so why did you ask? Some roundabout way of asking if that would give all your friends the wrong idea? Of course it would. They would never miss out on a chance to clown him. 

All to say, the break in the season gives him some time away from you.

It’s all completely ironic though because all it does is gives him nothing but more time to think about you. The longer his runs are, the more time his brain has to drift to thoughts of you. At the gym, every rest interval between sets is spent remembering your smell, taste, sounds. And rest days, rest days were the worst. 

The time passes excruciatingly slowly and quickly at the same time until the season picks up and your unsaid meeting time comes around again. 

– 

A part of him had expected that you might not show up to the after-game party after what had gone down between the two of you. 

That’s if you even see what happened as note-worthy. 

So when you show up, laughing it up and enjoying yourself like nothing happened, he’s convinced that he did indeed make the right decision. This is and always has been casual to you, like what was agreed upon. It’s like a stab in the chest, but a foolish part of him thinks that means maybe the two of you will casually be drawn together at some point tonight and he’d be able to take you home and get the small piece of you he sees as his. 

But, damn, he had missed you. He can’t help the way his eyes drift to you every 5 minutes to see when he’ll finally be able to catch you alone. 

Typically, it wouldn’t take long, since he knows you tend to run low on social battery within a couple minutes of mingling. But tonight, you’re like a different person, talking and drinking all night. Every time he looks over at you, you’re a part of some circle of friends laughing like you’ve been friends forever. 

As the night drags on, Atsumu gets antsy, glancing over every other minute. He finally catches you when you break away from your group. 

“Hey,” he says, hoping he sounds significantly less – just less – than how he actually feels. “I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you all night, miss Popular.” 

You raise a brow at him. 

“I haven’t seen you talk to this many people ever,” he jokes. 

You give him a weak smile at that. “So you think catching me during my one and only break is gonna win you any favors?” 

He relaxes a bit at the quip. “My company should count as a break.” 

You laugh and he grins back. At long last, the sound he’d been wanting to hear all night. Not aimed at some stranger, not the forced robotic sounds he knows you offer out of politeness. He’s about to throw his arm around you and lead you to someplace quiet when you seem to catch the eye of someone you know. You wave them over and he suppresses a groan. 

How many more minutes until he can have you to himself? 

A girl he dimly recognizes from some other gatherings wanders over to the two of you and Atsumu’s eyes narrow a fraction when you take half a step back to let her get closer to him. 

“Atsumu, this is Yukie. Yuki, this is Atsumu.” 

“Hi! Nice to meet you!” She comes in for a hug and almost instinctively, Atsumu shifts his body to turn it into a side hug. He pats once at her shoulder before pulling away but she keeps her hold around his side for one second too long to be friendly. 

“Well then,” he hears you say. His gaze whips to you, like knows what you’re about to do and can’t believe you’re doing it. “I’ll leave you kids to talk alone. I need to take a bathroom break. Don’t have too much fun!” 

Don’t have too much fun? He mocks you in his mind. Could you make it any more obvious? 

Atsumu pries the hand from his side off, intent on chasing you but Yukie steps in his path, starting to chat up a storm, leaving Atsumu frustrated but trying not to be rude. Something akin to rage starts to fill up in his gut, clouding his brain with impatience to end this conversation already and find you to figure out the what fuck your intentions are here.

He finally got one moment, just one moment alone with you after weeks of nothing and you just pass it off to someone else like you don’t give a damn. 

It takes several reassurances that he’d be seeing her again at other mutual friends’ gatherings to break away, and he immediately weaves through the crowd to find you. Fuck subtlety and whatever cat-and-mouse bullshit the two of you used to play.

He half expects you to have gone home; he could feel the social exhaustion oozing out of you in waves even in the couple of minutes he did manage to get with you. So imagine Atsumu’s surprise when he does indeed find you still present, chatting up Tobio-kun of all people. Sure, being high school friends with Shoyo-kun means you had the same relationship with Tobio, but why the fuck do you have a hand on his shoulder, doubling over with laughter as if listening to Tobio’s jokes made your whole night of small talk worth it. 

The red hot feeling bubbles over, and before he knows what he’s doing, he stomps over to rip your arm off Tobio’s shoulder. 

“What? You just pawn me off to some other girl so you can go off and find someone else for tonight?” 

Tobio, bless his heart, with all his social ineptitude picks up the cues and makes himself scarce. 

You shake Atsumu’s searing grip from your wrist and put some space between you two, but he’s not having it. He steps even closer, backing you up until you hit the wall. Suddenly, the hallway seems too empty, too quiet. Atsumu doesn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears anyway. 

You only look at him for a moment before closing your eyes and turning away. “What are you talking about, Atsumu? It's not that seri-” 

“It is and you fuckin’ know it.” 

“Atsumu, I don’t think this is the place to talk about this– ” 

“So come over to mine. Let’s talk.” 

“Atsumu…” 

“Please,” he’s damn near begging, one degree from being on his knees.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

He grabs your chin and forces you to look right into his eyes. “And why not? I think we both know something happened tonight that we need to talk about.” 

“Tonight?” you echo. You slap his hands away and shove at his chest, forcing him half a step back. “Something happened last time too and you didn’t seem to wanna talk about it then. Well, now it’s my turn to tell you. Nothing happened tonight, so there’s nothing to talk about.” 

His chest aches, so much so that he can’t get any words out as he processes what you’ve just said. So he didn’t do the right thing after all. 

The aching intensifies hearing you refer to whatever went down tonight between you two as “nothing.” 

He takes a deep, heavy inhale before eking out, “don’t say that, baby. I’m sorry. Can we please talk about this?” 

“I don’t want to. In fact, Atsumu, I don’t think we should-” see each other anymore. 

“No,” he cuts you off. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, my answer is no and that’s final.” 

“And what I want doesn’t matter?”

“It does! But I won't allow you to make that decision for us until we talk properly.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you anymore.” 

“Just-” 

What should he say? What can he say? He’s running out of words to convince you and you’re not budging. It’s pure panic that arises in his throat when he watches you desperately try to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

He grips tighter. He has a feeling that if he gives up now, it would be that easy for you to venture beyond his reach. You’d never come to another one of these gatherings. Maybe he’d get a glimpse of you at a game against Tobio, you wearing an Adlers jersey with a #20 printed in the back and fuck- 

That’s such a terrible image, he almost feels like physically doubling over to soothe the stabbing jealousy in his chest. 

“I love you,” he utters out. 

“What?” 

His forehead comes down to rest on yours, pouring out his entire being into those three words again. “I love you.” 

“Atsumu! That is not casual!” you whisper urgently. 

He can’t help but laugh. It’s a mixture of relief that the confession has finally freed itself from the confines of his ribcage and at your alarmed but adorably frank comment. 

“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.” 

“So then… why did you… that night…” 

“That night, I was an idiot that didn’t realize how much I felt for you. I took for granted that I’d always be able to see you again like this and have you like I always have. But I don’t wanna live on hope or ‘next time’ anymore. I wanna know that I can and when I will see you again.” 

Foreheads still pressed against another, he leaves you with nowhere to run. You close your eyes. He does too. 

“So will you please come home with me so we can figure this out together?” 

Much like that very first night at the bar, you waver between going back out to the party or staying with him. He sees the indecision in your eyes and for those few moments, he walks on a tightrope and you hold the scissors. 

“Okay,” you whisper, so quiet it barely makes a sound. 

–

“Missed you so damn much.” 

“Atsumu, wait-” 

It’s immediate when his door swings open. Suddenly, you’re pressed against the wall and the door slams shut. Atsumu pushes closer one leg forcefully opening yours up and picking you up by the thighs. With nowhere to run, you wrap your legs around his waist and open up for Atumu to deepen the kiss. 

“Thought we were gonna talk,” he hears you say between breaths. 

“Later,” he rasps, kissing you harder and starting to rock his hips against you. “Missed you so fuckin’ much.” 

“Me too,” you admit quietly and that’s all you get to say before you succumb to his desperation. 

– 

“You know,” you say, much later that night as you rest your cheek on his chest. “You still owe me an explanation. Just ‘cause we slept together doesn’t mean I totally forgive you.” 

Atsumu considers making a quip about how you being here with him, drawing indiscernible patterns on his torso with your finger, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, smelling like him is making it look pretty good for him, but he figures he flew way to close to the sun for today. 

“I know. And I promise we’ll talk more. No more dinin’ and dashin’ in the mornin’, yeah?” 

You consider this for a moment, before propping both arms on his chest and resting your head on your fists thoughtfully. 

He thinks it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Just so I don’t misunderstand anything again-”

“You’re not misunderstanding anything, I promise.”

“I know, but I have to hear it.” 

“Will you be my wife?” 

“Atsumu!” 

“Okay, okay sorry. We’ll do that later then. Can we start with girlfriend?” 

“Hmm… I’ll need to think about it. Not sure how I feel about a guy who goes straight to home plate before he even takes me out to dinner.” 

“Y’know what, now that you mention it, I don’t know how I feel about a girl who goes home with a guy she just met-” 

“Shut up.” you snort and something’s definitely not right because every sound you make is the most adorable thing. He swears he’s got hearts in his eyes.

“And ‘Tsumu?” 

Lovestruck, he croons, “yeah, darlin’?” 

“I’d love to be your fiance.” 

“That’s my girl.”

[library-ghoulette]

Now There Is Nothing Between Us

Pairing: Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: second person POV, established relationship, VHS and chill, their first time, my kink is being loved and wanted, crying, reference to past heartbreak, hurt/comfort, discussion of sexual fantasies, pillow princess!Reader, oral sex (f receiving), handjob, p in v sex, coming inside (please fuck responsibly), Copia being tender, Copia fucking the self-doubt right out of you

Words: 2435

Summary: Anxieties about your first time with Copia rear their head at the worst possible moment, but luckily he knows just how to ease your fears.

A/N: I wrote this because I was stressing out about writing sex scenes for the first time in a long time, and I thought it might help to have my favorite Papa sweetly talk me through it. This was supposed to just be for me, but I'm sharing it for anyone else who needs a therapy session with their smut.

ao3 link

divider by @gothdaddyissues

“Amore mio, what’s wrong?”

The question takes you by surprise. You were mid-kiss when Copia pulled back, his mismatched eyes searching yours with concern.

“N-nothing’s wrong,” you stammer, reaching for him again, eager to pull him back in, keep his mouth occupied, so he can ask no more questions.

But he stubbornly avoids your advances, catching your hands in his and holding them between the two of you, restrained. He settles onto the pillow beside you, face-to-face.

“You think I know you so little that you can lie to me?” he asks. “That I can’t feel it when you’re all stiff?”

He pulls his shoulders up and grimaces in a comically horrified expression that makes you smile in spite of yourself, but still you say nothing, merely look down at where he holds your hands clasped in his much larger, much stronger, ones. He runs a reassuring thumb over your knuckles.

It was supposed to be a special night. At long last, it was supposed to be the night.

The two of you had gone from stealing glances at one another in the halls of the Abbey, to sharing friendly movie nights where you sat on opposite sides of the couch, both too timid to make a move, to significantly friendlier movie nights that devolved into heated kisses long before the end credits even rolled.

Each night, there would come a moment where the kiss would break, when a heavy pause descended and there came an unspoken question that you knew you had to answer.

Every night before, the answer has been no. You would remark on the lateness of the hour and go back to your own room. And there you lay awake, burning with thoughts of all of the things you could have done if only you had stayed. All the places where Copia could kiss you, could touch you, as you touched yourself.

But not tonight. This time, when that silent question made itself known, the answer had been yes. You had stayed, followed Copia to his bed, let him lay you down with a gentleness that spoke of brutal desire barely contained. Pressed yourself against him, returned his kisses, helped him shrug out of his sweatshirt and pulled his T-shirt over his head with obvious eagerness. You had thought that you were doing well, doing it right.

Apparently, you had been wrong.

Great. Now you’re on the verge of tears. Very sexy. Definitely not a surefire way to spoil the mood.

Copia is still looking at you, his unpainted face soft, searching, utterly open. You don’t deserve his attentiveness, his care. It makes you want to hide.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” He kisses your knuckles. “You are maybe having second thoughts?”

“No! No, I– I really want to do this.”

“But something is bothering you. And we’re not doing anything until you tell me what that is. Until we fix it.”

Why does he have to be like this? Why can’t he just let it go? 

“Tesoro, you can tell me anything. You know this.”

Copia has never given you a reason to distrust him, has never judged you or made you feel silly for any of your anxieties. Still, you struggle to put this into words. 

“I don’t know. I’m just a little nervous, I guess?”

I sound so dumb.

“It’s okay to be nervous! Is this…”--he casts about for a tactful phrasing–”your first time?”

Satanas, it just gets worse and worse.

“No, it’s not my first time. But it’s been… awhile.”

“What’s the saying? Something about riding a bicycle?”

But in truth, it’s more than just the fact that it’s been awhile. Things did not end well with the last person you chose to share yourself with. 

You’ve worked so hard to heal from that relationship, not reinventing yourself so much as peeling back layers of hurt, finding yourself again bit by bit. You’re better now. But even after all of that healing, after finding your place here with the Ministry, after the wonderful surprise of falling for Copia, the scars of the past have a way of lingering.

Maybe the deepest of those scars is the lingering suspicion that no matter what you do, no one will ever truly want you or love you again. And worse, that you can’t trust anyone who claims that they do.

“It’s just.. I’ve imagined this so many times, and I guess I’ve gotten a bit too in my head about it. Wanting it to be perfect. And I’m afraid of doing something wrong. Of not”--and here’s the heart of it, the scary, vulnerable thing that you don’t want to admit–“of not being good enough for you.”

And now you are crying, when all you wanted to do was fuck your boyfriend like a normal person.

“Oh, topina.” Copia pulls you close, rolling onto his back to nestle you snug against his chest. “How could you ever think that you’re not good enough?”

“But you could have anyone you want,” you sob.

“You flatter me,” Copia chuckles. “But say that is true. I can have anyone I want. And where am I right now?”

“Here?”

“Yes, here. And who am I with?”

You sniffle. “Me?”

“Yes, you. And there is no one else I would rather be with. You are so precious to me. I feel lucky to have you in my bed.”

Your heart flutters at his tender words.

“And what I want, more than anything, is to make you feel good. To give you the pleasure that you deserve.”

Something considerably lower flutters at that.

“Copia…” 

You wriggle out of his grasp and pull yourself up onto one elbow, one hand resting lightly on his chest as you bend to kiss him again. 

When you break away, he thumbs a stray tear from your cheek and insists, “But I only want to do that if you’re comfortable. So you have to tell me if something makes you uncomfortable, yes?”

You nod down at him. “Yes, Papa.”

He groans low in his throat at your cheeky use of his title, the sound stoking something low in your belly.

“You said that you have been thinking about this night for a long time, tesoro?” 

His hand, resting against your hip, grips you tighter, drawing you closer against him. When he speaks, his words resonate with a note of command. 

“Tell me what you’ve imagined. Tell me how to make this perfect for you.”

This should be mortifying. It should, more than anything else he’s said tonight, activate your urge to run away, to hide. It’s been so long since you’ve really given yourself permission to want, to desire, much less to voice those desires full-throated, absent of shame. You’re so afraid of sounding silly. Of being too much.

But you can tell how turned on he is by you, by the way that your body feels pressed against his, fuck, by the very thought of you entertaining filthy daydreams about him. He wants you. Just as much as you want him.

And so, you push past the shame you have no need to carry any longer, that you never should have been made to carry at all.

Even if you stammer at first. Even if you don’t sound as confident as you wish you did. You find your voice.

“I– I’ve thought about you touching me?”

Copia brings a hand up to caress your face, tracing a feather-light line from cheekbone to chin. “Here?” he asks.

“Lower,” you reply.

“Ah.” His hand trails lower, making you shiver as his fingers skirt along your neck, your collarbone, before finally cupping your breast through your top. “How about here?”

Your mouth falls open in a gasp when he squeezes gently, his thumb sweeping across your nipple. Almost as an afterthought he wedges one thigh between your legs. Even through fabric the contact sends a pulse straight to your core, and you can’t help but grind against him with a whimper.

“What do I do next? In your fantasies?”

“You take off my clothes.” You’re desperate to feel his skin on yours. “And– and you lay me down on the bed.”

He flips you over effortlessly and takes his time undressing you, carefully undoing each button and zipper, revealing your body bit by bit with utmost tenderness. When he hooks his fingers over the waistband of your panties and pulls the silky fabric down your hips, your legs, exposing you completely, he does so with what could never be mistaken for anything but reverence.

Your legs fall open naturally and Copia kneels between them, resting his hands on your thighs, awaiting instruction.

“And now?”

You know that you can have anything you want, but only if you ask for it.

It’s everything you can do to keep your voice steady when you say, barely above a whisper, “And then you go down on me.”

“With pleasure, amore.”

Copia settles himself between your thighs and presses a hand against your mound, firm and grounding, acclimating you to his touch before spreading your lips with skilled fingers and bringing his mouth down to meet your slit. He runs the flat of his tongue up through your slick folds, lapping up your arousal. When you look down at him, he meets your gaze and flicks his tongue over your clit, smirking when you blush and cry out in pleasure.

And then he begins his work in earnest.

You had imagined that it would be good, but your daydreams left you unprepared for this level of skill, for how he would relax into the task before him with a patient eagerness, savoring you, taking the time to bring you ever closer to your peak. 

“Fingers,” you beg, barely coherent, “I need your fingers, please, please, Copia– oh!”

He finds your entrance and presses a finger inside of you, never losing the rhythm of his tongue tracing tight circles around your clit. You’re soaked, and it slides in and out with ease, and it feels so good to have any part of him inside of you, even before he pulls out and then presses back in with another digit, crooking his fingers up to find that spot deep inside of you, hitting it just so as he sucks your nub between his lips, and you’re crying out and twisting your fingers in his hair to pull him closer, and–

Your orgasm overtakes you ruthlessly, wave upon wave of pleasure breaking over you, leaving you a gasping, trembling mess in its wake. Copia crawls up your body to kiss you, letting you taste your own musky sweetness on his tongue.

“Do you want to hear what I’ve been thinking about?” he asks.

You’re unsure of your ability to speak, but you nod eagerly. You’ve never wanted to hear anything more.

“I’ve been thinking about your hands.”

“M-my hands?”

“Sì, your beautiful hands. And how good they would feel wrapped around me.”

How could you do anything in that moment but oblige, reaching down to free him from the confines of his red sweatpants. His cock springs free, what seems almost painfully hard, and you watch with satisfaction as you pump your fist up and down his thick length and pleasure nearly overtakes him. Eyes squeezed shut, he’s clearly struggling to hold back, to stop himself from rutting into your soft palm and coming right now. 

“I’ve also been thinking about your pussy, dolcezza,” he pants. “How good it would taste. How pretty you would look playing with it for me. But mostly what it would feel like to spread it open and fuck it until you come around my cock.”

“Yes, please,” you beg, feeling as though you might die if you don’t get to feel him inside you right now.

The stretch is deliciously intense, even as wet as you are, prepared by his fingers and his tongue. He works himself into you inch by careful, patient inch, until he bottoms out with a groan.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and you nod your assent, whimpering a “yes” as you wrap your legs around his soft waist, urging him on.

You open more and more with each slow, shallow thrust that becomes faster, deeper. There is no room for your self-doubt anymore, no thought to spare for anything that isn’t Copia: his weight on top of you, his mouth against the side of your neck, the scent of his cologne mingling with the salty tang of sweat, the overwhelming pressure of his cock inside of you. 

He murmurs your name with what sounds like wonder, like disbelief that you want this and that you feel so fucking good.

And then he rolls his hips just so, finding an angle that grinds his pelvis into your clit, making you cry out sharply.

“Just like that,” you beg him, breathless, “please don’t stop, please—“

And then you are coming apart again, your head thrown back and your pussy spasming beyond your control.

It’s almost too much for him. He rears back from you, gathering you more firmly in hand, tilting your hips up and gripping your ass to hold you in place as he fucks into you, hard and rough. You’re still reeling from your orgasm as his pace becomes erratic, desperate, and with a sharp snap of his hips his cock kicks inside of you, filling you utterly.

He pulls out and collapses beside you with a sated groan, forearm thrown over his eyes as he comes down, chest heaving, spent cock softening against the curve of his belly. You fold yourself in under his arm, head pillowed against his chest again in a semblance of how you lay earlier as you cried. But now all you feel is love, comfort, and the pleasant soreness creeping through your lower body.

“Well, tesoro…” He settles his arm around you, tracing lazy circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. His voice is unspeakably fond when he asks, “Was that everything you imagined?”

It wasn’t, of course. Your daydreams hadn’t started with you crying awkwardly in his arms. In your daydreams, everything had run as smoothly as a scene in a novel, you the assertive heroine who always knew exactly what to say, without any help.

But maybe, you think, if Copia is the one helping you, that’s okay. Maybe you don’t need to be anyone but yourself, sometimes awkward and insecure, but no less beloved.

And so you are telling the truth when you say, “No. It was better.”

[drdemonprince]

Can we really expand our window of tolerance as autistic people? I’ve been working on that kind of thing for so long and I can’t tell if I’ve made any genuine progress or if I’ve just unconsciously doubled down on masking :(

We can! But our expanded distress tolerance can't come out of nowhere. Something has to give. So for example, for me, I have way fewer sensory issues these days than I used to have, by a wide margin, and I have significantly less social anxiety and don't need much social recharge time on the level that I used to. I have more distress tolerance for sensory input and for social stressors now than I ever have before -- but this has required lifestyle changes and unmasking in order to get there. Let me break down both these improvements and how they happened:

Even as recently as a year ago, I would have terrible sensory meltdowns on a regular basis. But I haven't had a single sensory meltdown in months, maybe not even a single one for the entirety of 2023 so far? And that's because I have a) cut out caffeine, dramatically reducing my physiological stress levels, b) cut back on some workplace stress by reducing my commitments, c) stopped taking on additional projects outside of work that I didn't want to do and that only caused me stress (workshops and talks), and d) began working from home far more consistently, and made myself a wfh office that is more comfortable.

Now I operate from a really solid base of sensory comfort most days and I'm not overloaded with information or overwhelmed with obligations. This means I am far more tolerant of screaming people on the bus, the upstairs toddler slamming her feet on the floor, ambulances blaring by, noisy concerts, people bumping into me at the bar, etc.

I also am, for the first time in my life, clear-headed enough to recognize when I am starting to experience sensory distress, and can intentionally put on sunglasses or pop in ear plugs or remove myself from an upsetting situation more quickly. I had to experience what being relaxed and not overstimulated felt like, and get accustomed to living that way, in order to recognize subtler signs that I was feeling shitty and take steps to address those small annoyances before they exploded. I can handle a lot "more" in an intentional way now because I built my life to allow "less." My overall distress tolerance has still expanded -- but it's because I stopped masking and began attending to my sensory and stress regulation needs.

For the social piece, my distress tolerance has also gone up due to unmasking. If I was still motivated by passing as NT or being socially acceptable all the time, I'd be so overwhelmed being around people and worn down by every interaction. I also wouldnt be able to advocate for myself. But in the past few years I've become more and more openly weird and outspoken in my needs and true feelings, and I've recognized that the right people actually love me more when I do so and show up for me, and so being honest or even difficult to deal with is not really a threat.

This means I just don't experience much distress being honest or difficult to deal with anymore. I really can tolerate the discomfort of telling someone they're wrong or that I'm hurt without freaking out about being hurt or abandoned, because I've had a lot of good experiences with it and because I enjoy being unmasked so deeply that I just can't put my personality back in a bottle.

Masking lowers distress tolerance because it frays your nerves with stress and wears you out and bars you from ever getting to attend to and regulate your discomfort when there are signs of it happening. In order to increase your distress tolerance, you actually have to learn to better honor your discomfort early, and preventatively, so that you don't bubble over into a meltdown after days or weeks of ignoring your needs.

I think some people think distress tolerance is about becoming more tough, but it's quite the opposite. We become more resilient by getting better at recognizing and attending to our hurts.

[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 6

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Mentions of food, weight loss, weight gain, dieting, weighing, potential eating disorder, food guilt. Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 4K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

This one's a little longer than the last few, but it's one I was really excited to get to for a while. I hope you guys like it! We're starting to get into the nitty gritty! Once again please let me know what you think of it! Thank you all for your support :)

__________

After your emotional conversation with Pedro, you were worried he'd stop talking to you. At least, it seems that's how it usually works. Whenever you try to have a conversation about emotions with someone, it gets shut down. But surprisingly.. it didn't push Pedro away at all. The two of you talk nearly every day on the phone, and when you don't, it's made up for with plenty of text messages. You don't even have to be the first to communicate, either. It just feels natural. It doesn't need to be over-thought.

You keep telling yourself not to get your hopes up, but at the same time, you feel like maybe it's turning into something. Something more than friends. You couldn't help but wonder if Pedro felt the same way, or if maybe he's just a really nice guy.

Despite these feelings, you're still hesitant to tell him you love him. Although he put many of your fears to rest, you continued to be nervous. You were inexperienced. You were significantly younger than him. You led two very different lives. And even though he reassured you about your appearances, it doesn't mean you'd be his type once he actually saw you. Shoot, you don't even know if he's interested in pursuing a relationship.

Plus, now there's the risk of messing up a new friendship. Why ruin it?

How does anyone ever get into a relationship? Others make it look so easy, jumping from relationship to relationship like their heart isn't at stake.

Maybe someday you'd tell him. Maybe someday you'd share these other fears as well. But not yet. You weren't ready.

_____

About a week had gone by since you first talked on the phone, and it was around 1 PM when he called you.

"Hey Pedro!"

"Hey there, songbird," he replied cheerily.

"Songbird?" You giggled.

"If you hate it-"

"No, I love it. It's sweet," you blushed.

"Okay good. But the reason I'm calling is because I saw something on Instagram…"

"Oh yeah? What of?"

"About you. When were you going to tell me?"

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh what? What is he referring to?

You nervously laughed "I… what? Tell you what now?"

"Your album is coming out in a WEEK!??!" He practically yelled with excitement.

Seriously… this guy. Giving me a damn heart attack.

"OH" you replied sheepishly. "You scared me, thinking you heard… I dunno"

"Oh! I'm sorry. No. I haven't heard any information that you haven't told me yourself, nor would I believe it anyway. Other than.. this album!!!" Pedro announced like a gameshow host.

You laughed before replying "yes, yes, the album comes out next week! They just announced it I guess."

Pedro clapped and shouted. "CONGRATULATIONS!!!! I'm so happy and proud of you!!!!!!!!"

You weren't looking in a mirror, and he couldn't see you either, but you could bet money that your cheeks were a bright shade of pink. "Thank you, Pedro!" You giggled, your face beginning to hurt from the large smile he caused.

"How are you celebrating? Is the studio doing anything for you?"

"Well they mentioned an album release party, but being that nobody really knows me I don't know who I would even invite. Plus I'm not sure that a large thing like that is how I'd like to show myself to the world. A little too ceremonious for my liking." You grimaced.

"Well, I happen to think you deserve something ceremonious, even if you don't think you do. And I think we should celebrate."

"We - you - you do? You mean…?" You stuttered in disbelief.

"You and me," he said matter-of-factly.

"You.. and… What did you have in mind?" 

Frankly you didn't know what to think.

"Well. I was thinking… Maybe we could listen to the album together? We could talk on the phone and listen, and it would be like our own little album release party. You wouldn't have to show yourself or meet people. It would just be like our normal conversations. Except I'd get to hear your new music and talk about it with you. If you want," he said, sounding slightly nervous.

Your heart swelled at the gesture and you agreed happily. The two of you made a plan to "meet" at 7PM and listen together the night of your album release. And he promised he wouldn't listen without you.

_____

It wasn't until after you were off the phone with him that you began to overthink the songs on your album. Not unlike your first single, these were also rather vulnerable at times. Sure, he knew a lot, and he'd listen to the album anyway. Probably. But still. To hear it… together? You were starting to feel like you were in over your head.

Nevertheless, the week continued on like normal. Work, talking to Pedro, hanging with Skipper. You agreed to a few more interviews in article or voice format after the release, and signed a few last minute things.

As the album date approached closer, Pedro texted you one day.

"Okay I'm going to ask you something and I want you to trust me okay. I'm not going to do anything that I know you would hate."

"Okay…" what does this man have up his sleeve?

"Can I have your address?"

Why does he want my address???? The panic settled in. But, you did like him; and he hadn't crossed any boundaries yet. In fact, he's been one of the most understanding of your qualms.

So. You sent him your address.

"Thank you ❤️" Pedro replied.

A heart !?! A red one!? 

"You're welcome. Also… I was planning to tell you anyway, but if you're looking for my address I may as well tell you…" you told him your real name. Not your stage name. Not a nickname. But your name. First, Last. All of it.

"Thank you for trusting me. I promise I'll keep it safe," reassured Pedro.

"Thank you, P."

"Of course. You have a beautiful name, by the way."

Your heart did a somersault.

_____

The album release date was finally here and you aren't sure you slept a wink. You were a bundle of nerves and excitement. You loved him and always enjoyed chatting together. This was exciting. But also these songs are so personal. This is a big moment. This was a big plan. And why did he want your address anyway?

~~~~~

Meanwhile at Pedro's place, he was just as nervous. He had started out excited, but then he got into his head. His plans for the evening started feeling too romantic. He didn't want you to get the wrong idea. He liked you, but he didn't want to push it. Maybe he was showing too many feelings towards you. You love someone else, and him not respecting that is rude. All you want is a friend and he's just going to seem like another one of those creepy guys trying to get into your pants.

But it was too late now, the plans were in motion, and maybe you'd enjoy it. Who knows. Either way, he loved your friendship, and friends could do this kind of thing for each other… right??

~~~~~

Throughout the day, you paced your house before finally leaving with Skipper in tow. "We gotta get some air, buddy. I'm losing it over here," you said while clipping his leash.

Stepping out of the house, you two went for a long walk, circled back toward home, and plopped down on your lawn. The house still felt too small in preparation for this evening, whatever it was. Why does it feel different anyway? It's just another phone call..? Unless….

Truth be told, while Pedro had his secret plans, you also had some of your own. Whether you followed through with them or not was up to your nerves.

After some sunbathing with your pup, you both head inside. The sun was starting to set, and you realized it was getting closer to the meetup time you chose with Pedro.

_____

6 PM.

You stared at the TV, not really absorbing anything on the screen, but needing a distraction. This afternoon you opted for a show that Pedro was not in. For once, you needed to not see his handsome face. You needed something else. Half paying attention while picking at a hangnail, you jump out of your skin at the sight of your phone lighting up. Pedro texted.

"Picking out my outfit for tonight! Always important to look nice for celebration."

Shit… he's not coming over is he?! That's why he wanted my address?!

"Wait…" you pondered how to phrase your question without sounding like a panicked asshole, when all you wanted to say was "what the fuck do you MEAN!?!"

I'm not dressed. I'm in sweats and covered in dog hair. I don't have makeup on. Oh no.

"Wait… is that why you wanted my address?"

"Oh. Nooo, no no. No, sweet girl, don't worry. I'm not coming over unexpectedly and interrupting your hiding place. I just think it's still important to dress nice."

"Oh..Okay.."

It was around 6:15 when he texted a picture of himself wearing a white button up with a dark blue suit and matching tie. He wore dark-frame glasses and his hair was slightly tamed, but still showed his messy curls. He looked gorgeous.

But as you scanned his body you noticed that instead of dress shoes, he wore a pair of polka dot socks. He had a goofy grin and his one eyebrow was cocked. You grinned.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," he said.

"You're a goof, P. But I appreciate the effort."

A pause.

"Also, you look really handsome" you nervously hit send before you had a chance to chicken out.

Bold. Probably shouldn't have said that. But hey, friends compliment each other.

"Why thank you. A big accomplishment like this requires all the stops."

He timed this message right to the minute. As you read his text, your doorbell rang.

You opened the door to find two boxes. One large, one small. A delivery boy was getting into his car. 

"Delivery from your biggest fan. 

-❤️, P"

He… he sent me some kind of care package?? And put a heart? And said he's my biggest fan?

You squealed and carried the boxes into the house. "What's this!?" You texted Pedro.

"Open them and see!"

You immediately open them. Inside the larger box was a variety of items. The first thing you noticed was a small vase holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. To the right of that was a bag, which you opened and found your favorite meal, from your favorite restaurant. 

Wow, this is elaborate. 

Below the food was another small bag holding your favorite dessert, and finally to the left, your favorite drink.

I can't believe he remembered all of my favorite things.. This is so thoughtful.

When you moved the flower vase, you noticed one more small item. Is that a… corsage?? You texted Pedro the question.

"Yep!" He sent, with a photo of a matching flower on his lapel.

Remembering you still had the small box, you opened the box flaps, wondering what could possibly be left for him to give you. On top of it was another note.

"For a handsome boy.

- ❤️, your mom's friend, Pedro"

Under the note was a jar of peanut butter, a squeaky anchor toy, and…? What's this?

You unwrap a small paper wrapping to find a dog-sized black bowtie. Shut up.

"SKIPPER!!! Look what Pedro gave you, buddy!"

He padded over to you and let you hook the dressy accessory around his neck. With the clip adjusted, he sat back, looking proud of his new fashion. You quickly snapped a picture and texted it to Pedro.

"I can't believe you did all this, Pedro. Not only did you send all this, but you remembered my favorite things? You remembered all the details from when I first met Skipper. My favorite food, dessert, drink, and flower? That's so sweet, this is all too much Pedro..  Nobody has ever done anything like this for me. I.. I don't even know what to say."

You're amazing and I love you. Is what I want to say.

"You're welcome." He texted back. "Like I said, you deserve a celebration. Plus…"

Pedro sent a photo of his table, set up with the same food and drink, with the caption "now it's like we're having a dinner party."

It was nearing the time to meet, but you still had to do one more thing. You had pondered it earlier in the day, but fully decided it when Pedro sent the photo of himself dressed up. It's now or never.

_____

6:45 PM.

Pedro sat waiting for a reply after he sent his dinner photo. It had only been a couple minutes, but his hands were sweaty and his leg was shaking under the table. Finally, his phone went off. You sent… a video?

He opened it and pressed play. There, he saw you rotating your wrist with the corsage on it. The first time he's ever seen your wrist, hand, or arm before. The first time he's even seen your skin tone.

Geez you act like you're in the Victorian ages, pull yourself together, he rolled his eyes at himself for being so overjoyed.

Next, the video panned to Skipper in his bowtie, looking handsome as ever. The camera zoomed in on him and he looked up into the view with his big brown eyes. 

And then…

The camera panned to the side, and showed a mirror. A full length mirror, where you stood. He scanned your body from your perfectly done up hair and makeup, down your body to your dress. You wore your favorite dress, (in your favorite color, he noted) which showed off your body in the best ways. He looked down to the floor and noticed that you too were wearing fun socks instead of shoes. You wore a pair of striped socks and wrote in your caption "all dressed up and nowhere to go."

His heart picked up and he could feel himself breathing unevenly. He finally saw you. And you were gorgeous. He couldn't help the smile that enveloped his face.

Fuck. She's beautiful… I'm screwed. 

She loves someone else. She loves someone else. She loves someone else. Forget your feelings.

Despite his struggle, he knew he wanted, and needed, to tell you how beautiful he thought you looked. This was a big step to show yourself, and he also knew how self-conscious you felt about your body.

"Wow, you're so beautiful."

You blushed, replying with a quick thank you with a heart, then sending a second message asking if he was ready to listen. The video wasn't the only trick you had planned up your sleeve tonight.

______

The clock turned to 7 PM and Pedro hit the dial for your number. You answered the phone and said a quick "hang on" to set up the shared listening party link for your album. Once sent, you took a deep breath and steadied your nerves. Then, you took the plunge.

"Okay I got the link! I'm so exci - what - wait, is this an accident?" Pedro's hand fumbled as he received your incoming video chat request, his heart picking up to a galloping pace.

"Nope! You can answer it. If you want.."

He quickly swiped the accept button and there you were. Clad in your favorite dress, sitting at a table with the meal he sent in front of you. He could see himself in the corner square, dressed in his suit, with nearly the identical table setup and food.

He couldn't help but notice on his own video screen that his cheeks were turning rosy and his mouth curled into a large smile. But he was too happy to be shy about his blush.

"So this is you," he said.

"This is me," you replied shyly, but still with a huge smile and blush plastered on your face, matching Pedro's.

"You look.." he sighed shakily "..wow.."

"You look pretty wow yourself there," you said with a shy giggle.

Both of you let out gentle laughs, feeling a warm glow as your stomachs felt matching butterflies of nerves, excitement, and… maybe something else.

"So should we listen, I guess?" You asked nervously.

He didn't answer. He was looking at the screen, eyes scanning the video. 

Is he blushing? You wondered. But why would he be? He doesn't like me back… right?

He still hadn't answered you when you finally said "Pedro?? Did you hear me?"

He snapped out of it, somehow turning more crimson. "Oh! Sorry… yeah! Let's listen."

Your nerves were off the charts. Some of these songs were so vulnerable. The ones at the end of the album were the most telling of all.

But as the two of you ate your dinners while listening to your new album, you began to relax. The night was filled with him giving praise and you giving background information on the meanings and production of the songs. 

"Are all the different instruments and harmonies played by you?"

"They are! The studio offered studio musicians but I had originally played them all when I wrote it and wanted to keep it a one woman show."

"You're incredible," Pedro said, shaking his head.

You blushed, for the billionth time today.

When it came to "Imaginary Love" Pedro grinned. "Hey I know this one! The one that started it all." 

"Yep!" You agreed and he began lip syncing to the lyrics dramatically. Little did he know, those lyrics were actually about him. You giggled as he acted out a soulful rendition of the chorus.

"You know, this whole journey has been a real rollercoaster and there have been times I've wished I hadn't posted that song..."

Pedro looked at you with that puppy dog look of his and you continued "but then I remember… that if I never posted it, I would've never started talking to you, and it makes it all worth it."

Pedro placed his hand on his heart and pouted his lip. "I agree. I'm glad to have met you. If I didn't love this song already, that alone would be enough reason for me to consider it one of my favorites.

You grinned and looked down at the table, suddenly feeling shy. The two of you continued to listen, having long finished your dinner. Conversation flowed easily, and you couldn't help but feel like you were on a date. Not that you had much experience with that, but from what you'd seen in movies and shows, this felt very date-like. And you didn't want it to end.

But as the album went on, you approached the last two songs. The ones you were scared of most. The most vulnerable of the album. 

The second to last began to play.

'It's hard to imagine craving something that I've never had.

Dumb to be so desperate for something I've gone without.

But when I'm alone and thinking to myself, I need it so bad.

I crave it like a drug, but one I know nothing about.

Your kiss on my lips, or any kiss at all.

It hasn't happened yet, no matter how hard I fall.

The years keep passing, but still no love.

The years go by, but still no kisses.

I keep wondering and praying up above,

I guess I'm unkissable, despite my wishes.'

Pedro furrowed his brow, looking at you, searching for something. He read the title of the song, "Unkissable," and looked up again, opening and closing his mouth to find the right words.

"Do-" he stopped himself and pondered his wording again. "Is- are all these songs true?"

You stared at the table, picking your nail against the wood. "Yes."

"You really believe that?"

"... I mean… I don't know… maybe… I guess…" you avoided his gaze, but could feel it.

"And you've never-"

"Kissed anyone before? No. I haven't."

"But you've wanted to?"

"Yes," you whispered, starting to feel tears prick at your eyes.

Pedro shifted his lips to the side in thought before finally saying "well… you're still young. It'll happen."

"I'm 26, Pedro. Most people have kissed by the time they've graduated high school. I just… missed the boat I guess. It's okay. I'm just being silly. I don't want it that bad. We can maybe listen to something else now."

"Hey, hey. Don't shut down on me," he asked pleadingly. "26 is still very young, and don't worry about whenever everyone else has done things. Everyone does things at their own pace. I'm sorry you haven't experienced it yet, especially when you want it so badly, but I know that when it does happen, it'll probably be better than any kiss you would've had with some 15 year old boy you would've had in high school."

You laughed, breaking your tears for a minute. "Thanks Pedro."

"Of course. And hey, don't think of yourself as unkissable. Any guy should be so lucky to be with you. Maybe the guy you wrote about in your song will be your first."

"Maybe… I hope so. Thank you."

While your heart bloomed at the kind words and prospect of maybe kissing Pedro in the future, Pedro's heart began to ache. Not only was he sad for you when you wanted love so desperately, but he also couldn't help but feel sad hearing you want to kiss another man. He wants to be that guy for you. He wasn't joking when he said any man would be lucky. But especially knowing now your true age, 22 years younger than him, he knew for sure your crush couldn't be him. You were way too young to be interested in a 48 year old man. He was silly for even entertaining the idea.

But at least he had a new friend. And as he thought longer, he thought about his best friend Sarah, and her relationship. They have a huge age gap, 32 years, but they're happy. And he's happy for her. It doesn't feel weird with them. Could he have that with you? Or is he in over his head?

The last song on the album began to play. This one was less vulnerable, but if he decided to look at the lyrics and notice patterns, he'd see it in the chorus. 

'People have a lot to say

Everyone loves or hates me

Don't know what I did today

Right now you're all I can see

Only want to be with you.

Please, love me too.'

You're sure the obsessive listeners will figure out the acrostic, and if Pedro looks up the lyrics, he might too. But either way, it's out there. All you can do is hope for the best and eventually you're sure it'll come out anyway.

 This wasn't one you were sure about putting on the album, but when the studio read through your personal songbook, they went insane over it. They figured it out quickly, and they promised they'd keep it to themselves. Luckily they have so far, but if money came calling, you think they'd sell your heart faster than you could say no.

The song, and album, came to a close and Pedro looked up at the screen once again, staring into your eyes. "Once again your music has blown me away."

Whether he put together the end or not, he wasn't letting on.

"Thank you Pedro. I really appreciate it. And thank you for tonight. It was truly special and I mean it when I say it's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. You didn't have to go through all that trouble," you said thoughtfully.

"It was no trouble. You deserve congratulations for your album," Pedro replied with a smile.

Right.. it's just a congratulations. Nothing else. You sighed.

"Thank you. I'm really glad we did this. Talk again soon?" You asked.

"Absolutely. It was wonderful to meet you finally," Pedro said, finishing the sentence with your real name and smiling.

"It was great to meet you too, Pedro."

__________

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for reading.

Looking for more? Next chapter!

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[scitties]

Recent events has touched me in a way that's hard to explain.

I owe so, so much to Shelby because it wasn't even two weeks ago that I opened up about my own situation with an abusive ex, closely aligning with the events of her situation.

I was met with the reaction I feared the most, however—complete disregard for me and my well-being. The first person I opened up to made it entirely about themself with no empathy towards me whatsoever, the second called me inappropriate for sharing conversations between my ex and I, and the third straight up ignored me once I revealed who it was about. I chose to open up to three people that were mutuals friends between him and I—that saw things unfold—and all of them turned their backs on me.

Everything keeps playing on repeat in my head, constantly circling between confidence and courage to plaguing uncertainty that I'm in the wrong. I keep thinking that I should've sucked it up. That I presented everything disproportionately. My anxiety has improved significantly since last year, but I really took a hit for this one. Were it not for my other, closer friends, I would've most likely gone down another spiral of self-loathing.

Were it not for Shelby opening up about her own experiences, deep down I would've kept thinking it was my fault for getting those responses.

Yes, you have the right to be dubious. There are false claims made out there to stain reputations for entirely selfish reasons, and it's something we should stay wary of.

But your first reaction to someone opening up about this? To let themselves be this vulnerable? To talk about something that many, many will never speak up about?

Regardless if it ends up true or false, you take it seriously and listen.

[adrianicsea]

it’s the morning of my top surgery, and i feel like i need to reflect on it. (we’re getting pensive under this read more!!)

it’s always been my experience that getting the things you want— that you really, truly desire, so much that your soul burns with it— comes with a great deal of fear and anxiety. i deal with change worse than the average person, so i’m sure that’s part of it, but i also feel like it has to be somewhat universal that We Get Used To It. even if our situation is less than ideal, it’s our status quo, and a change of real magnitude threatens that status quo. we can’t know what’ll happen next— and when the future is just a big question mark, it’s easy to impose fear onto that.

for me, top surgery is something i’ve known i wanted and dreamed of getting since i was twelve. that was fifteen years ago. a decade and a half of everything from praying that my chest wouldn’t develop to begin with, to crying and sleeping on my stomach at night to try to squish them down, from layering sports bras because i couldn’t get a binder to finally GETTING a binder when i moved away to college. as my transition continued, my chest dysphoria gradually lessened in severity, from “i HATE this part of myself” to “it doesn’t really bother me that much but i want them gone for practical purposes.”

so who am i, without my wanting? i don’t define myself solely by my transition, but still, this desire is something that’s been with me for over half of my life. the question mark of “what next?” looms overhead, miles high from where i’m standing, and it’s hard for me not to feel anxious about that.

there’s the medical angle, of course— i imagine that surgeries never stop being scary, and this is the first REAL one i’ve ever had. i’m not afraid of regretting it or being unhappy with the results; i’ve had MORE than enough time to consider and ponder if this is what i want for myself, and most certainly, it is.

but more than anything, i think i’m afraid of the unknown that comes with starting a new stage in one’s life. and i think that it’s going to be okay, and i think that i’m going to be happy, but i’m still afraid of that plunge.

i’ve had this exact blog— never remade, never purged, never significantly touched at all— since 2011, when i had just turned fourteen. a HUGE swath of my life is archived on this blog. sad or silly as it may be, this tumblr account is one of the mainstays of my life thus far.

so. who am i, without my wanting?

i’m excited to find out, and i’m excited to record it here, just like I’ve recorded everything else.

[dumb-phone-diaries]

So It's been like 2 months now since I started using the dumb phone. I had a few teething problems but I've actually solved a lot of the issues I mentioned in my last post. I've gotten much more used to the keyboard now and I've found a lot of shortcuts that i didn't realise were there at first so I'm now texting like a pro again.

The audiobook situation is not perfect but i've loaded this thing with a 32 gig SD card, and I found a wonderful opensource program called Libation, which scans my audible account, downloads my books and spits them into chapters all in one step. The bonus side effect of this is that I now have all of the books I've paid for stored on my computer hard drive where they won't disappear is audible changes their minds about hosting them.

This is probably very illegal and you should definitely not download it here: https://getlibation.com/

Granted, the books I'm currently listening to have chapters that are an hour long or so, and I can't exit out of the mp3 player without losing my spot. This has honestly been a blessing in disguise because it forces me to not be distracted every time I get a text message. have to wait for the end of the chapter before I can look at it. I can answer the phone without losing my place.

So yeah. the MP3 player could be better, and honestly there's no reason why it shouldn't be, I'm certain this thing has the capability, it's just shitty programming. But I'm dealing.

More significantly though. I've honestly been surprised at just how quickly my need to scroll has just gone. there wasn't even much of an adjustment period. for a couple of weeks I'd find myself occasionally picking up up my phone, unlocking it, and then locking it again and putting it down cuz there's nothing on there. But very quickly I just don't do that anymore. I don't even think about it that often. All the anxiety that I thought I was soothing, all the noise in my head that I thought i was turning off by scrolling, has just gone. The call was coming from inside the house, guys.

About once a week I come to my laptop and scroll tumblr for a few minutes, maybe half an hour, and I'm using pintrest very rarely if it's the best search engine for something I'm looking up, and I use facebook only for marketplace and my business page, and instagram again only for my business. It's forcing me to be very intentional about those things.

I've also rediscovered my ability to sit and stare into space. I haven't had the brain capacity to read a book with my eyes recently, so over breakfast I'm just... sitting and eating. Which I suppose is quite mindful. but also I'm just spacing out so maybe not. But that's something I haven't been able to do for a long time. It's nice.

I do need to get a camera though I think. I do need it for the business, I can't keep stealing my husband's phone to take pics, and sometimes he's not around when I want to make a post. Also I just like taking photos. The camera in the phone is sufficient for sending pics of things I found in the shops to my husband and sister, or sending my timesheet to my boss because his shitty software won't let me clock in on PC. But it's not good enough for product pics or anything like that.

I'm also now carrying my planner/journal/filofax thing around with me which is something i've been working toward doing for a long time. I don't have access to google calendar while out and about now so I need to write down my appointments properly. I bought a new bag that fits my journal, purse and book. I feel very cute using my planner in public.

So yeah. It's going well so far. I think this may be feasible as a permanent change.

[i-dont-even-noa]

Apparently, emetophobia effects 0.1% of the population. Which, I originally was like "huh that doesn't seem like a lot," since I have two members of my family with emetophobia and have seen other people on the internet speaking about it obv. But it's still around 8 million people, which like. That's a lot of us to be in constant turmoil.

Emetophobia is all-encompassing. I suffer from a few other phobias, and though those effect my life very severely, they are things that I can handle. If I see a wasp outside, I can (usually) walk away. I know the signs of parasites in the body, and can minimize my risk significantly with lifestyle choices. But with emetophobia, I constantly feel like I'm stuck in my own body, and that body is always working against me. Ever since I was a child, I have never gone a day without thinking about my emetophobia in some way or another.

And it's a very lonely fear as well. If I see a wasp in my apartment, I can text my neighbour to ask her to come help me kill it. If I, god forbid, ever do end up contracting a parasite, I can go to a doctor. Nobody can eradicate the root of my emetophobia. Nobody can save me from nature, or my own body. The most anyone can do is help talk me down, and even then it's not guaranteed to work.

Emetophobia has controlled my life since I was five years old. I used to think that I was broken, or somehow a horrible person for battling this fear every day. I have missed out on experiences, have lost days at a time after the worst of my panic attacks, and have been hurt deeply by the words of others for something that I desperately wish I control. I try not to 'hate' anything that I can't change about myself: my anxiety is just my brain overcompensating to keep me safe. My physical disability is upsetting, but manageable, and I'm learning things about the world through my experiences. But I can truly say that I hate my emetophobia with every fibre of my being.

For you, reading this, relating to this, seeing this in yourself: You are strong. You are so, incredibly, infallibly strong. You fight a battle within yourself every day, and you win. You win because you are here, and you are alive, and you are living.

Emetophobia is a truly horrible thing to deal with. It ruins your life, and is an endless source of pain for roughly eight million people on this earth. Maybe it's hurting you so much that you feel you'll never be well.

And to you: I see you. I see you, and I love you. You are safe, and you are healthy, and you are stable. You are strong, and you are wonderful, and you are so, so deserving of safety and comfort and peace.

[zukkaoru]

hiiiiiiiiii for the writing prompt thing: renga, “we’ll never get to sleep if you keep fidgeting like that”

also have not written them in ages so i hope this is alright🙏 featuring reki with tourette's bc. obviously.

word count: 464

(prompt requests are still open)

.

Reki has had sleepovers before. Langa is not his first friend, though Reki’s list of current friends extends to three adults he knows from an underground skateboarding ring, one middle schooler, his boss, and Langa himself. Reki has spent the night at friends’ houses, and he’s had friends spend the night at his house too. He isn’t even a stranger to sharing a bed with a friend.

But this— this is different.

Reki has had sleepovers with friends, but he’s never had a sleepover with a boyfriend. And though, functionally, it doesn’t have to be any different, that knowledge does nothing to quell the anxiety building in Reki’s chest.

He’s fluffed his pillow about six times in the past four minutes, he’s fiddled with his phone charger, he’s gone to the bathroom, he’s done about everything he can to delay the inevitable, and Langa has patiently sat with his back against the headboard, allowing Reki to make sure everything is in order before they sleep. But Reki is out of things to check and the lights are off and…

He adjusts the blankets as Langa sinks down, laying on his side, facing Reki. Reki doesn’t know why he’s so worried. He clicks his tongue, then begins picking at a stray thread on his sleeve.

“Reki,” Langa whispers softly. “We’ll never get to sleep if you keep fidgeting like that.”

Reki purses his lips. His fingers flex of their own accord.

“Is something wrong?”

Reki shakes his head. He slides down, beneath the blankets, lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m just a little anxious. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Langa reaches over, placing his hand on Reki’s shoulder. “I can sleep on the floor, if you want.”

“No!” Reki replies, a touch too quickly. “No, no— I don’t want to make you do that. I’ll…” he swallows. “I’ll be fine, I think. It’s just… You’re sure my tics won’t keep you awake?”

Langa chuckles. “Reki, you’ve told me yourself that I could sleep through the end of the world. It’ll be fine.”

Reki exhales slowly. Langa is right—once he’s asleep, he’s nearly impossible to wake up. Everything will be fine.

Carefully, Reki peels Langa’s hand from his shoulder, entwining their fingers instead. He presses his lips against Langa’s knuckles. “Yeah…yeah, okay.” There’s still an uncomfortable twist in Reki’s stomach, but it’s lessened significantly now, and his eyelids are growing heavy. He knows there’s no reason to worry—that no nighttime ticcing or fidgeting will be enough to make Langa leave him—but he needs to make it through the night to fully believe as much.

Luckily, he knows Langa will be there for him even when his stupid anxiety is acting up. Langa will hold his hand, and they’ll both be okay.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

(TW) Depression - Masterlist

Always In Spring (ao3) - loveliketheweather Luke/Calum M, 17k

Summary: Luke and Calum’s friendship has gone through many highs and lows, and it’s so full of parallels and full-circle moments that it’s almost like the universe is set to make sure they grow, love and stay together.

Bleeding heart (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton M, 35k

Summary: Time changes. Some would say that all of his wishes came true and in some way they did. That's why he stopped wishing upon the stars like he did when he was a naive child. Because all those wishes led him up to this moment in time. A time where Luke stopped wishing upon a star and instead felt himself become one. Each and every day he felt his mind leaving his body and float away. It's only a matter of time now until he's leaving the atmosphere and becomes a floating rock himself. A rock without its glow, just a cold hard rock that no one sees and cares about.

Or Luke's past relationship haunts his ever waking moment and everything comes crashing down during the highly anticipated Meet You There Tour.

Butterfly (ao3) - merlypops luke/ashton, michael/calum M, 29k

Summary: Luke is depressed and Ashton makes him feel loved (and maybe Luke returns the favour too). Also Malum. Yes.

come alive and bring the thunder (ao3) - merlypops michael/luke E, 36k

Summary: Prince Luke of the Faeries is forced to marry King Michael after a War between kingdoms threatens to tear their lives apart… and maybe Luke and Michael fall in love too. Maybe.

Grey Mornings (ao3) - FayeHunter Luke/Ashton T, 1k

Summary: Luke's having an off day during his second pregnancy.

Maelstrom (ao3) - merlypops luke/ashton, michael/calum, mali/harry E, 225k

Summary: Ashton is struggling, Luke is hiding, and Michael and Calum just want to make things work. (And maybe Ashton and Luke fall in love too. Maybe.)

Peroxide (ao3) - DreamWeaver14 luke/ashton T, 5k

Summary: Luke and Ashton used to be a thing, but when Ash leaves Luke for someone else Luke starts to fall apart at the seams. He holes himself away and prays for death to come and take him away. But when one night he finds solace in a blade, he finds himself in over his head... Can Ashton save him?

Basically tooth-achingly, tear inducing fluff where two boys were too dumb to say 'I love you' when they should have and everything falls apart...

Rejects (ao3) - realmsoffreedom calum/ashton, michael/luke M, 79k

Summary: They try to save me, but I'm too far gone. And they called me crazy, so I played along. And you wanna change me, but I'm on my own...

Ashton, Michael, Calum, and Luke are the rejects of their school- outcasts, the victims of relentless torture and bullying. Damaged- unable to function normally, none of them have any hope for the future- in fact, all four of them regard their future as being six feet under, no longer living. But- relationships form, hearts break, and the mess that they're living only spirals further out of control, as everything gets significantly worse. Worse enough- that one of them could end up taking his own life.

Sometimes You Find Hope in the Darkest Places (ao3) - realmsoffreedom michael/ashton M, 29k

Summary: "Why are you so patient with me? I want to die, and that's fucking selfish, because there's a possibility that you will, even though you don't want to."

"Because I love you. I'm not going to die, and neither are you."

Or, where Michael is a depressed, anxiety-ridden, self-harming introvert, whose mother is forcing him to volunteer at a hospital, and Ashton is a patient suffering from leukemia, whose outlook on life is strangely optimistic and positive, for someone in his situation.

This is their story.

Tempest (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum, luke/ashton E, 314k

Summary: Calum’s best friends are falling apart, Mali is gone, and Calum just wants to be perfect.

the light in your eyes (ao3) - cashcakeplz michael/calum, michael/luke, luke/ashton N/R, 137k

Summary: Or the one where Calum is beautiful and beaten, Michael is in love with his best friend, Luke is lost, and Ashton just wants everyone to be happy.

there's this ringing in my head (who said it was gonna be easy?) (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton T, 2k

Summary: ashton should've known he wasn't worth it.

Three Years (ao3) - blindspot luke/ashton, michael/calum G, 5k

Summary: The one where Ashton is depressed, Michael and Calum come to visit him in New York and he finally finds his soulmate.

when the party ends (ao3) - galacticsugar Luke/Calum E, 30k

Summary: Sadly, Calum is going to have to buy this bottle of wine. Is he torturing himself unnecessarily? Definitely. He can’t even really make himself feel pathetic about it, though. He’s fully aware of what he’s doing. Of why he misses Luke so much. Of why drinking this wine alone in his apartment is a bad idea. Even without Luke actually being present, Calum is using him.

a heaven, iowa songfic.

you keep eternity (ao3) - merlypops luke/ashton, michael/calum E, 77k

Summary: Luke crashes into Ashton's life like a shooting star, Calum shows Michael that he's still beautiful, and maybe things don't feel so dark anymore.

your string of lights is still bright to me (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum, bryana/ashton, luke/omc E, 81k

Summary: Michael is struggling to be the father his daughters need. Until he meets Calum again.

[mikaila-orchard]

Well enough time has passed that I feel okay looking back on it and laughing, so here's an anecdote for ya'll.

Last month I had an anxiety attack at work and went to urgent care for it. The most they could do for me while I was shaking like a leaf was prescribe me hydroxyzine while I waited to get in touch with my doctor. It took two weeks to get in touch with him and in that time I noticed other problems.

My calves were swelling significantly. Something that, after cursory research, I was lead to believe was the result of blood clots. So for several days, I was trying to keep my legs elevated and not consume anything I thought my aggravate it. This lead to me consuming very little beyond cereal and water for several days. After maybe a week when the swelling didn't die down and my pulse felt irregular, I went back to the same urgent care I had gone to earlier. They checked all my vitals, everything came back good but they couldn't pinpoint the cause of the swelling.

So I went home confused and worried as to what the cause might have been and I expressed this concern to Lily. After awhile, she was like, "Wait, what did urgent care put you on again?" I said hydroxyzine and she looked it up and was like, "...Yeah, try not taking those for awhile."

I agreed, shelving the rest of my hydroxyzine. The swelling stopped the very next day

[doelet444]

sui ideation tw | I absolutely don’t mean to be triggering if this may be sensitive for you, if so please skip this read.

These past 5 years have been very painful and things aren’t going to get better. I have been weighing in on if it’s really worth it, and it’s not, but I stay because I don’t want to hurt my mom and the few people left in my life. Living with schizo-affective bipolar, panic disorder, endometriosis, immunodeficiency, pots, chronic fatigue, gastroperesis, nerve damage throughout my body that has caused a multitude of problems, I’m worried I may have stomach cancer and am going in for an endoscopy in 5 days, have been in severe pain for months. The endometriosis and the cysts, the intense chest pains and heart attack scares from pots, my stomach issues, my psychiatric issues & psychosis, have all put me in the hospital multiple times and when I’m not in a crisis I’m rotting in bed. I went from being a physically very healthy kid to a 22 year old in a wheelchair so fast.

They always say “it gets better, don’t give up” there are ups and downs, but I have been suffering from panic attacks since I was little, depression began at age 9-10, I have been persistently struggling for more than half my life, circumstances progressively and rapidly worsening. People who say “it gets better” may have not been in a major depressive episode for 5, 10, years or even decades straight. I have been heavily medicated since i was 15 and I can say my depression is completely treatment resistant. I have tried every method under the sun aside from electroconvulsive therapy. It hasn’t gone away no matter what I’ve done, my illness is parasitically ingrained into my DNA, which is why I’m a bit of an antinatalist, anyway, My brain is fried and foggy from all the meds, I’m a zombie but utterly unstable and experience severe withdrawal without them (thanks big pharma)

It frustrates me when ppl say “they took the easy way out” or “they were a complete coward to do that” but a lot of people genuinely wait years deciding and weighing in all of their years of physical, emotional and psychological pain, logically knowing it will be like this for the rest of their life, and decide to free themselves of it all. I absolutely do not advocate for it, but I empathize so much and would never blame victims. Not everyone who commits is delusional-y impulsive and selfish about it as people try to make it out to be.

Having bipolar, even when I’m having stable day, I always have the guarantee that it will always become significantly worse and stability does not last. Knowing that often puts me in a persistent sense of dread and anxiety, I don’t feel that I can ever be at peace. it’s just how living with the illness is.

Living through this I’ve firmly come to believe one of two things, either god isn’t real, or if god exists, he is an incredibly cruel entity.

To be clear this isn’t me saying goodbye or anything, I just really, really wish I was gone. I’ll keep living until it’s my time but this is exhausting. Apologies for sounding so un-demure I’m just feeling like, actually really really bad lately.

[domesticateddog]

as brief as i can i’m gonna say what i’ve gone through in the past year:

DPDR panic attacks got worse again, eventually and reluctantly had 6 more rounds of ECT in november-december, supposed to do more rounds but i just CAN NOT do it. it’s like a fucking phobia to go through it again. dpdr got mildly better

on february 12th (super bowl sunday) i started to have another DPDR panic attack, ran inside the house and somehow woke up barely able to move or breath extremely confused on the kitchen floor: i had a 2 minute long tonic clonic seizure out of nowhere. my boyfriend and father in law were both on the phone with 911 and my parents. i was the most tired i’ve ever been in my life and couldn’t understand anything anyone was asking me, somehow i got the strength to walk to my bed and layer down. paramedics came, assessed me and took me to the hospital. they tried to discharge me but i asked to see the doctor so they admitted me for a night. they did an MRI and an EEG and both were fine. they had already given me anticonvulsants and plus ativan (which is also an anticonvulsant) so i don’t understand what they were looking for. obviously i’m not going to seize while very heavily medicated.. i got discharged without answers.

no answers and i had to wait 6 WEEKS until i actually saw a neurologist, he spoke to me for 2 minutes max and said “eh sometimes people have seizures, give me $10,000 goodbye”

my DPDR panic attacks got SIGNIFICANTLY worse on top of my CONSTANT fear of having another seizure. this is the worst it’s ever been ever and i do not know what to do anymore.

i saw my psychiatrist twice, she gave me lamictal and then immediately quit without warning and i still don’t have a psychiatrist and i think the lamictal (anticonvulsant/mood stabilizer and anxiety/depression medication) is making my DPDR worse. but i cannot just GO OFF my meds because i don’t want another seizure. i CANNOT go through that again….

got in a huge fucking battle with my primary care doctor over getting ativan as needed and he FINALLY gave me 14 (14!?!?! KILL YOURSELF!!)

all psychiatrists are BOOKED SOLID so i eventually went to the nearby mental health place that sucks fucking ass and the nearest psychiatrist appointment they had is july 30th….. so i still haven’t gotten established yet.

my DPDR is at an all time high and i cannot go on walks or bike rides anymore without having an attack and now i am reluctantly thinking about getting ECT again. i have cried NUMEROUS times just thinking about it and the thought makes me want to puke. the entire experience just so terrifying to me and it’s SO clinical it GIVES me panic attacks just thinking about it. i have yet to actually go through with it but we will see.

ECT scares me so fucking bad and although i’ve done it 14 times total now, the thought of doing it again makes me want to kill myself. the entire thing is my worst nightmare. bright fluorescent lights, all the sounds of the other patients going first before me while my heartbeat goes so fast the nurse has to come in a turn my monitor off multiple times. 5-6 people gathering around me, talking while they lay me down flat and try to put both the mouth block in and the “oxygen” mask (i can’t breath with it on) and then putting me to sleep while i struggle being able to swallow until i finally hear that disgusting sounds that rings in my ears when give anesthetics….just typing this out is making me shake and tremble and i’m probably gonna have to do it again because it’s the only thing that has ever effectively worked

[raezinhell]

I just need to write this out because it's driving me nuts. I found relief! So, I stopped taking antidepressants, I was on Prozac for like 13 years. It stopped working for me, and they switched me to Cymbalta which made things significantly worse. It also made me horribly nauseous. So I stopped taking it. That was in October. Now November-December was really rough. When January came, I realized I hadn't thought about suicide or got caught up in the dark thoughts in a while! I just kept thinking it'll be back, it always comes back. It's now June and I still feel fine!

I've been taking Adderall which I'm not prescribed, but it has completely cured my migraines and my depression! Which, if you know anything about me, those two things literally became me. That's all I was to anyone. All anyone would ask is "how's your head?" Literally life changing. I've gone through so many different meds for migraines and depression and none have ever worked. They only ever made things worse. I tried to hint to my doctor about Adderall working for migraines, she shut me right down and said to stop reading things online. Why?! It fucking works and better than anything I've ever tried. I'm literally only taking 20mg it's not like I'm just taking it for fun. I've been offered it so many times and never tried it because I thought it would make my migraines worse. Now I feel so stupid for never trying it. I had multiple people tell me they got prescribed for depression too. It makes me so mad that I lost a good 15 years of my life, all because doctors don't give a flying fuck about you.

I've read a lot of people with similar experiences and they all were diagnosed with ADHD. And that undiagnosed and untreated ADHD for women generally gets misdiagnosed with anxiety and depression. The more and more I read about this, a lot of things are starting to make sense. But even if it's not ADHD, the medication still works for me! It's just a matter of getting it prescribed. I have no idea how to do that.

They say Adderall for people with ADHD, makes them calm down, and people without it, it amps you up. It doesn't do either, it just makes me feel human for once in my fucking life! I haven't called into work in months, whereas before I called in multiple times a month due to migraines. It gave me a will to live, and a quieter mind. I'm not drowning anymore, and you have no idea how good that feels!

I'm still just like at a pause, waiting for the dark to return. I know it's not though, as long as I have this. I just wish I could have it prescribed, so I know I won't run out. Feeling human and normal is very strange to me. I'm learning to love life again.