#my knee hurts like. very rarely but not not at all which is the normal amount i think so i cant even PREDICT IT. literally so evil

[jarofstyles]

Leather & Lace

Hello my angels and welcome to Leather and Lace!!! We’ve got a very cute 3 parter (I’ve finished writing it) coming in for you guys. We love a good grumpy x sunshine and couldn’t help ourselves writing another one. Please leave us feedback! We love to hear from you

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Wc- 8.2k

Warnings- oral sex, praise kink, soft Dom h, opposites attract, cum play/swapping

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“How can you be this happy in the morning?��� Harry grunted, hoodie pulled over his head as he sat down next to a bubbly Y/N. Her couch was comfortable but it didn’t make up for the fact that he was at her flat at 8 in the morning. 

“It’s not that early, lazy bones.” She hummed, tucking her legs under her as she sat down on the other side. “Thank you for coming to help today, by the way. I know you don’t like getting up early.”

He really didn’t, was the thing. He hated it. Harry only had so many days off and after working a long shift bartending last night, the very last thing he wanted to do was help someone unpack in their new flat. He’d rather claw at concrete than be awake right now, rather eat a raw egg, rather go through tattoo removal. If it was anyone but Y/N he would have laughed in their face at the mere ask. 

But it was her. It was twinkly eyed, pouty lipped, warm hearted Y/N who had asked him a week in advance and promised him a bagel with cream cheese and an iced coffee for brekkie, whatever he wanted for lunch, and ‘whatever he wanted in general!’. Little did she know he was going to say yes anyway, considering he knew he couldn’t say no to her sweet little ask with her smaller hand on his tattooed arm and wide eyes peering up at him. He wasn’t someone who liked to do things for many people without there being some sort of monetary gain, but this was different. 

Y/N had somehow latched herself onto one of the grumpiest bastards in the area while she herself was one of the sweetest girls he’d ever seen. Rarely spoke a mean word of anyone (except when they hurt someone close to her), went out of her way to help anyone who needed it and always wanted to be a shoulder to cry on. He’d seen her take money from her own wallet to cover someone’s bill when they were short, even seen her rush to help an elderly man across the street. It got her into trouble sometimes which was why he was glad that he’d been the hip she’d chosen to attach to. 

Their first interaction had been him sitting in the courtyard of their uni, listening to music under the tree. He’d had his sketchbook in hand, doodling in between classes when he looked up to see a girl with a pretty yellow bow in her hair offering him a cupcake because he looked ‘sad.’. He had been sad, actually, but that was pretty much his normal resting face. He’d tried to blow her off but she’d taken a seat next to him, introducing herself and telling him about her own day to ‘distract him’. He hated to admit that it worked. 

From then on, she popped up everywhere. At first he’d been a bit worried that she was following him but it truly was a coincidence. Y/N had found her way under his skin, wriggled her way into that cold heart of his and made it warm up just a little each time she came around. At some point she’d become a daily fixture in his life, her texts lighting up his phone with emojis and telling him to meet her at the cafe or the library- and for some reason, he followed.

“Mmm. Know y’wanted me here to see me get all sweaty. If y’wanted to see my tats and muscles so badly, you coulda just said so, Sweets.” He smirked, watching her eyes widen. So easy to fluster. 

“No! Stop teasing me, s’not nice.” She grumbled, poking his knee with her socked foot. She’d chosen lavender striped ones today. “I don’t have a lot of strong friends, you know that. Niall’s comin’ by after work to help you put the bedframe together and move the books from the car. Besides, I’ll let you sleepover and everything after we’re all done. I know you loveeeee my bed.”

He did. But more than anything he liked laying in said bed with her. Harry had a hard time admitting he had begun to gain feelings for the girl but deep down he knew he did. He liked that she insisted on cuddles, curling her leg around his and nuzzling her face into his chest, or even better yet the crook of his neck. Loved when she’d sleepily ask him questions about his life and tell him facts about her own. She resembled a tiny kitten while sleepy, insistent on getting all of the pets and attention. 

Harry had decided he wasn’t the relationship type after his last girlfriend had cheated on him with his old best mate- but meeting Y/N had reminded him of the die hard romantic that laid underneath the surface. All the hard work he’d had piling up bricks on top of his red, bleeding heart had seemed to be consistently excavated by the pastel wearing girl who still enjoyed the fairy lights he used to see online in those aesthetic bedroom photos. It scared him a bit at first. Even now, he was nervous about the idea of getting closer to her than they were now because her heart was a tender and precious thing and he didn’t necessarily trust himself not to hurt her- but then again, he knew he’d do miles better than anyone else could. He’d spent the time learning about her as the months went by, listening to her drawl on about the pinterest boards she made, her dream finds she always looked for at the thrift stores, her least favorite reality TV contestants, which pastries she found to be too dry at the cafe and which had the best level of moisture, what blankets she liked, every little tidbit he had stored away in his brain to use at a later date. 

No one would be as protective of her as he would be, which was why lately he’d been entertaining the thought of perhaps moving past the point of no return and trying to see if maybe, possibly, perhaps.. They could be more. 

It had come with a lot of deliberating but he’d come to understand that if he failed, Y/N wouldn’t caste him to the side. She’d never in a million years abandon him like he feared, which only gave him more motivation to go for it though… He was still biding his time. He had to let her get settled here before he shook up her life a bit more. 

They were opposites, the sweet girl and him. Harry was quite literally the bad boy cliche of everyone’s after school special’s dreams. His hair was long and curled, brushing his jaw. He went for darker clothing, usually his ripped black skinny jeans and a band tee but sometimes more eccentric with some silk and leaving his tits out when they went on a night out. His nose had a simple black hoop, his nails painted and chipped though this week they were a bubblegum pink, a la Y/N’s expertise. His body was hard from the gym he liked to frequent and inked, only getting more every month. He wore the occasional eyeliner when he felt spicy. That was only the physical things. 

Sometimes he wondered why she felt drawn to him, as she said. He was dark and moody with a darker sense of humor. Somewhat of a pessimist, he expected the worst from people and tended to stay away from them the best he could. The opposite of a social butterfly, he only usually went out in the past for a drink or to get his cock wet, never for the pleasure of interacting with people. Even then it was rare considering he did quite well in the hookup area being a bartender himself. 

Harry often wondered how and why she felt the pull to be around him and why she felt so at ease in his presence but he figured it had to be that he’d knocked the lights out of a bloke in her philosophy class who’d been riding her ass. He’d made the wrong decision of cornering Y/N at a party Harry had been dragged to, touching her a bit too much and not listening when her smile became thin and she backed away from him after giving a rejection much too polite than the man deserved. There had been no hesitation in laying him out, tugging Y/N into his side and demanding she stay with him for the rest of the party after she insisted she didn’t need to go home. 

Funnily enough she’d been a hit with his own small group of friends, everyone also feeling the same sort of kindred protection over her. Not many people were genuinely warm and fuzzy in the way she was. 

Y/N was… She was the sun, she was a cinnamon roll fresh baked on a sunday morning, she was a kitten sprawled in a sunbeam. All the good things, he could find a way to relate them to her. That probably should have been the indicator he had feelings for her far sooner than he’d ever let himself admit, but she had taken the time to crack him open. 

It was hard to stop thinking about what made her both his opposite and so special. Harry dwelled on how soft her clothing always was, both in color and texture. She liked those pastel colors and fuzzy cardigans, hair bows and those signature mary janes with the tiny heels. Lip oil as opposed to lip gloss because it was ‘too sticky’ but still dragged all his attention to her lips and made him wonder if it really tasted like tangerine like it smelled. 

Her touch was gentle and tender, cautious at first but as soon as she got the go ahead, she showered you in attention. At least, she did to him. Brushing stray hairs out of faces and wiping crumbs off cheeks, she had little sense of personal space once granted permission. She’d been mindful of his distaste for touch at the beginning but once he’d leaned into it, the girl had no qualms about straightening his shirt or leaning into his form, hell- there had been a few times she’d helped herself to his lap when there was no other seating option. Usually that was when she was tipsy considering she would most likely be a little shy sober, but that was something he enjoyed. 

The light to his dark, he doubted anyone else could make him feel the way she could. Hence why he was up after only getting 4 hours of sleep, sipping the coffee she’d gotten him. There was little he wouldn’t do for a hint of her smile. 

—--

“Babe, you’ve got t’make a decision.” Harry said gently, placing the large mirror down and leaning it against the wall. 

“I know, I know but… It’s bad luck to have your mirror facing your bed.” She wrung her fingers together. “I’m sorry, H. I know I’ve been a bit of a pain in the rear today. I promise m’not trying to, but It’s my first place and I just want it to be perfect.” Her head looked down, making his heart squeeze. 

God damn it. Leave it to her to make him feel like he’d kicked a puppy. Sighing, he tugged the bandana on his head back into place and approached her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “M’not upset with you. Promise. I just think you’re overthinking it a bit.” Her superstitions did tend to make her feel a little squirrely sometimes and he knew it.  “We’re gonna make it look perfect. Incredible, even. Reckon the magazines will be calling you up to feature you, but we can’t just have a freestanding mirror slab.” He’d picked it up for her off of craigslist just a bit ago. Even if it wasn’t a dodgy listing, he wouldn’t let her go on her own. That’s how people got kidnapped. 

“Ugh, I know.” She groaned, flopping into his chest. Never mind it being sweaty, she rubbed her nose between his tits and let out a tired groan, her hair smacking his chin. It’d been tossed up in a very messy bun that was a bit lopsided but made her look doubly as cute, though he didn’t tell her that. “Why don’t we mount it to the back of your door then? Not facing your bed, or another mirror.” 

He could almost hear her brain going as she mulled it over before he felt the nod against his chest. “That will be good, I think. I love that idea.” Y/N had been going back and forth over design choices with him all day as if he had a clue about interior decor, but he had appreciated her caring about his opinion nonetheless. “That can be the last thing we do. Niall’s fucked off somewhere futzing with the books so we can eat after that’s done.” 

The thud of his heart against her ear was steady as he gently ran a hand over her shoulderblade. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Think we’re ordering pizza because I know m’too tired to cook which means you lot have to be too.” She chuckled, finally prying herself out of his chest and blinking up at him.”Then we can go to bed.”  He was thankful her ear was away from his heart so she couldn’t hear the way it stuttered. You’d think after sleeping in her bed a multitude of times that he’d get used to the sound of that sentence but it still did him in every time. 

“Okay. I can run and pick it up after I mount this to the door if you call it in.” He knew she wouldn’t want to go. It was visible on her face how tired she was and it melted him internally. He knew that she’d be a little snuggly menace tonight and fuck if he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Gonna run into the pharmacy t’grab some body wash for here, if thats okay?”

“Course it is.” She beamed at the suggestion, making him happy that he’d even brought it up. Y/N used to suggest he sleep heer a lot before and he’d refuse, thinking she was just trying to be polite- but she really did enjoy him staying with her. “I liked the pomegranate one you used last time, just sayin’.” Patting his chest she moved from his grip, heading to grab her phone. “Normal for you?”

“Yeah, love. Same as usual.” He rubbed over the achy spot in his chest that she’d left by pulling away, looking forward to sleeping tonight so he could feel it fill back up.

—-----------

Harry had grabbed the pomegranate bath stuff. He’d grabbed the whole line, actually, the shampoo, conditioner, body wash and some sort of ‘skin buff.’ Whatever that was. 

Y/N had squeaked as he showed her, along with a pack of the makeup wipes she usually used and he’d steal. He’d figured it was about time to be the one to buy the replacements. “Ah! And you got the face mask I like.” Her eyes were wide and bright as she bounced on her toes, smacking a kiss to his stubbly cheek before looking back down at the holographic packaging. He’d hoped he had gotten the right one when he’d seen a sale on them when on his way to the check out counter. It was worth the little bit of money to feel her lips for a moment. “Thank you, H. You’re the best, as usual.” 

“The hell am I?” Niall scoffed, wiping his hands dry after washing them. 

“You’re great too, but he got me the face masks I like and they usually sell out. So he’s a bit higher up in points today.” She placated him, brushing past him to put them in the bathroom. “Harry, plate up the pizza, pretty please!”

As soon as she had disappeared, Niall shot him a look. “When are you two gonna make it official?” He whispered. “The heat eyes bouncin’ off the both of you is sickening at this point. She’s turned you soft.” 

Harry settled with a glare, placing two slices on the paper plate and sliding it over to him. “Eventually. Her whole life is shifting. Can’t do shit right now without rattling her.” It was the first time he admitted or even hinted at having feelings for her besides point blank telling anyone who came around that she wasn’t available. Y/N didn’t know he did that though. 

“Thank fuck you don’t still have your head up your arse. I was worried you’d never admit you’re gone for her.” He faked wiping sweat off his head making the other man roll his eyes. “She’ll be happy, H. You don’t have to worry about her rejecting you. Just go on and do it. She talks about you like you hang the moon every night at this point even when you aren’t around.” 

A weakness he’d spotted, Harry stood a bit straighter before leaning in. “She does? What does she say?” Oh, he hated how desperate he sounded to hear the answer but the fluttering in his stomach made him insisting on finding out. 

“Oh, how thoughtful and kind and generous you are and how you’re the best person she knows, all of that. She stares at her phone and waits for texts from you when she comes out and you’re working, gets these huge smiles or giggles when you do. or tries to get everyone to move the party to your bar.” 

That last part, he’d hoped for. He liked the idea of her wanting to be physically close to him and suggesting everyone come and see him, but knowing she did the same thing he did when waiting for messages from him soothed a piece of him. He wasn’t alone in it. It was hard sometimes for him to decipher her behavior considering she was genuinely so friendly with everyone and he didn’t want to flatter himself and think it he was special… but apparently he was. 

He didn’t have a chance to answer when Y/N glided from the bathroom, finding her spot on the kitchen barstools. “What did I miss?” 

“Nothin’, Babe. Just chatting shit.” He murmured, sliding her a plate with her pizza of choice on it. “Figured we’d go to the grocery tomorrow, yeah? It’s a bit sparse in here with the food.” He had the next day off and intended on spending it with her. They’d made lots of progress today and had 80% of the place unpacked, but he knew she liked those restocking videos online. “Think they’ve got those organizers back in stock.” 

“Oh!” She gasped.”Yes, you genius. I’ll need your help though, strong man. I like the one trip wonder.” It was a tease considering she knew Harry hated making multiple trips up with bags. 

“Lucky for you, you’ve got a lift now and I’ve got that collapsible wagon.” Reaching out he gently flicked her nose for being a brat. “So we won’t have t’worry about that.” 

—-----

Y/N was either very oblivious or a tease. Harry could never fully figure out which one. 

He sat on her bed, messing with her telly when she emerged from the shower in her little cotton shorts and one of his shirts. It was one he’d just been looking for last week, actually, an old Iron Maiden one with a few holes in the collar area. Unmistakably his. The faded gray complimented her skin, looking extra cozy on her as her powder blue plush bunny slippers flopped against the ground and she made her way to her skincare desk. 

“You little thief.” He grumbled from the bed, leaning against her headboard. “I was searching everywhere for that last week.” Though he had narrowed eyes she would know he was only teasing. 

“You left it with me, remember? I ended up packing it so I wouldn’t forget it but… It’s super comfy.” She smiled guiltily at him, spinning in her chair. “Is it okay if I wear it? It still smells like your cologne and it helps me sleep sometimes…”

Ah, a shot to the heart. 

Y/N didn’t know what it did to him to know he was an aid in good sleep. That it both made his heart stutter and his cock throb at the sight of her wrapped up in his clothing like she had all the rights to it. Like he was her boyfriend and she liked to wear it to remember him. Her scent had a similar effect on him, leaving it in his sheets when she stayed over,  “Totally okay, lovely.” He smiled gently. “M’just teasing you. Though it does wonders for my ego to know you like my cologne that much.” 

He knew he was making her a little flustered considering she didn’t look right at him, but he thrived off of that. Knowing he made an impact on her like that made him feel just a bit more confident that she felt similarly to him. There was no answer from her, but he wasn’t done with her quite yet. Standing up with a groan, he made his way over to her little makeup and skincare set up, placing his hands on the back of her chair. “What are you putting on your face?” He asked curiously, looking over her head to the products she had neatly organized.

“Well, first I wipe with one of these toning pads.” She opened the little tub, using a tiny pair of clear tongs to grab one. “You don’t want to be sticking your fingers in there and potentially making them all dirty so it came with this little thing. You give it a few passes over your t zone.” She showed him as she did it, Harry watching diligently in the mirror. 

“Mmm. Then what? You’re always doin’ all of this fancy stuff to your face. Figure that's why your skin is so pretty.” He let his fingers fiddle with a few strands of hair. 

“Thank you.” She said sheepishly, picking up a smaller tube. “Um, I use this undereye cream to help with puffiness and brightening. Its soothing. I apply it with the smallest finger though, because while I’m not afraid of wrinkles it’s the weakest fingers and the skin under your eyes is more delicate.” 

Huh. “Didn’t know what.” He was actually learning something from this. 

“Mhm. Why do you think I tell you to go gentle when you use the makeup remover?” A smile tilted up one side of her lips a bit further, eyes focused on the mirror in front of her. She pretended not to notice the slight shiver he gave her when he leaned down, letting his face get more level with hers- but he did. He noticed anything he could. “A-And then I use some vitamin C stuff for brightening, a serum and a cream. I use the little fan to make it dry faster so it isn’t sticky.” She pointed to the mini pink fan he’d always noticed. He’d just assumed it was for when she got hot. “Do you… Would you like me to use some of it on you when I’m done?” 

She sounded hesitant to ask which he understood. Not a lot of the guys in their friend circle would want that, but he wasn’t that insecure about himself that he’d say no to someone pampering him. Especially not when it meant Y/N getting close to him. “Sure, sweets. I’d love that. Reckon my skin needs it.” 

“What do you usually do with it?” She asked curiously, meeting his eye in the mirror. 

“Makeup remover, wash my face, that cream you left at my place if I remember.” 

“It’s not fair you have the skin you do.” She huffed, shaking her head. “Cruel, actually.” It kind of was. He got long lashes too, which she always complained about. “Go and wash your face first, heathen.”

Harry let out a small laugh before going off to do that. Returning with a fresh face, he stood in his prior position, watching her finish up the routine before holding the fan closer to her face to finish it off. It was an interesting process he hadn’t paid much mind to before, but then again, she didn’t bring every single thing to his place either. 

After putting her hair up in a claw clip, she stood up from the plushy chair and motioned for him to sit down. He did as asked, feeling her residual warmth as she lined up the products for them. “Okay, so we start with the toner pad.” She gently pushed him to lean back in the chair, her face coming closer to his as she delicately swiped it over his cheeks and nose. He was getting an up close look at her, noticing the scar near her eyebrow and a few spots on her face. It made him warm up a bit, being able to see her so close when she was awake. Usually this level of observation was reserved for when she was asleep. “Oi, keep your head up.” 

“Sorry.” He laughed, avoiding the impulse to move the chair back and forth. He liked to swing on it at times. 

“Wait- how about this.” Without giving it much thought, she gripped the chair and swung it over to turn his body to the side, helping herself to straddle his lap. “This seems a little easier, no?” Fingers gently tipped his chin up, eyes focused on her motions. 

Harry’s breath had disappeared. No longer available, he felt her sitting on top of his thighs, innocent as ever as she went through the motions. Tender with her movements and pressure, she was treating him like porcelain while giving him a little makeover. He should be focused on how nice the products felt on his skin, but his mind was elsewhere. 

She smelled amazing, as usual, but having it this close up was a little hard for him. Yes, she sat on his lap before- but not in his shirt, with her thighs on display and tiny little shorts. She didn’t straddle him before either, didn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t. All his energy was focused on trying to ensure she didn’t feel the stiffy that was quickly growing in his pants. 

“I can’t believe how good you’re being for me, H.” She whispered. “No whining or anything.” Her smile was soft as she wiped the serum over his face. “You’re so pretty.”

Fuck. He swallowed thickly, trying desperately to not let his cock construe those words into the filthy praise kink he had, but it appeared to be a bit too late for that. She had no idea what she was doing to him and he didn’t want to be a perv, but god damn. If the girl continued, there would be no denying that he’d cream his damn pants. Being pet on, feeling her brush his hair off his forehead while she stroked his face and adjusted his position to where she wanted… He was only so strong. “Thanks.” He murmured, trying to keep his composure. 

“Of course.” She beamed, seeming pleased. “I’m surprised you’re letting me do this, but you’re full of surprises.” It seemed like she didn’t know the battle he was facing internally, which was his goal, but that was soon to be ruined. “Hold on a second.” Shifting slightly on his lap, she stood up momentarily before sliding further up. “Sorry, I was falling down a bit-” 

Harry hadn’t meant to, he really fucking didn’t. But she sat right on top of him, squirming a bit. Giving his dick a bit of friction, making his hands grip her hips and sit her down hard to stop the movement. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t face her as he heard the hitch in her breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Sorry, I didn’t- I promise m’not being a creep or anything.” He winced. “Just been a while and uh-” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Her voice rang out, fingers brushing through his hair. “H, look at me. I’m not mad.” Of course, her words were sweet and syrupy, going right to his dick yet again. Y/N had no fucking idea how much she effected him, how many times he’d thought about her in this positon and how guilty he felt that he’d turned a sweet moment into something like this. “C’mon. You don’t need to be embarrassed.” 

He took a moment before opening his eyes, looking at her face. Studying it, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable. Her hand cupped the side of his face, a slight pout on her pretty lips. Y/N didn’t seem upset about it, seeing as she sat still and could most definitely feel his cock under her. He could feel her cunt over him, hot through the fabric and he was doing everything in his power to be fucking normal. 

“There you are.” The tables had finally turned. Harry was the shy one in this moment and Y/N was the one seemingly not freaked out. “It’s a natural body function, H. I know you’re not some kind of perv. I sat on your lap, remember?” She soothed his nerves. “Besides, I’m flattered. Was beginning to think you thought I was some kind of troll or something.” The smile kicked up on her face, but his frown deepened.

“The fuck? Why would you think that?” Brows furrowed, he didn’t like that she thought he didn’t find her attractive. He called her pretty quite a bit. 

“Well, I’m not your type. You go for all those tattooed girls with the bad ass attitudes, which is cool cause I think they’re hot too but… I’m all soft and squishy, y’know? I like the soft things, kinda the opposite of you so I just thought I wasn’t someone you’d be attracted to. M’nothing like what you go for.” She didn’t seem offended by this, rather stating it matter of fact- but Harry couldn’t believe how wrong she was. He had to wonder how long she thought this. 

While he was secretly pining after her, she was thinking he was going off to get blowies by the girls that flirted with him which, sometimes he did. At the beginning of their friendship, he tried to stave off those feelings for her by getting someone else underneath him, fucking away the frustration but he learned fairly quickly that none of it did much when his mind was on someone else. It’d been months at this point. Sure, he liked a bit of flirting to boost his ego, but that was only when Y/N was preoccupied. 

“Well, you’re wrong.” He said sternly. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Dunno where the troll idea came in when m’always staring at you.” He scoffed. “No more of that bullshit. Wouldn’t be hard if I didn’t think you were stunning. Trust me.” In fact, she was the only thing that got him hard these days. Thinking of her mouth, her thighs, her tits, her ass, anything. Even her hands, for fucks sake. “Don’t ever doubt how beautiful you are t’me. Pisses me off.”

“Sorry.” She bleated, pouting back at him. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just.. You call me pretty but I never would have thought you meant it like that. I like that you let me cuddle you and stuff so obviously I know you aren’t repulsed by me but, I dunno.” She swallowed, looking down at his bare chest. “I’m sorry for getting you… if you’re uncomfortable.” 

God, he was mucking this up wasn’t he? He shook his head, letting his thumbs rub over her hips as he softened his face. “No, sweets. Don’t apologize. S’not a big deal, I’m not mad at you. Just don’t like the idea of you thinking poorly of yourself. You’re fucking stunning.” So stunning that his cock was still hard under her. “I’ll go take care of it when we’re done, but no more squirming. Okay?” Squeezing her, he tried to rectify the situation. “No more fussing.” 

“But…” Y/N’s lips twisted slightly, sliding her hands down to his shoulders. “That’s not fair.” 

Harry blinked a few times, looking her over hesitantly. “What d’you mean? I’m okay, pet.” 

“Well, It’s my fault that you’re like this.” She protested. “I can fix it, if you want. Haven’t given too many blowies before, but I can take instruction pretty well.”

Harry truly thought he was dreaming for a moment, his face hot as she gave him an innocent look. Like she meant it, though it slightly embarrassed her for not having a lot of experience. But feeling her shift on him clued him back into reality. This was real. “You- You don’t have to do anything for me, Y/N.” He was holding on by a string. “You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your responsibility to get me off just because my cock’s got a mind of his own.”

Y/N huffed again, shaking her head. “I want to. Can I?” Her face shifted slightly. “You’re not making me do anything. It would make me feel better If i could take care of you.” Her eyes met his. “I mean it. Promise.” 

And god, if Harry was a stronger man he’d lift her off his lap and insist on taking care of it himself. He’d explain that it could make lines blurry and he liked her a bit more than a friend and they’d have that talk. But he wasn’t a stronger man, and she rolled her hips on him again with a hum, making his head fall back when she repeated the action. “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. “As long as.. As long you’re sure. I don’t want you to regret it or anything.” 

“I won’t.” She peeped. “I like making you feel good, Harry.” Her face seemed brighter as she watched him nod.

“Go on then, sweetheart.” He sighed. “I’ll show you what I like.” 

Never in a million years had he expected her to be visibly excited, slipping off his lap and on to her knees in front of him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eyes looked up at him with curiosity, hands running over his thighs as she waited for direction. He’d dreamt of this so many times, stroked off in the bathroom to this very mental image to get his load out quicker. His cock pulsed inside his sweats. This was really happening. “M’not wearing briefs under these.” He warned, pushing the waistband down as he slowly tugged himself out of the pants. His hand was slightly shaky ass he gave himself a squeeze at the base, a soft hiss leaving his teeth when her hand covered his own. 

“I’ve only done it a few times but…” Her eyes widened. “Yours is the prettiest I’ve seen.”

And fuck if that didn’t get him going. Harry took pride in his dick, as a lot of men did, but to get that compliment was better than anything else. His hair was normally trimmed shorter, but it had been a while. It was groomed a bit at the base, his happy trail leading up his stomach. “Thank you.” He mumbled, removing his hand and letting hers take over. Y/N was eager and that much was obvious, feeling her give him a few strokes as she shuffled closer in between his spread thighs. “I- I probably won’t last long. I wasn’t lying, it’s been a while.” And he’d imagined her in this position so many times that he was programmed to get off to it quickly. 

“That’s okay. You’re quite big so it’ll be better for my jaw.” She giggled. Fucking giggled while her thumb rubbed over the slit, making him shudder. He’d always imagined she’d be much more shy in this situation, but again he was proven wrong. “What do you like?” 

Honestly? He could cum just like this. Her stroking him slow, looking up at him with that pretty little face. Splatter her pretty face with pearly strings leaking from the slit of his cock, let it drip down her cheeks and chin. But she wouldn’t like that answer. “I’m okay with anything you give me, but I… I like to hear you.” He swallowed, a shaky exhale leaving his nose. “And uh, a bit wet. If that’s something you’d like.” 

Y/N looked like she was taking note, nodding at his words. “I want to know what you like, m’okay with anything.” She smiled. “I knew you had to be big cause.. Y’know you’ve got the energy. And I’ve felt it a few times when we cuddle, before you wake up. It’s just different to see it.” Y/N leaned her head on his thigh, continuing to jerk him off. “I’ll probably choke a little bit, cause you’re the biggest I’ve taken. It’s okay though, I’ll be fine. I’ll pinch your tummy or somthin’ if I need a second to breathe.” 

Who the fuck was she? Y/N had never, ever shown or hinted at being filthy in her life, but here she was. Talking about choking on his cock. He throbbed in her hand, making her eyebrows raise. “You liked that. Noted.” Leaning forward, she kept eye contact with him as she dragged her pink tongue from the base up to the tip, letting it sit there for a moment before she pulled away, giving him a few more strokes. “You can show me what you like too. Don’t be shy about it, H. I want you to feel good.” 

Harry nearly lost it as he watched those gorgeous lips purse, spitting right over the tip. It slipped down his length before her hand caught it, stroking and spreading it over his cock. Filthy, filthy things filled his tongue immediately, but he tried to pace himself. “Fuck me…” He whispered, gently gathering her hair in his hand. “I didn’t know you had this in you, gorgeous.” It nearly bowled him over. “Can you.. Take it in your mouth. Suck the tip for me. I want to see that.” 

Normally, he had no problem being a cocky, arrogant man. He was dominant most of the time with his hook ups- but Y/N wasn’t just a hook up to him. She was special. He didn’t want to do a single thing to potentially fuck this up. He wanted her to like this, to see how much he liked it too. She had no problems following instructions, the man watching as her lips stretched around the tip and dipped down a bit as she suckled on it. A soft hum left her mouth and vibrated over him as he curled the hair around his fist, making him groan. “Yeah, jus’ like that, angel. Fuck.” He kept his eyes on her as she bobbed shallowly, taking moments to rub her tongue over his leaking slit. “You’re so good, so sweet t’me. Can’t believe you’re doin’ this.” 

Y/N pulled off the tip, lips wet as she peered up at him. “I’ve thought about it before.” She whispered, lapping over the side of his length. “Wanted to see your cock. I knew it’d be pretty.” 

What the fuck? Harry’s brian felt fried, completely caught off guard by this information. Sure, he had thought maybe once or twice she was teasing him but it wasn’t often. Y/N was just so sugary sweet and kind, a slight air of innocence, and… Now she was telling him she’d thought about sucking him off before. “You have?” 

“Mhm.” She stroked him a bit firmer, the slick sound of her hand around his wet cock getting louder. “I heard.. Heard rumors and felt left out. You like me the best but you never asked me to do anything.” Rubbing the tip over her pouted lips, Harry was shocked yet again. 

“Cause y’mean more to me than any of the other people.” He swallowed. “Too fuckin’ sweet. I like you the best, you’re right but.. You’re my sweet girl. Didn’t want t’use you for anything like that. Would break my heart if I hurt you and you’d not want to see me again.” 

“What if I wanted you to use me?” She asked, peering up at him with those eyes. They drove him absolutely mad. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me unless I asked, H. You’re so good to me… I just want to be good for you too.” Taking the tip back into her mouth, she pushed herself down further and he felt his stomach clench. It took him off guard, feeling the hot mouth take him down and bob herself against him, a soft hum vibrating over him. 

“Oh- Fuck.” He let out a broken groan, leaning further back into the chair. “You are, baby, you fucking are. Hot little mouth… shit.” She whimpered around his cock at his words, sucking a little harder as her hand stroked the rest of him. She liked that. “What is it, hm? Like when I call you baby? When I tell you how perfect you are?” His words got a bit darker. He was slipping into another headspace and Y/N seemed to be coaxing it on. 

She did a half ass nod, not pulling off his length as she continued. Harry wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that she’d be a greedy girl like this, but he was incredibly thankful that she was. “You are. Such a good girl, so gorgeous with your mouth stretched around my cock. Didn’t know you were gagging for it, baby. Should’ve told me.” He chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t have wasted my loads in the shower before comin’ t’bed with you. Could’ve pushed into your needy mouth and let you swallow it down.” 

Y/N moaned around his prick, eyes watering slightly as she looked at him. He’d never seen a better sight. “You’re so beautiful, angel. So pretty. Didn’t know such a filthy thing could have you lookin’ even more beautiful.” His throat felt thick as his cock throbbed in her mouth. “Fuck, you don’t even know how many times I’ve thought about it.”

Y/N pulled off, panting slightly as webs of saliva connected her mouth to his cock. “How much?” Her voice was a little hoarse, but he could hear that she was desperate to know. “You- You could have. I don’t want you to waste it anymore.” There was the tiny bit of shyness coming back in. “If umm, if you think  I’m good enough at this. I’ll do it.” 

“Fuck me, baby.” His thumb wiped over her spit soaked lips, breaking the threads of spit as he caressed her cheek. “All the fucking time. S’the only thing that gets me off.” Confessions he hadn’t thought he’d be saying so soon, let alone before he’d ever kissed her, spilled from him. “You’re doing amazing. More than good enough, too fucking good for me.” He couldn’t believe she was offering. “You sure you want t’be the one to take care of it?”

“Yes, I want it. I don’t want anyone else to do it.” She pleaded. “I’ll be the best for you. Just- you can tell me and I’ll suck you or, or anything you want.” Harry tested it, gently pushing her head back towards his prick- which she immediately took back in her mouth. The perfect, wet heat bringing him back to that filthy place in his head. 

How could she think he could ever say no? She’d been his weakness since she brought him over that damn cupcake. 

“Oh, sweet girl. Anything?” He cooed. “Dangerous thing to promise me. Don’t want anyone else to do it either.” His breathing was getting harder, trying not to thrust his hips up into her mouth and make her take it all. Sure, she’d probably do it, but he still felt the need to be delicate with her. “Take a little more for me, baby. Just like- there, there you go.” He praised, mouth falling open as she did exactly what he wanted. “Gonna make me cum.” 

This felt a million times better than rubbing one out in her bathroom. His legs were near vibrating, the wet sound of her mouth taking him down and the clicks of her hand stroking his spit soaked cock filling her bedroom. This was the last thing he’d expected was her on her knees for him tonight and part of him wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a wet dream, but he was thanking whatever higher power that was up there that his sweet girl had a dirty side to her. One he wanted to be the only one privileged enough to see. 

“In my mouth.” She gasped, pulling up for a moment. “Want to taste you. Please?” 

How could he ever tell her no? 

Pushing her back down on his cock, he let his hips rise up and shallowly thrust into her mouth as she moaned around him, drooling down her chin and letting him use her the way he needed to get off. The best part was knowing she was enjoying it so much. It was a miracle he’d lasted this long already, but he attributed that to shock. She was dirty, his sweet girl, choking slightly on his cock as the tip hit her throat, but she made no move to want to stop. 

His last straw, though, was feeling her hand over his balls, whining around him as he let out his deepest groan yet. It was sloppy and messy and so fucking good that he felt lightheaded, tummy hot and legs weak as he felt himself approach his end. “Fuck, jus’ like that, your fucking mouth is perfect… fuck, fuck, fuck, baby- M’gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna-” His voice failed as his head fell back, lifting his hips as his cum began to pour into her mouth. Ribbon after ribbon coating her throat, pulling back a bit to get it on her tongue while she worked him through it. 

He didn’t realize he had so much in him, but perhaps it was just Y/N that made him cum this much. This hard. His ears rung a bit, curses leaving his mouth as he watched her mouth open and hand stroke him to see the pearly mess on her tongue. At the last little bit,he used his grip on her hair to tug her up to his face. 

“C’mere, sweet girl. Share with me, don’t be greedy.” holding her face while the other had her hair, he pulled back into his lap and her mouth to his and groaned as she licked over his tongue, sharing the remnants of his load with him. It was something a bit nasty and deprived, he knew, but Y/N merely moaned back, her clean hand curling around the back of his neck. 

The kisses slowed from frantic and hot, to softer, slow and sweet. Pecking her lips over and over again, her whimpers melted into giggled as he untangled from her hair, sliding his hand under the shirt she had on to get some bare skin on his fingertips. “Sweetest thing, most beautiful girl.” He murmured between kisses. “Thank you. Best I’ve ever had.” 

“You’re jus’ saying that.” She whispered, though the smile was difficult to wipe off her face. Obviously she liked praise just as much as him. 

“Nope. Mean every word.” He confirmed, rubbing his nose over her cheek. “Thank you, baby. Felt so damn good, can’t feel my legs now.” Harry’d never felt like this after a blowie, both in his legs and the fondness he felt for the girl. If there had been any doubts about his feelings for her whatsoever, they were shattered. He was so far gone for her, it was pathetic. 

“Good.” She smiled, feeling the kiss to his cheek. “I need to finish your skincare, though. So tuck yourself back in, cause m’gonna do that and then brush my teeth again. Though.. I can tell you’ve got a good diet. Tasted nice.” 

Though Harry knew cum never really tasted good, he was chuffed that she hadn’t minded. Even more, that she hadn’t minded indulging in sharing with him. “M’not selfish, I need to help you too.” He reminded, though she merely shook her head. 

“I’ll take a raincheck. M’so tired now, and I want to enjoy it fully.” Pecking his cheek in return, she picked up the moisturizer. “Think you need a lip mask too. Thankfully, you’re in the right hands.” 

Harry was sometimes a selfish lover with hookups and he could admit that, but with Y/N he never wanted to be that way. He wanted to make her feel good, but he could wait. It only made him anticipate it more- there would be a next time. 

“Okay, sweets.” He chuckled. “Do whatever you’d like.”

[copperbadge]

You know, I don't mind getting older; I'm perfectly happy not to be the same dumbass I was in my late twenties (I'm a totally different kind of dumbass now). What I'm not a huge fan of is aging. I woke up this morning hurting everywhere -- basically every muscle from neck to knees was sore or cramped or both. I know it's because I've been doing a lot of different work than normal (crouching, applying pressure with my arms, etc) but it still blows.

I had a list of cleaning stuff for today, but all of it was high-intensity, so I scrapped it and decided to put on a podcast I knew I'd like, move slowly, and only do what seemed feasible. I queued up I Don't Even Own A Television's "Pet Sematary" episode and set to work on changing out the linens on the sofa -- just changing the sheet, making sure none of the soft goods were dirty, and replacing the pillowcases on the pillows. The cats think of this sofa, which I rarely sit on, as "theirs", and Dearborn was very nervous about all of this, supervising me carefully.

[ID: Three images; on the left, Dearborn the tortie is crouched anxiously on a lurid orange Ikea sofa with all its back cushions missing. In the middle image she is hiding in a niche between the sofa and the wall, looking up at me anxiously. In the final image, the sofa has been covered with a burgundy sheet, the cushions are back in place, and a heap of brightly-colored pillows are piled on one end.]

I felt all right after doing that, so I decided I was okay to clean my desk. I know it still looks pretty messy but that's because I am manfully restraining myself from putting things in bins, since I need to have them out to remember they're there. If the hand cream and lip balm are out, I'll actually use them. (It's the time of year when my focal palmar peeling acts up; here's your annual reminder that if the skin of your palms dries up and peels, that may be focal palmar peeling and there are treatments!)

Polk supervised from the tower of storage bins nearby.

[ID: Two images; the left shows a desk, made of a glass top on sawhorse legs, with a table runner on it and two monitors on stands; several knicknacks and some toiletries are also visible. On the right, Polk the tabby is sitting on a large tupperware bin topped with a rumpled pillowcase, staring into the camera.]

I could have stopped there, but last night I'd put out some papers to deal with and it was easy sit-down work. I used to have a box of art -- postcards, prints, souvenirs, etc -- but I didn't like that I had it and never looked at it because it was just this box, so a while back I bought a "tabloid" sized art folio with archival-quality paper and sleeves, and I've started putting all that stuff into it. The first two images are just examples of what's stashed in it; the third image shows what I put into it this morning, which is two postcards from the Europe trip and the original "annotated family tree" that shows up in The Lady And The Tiger.

Got almost exactly an hour into the two-hour podcast when I finished, so a good day's work done even if I was creaking along like a rickety house in a high wind.

[khruschevshoe]

OFMD Critique: Izzy Hands, "Burying Your Cripples," and That Fucking Finale

(Note: this is a cleaned-up/expanded version of a post I made earlier regarding disability rep in this show bc I was chatting with @itswhatyougive and @notthewriteryourelookingfor about "Burying Your Gays" and the parallels with the "Burying Your Cripples" trope in media, which is often more insidious because people are less primed to notice it and call it out.

Also, although I am analyzing a trope in media in the most unbiased way I can, I am going to get angry. Because this is a show that did its job at making us care about its characters and their portrayals and you can't get mad at me that I did just that.)

On a fourth note when it comes to the problems with the writing in this season of ofmd...the handling of disability. Because good God.

To preface this before anyone jumps down my throat about getting upset: I am disabled myself, both physically and mentally. I carry a small laundry list of mild to moderate conditions that impair my daily functions. I understand what it is like to desire to see characters that carry disabilities similar and dissimilar to my own onscreen. I also understand that there ARE multiple disabled characters in OFMD (ex. Jackie with her wooden hand, Ed with his knee brace, Pete with his cleft palate, Lucius with his mentioned bad back/wooden finger). I UNDERSTAND that these were all generally handled decently well, incorporated without drawing attention to them (although the disappearance of Ed's knee brace was strange to me in season 2, even that I could get with bc personally I only need to use my cane when my knee flares bad and can walk perfectly normally the rest of the time without an aid).

Which is all to say: the way that Izzy's death was written is insidiously (likely unconsciously, but still) ableist. His entire arc this season revolves around community and recovering from trauma and accepting himself both in a queer sense and a DISTINCTLY DISABLED sense. The way he remarks upon his own disability and his acceptance of himself and the way that the show is written to have his crew member ACCOMODATE him joyfully as an EXPLICIT SYMBOL OF LOVE was a breath of fresh air when it comes to disabled characters. I also enjoyed the way that he pokes fun at it occasionally in the same way that I do with my coworkers/friends (joking "oh really, you're going to ask an invalid to do that?" *gestures at my cane*).

But that ending. God, that fucking ending. *vehemently taps table* The fact that this character who opens up, who is accepted for both sides of his identity after dragging himself through the fucking pits over them, is killed. BECAUSE HIS MOBILITY AID COULD BE SEEN BY THE ENEMY. BECAUSE HE WAS SEEN AS UNIQUELY VULNERABLE. And then they FUCKING PULL HIS MOBILITY AID, the very symbol of his acceptance, from his FUCKING BODY SO HE CANNOT BE BURIED WHOLE?

I'm sorry. I really am. I don't mean to get furious about this. But as a disabled person who saw such hope in this character, who saw a storyline about a part of myself that is rarely displayed onscreen (that slow acceptance of the part of yourself you considered broken + the acknowledgement of love by your family/community in the form of loving accommodation without complaint), this hurt me at a very primal level that I didn't know I could be hurt at.

Bringing this back around to the "Burying Your Cripples" trope: the reason why an ending like this is so horrifying is because it is very much telling you that you can have a healing arc, that you can finally find yourself accommodation and acceptance, and it doesn't matter. Your disability will be the thing that kills you.

To people who say that this ending is justified because sometimes death is just random like that, that saying that death makes healing not worth it, I get what you're saying. In real life, of course you're right.

But this is a CLOSED NARRATIVE. It is a story with BEATS that MATTER, made of decisions by writers who had to purposefully decide to put scenes together. There's a reason they're called "arcs"- they're supposed to aim at a specific point. IF YOU LET EVERY CHARACTER IN A SHOW LIVE THROUGH THINGS THAT SHOULD HAVE KILLED THEM EXCEPT FOR THE DISABLED CHARACTER, YOU ARE MAKING A FUCKING POINT WHETHER YOU REALIZE IT OR NOT. Izzy's death is not showing "random chance" or "the risks of piracy"- HE DIED BECAUSE HIS MOBILITY AID WAS VISIBLE.

Lemme repeat that: costume concepts showed that the original design of Izzy's naval outfit covered his wooden hoof. It was a conscious decision to have the shot of the naval officer looking down at Izzy's leg, at his exposed leg, and pinpointing him as the weak one despite there being entire scenes dedicated to showing that he was still as strong as the rest of them. In a show where the budget and runtime was restricted, not a single shot or costume decision was on accident. They had to pay more to green screen in that leg.

If Castiel went to superhell because of his gay confession for Dean, then I cannot think of a clearer way to Bury Your Cripples than having Izzy die because someone saw his mobility aid.

Do I think they did this on purpose? Well, no more on purpose than David Jenkins looking at Izzy's Hayes-Code-era gay coding/arc and saying that he knew that Izzy would have to die because that's what characters like that do. No more on purpose than saying that the mentor character had to die because that's what characters like that do.

Izzy's disability was visible, was the cause of his death, because "that's what happens" to pirates who gain disabilities. They are weaker. They are more at risk.

I'm sorry, but fuck that.

Fuck the idea that in a show that created a careful space in its narrative (for a season and a half at least) for queerness to be treated ahistorically kindly, that often disregarded geographic, historical, and medical accuracy to tell a compelling story, and that purposefully provided racial and body diversity while calling out racism, that the disabled character getting offed is a "kind ending." It's not. It never has been. And I'm tired of accepting that sort of thing.

I am SO GLAD that fanfic exists with better depictions of disabled arcs/endings in OFMD bc I don't know if I could recover otherwise. Hope my fellow disabled folk out there are recovering as well, and that they understand that there is positivity to be made out of poison- it just wasn't what the finale gave us.

[armoredprincess]

I've Posted enough about this chart that it's time to reallty talk about my problems with it, as a regular in the art of hitting other people. My word is not final, but then this chart's no gospel either.

A lot of my issue with this chart is the dissonance between its intended audience and the people sharing it. Like, people I follow on here are leaving bruises much bigger than you'd get with Amazon riding crops. Things change if you scale up, though. An open slap is not the same as a knuckle. A lot of this is derived from my preference for fists, though I think it applies to any hard, inflexible implement, and also I'll take opportunities to talk about other tools.

Part by part, though: first, the back of the neck. Hitting someone here can cause permanent, disabling, even fatal spinal injuries. Boxers have all but died on TV due to "rabbit punches". Labeling the back of the neck as merely high risk is intolerably incompetent.

Wrists, elbows and knees suffer similar issues. Joints are full of small parts ready to move out of place. I would worry about a torn tendon as a result of hitting these from any conceivable angle.

Thighs are long pads of fat and muscle covering the strongest bone in the body. There is no reason why the inner thighs should be higher risk than the outer, unless you miss and whack their balls. Speaking of...

Genitals famously hurt. They can also take more damage than their pain threshold would suggest. That said, testicles are basically internal organs that happen to be on the outside. They have no bone or muscle protection. This is part of the reason why CBT is kind of its own set of practices, intertwined with but distinct from impact play, which brings me to the core of my issue: this chart is not in agreement with itself about acceptable range of force. If your idea of impact play is hitting someone with a hard implement, maybe stay away from genitals? And if your thing is genital torture, then this chart is all but useless to you.

Hands and feet are the same thing: a fairly consistent bone structure spindling out into delicate joints. I suspect the only reason hands are labeled safer than feet is because of optics and practice: it's more normal to slap the back of someone's hand, so we do it more, so it seems safer. Whether this means the central hands/feet are higher or lower risk is up to you. Consider that palms and soles are springy, padded and built to bear weight. I'd stay away from fingers and toes, and the Achilles tendon.

On the subject of consistency, the upper arm and forearm are very similar, except the upper arm has more fat and muscle. IMO you could label both safe. I don't know why the armpits are a no-go. Which brings me to the torso.

Breasts, like genitals, can take more punishment than their pain response suggests. Plus, it's as easy to break a rib as it is to like, puncture internal organs: not too easy, but possible. My problem here is the lack of granularity indicating what might make that happen, or how "safe" injuries in one place can be trouble elsewhere. You can flog someone all over the orange torso areas at low risk; a harder implement, not so. But then, the relatively harmless (assuming proper aftercare) cuts left by a torso whipping would be an ugly affair on the genitals.

You can have a lot more fun than this chart suggests if you look into your weapon of choice. Aside from the torso, the most representative issue here is the head. You can really forehand slap the shit out of someone ten times in a row and be fine. If you start adding knuckles in, you might be looking at cut cheeks, maybe concussions. Which might be your thing. Make it your thing knowingly. It's rarely about force, that's what the safeword is for: it's about what you're applying force with.

[gojoscloset]

COWARD

Gojo Satoru x Reader Angst !

Gojo decides to part ways with Reader out of fear he’ll put reader in danger!

Warnings: Angst? Not proofread.

Also sorry if it seems OOC I’m really out of touch with JJK but really wanted to write this one out for my boy

—————————————————————

“So you’re just going to be a coward about the situation…?”

You spoke calmly but anyone could easily sense the desperation in your words.

“And all for what?”

You did not intend for your voice to crack, but it did. The lump in your throat made it hard for you to speak, and the stinging in your eyes began to blur your vision.

Satoru sat across from you, slightly hunched over, his elbows on his knees, a familiar position he would be in when he had a lot on his mind. You wished it were one of his shitty jokes, but based solely off of his demeanor, and lack of words, you figured he was being serious.

His signature goofy smile was replaced with an unfamiliar stern expression, and for once he had nothing to say.…well actually, he really wanted to say a number of things but he knew there wasn’t a right thing to say. He knew there were no combinations of words that could make things hurt any less so he decided to say nothing at all.

Satoru sat a few feet from you, but it was like he was nowhere to be found. He was at arms length, but he felt so far away.

This wasn’t the Satoru you knew, who was this stranger pretending to be your boyfriend ?

“So you’re just going to sit here and say nothing to me? You’re leaving me and have nothing to say?…”

“What is there to say, ____? It’s not like anything I’ll say can change the situation…” He spoke softly, averting his gaze from yours, something he’s been doing since he asked you to come to his home to have an ‘important conversation’. But you didn’t fail to see the lack of life in his eyes, the sea of colors that the world fell in love with were no longer there.

It was like the universe was drained from him, as if he had cried out the oceans he carried in them prior to this conversation. You could see behind his tough exterior that he had been in fact crying. Face slightly red in the sensitive areas, and eyes slightly puffy.

“….Something!…anything!…you….you invite me here just for you to use the ‘I’m just trying to protect you’ line like you’re some kind of superhero and you expect me to be okay with it? Well No! It’s not okay! This isn’t a movie, this is real life Satoru!-“

“Exactly ____ ,this is real life, which is why I have made my decision”

You wiped your eyes quickly, hot tears dripping down your face. You could hear Satoru get up from his seat, a gentle hand reaching over to caress your head but you pulled away from his touch, not wanting to make things harder than they already were.

It was rare for you to ever reject his acts of affection, but of course it wasn’t the first time. Normally Satoru would give you space when you would get in your moods but he couldn't find it in himself to do so this time, knowing it may very well be the last time he gets to do so.

He grabbed you by your shoulders and roughly pulled you into the tightest hug he could give you. He wished he could somehow get closer to you, he wished he could rip his chest open and put you inside of his heart and keep you there forever, at least there he knew you would be safe.

“You know if I could change things I would.”

You shook your head in his chest, knuckles turning white as you cling onto his shirt. He could feel your tears as they soaked through his clothes and he took in the feeling along with the warmth of your shaky breaths against his body.

He wanted to remember how it felt before he never got to feel this again. He took in the details of your body against his and engraved it in his mind so he could feel you in the times he would miss you the most.

Satoru took the feeling of your love and drilled it so deep into his brain he would be able to find you in lifetimes kinder than this one, over and over and over again.

“But you don’t have to change anything. We could stay exactly the same.”

“And the risk would-“

“ I considered the risk way before you and I even got together! I already knew what I was getting myself into. I thought about it when I realized I had feelings for you!… Nothing you can say can scare me into accepting your decision, not when you love me the way you do.” You were desperate, you weren’t going to let him give up so easily.

“I’m not leaving” you sobbed quietly and broke free from his tight embrace. You made your way around him ready to take a seat on the couch but he reached for you once more, this time grabbing you by your wrist and pulling you into a hug once again.

“Baby don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Don’t do this to me..”

“Do this to you?!” he smiled down at you sadly, swaying your bodies together as you continued to give him a piece of your mind while you continued to let him know you weren’t leaving.

He loved this feisty side of you, it was a reason why he fell for you in the first place. You always stood by what was right, and you stood your ground. You were stubborn but in a way he liked.

He knew this day would come eventually, and he felt guilty that he knew that there was a chance of him leaving yet he continued to string you along. He felt selfish for putting you in this position in the first place, even if you claim you wanted it too. But you were his sugar*, his stimulant. You made his mind buzz in a way no other person or substance had before.

Gojo bit the apple and has been doomed since then.

The two of you stood in place for a while, none of you know for how long but however long it was, it wasn’t long enough. Satoru pulled away to get a good look at your face, then he gently leaned down to place a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Baby It’s time to go .” he gave you another sad smile, the look on his face showed he was tired. You could tell he too wasn’t doing well emotionally but was holding it in for you, because he knew he had to be strong for you.

“I already told you I’m not leaving”

You pulled away once more making your way back to the couch. He grabbed you again, but this time sweeping you off your feet, quite literally. He knew you wouldn’t oblige if he guided you to the door, he knew with the stubborn and fierce attitude of yours you wouldn’t go without a fight.

“Put me down, I’m not leaving” You did everything in your physical power to get out of his grip. You stiffened your body to somehow ‘weigh more’. You slapped his chest , and writhed around in his arms but this was Gojo Satoru you were dealing with.

He walked you out of the door and gently placed you on your feet, but quickly you spun around before he had time to shut the door on you and you pushed your weight to the door, trying to force it open. Satoru easily fought against your weight on the door, shutting it with ease.

“I hate you! You’re a coward! Why would you do this to me?!” Your hands twisted the knob and to your surprise it opened, quickly you forced yourself in but just as you feared, he was nowhere in sight.

————-

Authors notes:

*If I’m not mistaken, Gege Akutami said that Gojo Used sugar to stimulate his brain but he ended up getting a sweet tooth (an addiction to sugar). So I implied that you were what stimulated his mind

———-

But also

HEHE *Michael jackson-ly*

I finally wrote something after like 2 years, however this is just the appetizer, I typed this up at work and hopefully the next part will be scrumptious cause it’s super angsty and I love for angst lolol

Also I apologize if it seems rushed in a way, I really needed to get this part out to work on the next part (which I’m excited for)

Please enjoy (^:

[radicalstoner]

What disability do you have that prevents you from working?

Typically I would say mind your business, but, seeing as you're the apparent arbiter of whose disabilities are "bad enough," you of course must be informed so you can declare your ruling on whether my illness justifies my inability to work. And obviously your eminent anonymous opinion is what makes or breaks my entire lifestyle lmfao. But y'know what? Sure, I'll humor you, bc why not - have a peek at the hell that is my physical health and decide if I'm sick or just a lazy piece of shit.

I'm not giving you my full diagnostic history, bc you are not my doctor (unless he has tumblr but I doubt it) - I have multiple different diagnoses anyway, ranging from genetic to rheumatological to endocrine to neurological to gynecological, and rote listing them would probably mean little to you. What I will tell you is some of my symptoms, since those are more understandable to those who aren't aware of medical jargon and acronyms.

[Read more bc even symptoms alone are a huge list, no need for anyone to read all this, I just got going and it got long]

Let's start musculoskeletal: I have frequent falls from joint instability (and neurological issues like dizziness), and these falls often result in my joints (knees, shoulders, ankles, fingers, and collarbones are main offenders) coming partially or sometimes fully out of place and needing to be popped back in - I typically have to do this multiple times a day, and am very used to the cracks, crunches, thunks, snaps, and visceral squelch sounds that joints make when they move in and out of position. The pain of those injuries rarely bothers me anymore because I'm so used to it, so I just relocate joints and move on with my day - but the dislocations do inflame and damage surrounding tissues, and it adds up fast bc of how damn frequently my various bones decide they are getting divorced from their partners. I also have moderate scoliosis and bone-on-bone arthritis in my thoracic spine (meaning the spinal discs have degraded to nothing, so there's no cushion between the bones or around delicate nerves in the spinal cord, causing more neuro issues). My SI joints are degrading and constantly painful, and when they flare it gets to the point where I can't even shift an inch in bed without crying out. I have sprained/dislocated my right ankle so many times that it has permanent tendon damage, which would normally make me a candidate for surgery to fix them, but one of my conditions makes the surgery extremely likely to fail, so instead I'm stuck with chronic ankle pain and instability that gets worse with each proceeding twist or sprain (which are more likely to happen w the fucked tendons). My bone density is much lower than it should be in a woman my age. My hand joints are steadily losing their stamina wrt how long they can do things like write before the pain is really bothersome. My condition also just inherently causes muscle wasting, so building strength (though important in my treatment) can feel like an exercise in futility, and is incredibly frustrating. Nothing that I have mentioned in this paragraph can be treated at the root cause btw, symptoms can be managed and injuries can be rehabbed, but there's no fixing the disorder, these symptoms will haunt me my entire life.

Rheum: I am always high-inflammation, literally couldn't tell ya the last time my WBC tested in the normal range bc my body is constantly on high alert trying to fix the unfixable. Inflammation compromises your immune system, causes chronic fatigue, weight fluctuations, and just physically hurts, it's like a dull ache in dozens of areas on my body, and it moves around. That pain is also so familiar that it doesn't particularly bother me. What has been bothering me tho is that my thyroid is now overactive, which has led to new symptoms - I'm used to my typical set, I know how to cope, but new symptoms are a whole 'nother ballgame: I've been unable to sleep FAR too often, I'm now chronically sleep deprived and yet still alert and awake for 2-4 days at a time; I have lost 50 pounds in two months, and my body has been basically organically giving me Ozempic effects - no cravings, no appetite, no general urge or interest in eating - but the weight loss is still disproportionate and pretty shocking; I am anxious and fidgety all the time, to the point that my muscles get sore from fidgeting during the long wakeful periods; I hyperfixate even worse than usual on tasks (e.g. this fuckin ask response that you in no way deserve but I'm too engaged to not write it now). My healthy curly hair has started to feel brittle and frizzy, and some strands have broken (I have not used any bleach or heat since I had a buzzcut). The brain fog caused by the inflammation is also absolutely insane, I feel like I'm running in slow-mo even though the chemicals in my body are in high gear giving me energy and anxiety.

Gyno: I have PCOS and Stage III (of IV) endometriosis. Enough said?

Endocrine: my hormone levels have always been fucky (sky-high androgens) and when I went on testosterone a doctor medicated me incorrectly and made my hormonal imbalances drastically worse. my HPA axis is fucked, so all the different hormones/chemicals those organs produce are out-of-whack as well.

Neuro: Tingling/numb extremities, essential tremor, BRAIN FOG, balance issues, lack of coordination, nerve pain, vagus nerve dysfunction, icepick headaches. I have non-MS-type lesions on my brain, most likely caused by chronic physical and emotional stress according to my neuro. I have chiari malformation which means the bottom of my brain sags into the area of my spinal cord. I have endometriosis growing on my sciatic nerve, which is just as fun as it sounds; the sciatica pain is a different pain than I'm used to so it's much more uncomfortable mentally.

Systemic: Can't emphasize enough that I hurt All The Time. If my pain is at a 5 or less, that's a REALLY good day for me, I typically hang around a 7 on the pain chart. Pain stops me before strength or stamina, so I can't go on the walks my body wants to go on, I can't clean the apartment as deeply as I'd like, I can't even move some days, when the pain is all-encompassing and extra intense. I can semi-function with a LOT of pain by ignoring it, but I have had more and more days over the years when I just can't ignore it, or else I'll be punished with a knee dislocation or an SI joint flare for overdoing it. My autonomic system is an absolute disaster - this controls blood pressure, heart rate, digestion, breathing, temperature regulation, all the shit your body is supposed to do automatically. I can't rely on my body to do those things automatically. My stomach is paralyzed SOMETIMES because of my autonomic dysfunction; yes really. 3 gastric emptying studies, one was normal, one was very rapid, and one was basically immobile. The theory is that the fluctuations in my body and the storm of hormones/neurotransmitters/chemicals stimulate peristalsis unpredictably. Intermittent gastroparesis, and other times my stomach can't even hold onto food long enough to digest it and get nutrients before it moves on. And latelly I've had the fun little symptom of playing russian roulette whenever I dare to eat anything bc there's a 20% chance it will not be staying down - but also if I don't eat, I puke stomach acid and bile. I stock medical emesis bags like I'm a hospital, and have them stocked in my car, nightstand, living room, bag... bc I never know how my stomach will act, and when the nausea hits it is extremely sudden and intense so I need to have easy access to the bags. That's the reality of my gastric situation, eating holds no joy whatsoever, I've even lost a few safe foods after puking them up and developing taste aversion. My blood pressure is chronically low to the point that automatic BP cuffs sometimes are unable to detect it; my pulse is chronically rapid to the point that it goes over 3 beats a second sometimes, according to my watch. I even pass out sometimes because my blood pressure tanks even worse than usual (my father does the same thing, same disease).

Anything else you want to know? Social security number? Credit card info?

[malk1ns]

For the Write a Kiss: #4?

oooh thanks!

4. ...where it hurts.

from this ask game!

Geno's new scars are livid.

Sid's trying not to stare; he knows Geno's self-conscious about them, hates what they represent. Sid's talked to him enough over the summer to know how upset Geno was about needing surgery at all, let along the new marks it left on his leg.

Sid knows about unwanted scars. Every day he has to carefully re-wrap his wrist after he showers, and the neat little lines stand out, bright red and healing.

Geno's scars are different. They're big, one line above his kneecap, two dots on his knee, and another line underneath, and they're much more healed than Sid's are. They look like proper scars, not fresh cuts.

And Sid can't. stop. looking at them.

They're spending a lot more time alone than Sid's used to for the start of a season. Normally they're busy wrangling the team back in order after a summer off, checking in with the new guys, meeting with the other team leaders and the coaching staff to talk through line configurations and special teams assignments—none of which lends much time for much more than quick hookups when they have time. But this year, they're both left behind more often than not, spending time together in the gym or in the trainer's room, both of them working as hard as they can to get back to game shape.

Sid will be ready first, and as eager as he is to get back out onto the ice, he's going to miss the quiet, peaceful hours spent hanging out with Geno. Being the center of Geno's focused attention this often, and outside of the bedroom, is a rare treat, and Sid's grown to appreciate it.

It doesn't take long for Geno's sharp eyes to notice where Sid keeps looking.

"They're ugly, no?" he says one morning, stretching in Sid's bed. He'd slept over the night before, a surprise that Sid hadn't dared say anything about lest it scare Geno back home, and Sid likes how he looks, sleepy and rumpled in the morning light pouring in through Sid's bedroom windows.

"What?" Sid asks, guiltily looking back up at Geno's face. Geno's squinting a little, so nearsighted without his glasses on, and Sid feels a swell of dangerous fondness.

"My knee," Geno says, vaguely flapping his hand down towards his legs. "New scars, like, they're ugly. Look bad." His mouth twists in a frown.

Sid shakes his head. "I don't think so," he says quietly, rolling over so he's partly lying on top of Geno. "I like them."

"You do?" Geno says, big hand coming to rest on Sid's ass. Sid buries a smile into Geno's shoulder. "Little bit weird, maybe."

Sid shrugs. "Maybe," he agrees, wiggling a little so he's all the way on top of Geno. "But you don't mind." He drops a kiss on Geno's collarbone, then starts to slide down.

"No," Geno says, voice strangled. Sid keeps going, though, all the way down until he's level with Geno's knees.

He regards them fondly. They're knobby, just like when Geno first came over. Geno was so skinny then, and while he's bigger now, with broad shoulders and a strong abdomen (and one hell of an ass), he's still got twig legs.

Sid is so very, very gone over Geno. This might be the year to finally tell him just how much.

He drops a kiss over each of Geno's scars, lightly enough that Geno gasps and twitches at the tickle, then starts making his way back up Geno's thighs.

Geno's hands sink into his hair, and Sid flicks his eyes up. Geno's staring at him intently, a look on his face that Sid hasn't seen directed at him before.

Sid grins at him. Geno smiles back, a small, private thing that kicks Sid's heart rate up a notch. Instead of directing Sid towards his dick, Geno hauls him up until they're face-to-face.

“Sid,” is all he says, expression warm and wondering, and Sid has to lean down and kiss him back down into the mattress.

[burdenedreverance]

it was an honor, my friend.

"You're a strong kid, Ichigo. Whatever happens, you make this count."

The time of final battle draws near, and he has done everything to even the odds. His presence on the battlefield has done much to relay the broken forces of the Gotei, to lessen the burdens others feel, and now he is out of options. No amount of tactical maneuvering or strategic brilliance will allow them buy more time. And time is what they need. The others are not ready, Ichigo isn't ready. The pieces needed to ensure victory haven't even been brought to the field.

In moments like this when an army is on the verge of defeat that the commander realizes they must sacrifice something or lose everything. Someone must stand in front of the cavalry to break the charge, someone must wither the powder and ball shot that peppers the body. Hayden is not the victory condition. Yet, he knows what he must do to ensure such a condition is met. He sucks in a sharp breath turning his head forward. There is no going back.

The callous on his hands have wielded many weapons over his two centuries of life and death. Knives, swords, rifles, pistols, any everything between. Everything that he is, and ever could be, was forged into a weapon for some reason he has never known. In this moment, that reason is revealed.

The Almighty, The Emperor, stands overwhelming an all-encompassing. On the verge of godhood. Hayden cannot possibly defeat him.

But he can delay, and he can hurt him. It will cost everything. A sacrifice given freely.

He lifts his Zanpakatou by the hilt, his blade is towards the ground beneath him. His face contorts into strain as his mouth opens, and a roar escapes. The last sound Hayden might ever make that Ichigo would bare witness to. That loud baritone which rarely ever raises his voice is now booming, screaming, from the bottom of his gut. As if to ensure that something of him remains in this world, that Ichigo Kurosaki witnesses everything that Hayden is. His blade strikes the ground as he takes a knee, it penetrates through the ground violently. The world shakes for a second as he releases one word:

"Bankai!"

Blackness erupts from around the wound in the Earth, it spreads like a sea outward in all directions. It moves to encircle both Hayden and Yhwach, pushing away anyone or anything which enter into the darkness with them. It isn't too dissimilar to a particular forbidden Kido once used but this feels different. It feels of finality and death.

Hayden rarely uses his Bankai. It is how one might say, situational. It is a Bankai that is straightforward in its design, and truly confers no true benefits. It traps two opponents in a box which has no exit and no entrance, impossible to leave and impossible to enter. Not an prison, an arena comprised of two soul's energy. Within it's boundaries the people made equals in spiritual might, any abilities which might exist negated. It forces a battle of endurance and physical prowess.

It makes mortals into gods, and gods into mortals. Until the energy of the two are exhausted by battle. Each strike draining that energy, each wound draining that energy. Ultimately, the goal is to see who can deal with the pain longer. Who has the better training. It removes the gimmicks which plague this world and turns it into a test of who is merely the best fighter.

Normally such an ability would be a godsend against the Almighty. But he has never tested it against something like Yhwach. At the very least, between the reserves of Hayden and Yhwach? They could be imprisoned for millennia, fighting an endless battle. Locked in a cage, screaming in madness. Who knows.

It is too late to turn back.

"I heard you dislike conflict. Painful battles. You'll hate this."

Hayden's voice is a mixture of amused grimness, and genuine contempt. He does not have his Zanpakatou. Instead he has only his fists, his callous palms. He takes a step towards Yhwach, and another, beginning to stride towards him. Every step towards him brings him closer to his ultimate foe. He is everything Hayden could never be. Their values diametrically opposed. Their beliefs cruel reflections. Despite the rage in Hayden's heart, it is rarely towards those who are his opponents. Soldiers made enemies by the beliefs of their nation, men who he has killed in the course of human events. But this particular human, holds his contempt.

He has seen first hand the deprivations of Yhwach, against his allies and even his enemies.

When Hayden reaches Yhwach, and his hands turn from open palms to closed fists. Perhaps Yhwach thinks his abilities might work here which is why he fails to react. The crack of Hayden's knuckles against his jaw rings out in the silent void, and with that a beat commences. Left, right, left, and right. Fists thrown in rapid succession, violence their only intention. Each hit stumbles the man backwards, shocked and appalled. Yhwach has forgotten what true pain is. He has been Almighty too long. He has forgotten mortal things.

And Hayden exists to remind him.

He grasps the man's head jerking it downwards, he raises his knee. Yhwach's nose is broken by the blow, his eyes roll backwards. Only for the rules of the Arena to fix the damage Hayden has caused at the expense of energy. Every motion and breath both of them breathe drains energy, the least Hayden can do is remind God how it feels to bleed.

A black box where he is finally allowed to cut loose. The difference between the two is stark. Hayden has trained to be a warrior, and Yhwach has forgotten what to be a warrior is.

Yhwach hates conflict.

Hayden is nothing but conflict.

Yhwach believes a quick death is mercy.

Unfortunately, Hayden believes in no such thing.

The clock is ticking, he only hopes those outside the box will be prepared when it drops. For Hayden has truly signed a death sentence.

[corpseaten]

Sorry I ended up falling asleep yesterday, I guess I was too tired to notice it. I wanted to wish you goodnight but at the end I just thought it was too much. I think I was too tired to even notice and well, today I also have to go out to take a plane.

Most of the time I rot in bed if I’m not drawing or journaling, I get that. I feel particularly feel awful at the fact that I’m not able to properly function without feeling sad or neutral at everything. I’m into a lot of hobbies just to fill something I don’t have, I like to keep my mind busy to not think too much about it. I really haven’t read much about the replies you give to others because it irritates me to some extent but I should do so, maybe, if I feel like doing that. I still feel quite bothered about what happened to you and personally I’d shower you with attention and care.

I’m the obsessive type, I’m unhealthy and when I start to like someone that person becomes my primary obsession and I can’t think straight. I want and need to know everything about you but I’m trying to keep it under control for now, I can’t ask you everything about yourself if you still don’t know about me. I wish that I was there with you to keep you company and watch you. Liking someone would imply that I’m dead badly about you but for now I simply like you in a normal way, at least this is what I think and I’m still not sure myself. For now I know that I want to keep talking with you. I hate being ignored, when I put effort I expect others to notice it or I can get freaky. I’d probably end up feeling awful all day and get upset, I’d rather end up mad and vent about it to you than play the part of the so hurt person. I like to put others in their place when necessary. It can be stressful to reply to asks all way in one go, so I wouldn’t fault you for that

-🥩

That’s okay, I was asleep as well, since we have similar timezones, You could have said goodnight if you wanted to, I wouldn’t have minded it, a plane? Where are you going? I have only ever been on one and it was. very scary.

I rot in bed all of the time, I have no hobbies or anything, all I want to do is love someone, as pathetic as that is, I can function without feeling sad, it’s just when I am lonely I can grow super depressed, when I meet someone I really like, I find myself forgetting any negative emotion I ever felt. I hope you’ll find something better than doing things you do not enjoy that much, I have grown into a state where I can sit with my mind, I know the thoughts are there but, I ignore them. Why does it irritate you, hm? It wasn’t in an ask reply though, it was just one of my many tagless random posts about myself. Ahhh which thing are we talking about? Three things like that have happened to me in the time I’ve had this account, I am a magnet for tragedy. I am also bothered by it . . I don’t know why people chose to mess with me when I am so clear on what I am looking for, then run with their tails between their knees. Ah, Really? It’s nice you think of me fondly.

I feel the same, but mix in a lot of desperation — and also worshipping,which worsens my obsessive feelings. I can never do anything when I love someone, only them, my life.. doesn’t exist. You do ? You said you dislike it but, unfortunately a lot of information about me is in replies to asks , I can answer any questions you do have right now though, Ah, right, I do not know you, I never find myself really knowing anybody though, it’s never enough. Aren’t you watching my account right now though, I am confused. I’ll keep replying, then, you’re intruiging. As do I, I always feel like I always put my everything in to someone and get rarely anything back, It is like I put all the effort in, it really breaks my heart sometimes. Freaky? How so? Whenever I hear that I just think of . . well. you know what the word has came to mean on social media. Ahhh I feel that way too, when I feel ignored I presume I have been abandoned, and i stop seeing the person in the way i did before, if you really did feel the way you said, you wouldn’t go that long without me, I would never do that. I wonder what you mean by that as well, how do you put others in their place? My apologies for so many questions, I am an entity of curiosity. I reply to my asks whenever I can, just sometimes I do get busy and overwhelmed . . . or too tired to type.

Thank you for your good morning message too, presuming that since you told me not to reply on it, replying here is okay? You did send it pretty soon upon my wake.

[swaggymunchausen]

I just wanna fucking cry. I know i have myopathic eds ive read every bit of information there is available which is very little since its insanely rare. Its caused me so much pain all my life and people looked at me like im a freak for having arms and legs that cant straighten, people tried to force me to be normal and told me im just making it all up and being dramatic. Ive torn my knees so many times and they never fully heal. Its so lonely. Theres only one person ive seen here with a diagnosis from genetic test. I cant even start a process of getting medical attention cuz my horrible abusive mom never took me to dr for anything so i have no faith id ever be taken seriously trying to start the diagnosing at 22 with no fucking family medical history cuz one side of my family is crazy freak mennonites and dont believe in medicine. What the fuck is there for people with rare disorders from wack freak abusive families that barely took them to get regular checkups let alone genetic tests and specialists. Im gonna die i live in an rv with no fucking running water having to haul it from a dirty ass stream with joints one bad move away from breaking forever it seems. Im so fucking cold anf it makes my joints hurt so fuclinh much. I had to flee my abusive family and was kicked out of my partners mothers house cuz she didnt believe im disabled and i was just trying to heal anf get better enough to live my life. Now im fuckibg stuck camping worried im gonna get arrested for my body producing waste and mess im too sick to clean up anymore. I dont want to ask for help because i just think of how much worse others have it. I just want a home. I just want a home please give me a home please.

[khruschevshoe]

On a third note when it comes to the problems with the writing in this season of ofmd...the handling of disability. Because good God.

To preface this before anyone jumps down my throat about getting upset: I am disabled myself, both physically and mentally. I carry a small laundry list of mild to moderate conditions that impair my daily functions. I understand what it is like to desire to see characters that carry disabilities similar and dissimilar to my own onscreen. I also understand that there ARE multiple disabled characters in OFMD (ex. Jackie with her wooden hand, Ed with his knee brace, Pete with his cleft palate, Lucius with his mentioned bad back/wooden finger). I UNDERSTAND that these were all generally handled decently well, incorporated without drawing attention to them (although the disappearance of Ed's knee brace was strange to me in season 2, even that I could get with bc personally I only need to use my cane when my knee flares bad and can walk perfectly normally the rest of the time without an aid).

Which is all to say: the way that Izzy's death was written is insidiously (likely unconsciously, but still) ableist. His entire arc this season revolves around community and recovering from trauma and accepting himself both in a queer sense and a DISTINCTLY DISABLED sense. The way he remarks upon his own disability and his acceptance of himself and the way that the show is written to have his crew member ACCOMODATE him joyfully as an EXPLICIT SYMBOL OF LOVE was a breath of fresh air when it comes to disabled characters. I also enjoyed the way that he pokes fun at it occasionally in the same way that I do with my coworkers/friends (joking "oh really, you're going to ask an invalid to do that?" *gestures at my cane*).

But that ending. God, that fucking ending. *vehemently taps table* The fact that this character who opens up, who is accepted for both sides of his identity after dragging himself through the fucking pits over them, is killed. BECAUSE HIS MOBILITY AID COULD BE SEEN BY THE ENEMY. BECAUSE HE WAS SEEN AS UNIQUELT VULNERABLE. And then they FUCKING PULL HIS MOBILITY AID, the very symbol of his acceptance, from his FUCKING BODY SO HE CANNOT BE BURIED WHOLE?

I'm sorry. I really am. I don't mean to get furious about this. But as a disabled person who saw such hope in this character, who saw a storyline about a part of myself that is rarely displayed onscreen (that slow acceptance of the part of yourself you considered broken + the acknowledgement of love by your family/community in the form of loving accommodation without complaint), this hurt me at a very primal level that I didn't know I could be hurt at.

I am SO GLAD that fanfic exists with better depictions of disabled arcs/endings bc I don't know if I could recover otherwise. Hope my fellow disabled folk out there are recovering as well, and that they understand that there is positivity to be made out of poison- it just wasn't what the finale gave us.

[frogsandfries]

My asthma

Has been triggered for days.

It's partially my allergies, since the two are linked. At first, I thought it was vaping THC for the first time in a long time--I used to keep my pen in a cup of actual pens and assorted art tools, but when I moved, it didn't get unpacked for, well, obviously a couple months.

I've been working on this disgusting candy bar my ex bought when they first legalized marijuana in NM. I think they only bought it because it had a higher dosage, but it's gross. First, it's dank. Obviously. Then, some freak put flecks of dried cherry in it, so it's just freaking weird.

I've been using THC to feel neurotypical, which is to say, hungry, thirsty and tired. Being alone has really fucked with my ability to sleep "normally" for work. I kind of miss being fully exhausted, tired enough to sleep by eleven, which is an appropriate time to sleep for the time that I'm waking up for work. Although, I'm thinking my ex was exhausting to me because they always had me on alert. When it's just me, I don't need to be alert for spontaneous combustion because I'm not really the yell-y or rage-y type.

I'm more of the groaning and flailing type.

I have no idea what is triggering my asthma/allergies. The AQI is shit, for me. If it's anything less than near perfect, like it is right now, it's bad for me.

I didn't vape last night and I still woke up with my asthma--ooh, this morning hurt.

Anyway, I have to cut my Canva document back down to a multiple of sixteen, since I can't just add four pages on to the end. Which kinda sucks, since I already formatted those pages, but ehhhhhh, it can't be helped until/unless I find a better document maker?

Surely, there has to be a program that compiles the extensive ability to format, like canva, with all the frills and bells and whistles, with the simplicity of something like Word, where you just dump the text in and set the parameters et voilá! ..........riiiigggghhhhtttt?

I want cake. I should probably go get some actual people food. I don't necessarily have cake and I really don't have money to buy a boxed mix or a made slice from...... somebody, a grocery store or a restaurant.

Nobody asked, but speaking of my French, I've been proofing a lot of the French the writer tried to put into the story, like they don't seem to have grasped masculine vs feminine, so I'm correcting for that, which I'm happy to do.

Also in this second half, they're making very ESL mistakes, which, no judgement on the language part, I just don't understand what happened to the quality of their use of language. It's fine. That's why I'm giving it a light proof before I print it. I'm just over-eager to get some of this story printed. It'll be cool to get a little payoff for all this hard work.

I really--I got distracted by the other neighbors' dogs losing their minds over something.

My WIP pile: BM/BS, the Auction, v1 and v2, Manacled, v1, v2, v3, and a couple (accidental duplicates) of Apple Pies. (So I only have, actually, nine books to punch and sew and/or glue and cover. It's going to be eleven or twelve with this typesetting project.)

I haven't printed: Bring Him to His Knees, or Blood Magic.

I'm not sure about printing: Presque Toujours Pur, and Remain Nameless.

Those are the typesets that I've found and been interested in.

They're gonna find my stupid hand-bound library, and be like, she was obsessed.

I've been trying to hunt down some Draco/Ginny, but goddamn, talk about a rare-pair. I'm always looking for fractured fairy tales, because 🤤 that's really my literary niche.

WHERE IS MY PUNCH CRADLE!?!

Fuck yeah: I can easily flip my objects onto the opposite side of the page with same positioning.

Fuck no: I have to do it almost three hundred times.

[plantedandgrowing]

Day 3 of Attempting My Daily Routine:

· Waking up at 7:45am - didn't get to sleep till about 2am, and it wasn't great sleep.

· Brushed teeth, rinsed face.

· 8:13am - just finished yoga for sore muscles. Moisturized since I seem incapable of doing it at nighttime.

· Straightened up the kitchen (threw trash away from roommates, put dishes in the sink), and we had breakfast. Lyla had pureed pears and baby oatmeal. I had a toasted sandwich w/ chicken, ham, and cheese; we're out of eggs.

· 9:12am - Lyla was acting very sleepy so now I'm nursing her.

· She wokeup at about 10am. We fed and watered the chickens. I cleaned out my roommates' 4-year-old's toybox (it was full of trash, some dirty dishes, and literal dirt and bark from trees because her parents used to use that tote for their fireplace wood and it suddenly became her toybox when she started throwing her toys in it - it was a whole mess).

· 11:30am - Nursing Lyla again (she napped till nearly 1pm)

· 1:02pm - I made a checklist thing for the household so we'll all know if the chickens have been fed by someone.

And went back into the kitchen to find more trash on the counters, more dirty dishes strewn around although I picked everything up this morning. I cleared the counters again while holding Lyla - she's being extra clingy today. It's always a bit of a struggle to get things done, but today it's gonna be even more of a battle.

· 2:17pm - Washed all the dishes.

· 2:30pm - Instead of doing day 2 of my 30 day exercise challenge, I've been exercising while playing with Lyla. She likes to jump so I lift her up and down. I put her on my shins/knees and lifted my legs up and down, then did sort-of crunches. She smiles and giggles, it's adorable and great motivation.

· 5:30pm - I've continued watching The Queen's Gambit. Went on a ride to town with my roommate. Ate some Cajun pasta - too much of it, actually. And now I'm nursing my daughter while she naps on me.

I'm feeling very low-energy today.

· 10:38pm - I just got Lyla to sleep. It has been a rough night. To explain what has happened since 5pm, I played with Lyla, tried to do schoolwork during one of her naps but she immediately wokeup upset, I soothed her and we went downstairs. I talked to my roommates. We ate some biscuits and gravy - Lyla had a few tiny bites, too. Blew bubbles so Lyla could see them for the first time, she was mesmerized. I managed to do a little schoolwork while Lyla crawled around and played with toys, but it was short-lived. We eventually went upstairs because she seemed tired, I planned on doing schoolwork while nursing her, but she proceeded to put up a huge fight. I was becoming extremely irritated and worn out but I decided to try reading to her. I read Gertie and Gus (another book I got from that public library sale when I was pregnant - it's the first book I started reading to her when she was a newborn, about 3-5 weeks old; I've read it a lot), and then I read Coraline. She fell asleep while I was reading, with her paci... Which is extremely rare! She's sleeping on me right now, I'm not ready to move her and risk another baby meltdown.

· 11:05pm - I managed to brush my teeth and floss.

I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. My muscles hurt, it's a literal pain to go up and down the stairs. I'm not sure if Lyla has been more difficult than usual today or if I'm just not in a great mood, or both. I think it's both. Normally I can easily handle her moods but tonight everything really got to me and I cried out of frustration. I then decided to try reading to her... Luckily she allowed it, despite a little protest at first.

Not sure if I'll be following the routine on weekends, might need a little break from all the constant cleaning and everything, it wears on me and sometimes makes me feel negative because no one else picks up after themselves, it's never-ending.

I may at least sleep in a bit. If I don't clean at all, there will just be an exessive mess for me on Monday... But I might mostly use my "free-time" this weekend to play with my baby, do schoolwork, and relax.

[cashthecomposer]

IT IS SO NICE WHEN A DOCTOR DOESN'T GASLIGHT YOU.

I have been struggling with my knees for a while now. It has finally gotten to the point where I went to a freaking orthopedic surgeon to get it addressed.

The first one, when I went into the office, everyone there was significantly obese, and complaining of joint pain due to the pressure from their increased weight. I was an outlier, being a physically fit person who was complaining of pain when doing a very specific set of exercises and stretches. So of course it was months before they could see me, and my waiting room time surpassed an hour, even though I was the only person in there who didn't know the root cause of my issues.

When I saw him, of course, he told me that the pain in my knee was 'patellar-femoral' pain, which means 'pain between the patella and femur', which means... knee pain. Like, yeah, dude, I knew THAT it hurts already, fucking tell me WHY it hurts. He couldn't, so he referred me to a sports medicine doctor.

The sports guy couldn't tell me either, but instead of telling me that 'oh no matter what is causing it we'll have to do the same treatment', or 'it's normal for a woman your age to have knee pain' or 'it's really in your head, you're perfectly healthy' or 'it's fibromyalgia, which just means I can't be bothered to actually figure out what it is so I'm giving it a catchall diagnosis that is essentially Pink Munchausen's', as so many doctors had before, he actually sent me in for an MRI.

And WHADDAYA KNOW, they figured out what the problem is. There's a specific thing incorrect about their alignment that, while not curable, is treatable in a variety of ways. And the physical therapy will now actually be helpful, now that we actually know what the fucking problem is.

Why is this such a rarity from our doctors, to not be gaslit? Why is it such a rare relief to have a doctor say 'Yes, there is a problem, here's what it is, here's how to treat it.'? One would think that that would be the bare fucking minimum but it legitimately took ALMOST 30 YEARS for me to find, for this particular issue.

For FUCK'S SAKE. To all the healthcare workers out there, get your shit together.

[openphrase123]

tagblasting @homopopsie because i like talking about ballet and i will continue to do it if i am given even a shred of a chance

so en pointe (what everyone in those clips are doing) is like. Fine. if your shoes fit and your technique is good and you're trained enough it's like normal exercise. keep ur toenails clipped. obviously after a performance of 2-4 hours your feet will hurt but professional dancers have built muscle structures to make it easier on them

there's basically a wooden box in the very tip of the shoe stuffed with wool or cotton! and moleskin is on the very bottom of the shoe so that they are not slipping on silk all around the stage.

i do not dance anymore (bad knee) but when i was an active dancer the pointe shoes were not the worst part of ballet. the worst part was working on your flexibility which Sucks Ass

anyway i think everyone in the principal cast is en point in my isat ballet dreams EXCEPT for bonnie and maybe isabeau. very rarely do men in ballet have pointe shoes for serious roles. as stated before odile pretends that she can't dance en pointe and then starts busting out shit like this

also. if i was going to choreograph isat as a ballet (and Trust Me i have in my head a little bit) i'd have siffrin do the friendquests as a pas de deux twice and it's the exact same dance both times on mirabelle/isabeau/bonnie/odile's end but the second time siffrin is not as involved and only steps in when the other needs to do a jump or needs to be spotted

and yes. the siffrin/loop act 6 pas de deux is just as technical and insane as the mayerling bedroom scene

[junkie-virus]

leg pain :(