#no fucking wonder I’m on anxiety meds. No fucking wonder they help a little but only scratch the surface

[baycitystygian]

I know I generally embrace being autistic but today the hardest parts of it were really in the foreground for the entire fucking exhausting day… having auditory issues on a VERY important phone call that I needed to make and fighting for my life to understand what the poor sweet insurance lady was saying because the audio was so distorted… having a way-too-long discussion with my sister where I (1) promised to “castrate [her baby daddy] like a hog” for ghosting her and genuinely meant it (thinking about stuffing his nards as a wall trophy tbh, if he doesn’t wanna be a dad so badly then surely it’s no loss to him!) and (2) argued with her about laws that are stupid and shouldn’t apply to her situation (that’s a long story)… which probably did not make her feel any bit better and honestly I think both of us are much more stressed out afterwards. like some situations get me so outrageously mad that I literally cannot handle it and I need to remove myself from the conversation because the other person isn’t budging because it’s something they have zero influence over and they are just trying to explain the damn thing but it’s Wrong in my eyes so I feel the need to argue my case and how the fuck does anyone put up with me

like I know I don’t go into much detail about personal issues on here (or much of anything re: IRL me) but uh. that’s a huge thing I struggle with and I have no clue how to change it. It’s like, does no one else have common sense? Why can’t anyone else see this? and it feels like screaming into the void and it makes me feel terrible and it only stresses out the other person who is Not Getting Paid Enough (well, at ALL) to deal with Whatever This Is

[discocannon8002]

I thought of this and kind of wish it was reality for me (the good parts. The bad parts already exist somewhat for me.) so here you go have a very small little… story? Idk what it is. But it is angst with a good ending so be warned. None of these names are our real names.

Tw: sh, self loathing, medication, slight swearing, depression, suicidal mentioning, blood

“I’m pathetic.” the shaky voice that left my lips only seemed to prove my point.

In the bathroom and sitting on the floor. I can’t even sleep without meds, without talking to many of my meds. I never take more in a day than the Max on the bottle, so it’s not really overdosing, right? It doesn’t count, it shouldn’t, it can’t.

I look at the bruise in the strange place on my hand where I had striked myself multiple times. Probably more than one hundred times now.

“Fuck.” I mutter under my breath. As far as people know, I don’t swear. I shouldn’t swear; I can’t swear.

As far as people know I’m innocent. but in reality I’m far from it. This was never supposed to go this far, never supposed to leave marks. I thought I could stop on my own. I thought it didn’t count as self harm because it never caused marks or anything more than a slight headache. Never any blood or injuries, just pain.

Pain because I needed it. Pain because I deserved it. Pain because I needed to hit something, needed to get my anger out, and I didn’t want to hurt anything else so I hurt myself. That was all it started as, all this was supposed to be. It was supposed to go away with my depression, my depression was supposed to go away!

I’ve been taking my medicines!! I’ve been doing what I’m supposed to do, so why is it getting worse again? We got rid of the medicine that stopped working after seven years of making my life better, we got rid of the medicine that made me feel this way. I have the new medicine that helps with my newfound mood disorder. We got rid of my period because it always made me suicidal—always made it worse. We did it! We did all of it! Why can’t it just be better?!

why can’t I just be better, why can’t I do things right, why can’t I do history?! I do math so well, why do I have to be so bad at history? Whys can’t I be independent? Why do I always have to get others to help me instead of helping themselves?! Is this why Lily is so distant??

I tear up as my fists collide with my skull again. I should be better. I need to be better. Why am I not better? In the chaos, I knock the scissors off the counter, I grab them. I stare at them for a bit, and I wonder… what would it feel like? To make marks, to draw blood? What would it feel like, would I feel better, would the pain go away? I’ve already taken every anxiety medication prescribed to me tonight. I can’t do any more with medication. Just one little cut. I bring the blade towards my wrist.

“Bee?” A voice startles me out of it, I quickly bring the scissors behind my back as my head snaps up to the person who spoke, and my breath hitches. Lily.

No. No no no no no no no, she can’t know—this isn’t her responsibility, I’m supposed to take care of her! She’s my younger sister, I have to—to—I have to—

“Bee, come on, let me have the scissors, okay?” Her voice seems gentle, but it seems like a trick because her eyes are narrowed, is she upset? Did I make her angry again?

I hiss in pain, squeezing my eyes shut. I hadn’t realized how tight I was gripping the scissors. My shaky hands appear in front of me, I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. Blood.

My tight grip had caused the blades of the scissors to press into my skin. Two lines of blood could be made out through the red liquid streaming down my hand. But I do deserve it. I let Lily find me like this. I deserve it.

I feel the scissors being gently pried from my grip, but I don’t dare look up at her. I don’t want to know what she’s thinking, or feeling. I don’t want to see that look of anger or disappointment or annoyance. I’ve already seen it too many times on her face.

I hear a soft clatter, she’s probably put the scissors down. My gaze is still turned towards the ground, I see a sort of face being formed in the growing pool of thick red liquid in front of me.

“Bee? Can you look at me, please?” Her voice was unsteady, and right in front of me. What? But she was standing up, wasn’t she?

I hesitantly look up and am surprised to see her face just about in front of me, but still about a foot away. She’d crouched down in the time I was looking down. Her eyebrows were furrowed, but her eyes didn’t look angry. She looked almost worried.

“Bee…” she sighs, before bringing me in for a hug.

For a moment I’m frozen in shock. She never hugs me. But then I hug her back with the clean hand. And for a moment we stay that way, just two sisters, hugging. It should be the most normal thing in the world, but for somebody who doesn’t hug much… this hug meant she really cares. I sniffle through tears I didn’t know existed.

“let’s go upstairs, yeah? let’s… let’s get you cleaned up.” She whispers, sounding like she’s also crying, which is confirmed as she pulls away to help me up.

She did care. And I was not alone.

[jj-maybanks-daughter]

surgery.

“oh shit, shit, shit” y/n screeched as her hands slipped from the bark of the tree. “oh fuck” she yelled as she landed hard on the ground. 

“did you guys hear that?” kiara asked. 

“i thinks y/n/ns out there doing more dumb shit. let’s go check it out” john b replied. 

jj led the group outside to see y/n on the ground holding her leg in pain. 

“dad!” she shouted

“what the hell happened y/n/n?” he said rushing over to her, the rest following. 

“uh- i- umm… fell out of the tree?” she said in a questioned tone. jj put his head in his hands. she’s always climbing in the trees but has never fallen out. 

“holy shit look at her knee!” sarah said rushing over.

“dude that’s broken.” pope said getting closer. 

“no nah it’s not.” y/n tried to get up but jj wouldn’t let her. “dad, let me up.” 

“we’re gonna take you to the hospital. where’s your phone?” jj informed her, rubbing her back.

she sighed. “in my room on the bed.” she added an eye roll. 

sarah ran inside to go get it. 

“be honest, does it hurt?” jj knew his daughter didn’t like to tell people when she’s hurt. she looked away to the ground. “y/n, answer me.” jj demanded.

“a little” she shrugged.

“stay here, i’ll be right back.” 

“where are you going?”

“i’m just gonna grab ice to numb it a bit and pain meds so we can get you to the car. i don’t know why your putting on a tough act, that has to hurt like a bitch” 

pope, john b, and kie went to watch the footage the cameras had picked up as jj followed to get ice and pain meds. 

“oh fuck, that had to hurt,” john b commented as the other two winced. 

y/n heard the door open to see sarah with her phone. “thanks sar” y/n smiled as she took her phone from her, still on the ground. 

“jeez y/n/n, it’s just getting worse.” 

“i’m trying not to look at it but thanks” she said sarcastically. 

jj came rushing out with ice, pills, and water. he made her take the pills and lightly put the ice e on her knee, causing her to wince in pain.

“sorry, kid. i know it hurts. it’ll feel better soon and once we can move you, we’ll take you to the hospital.” 

“i don’t need to go to the hospital, it’s alright.” she faked a smile as her leg started shaking. 

“ew, why’s it doing that” sarah commented.

y/ns eyes grew wide, knowing she didn’t know why. “uh- what the fuck” she frowned.

“y/n” jj rolled his eyes at the language but couldn’t help but be more worried. “we’re just gonna take you now. sarah can you get the others?” 

“on it” she ran inside. 

the rest came rushing out to y/ns leg shaking and her starting to panic, and jj trying not to freak out to comfort her. 

“jb, can you take her to the twinkie? i’m starting it now.” 

“uh yea, i got it.” he scooped y/n up and she wrapped her arms around his neck. he brought her to the cool twinkie and layed her on the seat. they put a pillow under it and the rest hopped in a jj drove to the hospital.

they got to the hospital at the best time of day, no one was there, meaning they got taken back in a matter of minutes. 

“are you all coming back?” the nurse asked looking at the pogues. “it s fine with me, i was just wondering.” 

kie shrugged her shoulders and came with jj, the rest following behind. 

“why’s her leg shaking?” jj asked as they took her into a room. 

“it’s probably anxiety. she can’t control it, but it’s best to calm down. we don’t want it to move it around more. what i can tell you from looking at it is that definitely something is broken. we just need to figure out what so we can help.”

john b looked at y/n. “ you hear that? you need to relax, kid.” she nodded her head but nothing was helping. 

“so we can’t do an x-ray until it stops moving. i’m gonna give her some anti anxiety medicine, and numbing medicine .” the doctor explained as she prepared numbing shots and an anxiety pill.

“ok.” jj answered, holding y/ns hand.

“take this first.” the doctor handed her the pill and a glass of water. she took them but it wouldn’t help for another twenty minutes.

“i know that it hurts so this will help, it should start to work in around five minutes. three, two, one” she injected the long needle into her knee. “now we wait. i’ll check on you in a few minutes and get the x-rays ready.” she left the room

“what were u even doing in a tree, y/n?” pope asked shaking his head. 

“dunno” she said. she felt a little loopy from the medicine but not too bad, not like she was gonna experience later.

“whatever, i just hope your ok.” jj said brushing her hair out of her face as she gave a half smile.

around ten minutes later, she was ready for z rays. the nurse wheeled her into the x ray room and jj lifted her onto the table. the pogues waited in the room for them to be done. 

they shot a bunch of x rays, which all clearly showed that she both dislocated and fractured a bone in her knee. 

the doctor looked at it with her colleagues. “that has to hurt. i’m surprised she’s not bawling. it’s rare that we see both.”

“she’s gonna need surgery today.” another doctor added squinting at the picture on the computer. 

“when can we do it?” one of them asked. 

“we have an opening at two, they can do it then.”  y/ns main doctor checked her watch. 

“that in 3 hours… can we make it in time?” the doctor asked. “we can do that, right?” 

“definitely. she has to be in pain, we need to fix it as soon as possible.” a prepping nurse answered. 

“alright, i’ll go tell the family.” 

around thirty minutes after they finished the x ray and got her back into the room, the doctor came in.

“what is it?” jj asked eagerly.

“so it looks like she dislocated it, and when she landed back on it, it wanted to pop back in, but the hit was too powerful so it fractured. so right now, she’s sitting with a dislocated and fractured knee. i don’t know how she hasn’t cried.” the doctor explained to the former pogues.

“jesus, y/n. how do you even manage to do this shit.” john b shook his head.

“i’m a pro” she smiled. 

“so how do we fix it?” kiara asked the doctor. 

“she’s going to need surgery. i’ve already talked to my team about it, they have an opening a lot 2, which would be the best time to do it.” the doctor informed. “does that work?” 

jj and the rest of the pogues looked to y/n for an answer. “i guess,” she shrugged.

“alright. they are going to prep the room and im going to have to take off your nail polish, have you hop in the shower for a minute, take off your makeup, and take out any piercings you have.” y/n nodded. “when was the last time you ate?” 

“uhhhh… last night?”  y/n hated breakfast, although sometimes jj made her eat. she was already outside so he wasn’t going to pry. 

“ok”

it was time for her to go back. “love ya kid, see you soon.” jj kissed the top of her head as they wheeled her to the pre op room. 

“love you to,” she smiled

the rest of the group said goodbye and see you soon.

“how does this kid get into this shit,” jj said in the waiting room, placing his head in his hands. 

“she’s your daughter” sarah laughed.

“are you the family of y/n maybank?” a nurse came out to ask. they all focused their attention on her as she spoke. “the surgery went well, you can see her now. she’s loopy and silly, just keep that in mind.”

“show time!” kie laughed as they followed the nurse into the room. 

they walked into y/n talking to a doctor. “you know what’s crazy? i don’t even fucking feel my leg! that’s so funny” 

“oh god” jj said in embarrassment.

“that’s such a funny fucking word! fuck, fuck, fuck. my dad says that a lot did you know that?” she added.

“shhh, y/n you can’t say that in a hospital.” sarah said to her

“sarah!?! is that you!?! you came to see me?” she laughed.

jb and pope tried not to laugh. 

“i m high” she laughed “this is what it feels like” her eyes went wide when she saw her dad. 

“oh hi dad… i was just kidding isn’t that crazy! look my arm is high is what i mean!” she lifted her arm in the sky and flung it around. “what are you even doing here man?”

“i’m your dad, y/n”

“i aready have two of those! tristen’s daddy and your” she put her finger on his nose, “dad”

john b and pope couldn’t hold back anymore, they bursted out laughing. 

“hey! are u laughing at me sir” she spoke in an elglish accent, “the queen will here about this,” 

“hey where is tristen?” she said loopy in her normal accent. 

“he couldn’t come, y/n/n” sarah informend 

“what! imma fight him! imma get him with my cast like what!” she made fighting noises as her eyes got heavier

“can you drink some water, y/n/n” jj asked holding a cup with a straw to her lips.

“get that thing away from meeeeeee i don’t want know waterrrrrrrr” she laugh cried

“i told them i smoke weed” she pointed at the nurse.

“she didn’t” the nurse laughed 

“why’s i so drrrrunk! i mean i don’t that feels like” she said shifting her eyes side to side “but, if i did, this is what it would be” all the pogues knew she was lying.

“i want to go home, i’ve been her for ten fucking hours!” she said turning herself to the other side

“y/n stop cursing” jj rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but giggle, “please drink the water” 

“i can’t! i forgot how to drink water like yesterday” she said twisting her mouth away.

pope was holding his phone recording the whole this. 

“hey!” she said when she noticed him “if you wanted pictures you could’ve just asked” 

she started reaching for her knee, touching the stitches.

“hey get your hands out of there, babe” jj grabbed her hand. she didn’t say anything but looked him dead and the eyes and used her other hand to touch it. he sighed and grabbed her other hand. 

“it hurts dude! i wanna touch it!” she said whining.

“it’s gonna get infected, just ignore it.” 

“you look like a purple cool ranch Dorito when you talk like that” she said as her eyes shut slowly.

jj looked away and started cracking up. she calmed down and fell asleep. 

“you can take her home once it fully wears off. make sure you keep it covered and ice and lift it and all that stuff. she should be taking these pain meds, she’s gonna be in a lot of pain.” 

jb took the pills and they waited for y/n to wake up. 

“so what was your guys favorite part of that whole thing” pope laughed.

“definitely the daddy part” john b teased, causing jj to stifle his laugh. 

“she’s gonna be so embarrassed when we go back and watch the video” kie laughed.

“mine was when she was touching it, she looked him dead in the eyes” 

“ha, same,” Sarah laughed

“dude the drunk one was too good” john b laughed, “and the high” 

“i think being called a purple cool ranch dorito was the best part of me day.” jj laughed 

“no, no, no, what about i forgot how to drink yesterday” pope claimed.

after the got home, they watched the video with y/n. after the daddy part, all of the pogues stared at y/n as she hid her face, “uhhh what does that mean” she tried to lie. 

the same thing happened after the high and drunk parts.

she bursted out laughing when she looked at jj and touched her scar.

after a few months she was fully healed, however, she was not aloud to climb in trees.

[hotpotatoshealthjourney]

A brief introduction to what multiple sclerosis (the main thing I have) is, from someone I follow on fb. She is very good at explaining things and very real about her struggles.

It’s been a rough week. Hopefully this coming week will be better. I had to cancel home health pt on Thursday (but managed to force myself to do it on Friday instead, but it was a major struggle). My body was just beat all week. Took at least one nap every day, most days at least 2 naps. So exhausted, so sore, so mentally worn out as well.

My doc put me back on 2 of my old anxiety meds that have worked for me in the past, so hopefully those work for me in the next few weeks. I could use the help. My depression is still at bay thankfully, but my anxiety is trying hard to beat me. I won’t let it. I’m stronger now than ever before and I *will* get through this.

Sir’s first week back at week is probably a big part of why the week was so rough. It made the anxiety get so much worse I’m sure, and definitely when my mind is struggling my body struggles more too. Tomorrow is a brand new week and I’m not going to bring last week’s problems with me into the new week.

Monday I am going to make at *least* 3 of the important phone calls I need to make (hopefully more, but it depends on how the first 3 go really). Depending on how those go, I might have some really good news financially that’ll cheer me up a lot. At worst, it won’t be any worse than I thought as of beginning of this past week. At best, it will save us thousands of dollars and get some nicer stuff that we wouldn’t have been able to afford for years and years. Fingers crossed!! I’ll update about it all after I make the calls.

Pt this week was primarily focused on balance. Stuff that to anyone with a normal-ish body seems crazy easy but for me was crazy difficult. “Ok so let go of the handles to your walkers, put your feet closer than shoulder width apart, no, closer than that too, good. Now stand there a bit looking forward. Good job! Now close your eyes and do it some more!” Omg so difficult. I really thought I was going to topple over several times. There was standing on one leg for like 2 seconds each over and over - I think she let me hold on gently for those. That was so hard, cuz my weak leg didn’t want to hold me up, but the other way my weak leg also didn’t want to lift up, so it was lose lose, hehe. Then the last balance thing was really more of a stretch and was the only part I enjoyed. Little slanted triangle thing she sat on the floor in front of me. I stand on it and it stretches my calves. Feels soooo nice.

We then did 3 different arm exercises with the weight rubber band thingies, then she left and I took a nap…I was out cold like 10 minutes after she closed the door behind herself, lol. Exhausting! And Sir keeps wondering why I don’t have the energy for sex lately. He’s been horny constantly lately, and keeps coming on to me, and most of the time I’ve either been just letting him fuck me cuz I’m too tired to resist, or telling him no cuz I’m just too tired to handle it at all. I feel bad for him, poor guy, and it’s not like I haven’t been horny, I’m just so fucking exhausted. I got my dose of Ritalin upped this week so hopefully that and the anxiety meds will eventually help. Hopefully. 🤞 I remain hopeful, which continues to amaze me given all that I’m going through. I’m truly proud of myself, honestly.

[noemilivv]

Why hello there! I noticed Hazbin matchups were a thing on your page and I’m interested in my matchup (as for all asks, no pressure :) )

I’m not one for sharing my legal name on social media platforms, so you can call me Del. I’d probably call myself that in Hell, too.

Here’s my description of me:

I am 5’9, I have shoulder-length brown hair, and I wear glasses (nearsighted). I try to be clean-shaven on my face.

I’m agender (they/them) and pansexual.

I am very much a people person; I try to be on good standing with everyone I meet, and I love social interaction. I get anxious about a lot of things, and I’ve recently begun taking anxiety meds. I also tend to bottle up when I’m sad, and have trouble sharing my feelings. People describe me as energetic, fun, and humorous. (My MBTI result is ENFP)

I’ve had a rough history of being a picky eater, and it led me to a lot of angst with my diet and weight. I’m slowly expanding my palette, and trying to get more exercise. My journey to health is a rough one, but I’m advancing.

I don’t pay attention to what clothes I put on in the morning, I kind of just throw on what fits. I own a lot of shirts with graphics and text, be it a humorous message or a logo.

My love language is quality time; I love being able to spend time with my partner. I do not like being alone for long periods of time.

I have a couple of hobbies; first and foremost, I play the bassoon. I’m pretty good at it, and enjoy concerti. I’ve been playing for almost five years.

My biggest hobby is by far theater. I’m such a thespian. I LOVE acting and performing, and I routinely participate in plays and musical theatre. I’m a good singer, and have landed multiple roles with a large focus on singing. I’m still expanding my anthology of “shows I’ve watched”, and I would probably try to get my partner to go with me to some of them.

I love plushies. I keep many by my bedside, and they’re a huge help for sleep. My favorite is a plush otter who I’ve had basically my entire life. He is adorable.

Thanks for reading this, I hope you have a wonderful day! :)

-Del

ooooh this was a tough pick, in the end, i went with…

Sir Pentious !!

Pentious is very clingy, so the fact that you spend time with him a lot means the world to him haha, no matter where you are or what your doing he’s loving it cause your there

He is SO READY to go see a shit ton of musicals with you, if your ever planning musical theater songs he claps along like a little kid it’s so fucking cute like what-

Since he’s a fucking snake, he doesn’t fully understand the whole thing with your eating problems, but he genuinely feels so sorry that someone as amazing as you is going through that and he genuinely does try his very best to support you

[kores-pomegranate]

I’ve been thinking for a while that I’d like to write down what it feels like when I’m at my worst. I think the human brain, for all of its wonder, does a shit job of hanging onto things, especially things that are painful. I’ve found that I can never quite recall what my body feels like or what thoughts race through my head when I feel very low.

I’m not at my lowest at the moment, but it was recent enough that I can remember pretty well. Last week, my doctor and I came to the agreement that I probably have cyclothymia. Even as a mental health professional, I didn’t know much about it outside of people calling it “Bipolar Lite ™️.” My doctor asked me if I’d ever had consistent relief from my anxiety. The answer to that is “fuck no.” If I feel consistently neutral, that’s about as good as it gets. I never feel consistently *good.* There are moments, here and there. Flashes, sometimes even a week or two at a time where I feel pretty good.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had COVID or chronic bronchitis, but if you have you probably know what it feels like not to be able to take a truly deep breath without sputtering or getting light-headed. That’s how those “pretty good” stretches feel for me. I can’t breathe all the way, I can’t settle. Always, always, a l w a y s there is background static flavored with fear. Justified fear, even. A body tensed waiting for the gun to go off to begin the sprint; all potential energy waiting for my next meltdown or crisis. And the fear is justified because one of the only certainties I can rely on when it comes to my brain is that it will freak the fuck out at some point. It doesn’t matter if everything is fine, it doesn’t matter if I’ve been doing well or taking my medications and going to therapy. I can always count on a meltdown that burns through that potential energy so fast that it brings my functioning to a screeching halt.

Anyway, back to my doctor. I told him, with less flowery language, that I’ve felt that way my whole life with little relief. To my surprise, he looked…relieved? Excited? He told me that he’d been wondering about cyclothymia for me ever since I told him I wasn't sure if one (of my four) anxiety meds was working.

Because, the thing is, it should have been working.

If what I have been experiencing was traditional anxiety, the cocktail of medications I was on should have knocked it out. And I definitely should not have had breakthrough panic attacks, self harm relapses, or roller coasters of SI.

My doc took my pulse which was sitting at around 150. He looked alarmed and took it three more times. He confirmed that I'd taken all of my meds. And then, he looked determined. He told me he thought I'd benefit from a mood stabilizer that was specifically developed for cyclothymia, to help treat hypomania.

Oh, hypomania. The "less severe" form of manic episodes. It's true, in some regards, I suppose. I don't experience week-long hells where I feel euphoric and invincible and out of control. I don't spend thousands of dollars I don't have on things I don't need. I don't make reckless or dangerous decisions with sex or drugs or food and I don't get psychosis. I'm thankful I don't have to endure those things.

But I don't get the supposed "good stuff" that is supposed to accompany hypomania. I don't get a sudden burst of energy and productivity that compels me to delightedly clean my house or do meal prep. I don't have days where I wake up in a sudden and miraculous good mood that lasts for a few days.

No, I don't get any of that. I get days and moments where my body feels like it is ripped from my control with absolutely no warning. I get, in a matter of seconds, a heart rate that jumps from 65 to 180. A rush of adrenaline that makes my body shake. The sudden and crushing belief that *nothing is okay and I will never be okay." The near incontrollable urge to just r u n a w a y. The urge to self harm. Sometimes actual self harm because feeling anything else would be better than this. Sometimes the urge to just…be gone. Because if this is my life I don't want it anymore.

That is what hypomania is like for me. Feeling as though someone broke into my car and is driving it wherever they want, even though I'm in the backseat losing my shit and fighting to regain control. It's not a fight I ever win. Instead, it's as though the thief gets bored and ditches me and my car in whatever state they put us in.

"See you soon," it always says.

Fear has been the soundtrack of my life for as long as I can remember. Today marks one week of taking mood stabilizers and 0 days since my last hypomanic episode.

I'm happy to still be here. It's nice to feel hopeful, even if I'm really fucking suspicious about it.

And to that car thief I say, "fuck you."

[moon-ursidae]

SESSION #4… & #5 (this one is SUPER LONG i’m sorry haha)

as always, SPOILERS for BOTH of the last of us games are below!

i feel like i have barely made a fuckin dent in this game haha so my goal today is to really get some ground. i want to finish this before i go back to school next week.

total play time:

session 4: about 5 hours

session 5: around 7 hours

i left off in a really weird spot last time bc i ended pretty abruptly so idk where it’ll put me

but this section is called Capitol Hill

it started me back a few minutes but that’s alright!

goddamnit i knew it was too quiet. there was too much short grass around here i knew some wlfs were gonna fuckin show up

NOOOOO the halloween stuff is probably reminding ellie of riley :(

i think that’s the same frankenstein statue/figure from the mall as well?

damn.

i have a feeling this place is gonna be CRAWLING with wlfs. i literally hear them already

FUCK as soon as i used the workbench

wlfs AND infected??? jfc

i at least found a card tho

THERE’S A WHOLE STEALTH UPGRADE BRANCH????

my rogue heart is so happy

I WAS WONDERING WHEN I COULD MAKE SILENCERS FUUUUUCK YEA

there’s a bunch of pride stuff around! fuck yea!

LMAO DINA “what’s with all the rainbows?”

FUCK YEA BOOKSTORE

SORORITY SECRETS💀 “it’s us right?” LMAOOOOO

that’s so fucking funny

there’s a trans flag in here too!! FUCK YEA

lmao dina getting distracted by the gay smut

OH MY GOD THE WLF ARE FUCKING EVERYWHERE

i fucking love silencers holy shit fuck yea

this area is HUGE holy shit

anutha card babyyyyyy

what if i don’t want to go to the tv station huh? what then?

dude i gotta try ellie’s half up half down hair style. i love it so much

it’s also crazy how this is still DAY ONE for them

ellie saying how she couldn’t do this without dina and dina telling ellie she wouldn’t have let her😭😭😭😭😭😭

oh shit explosive trap

anutha card babyyyyyy

“i like you.” “i want it in writing.” I LOVE ELLIE AND DINA

oh my god ellie’s talking about bill

i wonder what the fucker’s up to rn

ellieeeeeeeeeeeee don’t say that shit

“you have a bigger burden that puts you in a worse position” ELLIE NOOOO

“feel her love?” are we entering scar territory? oh fuck

TOMMY’S HORSE OH SHIT

oh no dina

ellie, dina’s pregs dude. be patient with herrrrrrrr

she sounded annoyed with her when she asked if she was good to keep going. and it doesn’t help that ellie just said that shit about other people being a burden. ELLLIIIEEEEEE

had to break for like 20 min due to some internet issues

well what was 20 min turned into like more than 7 hours HAHA

and what turned into 7 hours turned into 2 days…

so i’m just gonna mash the two sessions into one post bc it’s easier and i can sooo LMAO

i’m sorry ya’ll shit has been wack and the anxiety is in full force haha ANYWAY

SESSION #5 BEGINS HERE!!

idk where it’s gonna put me bc i ended pretty abruptly (again.)

also i think my first tattoo is gonna be the moth on the guitar and on ellie’s tattoo? i’ve been thinking about it for over a year😯

OKAY it started me a little bit after finding tommy’s horse

i already have shitty eyes i CANNOT see these traps in the tall grass dude

i have a feeling i’m gonna get jumpscared in this fuckin furniture store

ANUTHA CARD BABYYYY

I WAS RIGHT WHAT THE FUCK

THEY CRAWL NOW???????

damn i opened this safe just to be able to grab NOTHING i am fully stocked on everything

… i spoke too soon

going back for the med kit bc i tripped a fucking bomb…

more of the “feel her love” art

radio station WOOOOO

she really did learn so fucking much about surviving from joel holy fuck

bc if she only grew up in a community and didn’t go across the country w joel i don’t know if she would have the knowledge that she does

oh shiiiit there are some dead ppl upon this balcony

i don’t think this was tommy tho

nope! there’s an arrow in this person

i also like how they subtly tell you who killed them with the arrow. there have been no wlfs with bows anywhere. they all have firearms. tommy is always seen with a rifle of some kind but never a bow. so there’s a lot of process of elimination that can be done just from this alone. i fuckin love little details like that.

so it was scars. the “feel her love” graffiti and the wlf patrols frim earlier mentioned them. i love how this group is being introduced slowly. it really builds them up and tells you what you need to know about them before you encouter them.

i already know about the scar group so i have some insight, but the way they slowly add them into the mix is cool

hopefully i get a bow soon

onward to the inside!

ohhhhhhh fuck.

i don’t care who you are, no one deserves to be hung like that. that’s horrible.

damn i can’t even cut them down. fuck, man.

and those are wlf, so it was the scars

the scar symbol in blood? jesus christ.

and i know there’s gonna be combat here bc i see that clip on tiktok all the time of this encounter

the music is stressing me the fuck OUT

found another card tho

kimimela is fucking DOPE

although this does seem like a really comfy place to set up, it’s too big to defend dude

clearly that was their downfall bc jesus christ it is a massacre in here

i’ve only seen dead wlfs. no scars.

oh shit it’s leah

ellie’s hands are shaking :(

oh fuck there’s polaroids of all of them

OH SHIT THERE’S A PICTURE OF ABBY

god the way that she stares at the picture :(

and the music AHHHH :(

the way that dina recenters her by saying “3 down, right?”

god i love them

dina pointing out how fucked it would be to interrogate leah like tommy did to the one guy, but ellie is so persistent that she doesn’t feel it’s wrong GOOODDDDDD DUDE MY HEART

RUNNING RUNNING RUNNING FOR MY LIFE

ohhhhhh fuck we’re underground. i know what’s about to fuckin go down. and i want NONE of it bro

fuckin theatre WHEN?

this subway shit REALLY feels like the last of us

the lighting from the flares is fuckin SICK

oh shit i’m just gonna make them fight clickers and just wait it out this is great

this is some benny hill shit with the way they’re running in circles w clickers chasing them

the atmosphere is fuckin horrifying

i hate the bloater sounds that i’m hearin

it just feels musty down here dude i’m sweating

GODDAMNIT i know i missed a whole fuckin section to search back there and i can’t get back now. FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

god fuckin damnit bro SHIT

THERE WAS PROBABLY SO MUCH STUFF BACK THERE I THOUGHT I SEARCHED EVERYTHINGUUUHHHH

THERE WAS PROBABLY A GODDAMN CARD BACK THERE

I’M SO PISSED AT MYSELF RN

the lighting and sound design down here is fucking CRAZY

the distant screams and infected sounds are helping to create a really tense environment

shambler?! what the fuckin fuck is that??

nope

nopenopenopenopenopenopenope

fuck that. i’ll see you guys later!

“holy fuck” is absolutely right ellie

i just dropped down. i want back up. fuck this dude. i don’t fuckin want it

fuck right off

thank fuck for trap mines. oh my god.

that cart holding open the door collapsing is a really smart way to close off the area

i want out of these tunnels bro

tbh scavenging is one of my favorite parts of the game. it’s so satisfying.

oh shit! there’s a carving of the scar woman in the graffiti. this shit is HELLA cultish bro

hmmmm this newspaper clipping about a community in the suburbs surviving seems like her origin story, whoever the fuck she is

“the community members unanimously credited their survival to one woman…” unanimously being the key word there

“she had a vision of catastrophe… ‘divine retribution’” yuuuup sure sounds cult-y to me

CARD ACQUIRED

“how’d you do that?” “magic.” “you’re my favorite.” THEY are my favorite your honor🥹

THERE’S A FUCKIN HAWAIIAN SHIRT IN HERE ELLIE TAKE IT

naughty dog yellow babyyyyyyy over the rail down below

oh fuck more bitches

again, thank god for trap mines

DAYLIGHT! THANK GOD!

but i know there’s more to come

ANUTHA CARD

bastet is really fuckin cool

i’m waiting for this train to fucking COLLAPSE dude

i feel so bad for dina

she’s leaning up against the train with hands on her knees :(

THERE IT IS

TRAIN COLLAPSE

ohhhh fuck i heard hella infected i’m gonna have to DIP

the way dina was so ready to go down with ellie too

she instantly offered to share masks

and the way she YELLS at ellie when she takes her mask off

GOOOODDDDDDDDDDD this is so fucked

OH SHIT TIME TO RUN

I ALMOST FUCKED THAT UP BUT I MADE IT

OH SHIT DINA

THEATRE!!!! MY BELOVED FINALLY!!!

there is a CONVERSATION that is gonna happen that needs to dude

the way dina looks at her arm AHHHHH

omg i do that same shit ellie’s doing w her hands during confrontation

her having to correct “know” to “knew” bc of joel🥲

oh fuuuuck dude i know i’m not gonna like ellie’s reaction to dina’s pregnancy

dina trying to break the tension w the “don’t worry it’s not yours” 🥺

ELLIE DON’T “are you fucking kidding me?”

I GET THIS IS STRESSFUL BUT DAMN

COMPASSION MAYBE?

ohhhhhhhhh shit a few weeks ago? shit dude.

i agree that it would’ve been good for dina to stay in jackson BUT that can’t change rn. ya’ll are in the fucking pnw

“well you’re a burden now, aren’t you?”

😐

🤦🏻‍♀️

ELLIE.

DINA’S FACE :(

FUCK DUDE

go fuckin walk it off ellie goddamn i love you and everything but ur bein dumb rn

and if joel did the same shit (which i’m sure he would have during the first game) i’d be mad at him too

DINA CURLED UP FACED AWAY FROM ELLIE :(

APOLOGIZE ELLIE.

seeing dina look so small from the balcony UUUGH

i feel like i’m gonna get jumpscared pt.716282

ANUTHA CARD

okay beyond is fucking dope i think she’s my favorite card so far

where’s the props table bc i’m gonna touch it and all the props that aren’t mine LMAO

the guy that was here before is definitely still here

and fuckin fried on the roof…

sorry bro

i feel like there’s gonna be at least one or two in the auditorium tho

THE LIGHTING IS SO FUCKING GOOD OH MY GOOOODDDDDDDDD

“joel. you’d love watching a movie in this place.”😭😭😭

WAIT I NEVER CHECKED MY JOURNAL

hold up journal break

her shambler drawings are fuckin cool

jesus i’m getting pit orchestra flashbacks from this auditorium

THE SICK HABIT PLAYED HERE!!!

AND ELLIE GETS THE SET LIST!!!

only $25 for a concert?????

A GUITAR🥲

holy shit this guitar is pretty

FUTURE DAYYYSSSSSSSS😭😭😭

fuck dude i’m crying

cut to black???

OH FUCK IT’S THE FLASHBACK

NO I’M GONNA SOOOOOBBBBBBB

I’M ALREADY A MESS

once i hear his voice i’m gonna lose it.

3 years earlier😭

losing it.

FUUUUCK THERE HE IIIIIISSSSSSSS😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I CAN SEE THE FUCKING CASETTE TAPE IN HIS TSHIRT POCKET

just seeing him standing here is making me fucking cry.

“oops.” AND HIM LAUGHING AHHHHHHH🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

“push the water with your whole arm blah blah blah” “glad to know i’m gettin through” THEY’RE SO FATHER AND DAUGHTER AND I’M GONNA LOSE MY MIND

i’m wondering if it was a choice to have joel not have any close ups during these cinematics

“i am very angry and upset.” I’M LABSLSBSKWVDKSVSOSB

I MISS HIM SO FUCKING MUCH

“you need to stop lettin people rile you up” IT APPLIES TO ELLIE CURRENTLY TOO DUDE AHHHHHH

WHEN HE’S BEEN LEADING THE WAY THE WHOLE TIME BUT THEN LET ELLIE GO FIRST THROUGH THE WOODS BEFORE THE DINOSAUR😭😭😭😭😭😭

“that’s a big boy” 🥹🥹

I’M FUCKING CRYING SO MUCH DUDE

oh i’m R E A D I N G this journal bitch

CAT MENTION!!!

omg the little 3d shape sketches w shadows and the diamond thing LMAO that shit is all over my fucking school notes

THE DRAWING OF TOMMY AND JOEL IN THEIR FUCKING COWBOY HATS😭😭

HIS CONCERN WHEN SHE WAS CLIMBING UP THE TREX😭😭

“don’t jump. CLIMB down.”

*immediately jumps*

the “HEY! HEY!” WHEN SHE JUMPED DOWN😭😭

“did you see that?” “yea i saw that” IN THE MOST EXASPERATED PARENTAL TONE UUUGGGHHHH

THE PAMPHLET THAT WAS IN HIS HOUSE😭😭

HE LOOKS SO PROUD STANDING THERE

THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER PLEEEAAASSSEEEEEEEEEE

HE’S SUCH A DAD OH MY GOD

THE HAT!!

HAHAHAHA I LOVE HER

i know ashley said that “actually” in a kinda jokey nerd “um actually” voice on purpose💀

“pretty sure those are velociraptors.”

JOEL SAW JURASSIC PARK WOOOO

“sorry all the dinosaurs are busy right now.” “what are you doin?” “oh wait. one of the dinosaurs is here. joel, it’s for you.” “very funny.”

I L O V E T H E M

she really had to dig the knife deeper huh? LMAO “get it? because you’re old.”

“there was a sequel. wasn’t as good.” LMAOOOOOOOOO true

THE HAT ON DINOSAURS SAGA BEGINS

“is this gonna be a thing? please don’t let it be a thing.” OH IT’S A THING JOEL.

“triceratops. at least there’s one i recognize.” I LOVE JOEL.

THEM POKING FUN AT EACH OTHER

“this one’s brain was the size of a walnut.” “looks like you two have somethin in common” PLEAAASSSEEE

i’m gonna start crying more bc this is how me and my dad are i swear to fucking god

“tell ya what.. when we get back to jackson, movie night.” 😭😭😭😭

SHE PUT THE HAT ON HIS HEAD😭

THE GRUMBLE IN PROTEST HAHAHA

TROPHY BABY

A FUCKIN CARD????

“sarah was into those for a little while. or was it the tiny creatures? i forget.” KAHSKSHSKSVWKSBSKSBSKSHAKV

THE FACES IN THE MIRROR WHILE JOEL HITS THE DAD LEANING ON DOORWAY STANCE PLLLEEEEAAASSSSEEEEE

naughty dog said “LOOK AT HOW GOOD OUR FACIAL ANIMATION IS. L O O K. FEAST UPON IT WITH YOUR EYES”

“look how thick this one’s skull is!” “kinda looks like…tommy” “i’m telling him you said that.” “please don’t. catch it in the right light, boom. tommy.” I’M- 😭

“i happen to know a thing or two.” “from a movie.” “keep goin.” ASJSHAKSBSKSB HAHAHAHAHA

H A T LOCATED

now they both have hats🥹

“did you go to museums a lot?” “yea. sarah loved em. i swear that girl dragged me to every museum in texas.” JOEL PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“looks like a giraffe” BC SHE’S ACTUALLY SEEN THEM IN SALT LAKE CITY😭😭😭😭

JOEL PUT THE HAT ON IIIIIIITTTTTTTTT😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“i see the appeal.” IN THE SOFTEST VOICE EVER😭😭😭😭😭😭

i’m suing naughty dog for emotional damage

side note: the way the light spills in from the ceiling????? GORGEOUS

oh fuck it’s the space exhibit

i love that joel could have easily gone over the fucking cabinet next to the turnstyle but he didn’t to amuse ellie😭

“did you know this was here?!” “you don’t like it. we can head back.” “shut up!” WHILE SCRATCHING THE BACK OF HIS HEAD BC HE WAS WORRIED?? I’M GONNA-

“joel, can you name all the planets?” THE WAY HE CHUCKLED LIKE HE WAS ABOUT TO DROP THE BIGGEST FUCKIN MINDBLOWING INFO HAHAHAAAA

“my very educated mother just served us nice pizzas.” “uhhh… did you just have a stroke?”💀💀💀💀💀

“daggum girl, you are smart.” 😭😭

GOING THROUGH THIS AND KNOWING THAT HE HAD THE FUCKING SPACE FOR DUMMIES BOOK ON HIS BEDSIDE TABLE IN JACKSON MAKES ME FUCKIN- KAHSKSHSKSVSKSVS

“tell me another fun fact.” AGAIN IN THE SOFTEST VOICE LIKE HE’S GENUINELY HAPPY HERE

“why don’t you tell me what you like about it.”😭😭

“all right, kiddo. now i get it.” AGAIN. SOFTEST VOICE. 😭😭😭😭

TROY BAKER WHAT THE FUCK

hitting ANOTHER dad stance at the fucking rover

i don’t wanna go in the shuttle bc i know i’m gonna be even MORE of a mess and that this is gonna end. and i don’t want it to bc i fucking MISS joel

the way he immediately jumps in to help her open the door on the lil shuttle🥹

here come the tears

“happy birthday kiddo.” i’m gone.

THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HERRRRRR

HE CARES ABOUT HER SO FUCKING MUCH.

i fucking love how it looks like she’s actually in a shuttle to show how immersed she is🥺😭😭😭

and then it slowly fades back in GODDAMN NAUGHTY DOG

“i do okay?” JOOOOEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLL

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

THE WAY HE SMILES AFTER SHE SAYS “are you fucking kidding me?” 😭😭😭😭😭😭

THE PIN ON HER FUCKING BAG FUCK OFF 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“whose birthday is it?” “you can’t keep doin that!” HAHAHAHA

“i want a good splash!” i love them so fucking much. oh my god.

YYYEEESSSSSSS. it isn’t a joel and ellie adventure without ye olde boost

“okay, be safe!” “you be safe!” have i said that i love them?

there’s gonna be infected in here right? has to be.

there’s an “i killed for them” written on the wall.. not creepy at all..

ANUTHA CARD WOOOO

okay jk saura is my favorite card now

“this guy needed a hug” about the i killed for them on the wall💀

“the 4 soldiers at the gate. the last one cried.” this is fuckin creepy dude

I DON’T LIKE THIS WITHOUT JOEL HERE

she has her gun out and said “oh shit” but i don’t see anything??? I’M SCARED

“the women were tortured. choked on her own blood.” this is fucking CREEPY DUDE WHERE IS JOEL

“the stragglers that snuck into camp. they just wanted food.” have i mentioned that i don’t like this?

FUCK the crashes scared me dude

“the kid who ran into the blast. i couldn’t stop him.” dude why the fuck are you plastering this shit on a museum wall

“the people in the van. we locked them in and doused it with gas.” jesus fucking christ dude.

“there is no light.” ohhhhhhhhhh were they looking for the fireflies then?

jesus fucking christ this is sad and fucked up

what a cool birthday ellie good god

THOSE WOLVES SCARED THE SHIT OUTTA ME DUDE

okay i had no fucking idea there was more to this flashback after the space shuttle like i thought it ended there so i have no fucking clue what’s next

A FUCKING BOAR???? WHAT THE FUCK???

“liars.” ohhhhhhhhhh fuck. it’s definitely the fireflies.

JOEL!! damn he looks good. SORRY

yeaaaaa there’s the logo fuck bro

AND THE WAY ELLIE TOUCHES HER SCAR AKSHAKSBSKSBKWB ASHLEY JOHNSONNNNNNNNN

THE M U S I C

and how it stays on that shot??? beautiful.

SEATTLE DAY 2 BITCHESSSSSS

YESSSSS THE ICONIC BUTTON UP OUTFIT YYYEEEEAAAAAAAA

LEMME SEE THAT TATTOO ELLIE

i’m gonna practice guitar tho

DAMN playing this is harder than actual guitar

JOURNAL check-in! how we feelin ells?

oofta. expected this though.

“i shouldn’t have said that to her.” THEN TELL HER THAT

i like that her writing reflects how her brain is going 100 miles a minute

i feel like dina’s doing all this tracking even though she feels like shit bc ellie said what she fuckin said :(

have i mentioned that i FUCKING LOVE dina? bc i very much do.

oh fuuuuuuuck it’s tommy

oh fuck HILLCREST? fuuuuuuck

i feel like dina should stay

yeaaaaaa she’s not lookin good dude

YESSSSS THE BRACELET

“i don’t believe in luck.” “i do.” I LOVE THHHHEEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMM

a lil smooch goodbye 🥺

I START IN HILLCREST?????

FUCK.

i think i’m gonna stop here actually? this post is already super fucking long bc i’m dumb and decided to combine session posts lmao

ANYWAY i will pick back up at hillcrest… tomorrow!

this was a longer session and i feel like i got through a decent chunk today so WOOOOOOOO

[runekeepershymnal]

SO!!

Did you know that:

When you get an echocardiogram, you can sometimes hear what they’re picking up? While they’re prodding around your bare chest with a gelled up weird probe?

Well, the way my technician did it, you can, and I am now in a bit of a weird, semi-ecstatic spiral about that sound, which at some times sounded like a record scratching, but, most concerningly, at least to me, because I am a fucked up little freak who of course googled the sounds I heard and what they might mean, and, and, and…

Did you know?

Apparently it’s supposed to go lub-dub, and not, in fact, lub-lub-dub.

So I am in a state of anticipation, but not actually… fear? I don’t think? (Pardon my hypochondria about something that may well [almost certainly shall] turn out to be nothing.)

Being one of Those Patients (superscript TM), I was, of course, unwilling to ask the techician if that was a normal sound. Like, maybe it’s supposed to sound like that based on the angle of the gelled up doodad probe thingie. Maybe there’s a secret mountain behind my ribs and only the atria echo. Ventricles are like ducks, and thus, they do not. Mostly I didn’t ask because 1. I’m pretty sure that the technician is not allowed to interpret any damn thing, 2. I’m pretty sure she was trained in “oh shit, this is like… actual afib tachycardia whatevs, you’re not allowed to leave, in fact, we’re gonna pop you in an ambulance to scootch you the (I can’t gauge distances) hundred feet to the emergency room next door at the low low price of fuck you, your ancestors, and the descendants you don’t/won’t have to make sure you don’t just drop dead here and now.

(She did not do any of those things. She gave me a small towel to wipe the sonogram gel off my tits, which I guess is at least a little courteous. Certainly better treatment than I’ve received from most people who got to see my tits.)

So, of course once I get home, I last about fifteen minutes before I start googling what the sound might mean. And of course, I get afib, and murmurs, and cha cha cha, and then, I get hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a condition with which I have a great deal of associated emotional baggage.

The spiral continues, of course, into smaller, tighter, more numerous spirals of each fractal spinning out.

God, am I going to have to tell people? Family? Friends? I could barely deliver the news that I hadn’t gotten the job I thought I would, this is going to be so fucking awkward.

If I need a pacemaker, I’m going to be so very irritated that I can’t be in the same room as an in-use microwave anymore. I guess I’ll just… sous vide everything? Be that person who actually has to remember to take things out of the freezer and thaw them the long way? Except…

The whole point of this testing was because I’d admitted to my medication provider that sometimes I have heart palpitations (yes, I am an absolute moron), but I’m sure it’s fine, after all, anxiety, am I right?

So there is a good chance if the ticker insists upon ticking twice before every tock that my ADHD meds will be no more, in which case, remembering to take meat out of the freezer to thaw will be the least of my executive dysfunction problems.

(I actually love the idea of a tiny bolt of lightning having to smite be back in line whenever I start following the beat of my own drum.)

(The sound of my heart would make sick beats, by the way. Maybe I can create a Soundcloud to which I could upload the audio.)

Inside me there are two wolves: One who lives by ‘I don’t want to be a bother/I don’t need help/I’ve got this’ and one who is the Most Dramatic Bitch Ever and wants to go around wearing a pageant ribbon that says ‘Mx. I Might Drop Dead at Any Second But You Could Too Because No One is Fucking Special” and making deeply uncomfortable prolonged eye conntact with anyone and everyone who is fool enough to read it so that we both might wonder who will croak first? (There was nothing stopping me from doing this before, but apparently my priorities are fucked up.)

If the prognosis is bad, should I sell my Rεdd!t account? I’ve got enough karma to post basically anywhere…

How wonderful it would be to just stop without prelude or time to regret or pity. No wasting and no responsibility.

I might actually have some sort of proof that I have a heart! I mean, I’ve never seen it.

I’ll have to get some life insurance worked out. I’d love for my chronically ill disabled spouse to be rich, but I certainly don’t want him facing a big bill.

This whole list is going to be super embarassing if I just get told to take some fish oil and get more exercise than asking the gods to smite me by carrying all the groceries up three flights of stairs at one time.

Am I on too many medications for them to harvest my other organs? Because I would dearly love to occupy other people like some ghost of the humors, inflicting my phlegm and biles upon people who thought they were blessed and instead got some very peculiar psychometric imaginary friend.

The thought that a bad prognosis might give me the “I could die at any second which I could before but now I have a doctor’s note” card is so exciting and, honestly, delightful. (Which I definitely can’t tell my medication provider.)

I am also annoyed because this is just One More Damn Thing. Like, wasn’t the fucky brain sufficient? Not trying to tempt fate or anything but c’mon, man, it’d be cool if one vital organ could operate like a 90s model Toyota and just work exactly like it’s supposed to. Liver, pancreas, I’m looking at you two, don’t get cute. You too, skin.

So yeah, just… c’mon, man. I was finally getting some of the shit that my decades of undiagnosed ADHD may not have cause but sure as fuck exacerbated. Can we just figure it out? It’s the 21st century, how fuckin’ long does it take to take a gander at a sonogram and say “shit, that’s weird. Let me flip through my big damn book of cardiology to see if it’s ‘oh shit, fuck, shit’ weird or just ‘hrm’ weird”? Yes I’m oversimplifying advanced medicine, but again, it’s the 21st fuckin’ century.

I was never really able to ignore my heard since it is a fluttery-ass bastard that likes to make itself known (and apparently most people don’t have that, who knew?), but boy does it sound neat to not be aware of the activity of one’s organs that aren’t supposed to require conscious intervention.

[flyingfishtailoutpost1]

This sure has been two FUCKING months.

I broke a tooth in March. It took a week and a half to get in to see my dentist. Then when I got there she said, yeah I don’t do root canals, go see this other guy.

It took two weeks to get an appointment with him. When I got there I was having a wicked anxiety attack because I’m terrified of dentists and needles, so he wouldn’t do it because he didn’t want to work on me while I was ‘upset’ and it made my blood pressure spike. Sent me home. Anxiety was out of control at that point because I had no idea what to do about my face being in, like, agony, and I was afraid I was going to have a stroke or something.

Got a blood pressure screening, which took two more weeks (lady at the clinic was like ‘they took your blood pressure laying down in front a a big needle, with a tiny cuff while you were having a panic attack? No fucking wonder. You’re not dying. Your dentist sounds like a dick, tho.’)

At this point my anxiety was out of control and punching through my meds like paper and I almost ended up in the ER. Called the psychiatrist who I see once a year and told him I was having a major issue with my panic attacks and could he give me an emergency script for Xanax because I needed to do a dental procedure and was terrified. Receptionist said “yeah he doesn’t prescribe Xanax.” And that was that.

Went off caffeine cold turkey because I knew it wasn’t helping the panic attacks. Had a three-day-long blinding withdrawal headache on top of the tooth.

Remembered that family doc prescribed Xanax for my mother for her claustrophobia. Called her. They said they couldn’t get me in for three weeks. Never mind.

Took blood pressure results back to jerk dentist. Told him, you know, I’m in a LOT of pain. He shrugged and said, “Take Tylenol.”

He got the drilling job halfway done, told me to come back in a week. Had to call three days later and tell them, yeah, my WHOLE FACE hurts. I can’t chew. It’s getting hard to talk. Receptionist called me back in 15 minutes sounding a little stressed and told me they were sending me a script for antibiotics RIGHT NOW. Turns out the whole side of my mouth was infected and probably had been for a month.

In the meantime…I was planning the book fair, setting up for the book fair, running the book fair, mounting and hanging the school art show (15 7-foot banners covered in art and two display cases), doing the annual report, and bringing classes through.

I told the art teacher I was going to wait until the day before the art show to hang all the banners because I was worried they’d get damaged.

She said, “Don’t try to do it in one day! What if you get your period and feel yucky or something and don’t feel like climbing up the ladder?”

🙃🙃🙃

I think 15 years of customer service trained me too well.

[howdoiliveanymore]

7/28/23 3:17 am

it never feels like enough it never feels like it will be enough for how i am to be justifiable no matter how many professionals (2LMAO) or meds basically tell me otherwise i must have been weak from the start a weak mind everything was too much. i’m on prazosin now it works wonders i no longer am having nightmares (being tortured etc.) or ‘bad dreams’ (normal nightmares for normal people) i barely remember the dreams now it’s nice sleep feels more refreshing it’s weird i want to scream that you people have lived like this i swear to god i mean you think you know until you’re there and it’s wonderful and good and so much better. it’s like when i got my anxiety meds and everything got better and easier. it’s still hard to sleep i keep thinking i’m back /there/ her house green or other just not here i’ll be gone soon 36 days till i’m with her it’ll be amazing awful tiring flashback inducing awful awful freeing the most free i have ever been i’ll be flying i’ll need to learn how i’ll throw myself off the tree again and again until i fly if i fall too far it at least i’ll have tasted the wind i feel so pathetic and stupid and dramatic i can’t wait to be out grandpa died there’s family drama a little bit it’s being run by someone who needs to be in a dementia care center like her husband was but she’s so stubborn and hard headed you can only chip at her she’s floaty. i see myself in all the women i try to be the least like i feel like it’s a cyclical curse i’ll always come back to it i’ll always be her. this would be too me heavy and not enough woe heavy if it wasn’t a diary basically i wasn’t close to him much dads side was never close in the traditional sense still isn’t. there’s too much chnage i want to run and hide and bury deep underground but i keep reading it’ll get better things get better people usually find peace and comfort i have a sick feeling i’ll get to a comfortable place far away from everyone and it’ll all be ripped from me and it’ll happen every time again and again and again i know it’ll happen i hate the future i hate the uncertainty i hate not knowing the right choices i hate not knowing if i’ll end up on the streets if i’ll end up happy if it’s better to cut my losses now i can’t imagine a happy future. i don’t think it exist and the trick is when i finally do truly believe it’s better life is better life is great even see past self you worried for nothing you have all these things it’ll be ripped by whatever gone forever you fucked up lay in your bed it’s gone it’ll happen. i’m actively repressing i’ll see something pop up and i’ll mentally imagine popping that shit in box and locking it and shoving it deeper and deeper it helps me live my day to day life even if it is a burden on my brain idk but i can feel the heaviness of it always it’s like a lead weight in a lake i just have to push it to the furthest end and i’ll reel it in when i can but for now i need it to be gone and be normal and okay. i went through an ounce of weed in a week and a half it was shitty weed but fuck i need to pay my psych

[4dtk]

hi! can I request for a haechan one, hand holding 3, hugging 33, kissing 23, touch 20 23 and 35, where reader is the one being severely injured & angst with a little fluff maybe towards the end? i really love your works so much, thank you!

thanks for requesting and thank u for the kind words anon! ps i don’t write smut ALL the time so i hope u guys (& my new followers) give my fluff/angst works the same energy. thank u for all the feedback and reception on the recent smut pieces i’ve posted but i still need to fulfil other requests!! thank you for the support anyway <3

hand-holding, 3: cold hands in warm hands

hugs, 33: ‘picking them up’ hugs

kisses, 23: life-or-death kisses

touching, 20, 23 & 35: bandaging/stitching up an injury, carrying the other one in their arms, kissing their bruises and scars

“wh-“ haechan’s door creaks open as he lets out a yawn to reveal you. all the fatigue that weighs on his limbs and eyes is gone when he sees you all battered up and bruised and his expression passes through every phase someone could have — shock, anxiety, anger, sadness.

“hi.” you say bashfully, as if showing up for a first date and as if you hadn’t bleeded all the way up from the stairs. with expression unusually content, you wonder if it’s because of the blood loss that you feel high or whether your heart can’t stop beating even at such a time. haechan’s worry warms your heart.

“(y/n), what the fuck?”

“care to help me just a little? i got this nasty cut down my thigh.”

haechan’s eyebrows furrow, “looks you got way more than that. do i need to stitch you up?”

he opens the door wider for you to enter, grimacing at the wound whose blood leaks out from the cloth you put over it trails right down to the ankles. he makes quick work of his small apartment that screamed out ‘med student’. it was like fate had sealed the two of you in a bind: one which heals and the one that had to bear responsibility of the world of their shoulders. haechan leaves you alone to navigate yourself to his toilet, having done it too many times before the other props you onto the sink. his hands are following a routine, taking out the alcohol, gauze, scissors, everything to patch you up the best that he can.

with a sigh, he analyses your different wounds, lingering on the large one on your thigh which you seem to not even react to. it scares him, how used to it you must be after missions. how red becomes the default colour more than the colour of your skin, or your clothes, or your own apartment. haechan removes his apartment from the equation, having lived in four stark white walls which reminded him of the hospital.

the colour was as bland as your face now, eyes downcast even when he cleans the smaller wounds with alcohol.

“what… what happened on your mission today?” you frown at the question and his serious demeanour, hand gripping onto the edge of the sink like you were swinging at a cliff. having a job like that must be so hard, and it must be so tempting to fall into darkness and just let yourself die, but you told yourself time and time again to protect everyone, to shoulder the safety of those in the neighbourhood. it was getting heavy; too heavy for even you to carry.

“i’m worried about you, you know…” haechan attempts to joke with a chuckle, and that supposedly makes you jerk up, suddenly aware of how cold his hands felt on your skin. he mistakes the reaction for pain, taking a hand into yours that you shiver even more at the difference in temperature. “i always wonder how late you’ll come back. will you come back bruised? bloody? or will you be holding a cheesecake for us to share in your civilian clothes? i don’t know any more.” he strokes over your bloody knuckles gently.

haechan is good at hiding his feelings, you notice, words flowing freely from him like he always does in school and on the train. it’s not until he finally gets to your large gash do you see that his hands are trembling, shaking like leaves in the wind even when he threads the nylon through the needle. “what if you die?” he finally looks at you, revealing the tear-filled eyes, blurring his vision so much that he can’t even remove the fabric used to stop the bleeding.

“i won’t, hyuck-“

“you say that, but always come to my house beat up like this. shouldn’t i just turn you away? you’re interrupting my sleep and i have school tomorrow,” you aren’t sure what haechan’s getting at but before you can say anything, you’re cut off, “i always have school. and yet, i can’t find myself turning you away.” your thumb wiping away his tears only makes him cry more.

“because…?”

“i love you, (y/n).”

the air is knocked out of you.

“you… love me?” haechan sniffles, blinking away the tears as he prepares to stitch up your wounds. he wants to avoid his impulsivity but he can’t even do that when his hands shake so much it would do your wound more harm than good. “i can’t bear to see you like this, babe. it hurts so much.” your heart clenches up. at haechan, at his revelation, at his true feelings. his tears soak the hand on his cheek and you’re left instead to sew up your wound with your own hands, letting the other run over your body in the anxiety of losing you for good.

he calms down by the time you’re cutting the nylon, cringing in pain at how difficult it was to just get down from the sink. “i’ll… i’ll carry you.”

haechan brings you to his sofa with you in his arms, filled with files and papers regarding school and it looks like a mess, but you’re used to it, always seeing a sheet of paper beside your lover whether he’s revising, going over anatomy or just confirming the procedures. careful to avoid your thigh, he brings you into his lap carefully, however against the rules it was.

he couldn’t give e a shit about letting you lay down in a bed while he sat beside it. he just needed you close to him.

haechan gains your confusion when he plants kisses on various parts of your body, lips ghosting over black and blue colourisation of your skin and the white of the surgical tape, healing your skin with the intangible blessing of his pecks. he’s well on his way to remove himself to kiss around the stitch on your thigh, but he freezes.

“i love you, too, hyuck.” your voice is so soft, fragile, as if you weren’t fighting your ass off earlier. small tears pool at the edge of haechan’s eyes. the intensity in your eyes beg for him to lean in, capturing your lips with his that he pours all his feelings into. his heart sings and breaks at the same time, unhealthy visions of your limp body under city debris and ash. it makes him panic and kiss you harder, letting the tears go again.

you’re barely awake, tired from the battle, from the blood loss, but his kisses bring you higher than the way you soar through the sky. you run on adrenaline on missions, but you get drunk on haechan’s love so quickly that it feels more of a thrill than delivering punch after kick at the opponent. it’s so much so that haechan even brings himself off the sofa with you in his arms, twirling the both of you around slowly.

you can’t help but laugh at his tear-stained face, doing him a favour by wiping it off as he brings you to his bedroom. all haechan does all night is hold you close, never letting go one bit. it’s only fitting, seeing as you’re the neighbourhood’s saviour. what about him? you’re his treasure, of course.

[thefanficmonster]

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002  Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

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[inkykeiji]

i’ll keep you in mind, from time to time

cactus anon said: had a little dream about daddy tomura, but it's when his princess gets sick... like very sick. seemingly out of nowhere. we know he's always cautious about your health and well being, so this is odd to say the least. you could have got it simply from getting the mail or sitting out on the balcony. well you see, daddy has a very strict rule when he's working - you mustn't disturb him when he's in a vital meeting. and you feel so ill that you know you can't just wait until he's done (whenever that will be - it's hard to tell sometimes). you feel like you have no choice but to ask for help 🥺 and there's not many people daddy would allow in his home to come see you when he's not present. except for... dabi...

genre: angst

notes: is this set in the bmb universe????? tbh, yeah, probably. i wrote this with bmb tomura and bmb dabi in mind (my mind just goes straight to bmb tomura the moment i see daddy tomura ehehe). do you need to read the monster that is bmb before reading this? absolutely not, since it’s technically a prequel of sorts! | title credit: moose blood’s first album ehehehe

warnings: sad boi dabi, very sick reader, it’s implied that tomura has cut her off from everyone she knows, pining, daddy kink, mention of drugs

words: 2.9k

Nestled under Tomura’s fluffy comforter and curled in on yourself in his mammoth bed, your silk babydoll sticks to your damp, sweaty skin, teeth clattering together so violently it’s almost painful, even though your flesh is scalding to the touch. It’s a surprise that Daddy can’t hear it, that incessant clackclackclack echoing down the vacant halls, a surprise he didn’t come running immediately—like he always does—at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers as you burrowed deeper into his mattress.

He must be really, really busy today.

And you know better than to interrupt him when he’s really, really busy.

But—But it all hurts so much, head pounding with such vigour you can barely see straight, muscles aching and weak, a loud whine escaping your lips as you roll over, groping around in the blankets for your phone. It’s too bright when you finally locate it, eyes squinting and a hiss catching in your throat as you bring the screen too close to your face, quickly scrolling through your contacts in a desperate attempt to find someone—anyone—to come to your rescue.

You know you should wait. Really, you should. Your Daddy is jealous, and protective, and possessive, and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he’s going to be upset when he finds out that you called someone else to take care of you.

But—But it could be hours until Daddy’s done with his work—sometimes he spends the entire night in that stupid wood-paneled office, and you can’t risk it. It’s terrifying, this nightmarish illness that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, with its sudden onslaught of concerning symptoms worsening by the second, and you’re beginning to wonder if something is seriously wrong, the thought sending icy spikes of anxiety shooting through your veins.

No, you can’t risk it—you can’t wait.

A thumb hovers over your mother’s name in hesitance, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider. Her place isn’t necessarily close, but she’s the relative that’d be able to reach you the fastest—even so, it’d take her at least two hours to get here, and that’s assuming there’s no traffic on the roads. But she isn’t exactly fond of your boyfriend, and the last thing you want to deal with while feeling like you’re dying is a fight between the two of them. You know how nasty they can get.

So you keep scrolling, fingers halting for a second time as your best friend’s name flies past your eyes.

It’s been months since you last spoke—Tomura being the topic of your last conversation, of your last fight. You’re spending too much time with him, they had claimed, eyes cloaked in a glossy sheen of tears as they frenetically searched your face, almost begging you to understand. It’s unhealthy! It’s unnatural! They had said with a vicious shake of their head. He has you in a fucking chokehold, can’t you see that?

Eyelids squeeze shut tightly against the familiar burn of tears, their last few words echoing through your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and reverberating, louder and louder and louder—

No. You can’t do this right now, your head throbbing in retaliation, a painful lump nestling into the column of your throat. It’s too much, too much, and you don’t want to think anymore, can feel that neediness rooting deep at the core of your body, a longing to just be taken care of and nurtured, frantically scrolling back up as urgent eyes search the names blurring by on the screen. A gasp falls from your lips as his name whirs by, fingers scrambling to scroll back down and find it again.

Dabi.

Daddy trusts Dabi, doesn’t he? Daddy likes Dabi, right? They’re friends, aren’t they? Out of all of the people you just scrolled through, Dabi is evidently the best choice, the most correct choice, is he not?

Your thumb trembles a little as it levitates over his name—you don’t know him well, have only spoken a mere handful of words to him in the six months you’ve been dating Tomura, but...but he appears to be your only hope.

His voice is rough when he answers, abruptly cutting through the dull second ring, evident surprise bleeding into it when you whimper out your name, mumbled against the receiver. He regains his composure a moment later, tone hardening as he asks you why the fuck you thought it’d be a good idea to call him, of all people.

Tears blur your vision, sniffling a little as you explain the situation, frail voice breaking as you tell him about how you’re terrified you’re dying, and Daddy’s too busy, and last time—last time you interrupted him you got in real big trouble, and he’s your only hope, you need him, and please, Dabi?

And God, he’s chuckling into your ear, low and hoarse and inspiring a flock of butterflies to soar through your stomach, a sensation you swear is from whatever sickness has infected your body. You’re so lucky you’re fucking cute.

He hangs up directly after that, doesn’t spare you a second to respond, arriving at in penthouse in ten minutes flat, and you’re not sure you’ve ever been happier to see his tattooed face.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes when he sees you, curled up beneath the fluffy comforter, strands of hair shining with sweat and sticking to your skin. Pace quickening, he places his knuckles against your forehead, your sore eyes slipping shut at the cool relief his skin provides. A sharp hiss slips through his clenched teeth and he yanks his hand back, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat as you try to follow his touch.

A head of inky tousled hair shakes back and forth as he hastily leaves Tomura’s bedroom. Glass and ceramic clink together, the sound echoing down the hall, as Dabi roots around in the kitchen, swearing softly to himself when he can’t find what he’s looking for.

A cup of water is in his hands when he returns a few moments later, aspirin clutched in his other fist, still muttering under his breath about the thermometer not being where it’s supposed to be, and why the hell doesn’t Shigaraki have any cold and flu meds like, at all?

Perching on the edge of Tomura’s bed, he acts as if it’s such an inconvenience to him, as if he’s so annoyed that you’re sick and needy, but he really doesn’t hide it well enough. Because you see through his thinly veiled act even in your inebriated state—see the concern in his sapphire eyes as his eyebrows push together just a little, a tiny crease forming between them, see the way the corners of his lips keep pulling downwards with every single one of your pathetic little noises. A heavy sigh leaves his chest a moment later, body shuffling towards you, cobalt eyes still saturated with worry.

A large hand pets your sweaty hair, soft and gentle as the other tilts a glass of full water towards your lips, Dabi’s deep voice startlingly soft as he orders you to drink, princess.

And he doesn’t mean for the nickname to slip out, tells himself he only used it because he’s so accustomed to hearing Tomura use it—accustomed to hearing Tomura overuse it—panic’s sharp claws gripping his heart the moment it leaves his lips. But you seem too sick, too delirious, to notice or care, obediently swallowing the pills just like he told you to.

Good girl.

The praise just slips out too, those two simple words falling from his lips unconsciously, involuntarily, uncontrollably, and he chooses to focus on the fact that you drank the entire glass instead of the cute noise you make in response to his commendation, a trembling hand placing the empty cup on the oak bedside table.

The mattress dips as he prepares to get up, to move away, to put some much needed, necessary distance between the two of you, but a small, clammy hand catches his forearm, his entire body freezing in shock, stiff and still like a marble statue.

Sapphire eyes snap to the tiny hand gripping his arm, hyper-aware of the heat radiating off the sticky palm and seeping into his skin, and then dart to your face, wide and frenetic. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? he wants to snap, words turning to ash on his tongue. Because, Christ, you look like you’re about to fucking cry, staring at him through your lashes with those terrified eyes, begging him softly, shyly, not to leave.

“I’m not leaving,” he says with a roll of his eyes, yanking his arm free from your weak grasp, a soft whine escaping your lips as you grope the air for him again. “I’m 90 percent sure you have a dangerously high fever—there’s no way I’m going to leave you on your own until your asshole of a boyfriend is done doing whatever the fuck he’s doing. I’m just gonna move to that chair over there—”

“No!” you gasp, coughing on the word in your haste to reach for him again. “Please, stay, here,” you look down at the bed pointedly, gazing drifting back to his a moment later. “H-Here, with me,”

Dabi isn’t stupid. He knows Tomura will be seeing red the moment those scarlet eyes meet ice blue when he re-enters his bedroom from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls. But when your boss’s plaything, his most prized possession, calls you in tears blubbering about how she’s sure she’s about to fucking die, well—coming by to take care of her is the lesser of two evils, don’t you think? Really, Tomura should be thanking him.

But Tomura returning from a day full of sifting through documents and yelling on conference calls to meet ice blue in his bed, next to said prized possession? Well, that’s a different story entirely.

He’s frozen as he mulls over it, your blunt nails digging soft, tiny crescents into his flesh, little marks that will fade only a few moments after you let go.

“I can’t do that,” he says softly, almost regretfully, and his tone of voice surprises him, startles him, scares him. Clearing his throat, he steels himself, pulling free from you again. “It isn’t right,”

“Please, Dabi,”

He’s sure you don’t miss the sharp, sudden intake of air sucked through his mouth when those two words leave your lips. He’s positive of it, because then you do it again.

“Please, Dabi,”

Your voice is softer this time, and the look he gives you is nearly heartbreaking, the perfect picture of a man being torn apart from the inside out, tortured and beautiful all at once.

“I—”

“Just until I fall asleep?” You try to bargain, bottom lip pushing out into an involuntary pout. Crystal eyes hold yours for a second longer before he sighs, chest heaving with the force of it.

He isn’t happy about it, about his apparent inability to say no to you, grumbling about it the entire time—you’re such a little fucking brat, y’know that? and only until you fall asleep, understand?—as he settles back against Tomura’s stupidly massive headboard, body going rigid and words hitching in his throat the moment you latch onto one of his thighs, nuzzling your face into his hip.

And really, he should tell you to get the fuck off of him. He should push you away, scold you for such behaviour, remind you that it’s wrong. He should. He wants to.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

The realization has his heart pounding against his rib cage, breath stilling in his lungs and then accelerating, escaping his nostrils in short, quick huffs, lithe fingers curling in the cotton sheets underneath him. Don’t be a fucking coward, his inner voice growls at him, berating himself for such disgusting weakness. It doesn’t matter if she’s fucking sick, that isn’t an excuse!

Because that’s why he can’t find his voice, right? That’s why his fingers are twitching with the need to comb through your hair and caress you jaw, right? That’s why your cheek, burning hot through his black jeans as it snuggles into his upper thigh, sends a whole slew of unfamiliarity—excitement and terror and all sorts of things he doesn’t know how to explain, can’t begin to explain—rushing through his body, right?

Yes, that’s why. Of course that’s fucking why.

The thoughts cycle through his mind like a mantra, as if repeating them enough times, branding them into the tissues of his very brain itself, will make them true.

That’s why he allows you to sleep on him. That’s why his stomach flutters at the way your tiny fingers curl in the denim of his jeans as they readjust, pulling him closer. That’s why it feels like a zap of electricity buzzes through his veins as you murmur his name in your sleep, whimpering a little as your leg hitches over his calf.

That’s why. He’s sure of it.

His head snaps up the moment the double doors fly open, and he’s never been more relieved to see his boss’s face in his life.

Those crimson eyes scan the room twice—the first time quick, frantic and furious, the second slow, cold and calculating—before they finally connect with cobalt, gaze blazing.

“Care to explain to me what the fuck is going on here?”

“Oh thank God,” Dabi breathes, words slipping from his lips subconsciously, body shooting off of the bed as if the mattress had pierced him, his movements jolting you awake. “She called me,” he snaps before Tomura can speak again, bewildered ruby eyes darting between the two of you. “She’s sick as a fucking dog, boss,” the words are spit between clenched teeth, all those nasty feelings, the feelings delayed by you, no doubt—anger, hate, jealousy, melancholy—finally surfacing, bubbling and boiling in the center of his chest. “She was too scared to interrupt your work, so she called me,”

And Dabi can see it, the vicious jealousy that flashes in Tomura’s eyes, can see the way it makes his jaw clench, makes his molars grind together, makes his breath slice through the air with each sharp exhale through flared nostrils.

“Daddy,” you whine, tears collecting in your eyes, glimmering in the golden sunlight as it sinks beneath the horizon. “D-Daddy, it hurts, it hurts so much,”

All of the derision etched so deeply, so firmly into Tomura’s face melts away in an instant as you make grabby hands for him, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and leaving gleaming trails of salt water in their wake, little half-sobs of that stupid pet name hitching in your throat.

“Now that you are no longer preoccupied,” Dabi draws Tomura’s attention back towards himself, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring his boss to retaliate. “I’ll be leaving. I trust that you can take care of her now, yeah?”

The words are practically snarled out, almost patronizing in tone, but he doesn’t wait for a response, tucking his head down as a shoulder knocks against his boss while stomping out of the room, heavy boots echoing throughout the quiet penthouse. Eyes squeeze shut tightly as he tries to ignore Tomura’s gentle coos, tries to ignore your cute, pathetic little wails and whimpers of Daddy, Daddy!, tries to ignore the sudden inexplicable ache that sears through his chest, settling deep at the core of his body and throbbing.

He can still smell you on his fucking skin, dainty notes of tiger orchid and toffee clinging to him. He promises himself he’ll hop in the shower and scrub any remnants of you off his flesh the moment he steps foot in his own apartment. He vows to himself that he’ll will this stupid, irksome feeling away—that he’ll rid himself of this irritating worry and unfamiliar concern the moment he gets home.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, he’s unable to get you out of his head, soft needy whines of his name and perfect pouty lips invading his mind like a virus, infecting all of his thoughts, worming their way through his brain like some sort of invasive parasite.

The whole excursion lasted a mere two hours, even though Dabi was sure he spent the entire day with you in that bed, leaving nearly his entire evening free, just like he wanted.

That is what he wanted, isn’t it?

Of course it is. Of course.

So why does he spend the entire night wondering if you’re okay, if Tomura is taking good care of you, if he called his personal doctor to come check and diagnose you? Why does he waste hours typing out a short text message to send to you, only to erase it and type it out again, over and over and over, chewing his bottom lip raw in the process? Why does he dream of you that night, of soft smiles and glittering eyes, cute giggles and tiny palms burning his skin, gentle whispers and Please, Dabi?

Why?

And he should be shoving these feelings away, should be burying them deep within himself, should be numbing them with soft white powder and pretty white pills, should be forgetting them.

But he doesn’t.

Because he can’t.

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Dear Evan Hansen

You may have seen some ~online discourse~ about the film Dear Evan Hansen, an adaptation of the 2016 Broadway musical, and you might have wondered what all the hubbub is about. I mean, it’s a feel good story about a senior in high school, Evan Hansen (Ben Platt), who has some pretty severe anxiety and depression. While trying to fulfill an assignment from his therapist to write a letter to himself, his letter gets picked up by another student, Connor (Colton Ryan) - and later that day, Connor kills himself. Connor’s grieving parents and sister Zoe (Amy Adams, Danny Pino, and Kaitlyn Dever) are desperate to learn more from the boy they think was Connor’s best friend - after all, Connor’s suicide note was a letter addressed to “Dear Evan Hansen.” And, as you can imagine, Evan tells them about the unfortunate mistake and sits with them in their grief as they struggle to pick up the pieces of their lives. 

Just kidding! He lies to them, repeatedly, elaborately, expansively for months, constructing an entire false friendship with Connor that never happened, and ingratiating himself into the wealthy nuclear family he never had, in large part because he wants to get into Zoe’s pants! THIS IS THE PROTAGONIST OF THE STORY. Oh, and it’s a musical so there is a lot of singing and crying and singing WHILE crying and sometimes crying and not singing at all. But the #inspiration, you guys. 

Things I liked:

Pretty much everything but the story and Ben Platt’s performance. The supporting cast is stacked, and all of them do a great job at elevating material scraped directly out of a diaper worn by someone who just chewed their way through a copy of the DSM-5. 

A couple of the songs are damn catchy - “Waving Through a Window” and “You Will Be Found” are standouts for a reason - and here’s the thing, Platt sings them well. But as you’ll discover, there’s a lot more to a movie musical than just singing your part. 

Stephen Chbosky, the man behind every deep thought I and a lot of people in my generation had in 2006 after he wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower, is a pretty good director. I particularly enjoyed the fanvid-type cuts in “Waving Through a Window” in conjunction with the lyrics, and his use of interstitial shots to flashbacks (and sometimes flashforwards!) is a neat little bit of shorthand that I thought was used sparingly enough to be effective. 

Amy Fucking Adams. She’s holding on so hard, so desperately to the idea of who her son could have been, rather than the reality of who he was, and she is full of such deep pain that is masked by an almost endless supply of patience with Evan and relentless positivity. All this made me want was Enchanted 2 even worse than I already did. 

Super into everything Zoe wears - the costuming department did a great job, and now all I want to do is live in mom jeans and baggy sweaters.

Did I Cry? I teared up a couple of times because I’m not a completely heartless bastard and when Amy Adams offered Evan Connor’s college money, my heart broke for the lie Evan had thrust upon her, and Julianne Moore’s song got me good, because she’s just a single mom to Evan who is doing her goddamn best. 

Things I hated more than the time I dropped a frozen gallon container of fruit cocktail on my pinkie toe in my parents’ garage and it turned black and I thought it was gonna fall off:

Ben Platt is 28 years old. He originated the role of Evan Hansen on Broadway, so in many respects it makes sense that he plays the role in the movie, except for the one kinda sorta important thing where he looks like a wizened old crone standing amongst a sea of children doing his best twitching, cringing Hunchback of Notre Dame impression. If you want someone to convincingly play 20 years their junior, hire Paul Rudd. Otherwise, please don’t ask me to believe that this supposed 18-year-old has crow’s feet. 

And that twitching nervous energy is a huge part of the black hole at the center of this film - he’s playing to the cheap seats and walking through the halls of his high school like a wet chihuahua. It’s an excruciating acting choice to watch - he doesn’t just have anxiety, he is on the verge of a nervous breakdown seemingly every second of every day. Like honestly, where is only-mentioned-never-seen Dr. Sherman, because this young man’s meds are NOT WORKING DR. SHERMAN. 

There’s such a lack of self-awareness on behalf of the writing, directing, and performance by Platt. There’s one song, “Sincerely, Me,” that offers the only glimpse of commentary about what Evan is doing, by pointing out the malicious ridiculousness of him writing a series of fake emails as proof of his and Connor’s friendship. 

Also what high schoolers email this much?? I know this was written in probably 2014 or so, but has a bitch never heard of a text? Even a DM? This whole plot is constructed around the premise that high schoolers are just constantly, constantly emailing each other. 

Everything - and I mean EV-ER-Y-THING - about Evan’s relationship with Zoe is so creepy and disturbing that with a soundtrack change, this could easily be a horror movie. He attempts to get her to like him by describing to her all the things her brother noticed about her - oh wait, I’m sorry, all the things HE noticed about her while he was skulking in the shadows following her around for years, watching every move she made, and it ends with him singing repeatedly “I LOVE YOU” because following a girl around and never having a conversation with her or knowing her at all is love, right? This was clearly written by the same people who chose “Every Breath You Take” as their wedding song because Sting is hot and they never actually listened to the damn words. 

And it gets about 10 billion times worse when Zoe goes to Evan’s house alone, takes him up to his room, and sings “I don’t need reasons to want you” and that was the moment I was that person I hate in a movie theater and I pulled out my phone to Google who wrote the music and lyrics to the musical (we were in the back row of the theater no one was behind me THIS WAS AN OUTRAGE EMERGENCY) and of motherfucking course it was written by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, 2 men who heard about meeting an actual human woman from a friend one time but otherwise are unfamiliar with the concept. 

Lastly, enormous serial killer vibes from Evan sending unlabeled flash drives anonymously through the mail with no note in an attempt to right his wrongs. That’s not catharsis, that’s how the next installment in the Saw franchise starts, with Evan in a Billy the clown doll mask showing up on the screen and asking if you want to play a fucking game. 

Also, I know it’s not possible for the narrative to justify this in a way that could be satisfying based on Evan’s actions, but what is with this thing where single working-class mom Julianne Moore is turning down rich people’s money for Evan to go to college? Like, obviously we can’t have that happen in the movie but in real life, fuck your pride! Take those rich people’s money!

I also know how movies work but nothing annoys me more than a giant group of high schoolers all getting beeps and boops to indicate text notifications all at the same time because I don’t know a single person under the age of 55 who keeps their ringer on. That shit is on vibrate AT MOST, and I feel like that’s a millennial thing. 

The emotional climax of the film is obviously Evan’s WAY TOO LATE confession, but the idea that it’s prompted by Connor’s family suddenly getting a lot of internet hate is, frankly, laughable. If Sandy Hook taught me one thing, it is that no tragedy is immune from trolls who live only to cause other people devastating emotional pain on the internet. That shit starts day 1. Apparently no one involved in this production has ever been on Twitter?

Also it feels like there should have been a dog somewhere in this movie and there was no dog, so points off for that too. 

Perhaps Dear Evan Hansen isn’t nearly as deep as it aspires to be. Perhaps it’s a morality play, a simplistic message of “Don’t lie, kids, lying is bad!” Major studio movies wrap themselves up with a nice bow at the end so everyone can feel good about themselves and leave with a happy ending, but the moronic cruelty on display here makes that feat feel impossible. We’re left with Evan in an orchard, reading Connor’s favorite books and staring into the big blue sky with all the self-actualization he’s earned now as a lil treat. And if Evan Hansen looked like an actual 18-year-old, it would be a lot easier to extend more empathy to him and his not-fully-developed prefrontal cortex, but it’s a little harder with this fully-grown, weathered man who was old enough to remember seeing Liar Liar in theaters. 

Dear Evan Hansen, 

Get some actual help and a haircut and maybe you can grow up enough to have an actual healthy interaction with any other living person, ever.

Sincerely, 

Me

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

[pascalpanic]

Pilot’s Hands (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Summary: Frankie takes you up flying in his helicopter. You can’t help but focus on those goddamn hands of his.

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), finger penetration/fingering, language, lots of dirty talk and innuendos, please forgive the multiple puns I made, a singular smack to the ass. afab reader. talk of flying in helicopters and being rlly high above the ground. reader is nervous about heights.

A/N: Frankie smut is the best smut. This was requested by @notabotiswear!! I hope it’s what you were feeling, love!

Your hands grip the chair as the helicopter slowly lifts from the ground. There’s an urge deep inside of you to jump from it now, while you’re low, so that nothing can happen, that you can’t be lifted up. You want to scream and shout and rip these headphones from your ears and make it all stop, but you don’t. You grip the seat even harder and squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the pressure in your ears start popping and changing.

The anxiety eases instantly as you look to your left. There sits Frankie, guiding the helicopter. He looks absolutely fucking gorgeous, as usual. Today he wears a warm flannel over a t-shirt with his favorite beer’s logo. On top of his brown waves, which were extra unmanageable this morning, sits his favorite ball cap. He’d spent an unhealthy amount of time picking out just the right outfit today, since it was technically a date.

You smile a little at how focused he is. There are lines of concentration between his two thick eyebrows, his stubbly jaw clenched in concentration. His large hands navigate around the dashboard, controlling the massive machine as it pushes you up into the sky. It’s soothing when he’s the one doing it.

Frankie has always talked to you about his love of flying. It’s something you’ve never quite understood. He talks about it like it’s beyond any other experience. Flying is his happy place. He’s never more content than when he can control the big machine and soar through the sky. You’re the opposite. Flights usually required you to take an anxiety med and pass out. The feeling of being so far above the ground makes you panic and fills your brain with the worst possible scenarios.

There’s something better about it when the man you’d trust with your life- are trusting with your life- is the one piloting the machine. He sneaks you a smile as he notices you staring, but in an instant is back at the controls. You giggle and lean back in your chair, enjoying the view. Frankie’s got you.

The ascent continues. You’re still gripping the sides of the chair with all of the force your hands can create, and the anxiety seeps in. You close your eyes and force yourself to focus on your breathing. Even this high in the air, Frankie is your solid ground. You reach over and grab his thigh, knowing his hands are too busy to hold. Your fingers dig into his leg, but it’s no distraction.

Finally, Frankie slips one hand beneath yours and laces your fingers together. “Open those eyes, baby,” he asks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “We’re at the cruising altitude.”

Your eyes open and are filled with nothing but blue sky surrounding you. Looking to the sides, you can see your city surrounding the two of you. Everything looks so small. You’re unconsciously beaming, and when you turn to look at Frankie, he’s grinning back. “Cool, right?” He asks with an equally big smile.

“The coolest,” you nod in agreement and laugh. It’s astounding, really.

“Just one second, babe,” he tells you and drops your hands, pressing some buttons and flipping some switches. His hands are skilled, flying across the controls with practiced ease. His voice is smooth and even in tone as he talks to someone in his headset. He continues even as he talks to the controller, reaching over you to hit a far button.

He’s good to just steer now, you can tell, and you wrap both of your arms around one of his. He signs off from the call and looks over at you, then down at the arms on your hands. “You need something to hold onto?” He asks, leaning over and kissing your head briefly.

“You look sexy flying,” you chuckle and slide your hands down to his, holding it happily as you look around. “You’re just… so good at it,” you shrug and look around the cockpit.

He laughs softly. “I wonder how it happened,” he teases, pulling his hand back to he can use it to navigate. “Are you okay? Sure you’re not too anxious?” He asks. His eyes aren’t on you- they can’t afford to be right now, while you’re in the air- but his words are sincere.

You nod, beaming. “I trust the pilot more than I ever have.”

He shakes his head and smiles, adjusting his cap before flipping a few more switches. “You just keep telling me, okay? Let me know if you wanna be done early.”

“I think I can handle thirty minutes in the air, watching you be all cute and smart.”

“Smart? I don’t know about that one, baby,” he shakes his head but smiles down at the gauges he checks.

For a few minutes, it’s silent between the two of you. The hum of the engine and the spinning blades fills the space between you. You’re content to look around while Frankie pilots the two of you, snapping photos. At one point, you sneak a few photos of him, giggling at how cute he looks. You lean over and kiss his jaw through the stubble, which makes him grin and blush slightly. “Babe, I’m working,” he whines, but it’s all teasing, you both know. Frankie loves nothing more than some physical affirmation.

You chat quietly when he has the time to do so, when the machine doesn’t require as much of his attention. He’s fantastically skilled at multitasking, you notice, which makes you smirk a little. He’s so fucking good at what he does, those calloused hands dancing around the dash like a skilled piano player reciting a sonata, like an artist creating a masterpiece. And you suppose, to Frankie, flying is like an art.

“Do you know any tricks?” You ask at one point.

Frankie nods. “I can do barrel rolls and shit. I don’t think you’d want to feel that,” he chuckles, his hand resting on top of yours, which sits on his thigh.

“Oh fuck, not now,” you laugh softly. “But that’s really cool.” And hot, your primal brain, the one that seeks the best mate, tells you.

As the time in the air dwindles down to a stop, Frankie once again has to pay full attention. You return to your previous position: gripping your chair. Your hands aren’t as forceful now, far more trusting of Frankie and his skills. You can even look around as the world grows bigger and bigger as you approach it. Not long after, the helicopter lands, and you let out a deep sigh of relief. “Wow,” you laugh, a little bit of anxiety still in your voice. “Now I can tell you everything that I wanted to say in the air.”

Frankie looks over at you, tilting his head in confusion. “And what was that, exactly?”

“That you look so fucking hot,” you grin at him. “You do, really. You know what the fuck you’re doing, and that’s hot. And your hands, you’re so good with them,” you muse as you pick one up and play with the thick fingers attached.

This time, Frankie’s smiling. “Oh yeah?”

You nod happily. “Mhm. Just look so good when you’re using them. Makes me think of other things they’re good at.”

He’s a little red, but he grins. “Really?”

“You know that. I’m never quiet about how good you are with them, am I?” You tease and laugh.

Frankie’s face tinges with red, and his Adam’s apple bobs hard with a gulp. “Don’t do this to me yet, baby,” he chuckles and shakes his head. He removes your headphones once the blades have stopped rotating, then his own, and unstraps the both of you.

Frankie gets out then helps you down from the chopper. One of the other men who works at the field comes over to say hello, and he snaps a photo of you and Frankie for you.

The picture is perfect: the blue skies in the background contrast the dark metal of Frankie’s helicopter. He has both arms around you, and you have one hand pressed to his chest. You’re both grinning, both wearing flannels and each in one of his ball caps: you stole one this morning before you left his house.

He walks away after you both thank him, and Frankie leans in close. “Gotta get some shit done in the hangar. Won’t be more than ten minutes. Go wait for me in the car, baby girl,” he murmurs in your ear. He gives you a little smack on the ass, which makes you start to scamper off.

You grab his keys from his pocket, then toss a flirty smile over your shoulder as you walk to the parking garage.

-

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting shotgun in Frankie’s truck. He removes his cap and runs a hand through those curls before putting it back. You watch it, noticing the way the knuckles bend and fold. He looks over at you and notices the expression on your face. “You still thinking about them, baby girl?” He asks with a growing smirk.

You nod, the wetness in your panties growing. “Mhm. Think you could pilot me?”

Frankie rests a hand on your thigh, tracing circles into the skin. “Unzip those jeans for me, baby. Let’s find out.”

You’re in a parking garage, and no one else is around. It’s early on a Saturday morning, but the risk is just as exciting. You do as he says, and Frankie slides his fingers beneath your panties.

The pads of his ring and middle fingers start at the top of your folds, tracing down the damp skin until they reach your entrance. “Fuck,” he groans at how wet you already feel. His fingers swirl around just millimeters inside of you, taking the wetness and removing his hand, bringing it up to your mouth. “Gotta get them ready for me first, honey. You’re already plenty wet, but I wanna make it good for you.”

You oblige and take his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them dutifully and moaning around them. They’re so thick and strong, and the thought makes you spread your legs wider. “Good girl,” Frankie almost growls before bringing his fingers back down to your entrance and slipping them inside of you.

You cry out, your hand gripping the side of your seat once more; this time, it isn’t from anxiety, but from pleasure. They scissor you open slowly, those thick digits reaching deep inside to that spot you can never quite reach with your own. “Ah, fuck,” you whimper as the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. “I was thinking about this the whole time we were flying, Frankie. Your fingers and how good they feel inside me.”

He bites his lip, curling his toes in effort to not get hard right here and now. As much as he loves doing this, loves the risk, this is all the two of you can afford. It’s too late: he’s already got a semi tenting in his jeans.

“Yeah? That’s what you were thinking, dirty girl?” He almost purrs, his voice deep and desperate. “I’m trying to keep us from falling and dying, and all you could think about was how good it feels when I do this?”

As he says this, his fingers curl deep inside you and brush against your g-spot. “Fuck, yeah,” you nod, panting now. You’re sweating, probably through your t-shirt, but you don’t care. It feels too good. One hand of yours grips his wrist, as if it could keep him from pulling away. As if he ever would in the first place.

“Such a good girl, so wet for me,” he groans as he forces himself to stop his hips from bucking into the air, against nothing. “I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to you and you’d let me, couldn’t I?” He murmurs. “You’d even let me fuck you in that helicopter. No anxiety when you got my dick inside you, huh?”

You nod. “You could, yeah,” you groan, your other hand digging into the leather seat. “Anything you want, you got it,” you nod. “Feels so good, anything you do does.”

He smirks. “Maybe I’ll have to try that sometime, huh? Have you keep my cock warm while I fly?”

“Anything,” you repeat breathless, shuddering beneath him. The heel of his palm grinds harder into your clit and it’s all too much. “Frankie, baby, gonna cum, almost there.”

“That’s it, baby girl,” he nods, working his fingers harder. “Cum for me,” he demands, and who are you to disobey such a wonderful order?

Your walls clamp down hard on his thick fingers, the pleasure overwhelming you. “Frankie!” You cry out, head falling into the headrest of the seat.

Everything in your body is pulsing, desperate, pumping red-hot blood that feels like it’s infused with some kind of illicit drug to produce such a high. You whine his name again and again until it’s all too much, and you squeeze his wrist gently, asking him to be done.

He complies, tracing his fingers through your folds before they press against your lips again. “Clean me off, baby.”

You nod and take them in your mouth, lavishing them with your tongue the way you would with his cock, which you’re now growing more and more desperate for.

He pulls them out with a pop and dries them on his flannel, smirking over at you. “Goddamn, honey,” he murmurs as he looks at how wrecked you are just from his fingers. Before you can say anything, Frankie whips the truck into drive and peels out of the parking spot.

The sound of squealing rubber startles you, making you jump and squeal as you button your jeans and zip them. “Frankie!” You gasp and smack his arm. “What the fuck was that?”

His eyes are dead-set on the road, determined not to look at you, not to detract from his mission. “I’m getting us home as soon as I physically can so I can feel that around my dick,” he says, teeth grit in concentration.

He’s rock hard, you can see, and you offer a soft rub into his crotch. “Oh, baby,” you chuckle excitedly, staring at the road ahead of you. It’s going to be a long ride home for the two of you.

It’s safe to say that your anxiety over flying has lessened.

-

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

Nat and the House: Jameson

CW: Pet whump survivor, collar mentions, references to past pet whump, referenced ptsd flashbacks

Jake Gets Stabbed: First Second Third Fourth

“Okay, well. Here we are.” Nat opens the door for him, swinging back the heavy wood and stepping inside. The sun is warm on his back, but it drops away into a chill as he steps inside. His eyes shift back and forth, trying to bury his curiosity under a tight jaw and narrowed eyes.

The house is big, although not as big as Jake Stanton’s. It’s old, and creaky, and feels alive in a way that newer houses don’t. It’s a place that has seen so many lives move through its halls, felt so many hands on doorknobs and walls, that it’s taken in some of each person who has slept here. They’ve left something behind, and it’s the breath inside the house.

It’s the whisper of air against the back of his neck, slightly chilled, that tells him that a hundred voices have bounced off these walls, with their own pain and fear, long before his added to the chorus. 

Jameson swallows, lingering in the doorway and staring ahead at a carpeted staircase that winds up and disappears around a 90-degree turn, at the coat closet just beside it. There’s a built-in shelf on the landing he can see the bottom half of, lined with photographs in small cheap dollar-store frames. 

Off to one side of the entryway, there’s a big double-door-sized opening into a gigantic living room - to the other side, a dining room with a large table covered in boxes, paperwork, books, and some flannels hung from an empty china cabinet, looking still damp, drying. Beyond that, a small kitchen, he can just see the corner of the oven.

This is a house with breath. This is a house with a voice.

The house tastes like a crackling fire, the mix of heated air and chilled, melted marshmallows inside s’mores, the crunch of graham cracker and chocolate bar underneath. 

This is a good house.

“Sorry,” Natalie Yoder says over one shoulder, moving ahead of him to flick a light switch. Jameson flinches, just a little, when a warm yellow bulb inside a false chandelier lights above his head. Her braid thumps against her back, a deep chocolate brown with strips of silvery white running through it. “I haven’t had anyone here in a long time, so the house is a mess. Just me these days.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him. Natalie Yoder has a good voice, too, it’s full and warm, it tastes like hot chocolate, the kind that goes light on the sugar and is just a little bitter and spiced with cinnamon. Her voice feels smooth on his tongue. He can trust people who taste like this, he thinks, and he takes another step inside.

“H-How… how long?” His voice croaks a little, it rasps. Long-term damage to his vocal chords, they said, from screaming so often for so long. 

She stops and looks back at him, and there’s a gentleness in her tempered by the steel he’s already seen. She gives him a slight smile. “Long enough to speak to Dr. Berger, get you on your meds, and give them time to settle in your system. Could be a month or two to figure out exactly what’s going to work for you. Then see what happens with a couple of controlled interactions.”

He nods again. She speaks like an expert - she is the expert, he guesses, because she’s seen a hundred people like him in her life and Jameson has only ever known himself. 

Not that he’s even sure he knows himself that well, most days.

He has his collar on, buckled tightly around his neck, a comfortable constriction. A reminder that he isn’t in control, someone else is, and what happens from here isn’t his fault. It’s not his responsibility, because a pet can’t be responsible for anything.

He left Jake Stanton lying on a couch’s pull-out bed because he can’t go up the stairs, pale and unconscious, and he left Allyn crying in their shared room, curled up in the closet, running their fingers over the names that Jameson carved into the wall there.

He lost control, for just a minute, of where he was and who was with him, and now…

He’s safer with the collar on.

He’s safer, controlled.

They were right - he can’t do this on his own, and he never could. 

“You can choose whichever room you like, except that I keep Chris’s room for when he stays over just the same, so not that one. But there’s another three bedrooms you can use.” Nat smiles at him, moving to the stairs and gesturing for him to follow.

They creak under his feet, and the house is speaking to him, whispering here, you’re here, you’re here now in bursts of smoke on his tongue and sweet just after. He licks at his lips, looking down at ancient brown carpeting there, almost long enough to be shag.

For just a second, he sees a flicker of a bright red shag carpet in a large shared loft bedroom, a face very like his own but older, laughing as they threw balled up pieces of paper at each other. Sparkling brown eyes-

Gone-

Jameson shivers and the moment is lost, and he lets it go happily. Whatever happened to him, he has too many other problems right now to dwell on something he’s already chosen to leave behind. 

“I’ll take, uh, whichever-... whichever room is closest to the bathroom,” He says, seeing an open door with the telltale tile floor and pale painted walls. She nods, gesturing to a closed door on her left. He pushes open the bathroom door and just stares, for a few long beats. “You have-... dinosaur shower curtains?”

“Oh, Chris loved that,” Nat says, looking over his shoulder briefly. She’s as short as he is, more or less, and somehow her leaning over behind him doesn’t feel quite as unsettling as when Jake Stanton does it, or anyone else.

Shit, maybe they’re all right. Maybe he’ll be safe here… and everyone else will be safe from him.

“I just kept them after he moved out. We can get new ones if they bother you, it’s not a big deal.”

“Uh, no, they’re… they’re fine. I’m going to-... put my stuff down now.” Jameson backs up and she moves away to give him space. The floor creaks softly underfoot as he moves along the hardwood in the hallway, to the closed door of the room he’s chosen sight-unseen.

When he opens it, it’s plain. Just pale walls and two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, side tables with lamps, blankets and pillows. A single framed portrait of a bird on one wall. 

He looks out the window to the branches of a tree outside.

“I’m going to go downstairs and make some coffee. Want me to call for you when it’s ready?” She speaks from the doorway, calm and quiet. He loves her hot chocolate voice.

“Sure. I could… I could use some fucking coffee,” He whispers, without looking back.

“No doubt. We’ll figure this out, Jameson, I promise.” 

Before she can close the door, he asks, all at once in a rush, “What if I do it again?”

She’s quiet, for a minute. Quiet for long enough his heart starts to pound, he starts to wonder if she’ll lock him in the room, or even kick him back out and tell him to start walking and figure it out on his own. He can’t go back - the last time he was on the streets, he got picked up by Robert, the time before that by Brute. His pulse beats against his collar, and he’s safe with the collar, but only if he’s kept by someone who takes care of him, who won’t hurt him worse. “To Jake?”

“Or… or Allyn. Or you, or-... fuck, anybody. What if they-... made me so I’ll do it again?”

More quiet. He hates the quiet. He wants her hot chocolate voice back. He turns, finally, to see her looking him over with a calm that goes so far beyond his own anxiety and fear, a steady surety that makes her seem more like she’s part of the house than someone who simply lives here.

She’s seen a hundred hands, too, learning not to hurt or be hurt. She’s heard a hundred voices learning to speak up, remembering how to do something other than beg for it to stop. Maybe she is the safehouse, and the building is just… an extension.

He can kind of see why the big guy likes her so fucking much.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to give you the tools you need to keep yourself and everyone around you safe.” She smiles at him, a little, lifting the corner of her mouth just the slightest bit on one side. “It won’t be easy. And it won’t be simple, or immediate. But you aren’t irredeemable, Jameson. Even if you fucked up. Does it help if I tell you I’ve had others hit me, or grab at me, when they’re in a panic and forget where they are?”

He breathes, shallow but slow. “R-Really?”

“Yeah. A half-dozen or so. I caught Chris lost in a nightmare once and he cracked me across the face with his forehead so hard I had a bruise for a week. I’ve been kicked, I’ve been hit.” She exhales, not quite a sigh, and steps inside the bedroom, moving over to one of the beds and sitting down, crossing her legs at the ankles and leaning back, resting her weight on her hands. “I ended up in the ER with a concussion once, early on. One of the ones I lost.” She looks away from him, and he sees the wrinkles in her face suddenly settle deeper, as if the weight of that old grief ages her even now. “He didn’t mean to, the poor guy. He was so scared, but I couldn’t-... I couldn’t keep him. He was so scared of himself he went back to his captor. Never saw him again.”

Jameson takes one step towards her, and then another. It’s unconscious, and he tells himself not to, but he can’t help it. “I’m-... I’m sorry for him.”

“Yeah, me too. I hope he’s doing all right, but… I suspect not. It’s… it’s hard, Jameson, to do this, and sometimes the hard feels like it’s never going to end. Sometimes, they think there’s no choice, no other way.” She looks up at him, and he sees the faintest glimmer of tears that don’t show in her voice, don’t fall down her face. “You’re thinking that, too. That maybe you were better off kept.”

The echo of his own thoughts in her low husky voice sends him reeling, and he can’t find his voice to speak at first. Finally, he manages, “Y-yeah.”

“It’s a lie. I understand why it feels like-... it’s inevitable. But I want you to know... I’ve seen this before. And you’re still better off healing than being sent back to shatter. We’re going to help you, and Kauri-... Kauri’s right, I think. You’ll be safer here for a while, and then you’ll go back and be safe there, too.”

“What if I’m not? Safer there?”

Nat Yoder’s smile softens, and she holds out her hands. She must expect him to sit next to her, because she jumps in surprise when he drops to his knees instead, and lays his head on her thighs, across her lap, feeling the rough denim of her blue jeans against his cheek.

Her hands hover, and then slowly she lowers one, and rests it, gently, over his hair. 

“Then you’ll be safe here,” She says, and her voice pours over him, honeyed, deep, the hint of cinnamon and the texture of the thick liquid of his grandmother’s hot chocolate, made always with whole milk and a touch of cream.

Jameson doesn’t question the knowledge of how his grandmother made hot chocolate, and he doesn’t push it away. He just lets it exist, there and then gone a moment later. 

 “For how long?” Her fingers press just slightly against his temple. Her fingertips are slightly roughened, calloused from hard work. “How l-long am I safe here?”

“The same amount of time I give everyone, Jameson,” She says. “As long as you need.”

“But you said-... you don’t take in anyone anymore-”

“I’m making an exception, and I don’t do anything halfway.” She leans over, and he feels her shadow fall over him. He turns his face to press against her leg, feeling the tears start to well, clenching his eyes shut only to have them fall without his consent, to dampen her jeans.

He shudders. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him-... I thought he was Brute, coming b-back, I didn’t know-”

“I know. I know you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“I know I sh-shouldn’t fucking cry-... I’m the ass-asshole who stabbed him, I shouldn’t c-cry about it, I shouldn’t-” He hitches back a sob, feels his collar catch on his Adam’s apple. It’s not enough to keep him safe. It was never enough to keep him safe. 

Her voice washes warm over him, and she runs her hand through his short hair, over the filled-in bald spots shorter than the rest. “You should, if you need to. Go ahead.”

Somehow, once she says he can, he can’t stop himself at all. 

Jameson kneels on the floor in a house that has seen a hundred or more people exactly like him, his body wracked with guilt and horror at what he did, what they made him, and his terror that he can’t ever take it back, that he can’t become anything other than what he was made to be.

And through the tears, she keeps one hand on his head, and when he starts to talk to her, she listens. 

Outside a bird sings, a mourning dove, calling hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo.

-

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