#and i'd feel my brain making a loop

[idkimnotreal]

i think it is a product of my autistic brain that i never really “know” things, that is, i never feel that a thought i have is right, i’m never really sure about stuff; what i would describe my thoughts as instead (or my process of arriving at a conclusion or decision, which is what most thoughts are about) is having a map of information laid out and being able to access all the pieces of information about something whenever i think about it (every thought i think about has several other thoughts connected to it, it’s about perspective, if i focus on one of those other thoughts then it will have other thoughts connected to it too), but it never becomes more than that - a map of displayed information. 

it’s not that i can’t connect the dots (or thoughts, or pieces of information), but there are so many dots that i can’t ever connect all of them at once, and once i’m done connecting two dots, some other connection is already undone, left behind, and i can’t make out the entire picture. medication (stimulants) helps with this, but then i’m always afraid it makes me have so much tunnel vision that i am finally able to connect all the dots available to me at the time, but i’ll miss out on dots i might otherwise know of when my brain is unmedicated (what i would describe as unmedicated “horizontal thinking” vs. medicated “vertical thinking”). in other words, it makes me able to conclude/decide, but leaves my thinking “incomplete”, which is why i prioritize thinking some things in advance before taking my meds, and think about other stuff while on it as it suits me.

[manasurge]

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[dani-the-goblin]

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[freakyandcool]

Me when the intrusive thoughts say that it's not worth it and I really should just hurt myself again because that's what every bone in my body is urging me to do but I persist because got damnit 464 days since last is too good of a day to end on

[non-un-topo]

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[queenofthieves]

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[fingertipsmp3]

The slides for class today look deceptively simple. Should I be concerned

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[wikagirl]

i am currently being hit by a wave of the big sad, you know what that means.

[heizouz]

begging for sub lyney + praise kink i'd do Anything

nsfw sub!lyney + gn!reader, praise, lots of praise, dumb lyney

this isn't my favourite piece but lyney is all i can think about recently so i just had to get this out as fast as possible. thank u SM for this req bc it's just made me think abt how much of a praise kink he'd have lorddd... n e way i hope this is okay!!.. <33

"you did so good today."

lyney thinks he will burst if one more compliment falls from your lips. you're close—too close. your hands are all over him, teasing the buttons of his shirt, tugging at his belt loops, tracing along the lines of his jaw. he's so flustered, worked up, adrenaline still flooding through his body from his previous performance.

his hat and shoulder cape have been discarded on the makeup desk behind him, your eagerness not giving him any time to take a breath as you'd hurried him into his dressing room and painted his face with needy kisses. lyney had laughed, pushing you away to cheekily ask if you'd enjoyed the performance that much; his cockiness soon fading once the praises started tumbling out between desperate kisses against his skin.

your thigh is between lyney's parted legs, his back against the makeup desk; hands fisting the material of your shirt at your shoulders as he grinds against your thigh. he's whimpering, soft and embarrassed—a complete switch to his usual confident on stage persona and you can't help but feel the wave of pride at the way lyney can't seem to look up, fixated on the way he moves so obediently for you.

"look at you." you sigh, head tilting as you watch him fall apart against your leg. your eyes are soft but dark, taking in the desperate cant of his hips and pretty gasps with every movement.

you're not even doing anything. lyney does all the work—working himself along your thigh, fingers curling into your shirt, eyebrows furrowed with concentration to make himself finish.

he'd been so stressed for his performance, so it'd been your plan all along to let it be known how well he did. the relief of finally getting his act done was clear as lyney was so accepting to relieve himself, to let you reward him for such a good show.

"just like that," you whisper. your hand tilts his head to finally look up at you, his eyes glassy and needy, "my pretty lyney."

lyney flushes at the praise, breath hitching, "st-stop, please." though his thrusts never seem to slow, hips only stuttering a little.

you take note of that, eyebrows raising when you flicker your gaze to his desperate grinding, "you want to stop?" you press your thigh harder against him, leaning impossibly closer across body, "but you're doing such a good job for me, darling."

"mh-hah-" lyney whines, loud, at the feeling of your thigh pressing hard against his cock straining against his shorts. he doesn't seem to realise how pitchy he's getting, brain fuzzy and too focused on you and your close body and the praises and his need to show you how even better he can be.

lyney can't think when you press your hand over his mouth to stifle his increasing moans. your chest presses against his and although he never seizes to slow the movement of his hips, your close proximity and the weight of your body pressing him hard against the makeup desk forces his eyes to roll back at the friction of your thigh against his cock. he can feel himself dripping against the material of his shorts, so incredibly close to breaking from just the press of your thigh alone. the thought would've flooded him with embarrassment if he could think properly.

you force him to keep eye contact, his eyes lidded and glossed over, the only thing separating you being your hand covering his mouth. your eyebrows furrow a little at the halt of his hips, "hm? don't stop, dove. you're being so perfect for me."

he feels so hot, his throat is closed up, unable to form a coherent word except the muffled whimpers and whines. his brain is muddled, the previous anxiety of a bad performance completely erased because now he's being good for you, he's so perfect, he's doing such a good job.

and to top it off, you lean in close when he starts to rock his hips at your command, whispering the words, "good boy." and lyney could cry.

lyney's eyes threaten to close, eyebrows scrunched and pretty breathy whimpers bleed past your hand over his mouth at the words, hips stuttering against your leg. purple irises gloss over with tears of pleasure, everything all too much and all you can do is smirk a little at how fucked out the usual suave and charming magician is.

"'m gonna-" lyney mumbles behind your hand, breath quickening and he pleads with his eyes, words stopping halfway to moan noisily.

"ah-ah!" you rip away his chance suddenly, hand dropping from his mouth and you back up slightly so you're no longer situated between his legs. lyney whines, bucking into the air at the loss of friction, eyes pooling with tears.

"n-no, please, please." lyney's desperate, voice broken and whiny.

"not yet, dove. 'need to get these off." you play with the belt loops of his shorts, tugging him a little closer. you smile wolfishly, going to pull the material down, "i need to reward you properly."

[honeytonedhottie]

maintaining the mind⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🛍️

SAY/LISTEN TO UR AFFIRMATIONS ;

make an affirmations tape and listen to ur affirmations so that then u can impress ur subconscious and feed it what u want it to show you. make sure that ur saying ur affirmations everyday so that then u can affirm ur reality ✨

if u dont know how to create an affirmations tape then i recommend the app parrot because it just loops the affirmations until i turn it off so thats rly helpful, i listen when i sleep. and although the app is convenient I LOVE TO AFFIRM so i'd do it manually too.

UR MINDS A MUSCLE ;

if ur not exercising a muscle, eventually it'll wither away right? the mind is the same way. to keep ur mind sharp, read more books. my aim is to usually read one book per month, sometimes i exceed that.

crossward puzzles

reading non-fiction books

listening to podcasts

if ur not into reading, listen to podcasts or do things like crossword puzzles (things that'll cause ur mind to expand) but please try and read cuz its rly rly good for you.

THE POWER OF A JOURNAL ;

journal briefly every night before bed to empty out ur brain before u sleep. this also helps if u are anxious and can't sleep because ur getting it out of ur mind -> and onto paper to deal with tomorrow.

also keeping a diary is an amazing way to keep track of time and talk about what u think about and whats on ur mind and ur feelings ALL OF THAT. it truly helps u to learn about urself and see things in a different perspective so that u can learn from urself.

[lucabyte]

obligatory ramble about postcanon loop ask

also your art is amazing

Hiiiiiiiii :D thank you :)!!

and thank you for the excuse to post the. just absolute wall of text that i truncated down to form the tags of that post. (i did,,, hit the tag limit. i forgot tumblr had one of those...) so let me just paste that and tidy it up a bit...

I am putting this under a readmore because it's a bit long. but:

This is like. The General Context for all* of my postcanon doodles? (Except AUs obviously) Like this is the base idea I've been drawing them all in. So, feel free to backread with this in mind. I've basically had this 'postcanon' timeline set in my brain since finishing the game...

My general thoughts are that I like the idea of Loop (even if through dubiously ethical means) being able to slowly reintegrate with the party as a whole new person, because they are, in fact, their own person.

It's a muddle of thematic threads im pulling on and "wouldn't it be fucked up if", but. (at its core, it's powered by the fact that like, while narratively isat's theme of 'the only person who can truly take the first step to help you is yourself'. (wrt: loop helping the party help siffrin in act 5) which i LOVE AND IS GREAT NARRATIVELY…. would be super fucked up irl to learn that your friend 'learned as a lesson' while you stood by kinda uselessly. I know i'd be upset about it. but thats mostly background here. doesn't really come up. at least not until loop has to explain who they are and the party realises they had to fall back on literally themselves again for help, but i digress,)

The real core concept is: Occam's razor. It is like, inherently, a buckwild thing to accuse a person of being somehow a clone or copy of your friend. Even if they start vaguely alluding to a backstory it's far more likely they were some other person before all that. (I still think Odile has that theory in the back pocket but she's rational enough to know it's a really long shot without a solid explanation. and i think Loop deep down knows this, and would, if cornered into confessing, turn the situation around to go J'ACCUSE and make HER explain it instead. Ever longer dodging being direct with their emotions...)

And the party are nice! And if someone has changed and wants to keep stuff secret it's kind of not their business? (Though it's hard not to speculate… see: the main joke of the doodles) And they seem important to Siffrin so they just try to accept them abrasive quirks and all. And eventually the question of their prior identity just fades away since, well, they're Loop. Their friend Loop.

but yeah. personal headcanon is that a few months/weeks after picking up and getting aquainted with Nille** (since that was presumably the IMMEDIATE TASK postgame), Loop reappears (either after a literal period of nonexistance, or just spending a few months wandering the french countryside alone being attacked by wild dogs). Since Siffrin has had a while to be therapised by the party they're doing mostly okay, but Loop showing up and still being agitated/aggressive pulls them both into a bit of a backslide behaviourally and puts the party on the back foot again.

Hooowever, I do think that due to no longer being literally stewing in the worst pressure cooker of all time together, the two do mostly actually sort themselves out with productive conversation. (Via a cycle of: genuinely distressing argument -> weeeird lovebombing -> ok we're good -> repeat, that gets less intense over time)

Thus, allowing the party to just. Integrate loop as a new person. They and Siffrin shuffle into different ecological niches (Loop taking over stuff Siffrin is now too squeamish for, etc (see: hunting, mostly)), and while it's not exactly what Loop wanted they generally get that beggars can't be choosers and it's a pretty good deal. And the rest of the party does straight up just like them as a friend, especially when Loop quits trying to actively antagonise them after a few weeks of being around them, since they just can't keep up being mean to people they like forever.

As for how I think the truth eventually drags itself out. This is where I invoke The Isabeau Torment Nexus™. So its gonna get shippy here for a bit hold on.

Which is, I think giving them time before Loop reappears long enough that Siffrin and Iseabeau actually manage to become established, Isabeau has to be the one to nudge the pair of them and go. "Hey. You know we're in Vaugarde right. I'm okay with polyamory if we all communicate." Before Loop and Siffrin actually even acknowledge that whatever the fuck they have going on kinda looks a lot like a relationship of some kind. (or have already been agonising about that via fighting and arguing, depending) (Obviously this comes after Isa "Emotionally intelligent enough to keep a lid on the jealousy" Beau has managed to use that big brain of his to Not just go Scream somewhere on the daily because oh godddd they keep talking like theyre suicide-baiting each other jesus chriiist. is it overstepping his boundaries to bring that up?? god)

This, taking a bunch of the tension out of Loop and Isabeau's relationship (Since I imagine Loop is a. being weird for the obvious reasons and b. feeling kinda guilty about 'getting in the way of' Siffrin and Iseabeau), allows them to actually get close in a normal friend way. (I think an interesting turning point could be Isabeau actually taking Loop's side in an argument vs Siffrin, which would absolutely break Loop's brain. Especially if it's an argument that matters. Like what do you mean he isn't just going to play favourites. What?)

Then Isabeau, just actually open minded and charmed by Loop (and maybe even somewhat at Siffrin's suggestion?) tries to close the final open side on the polyamory triangle here and that's the final straw for Loop on "This lie by omission is too unethical to keep up, this is just actually sick and wrong. I can't do this while he doesn't know who I am." Though. Obviously it probably goes. Very poorly with emotions high like that. And the added element of several months of deceit. Getting dark here for a second but that dagger is going MISSING and so are THEY for a hot minute.

Then yaaay everything works out in the end 👍 yippieee!! all it took was maybe a lot of harrowed recontextualisation of all the weird shit your new friend said and did when it turns out they're your old friend. It's fine.

But yeah. this is basically the context all of my postcanon doodles have existed within? And those exist to give other people something to chew on. So this does too.

I suppose TL;DR: Imagine if sloopis almost fucking happens before isabeau knows who loop is. can you fucking imagine. can you imagine having to navigate that. nightmare.

*Yes this includes the implied cannibalism comic. Uhh. Comes part and parcel with headcanoning that Loop went way off the deep end similar to A5 Sif But Maybe Worse before giving in. Add weepy half-asleep confessions to murder wherever you see fit in your mind palace. 👍👍👍

**Re: Nille footnote. I don't have anywhere to put this besides here! I have some thoughts on Loop and Nille having an odd dynamic. I don't imagine Nille to be super gung-ho on trusting a bunch of adults (even if they are majority around her age) given their implied backstory. It's probably a big shock to the system, especially since Bambouche is a good couple hundred Kilometers up north from Dormont and these guys don't seem to have trains. She would've been unfrozen and without Bonnie for some time....

Which is to say: I think she's suspicious of them. I think she may be looking for excuses to distance herself, keep Bonnie safe. SO.... A new guy showing up? And antagonising the party? What do they know that I don't...? I should find out.

And since... Loop didn't ever know Nille, they have no ammunition or real reason to be cruel. Plus, if they're trying to stay on Bonnie's good side (SINCE... if Bonnie thought Loop was cringe they may as well kill themselves. In their mind.) they SUPER have no reason to antagonise Nille.

Mostly, they might be able to open up to each other easier than they can the rest of the party?

I feel like this resolves with Loop feeling compelled to apologise for what they and Siffrin let happen to Bonnie, though... Hmm... Depends on how you interpret Nille that they'd be glad nobody else had been told about that yet, or furious it had been secret this long. I lean toward the former.

[brayneworms]

two for the show | mammon

kinktober day six. collar + leash.

word count. 3k

content. MINORS/AGELESS DNI, smut, collaring and leashing, light petplay, mammon is called 'pet' and 'good boy', kissing, praise kink, brief crying, anal fingering, sub!mammon + dom!reader, gender neutral reader, safe sane and consensual.

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

"This is humiliatin'."

You don't necessarily disagree—it sure is humiliating, just not for you, so you can't quite bring yourself to care as much as you probably should. Still, you're feeling disagreeable tonight. Maybe it's the weeks' worth of frustration eating away at you, or the stress of not having gotten enough sleep over the last three days, or maybe you're just sick to death of Mammon's whining, so you don't rise to meet him halfway.

Just this once.

You level him with a pointed look. "Humiliating would be making you walk around like this. We're just in your room."

A red blush melts over the tanned skin of his cheeks, and oh, isn't that interesting?

Mammon kneels on the floor, wearing a disgruntled expression and a collar. Attached to the collar is a leash, which is casually looped around your closed fist. They're both made of baby-pink leather, sitting lurid and pretty against his tawny skin. It's unfortunate how good he looks with them, actually, the way the juts and veins of his throat disappear behind the thick band. A dainty silver heart adorns the front, practically begging for you to slip your fingers under and tug.

"Stupid Asmo," Mammon growls. "Stupid bet, stupid Demonus—"

"Stupid you?" you quip, then immediately retract it when you see the glower on his face. "I'm just saying, it's not like Asmo tricked you into agreeing. You're the one who had to make it a bet."

"'Cause I thought I'd get money," he whines. "Sweet, sweet money! Now this... that weirdo and his perverted mind."

You hum as though giving this some thought. "And me? What about my perverted mind?"

Mammon chokes on his own spit. "Wha... um... y-you—"

"Better yet," you say thoughtfully. "What about yours?"

"Mine?" Mammon echoes, ostensibly outraged. Two dark spots of colour burn bright on the apples of his cheeks. "Now I know you're crazy. What are ya—"

You tighten your fist 'till the leather creaks, and you tug. Hard.

Mammon's whole body jerks forwards towards the bed, and at the same time and airy groan spills forth from his lips. He braces his body against the edge of the mattress, large hands flying forward to grip the wooden frame, and then he looks up at you. His eyes are wide and round as the Grimm he covets so much, his cheeks perfectly scarlet above his open wet mouth.

"Wh—what are you playin' at?" he croaks. "Stupid human..."

"Y'know, you call me that a lot," you tell him conversationally, and scoot to the edge of the bed. Mammon audibly swallows as you kick your legs off the side, one on each side of his body, pushing into his thighs. His spine straightens ever-so-slowly, pushing his chin up to meet your eyes. "It's just—sorry. If I'm such a stupid human, how'd you end up here?"

"Wha—" Mammon licks his lips nervously. "What do ya—"

"You know. On your knees in front of me." Your hand loops through more of the leash, shortening the distance between your fist and the collar. "It's just—you know. If you're such a big, bad demon and all, and I'm just a stupid human... it shouldn't even be possible, right?"

"C'mon," he says weakly. "Ya know I didn't... 's not like that..."

"Oh, no?" Your brows knit together in such a cruel parody of concern that Mammon feels his stomach lurch. He absolutely should not be enjoying this as much as he is. But everytime you talk down to him like he's actually beneath you, he can feel a sort of film slipping over his brain. "You wanna know what I think?"

Mammon gets the vague sense that his question is rhetorical. He nods anyway, quick, instinctive. He can see all the shadows in your mouth when you smile.

"I think the reason you're here right now," you murmur. "Is that you like it. You like being under my control. You like when I tell you what to do. And you like kneeling on the ground for me, waiting for me to decide when you're worthy of being acknowledged. Isn't that right?"

Yes. "No!" he blurts out, so hot that he's starting to sweat. You look so sexy, all mean and sadistic leering down at him. Those piercing eyes, that little half-smile, like you can see right through him. Mammon shudders almost imperceptibly. He feels like a bird caught in a cage, and he likes it, and he hates that he likes it.

You consider this. "Oh. Okay. Well, then good news. I'm officially ending your punishment early."

Mammon looks at you blankly. "H-huh?"

"Yep! You can unfasten the collar at the back. Just be careful not to run into Asmo so he doesn't know you skimped out on your loss," you wink, and throw yourself back onto the bed, turning your attention fully to your DDD.

Mammon stays right where he is, dumbfounded. "Th—that's it?!"

He knows he's boned when you give him a sly look out of the corner of your eye. "I'm sorry," you say all innocently, and Mammon nearly curses. "Was there something else you wanted?"

Oh. You're fuckin' evil.

It's so, so hot.

He makes an unintelligible mumble.

You cup your hand to your ear. "Hm? Sorry, did you say something?"

Evil. Evil. Evil. "Pick the stupid leash back up, then."

Your sweet smile is all cavities and no sugar. "What's the magic word?"

Goddammit. "P... please?"

"Good boy!" You clap your hands together in ostensible delight, and Mammon shivers form the roots of his hair to the pits of his stomach. The way you sort of... coo at him. It should be disgusting, it should revolt him. Instead he can feel himself stiffening in his jeans. You lean over and kiss him on the head, pick the leash back up and wind it around your fingers. "That wasn't so hard, huh?"

"Human," Mammon whines, eyes screwed shut against this all-encompassing humiliation. "Please..."

"Come up here," you mutter fondly. Mammon scrambles so quickly that he trips over his own shoelaces and rises, blushing, but there's hardly time to be any more mortified than he already is before you're pushing him backwards onto his bed and climbing on top of him. His brain abruptly short-circuits; fuck, okay, okay—

"Breaths, Mams," you remind him gently, toying with his earlobe. Mammon sputters, turning away from your burning stare.

"Breathin' just fine," he mumbles, like you're not on top of him, silhouetted by his slick colour-changing lightbulbs like some freaky kaleidoscopic angel. Blue to red to green to purple, and you're backlit like a stageplay. A fuckin' violent one where everyone dies.

"You look so pretty," you croon, and Mammon's heart drops to his stomach. The slow, silk-soft tone of your voice is sending all his blood rushing to the wrong place. The right place? He can't decide. He hates how pliant you make him feel, but the truth is he's barely scrounging up the energy to put up much of a fight at all. You're gonna get sick twisted ideas about his psyche at this rate.

You might start to think he actually likes being bossed around by some naive little human.

As if.

"Come off it," he says weakly, fighting the urge to hide his face.

"Nah, it's comfy," you reply without a beat, and Mammo groans. He's definitely at least half-hard now, and with his shitty luck you can probably feel him pressing up against your thigh. "Want me to help you out with that?"

Mammon shoots you a surprised, suspicious look; it's not the first time he's suspected you can read his mind. He tucks his chin against his chest and nods.

You roll your pretty mean mean mean eyes. "Come on, Mams, meet me halfway here." A finger under his chin, guiding him back to look at you, and Mammon can't breathe. He's suffocating under you, but in a sort of nice way, a way that makes him feel a bit less like himself, also in a sort of nice way. He doesn't know. It's confusing. You do fucked up things to head. "Good boys use their words."

His throat sticks. For a moment he imagines he'll tell you to piss right off, you uppity human, he's the Mammon, okay, so he doesn't need you clambering all over him and telling him what's what, right, so you can very well just—

"Pleaaaase touch me, yer bein' so mean," he whines, lower lip wobbling. "I'll be good, okay, I'll be real good so just s-stop teasin' me already and just—"

"Okay, okay," you giggle softly. "Don't strain yourself. You sound so pretty begging for me, Mammon." Your hands on him, finally, gliding up under his shirt and running over the warm skin there. Every callus and ridge on your skin catches on a ribcage and he has to bite back a desperate groan each time. You waste no time pulling his shirt up and off, though you have to do some careful maneuvering to get it over the leash which leaves you both laughing weakly.

You press kisses to his collarbones, his neck and chest, and it's nice, it's real nice and he has a fleeting thought that he could probably do this forever and it would be cool, like, he wouldn't ever even have to eat again or nothin' if it meant this was his morning noon and night. But every brush of your lips against his sensitive skin is making his cock twitch in his jeans, and he's so fuckin' hard now that it hurts. He makes a whimpery, pathetic kind of noise when you press a carefully orchestrated kiss to the skin under the collar.

"Don't worry," you hum, lips and then teeth skating over the skin of his naval. Mammon tosses his head back against the comforter with a moan. "I'll take care of you. My favourite pet. Promise."

Pet. The word ricochetes through his body like a bullet, setting every nerve it hits alight.

Your hands on his belt buckle makes a small, panicked noise escape from somewhere in his throat, and whilst your hands occupy themselves you lunge forward to kiss him. Mammon groans, melting back into the covers as you kiss him stupid, his hands flying up to cup the back of your neck, the side of your face. The hot flash of your tongue in his mouth distracts him enough so that he barely feels the flash as his jeans are yanked down. It's only when your pinky finger slips under the waistband of his boxers that he drags himself back from the kiss with a shaky gasp. Blown eyes follow the taut line of your arm to where it rests on his pubic bone.

In your eyes is taunting, but there's also a question. "Still okay?"

Mammon feels the strange urge to cry. Damn you, bein' all sweet. The way you can turn it around on him makes him feel so lost sometimes. He likes it when you get a little mean, sure, loves the darkness that blows your eyes and the mean steely smirk that makes your face look, just, so much sexier—but Mammon loves you. And he loves you 'cause you're patient with him, 'cause you're kind. And 'cause you love him too.

He hides his face in his elbow and says "If you don't touch me in the next thirty goddamn seconds I'm gonna lose my fuckin' mind."

A giggle, and the tension breaks. "Alright, alright, you big baby." He gasps, spine arching off the bed when you pin his erection to his stomach. "Just lie back like a good little pet and trust me, 'kay?"

You peel off his soaked boxers. Mammon waits, tense, for your fingers around his cock, or your mouth or something but when nothing happens for a good few seconds he cracks open an eye tentatively. You're leaning away from him, facing the bedside table. His stomach twists once he realises what you're looking for.

Ohhhhhkay, okayokayokay—

You turn back with a bottle of lube that's—actually, it's going dry at an alarming rate. Mammon can't quite bring himself to feel embarrassed about it, especially as he watches you deftly uncap it and coat two of your fingers.

"What's—" Mammon swallows hard. "What's the, uhh... what's the plan?"

"You're gonna cum on my fingers," you say matter-of-factly, tossing the lube aside. He goes to reach for it, to stow it away, but you tap his hand away good-naturedly. "Don't. Might need more later."

That promise slips low and heady into his gut, and he swallows and relaxes against the comforter. You grip one of his taut thighs in your hand and prop his leg up, then slip your hand between his legs. He makes a high, shivery noise as your fingers brush teasingly over his dick, collecting the pre already leaking enthusiastically from the tip, but you keep going, lower, lower—

Mammon grunts as he feels your fingertip circle his hole.

"Relax, baby," you murmur, pressing feathery kisses to the knee of his crooked leg. "Doin' sooo good for me, yeah?"

"Mhm," he whimpers. "Mhm, yeah."

"Yeah," you affirm, and slip the tip of your finger inside. Mammon breathes out quick and hard, but it doesn't hurt—not at all, really. There's a familiar stretch, but no burn, no ache. "That okay?"

"Y-yeah," he mumbles, wiggles his hips experimentally. "I can—you can put more."

Achingly slowly, between breaths, kisses, and more feather-light touches to his cock that have pleasure sparking bone-deep, you ease your finger in to the knuckle.

"Doesn't hurt," Mammon pants. "You can—can ya—"

"Alright, pet, I got you," you murmur. Two fingers is a stretch but God, God fuckin' dammit, once they're in Mammon feels like he could weep, and once they twist expertly inside him and find that tough spot a few inches in he damn near does.

He arches off the bed with an exceptionally embarrassing noise. "F-fuck, oh holy shit, fuckin'—do that again—"

"Don't forget your manners." You give your fingers a warning twist that has him whimpering. "I don't wanna have to train you all over again, baby."

"S—fuck, sorry," he babbles damn near incoherently. "Just please can you touch me there again, okay, please 'cause it feels so fuckin' good, you feel so fuckin' good, baby, angel, please."

Your fingers slip in and out, push against that spot inside him that makes him feel like he's gonna burst out of his own skin, and Mammon moans, and your fingers slip out for a moment and before he can do so much as growl in frustration you're drooling more lube over them and you go back in with a third.

He feels so fuckin' full and so weirdly brainless, like you've pushed all the common sense out his head to make way for your stupid good fingers. As though you've read his mind, they start jackhammering his prostate like you've found a goddamn doorbell, and his moans get pitchier and wispier until he's almost wheezing.

"Babe," he almost sobs, "Oh, fuck, yes—right there, right there, don't stop pleasepleaseplease don't stop I feel so—"sob—"so fuckin' good, I—"

"Shhh, it's okay," you soothe, and finally your other hand comes up to wrap around his cock and Mammon keens. Your hand is a loose fist, your thumb swiping at the head in a move that makes his whole buddy judder and he arches into the touch and away, it's so much, it's too much—

"'M gonna cum," he gasps out brokenly, hips bucking up into you, spine so bent it nearly aches. "Fuck, sorry—fuck, I'm gonna cum."

"Good boy," you whisper. "If I can just—"

Your hand leaves his cock, and Mammon opens his mouth to ask what you're doing when you seize a handful of the leash Mammon had almost forgotten was there, and you tug so hard that the leather constricts around his throat and and his head snaps up to meet the crush of your lips.

Mammon cums so hard that he sees stars.

He always thought that was some sorta exaggeration, but look here, ladies and gentlemen, come observe the great Mammon flat on his back with his eyes rolled up into his head, panting like he'd run a goddamn marathon with your fingers still buried inside him. Tears spill over his lashline as his orgasm rips through him, and he cums with a strangled "Fu-uck, love you, I fuckin'—fffuckin' love you, fuck—"

When he can breathe again, approximately a minute later as you carefully ease your fingers out of him, you kiss his lips tenderly and tell him, "I love you too, Mams. Just in case it wasn't clear."

"Mmmn," he grumbles. He feels the bed dip and your warmth leave him and his stomach drops, goes cold. He fists a hand in the fabric of your shirt. "Wh—where d'ya think you're going?"

It's meant to sound aggressive but it comes out more sad. He has to fight back a drowsy wince.

You pet his hair. "Just getting a wet cloth to clean you up, baby."

"Later," he grumbles, and tugs you back down. You sigh and pick up a dirty shirt from the unofficial laundry pile beside his bed and clean up his stomach and your hands before tossing it back into the basket. You make a mental note to bury it under other dirty washing so nobody catches a glimpse of it.

Once you lay back down, Mammon twists his body and jams it up against yours, his head wriggling onto your chest, arms so tight around your waist you think he's afraid you'll slip away.

You bring a hand up to his hair and play with it absently. "Want me to take the collar off, now?"

Mammon pauses. "...'S fine for now," he sniffs.

You bite back your grin as you feel him slip into sleep beside you.

[fooled-around-and-fell]

how low can you go?

summary: gojo satoru is possessive. you are also possessive. apparently it's not good to be possessive over your partner, so you're... trying to work it out. not really. pairing: gojo satoru x female reader content warnings: borderline toxic relationship (or maybe no borderline, just toxic), jealousy, fluff a/n: not my best work... slightly weird... kinda just wanted the banter and make it short so... thank you for the idea luv, sorry if I did not do it justice :") @sadmonke

Masterlist

-----

You've talked about it before -- Satoru being possessive and you.. being the same. You literally almost threw a dart between a girl's eyes, through her skull and into her brain because Satoru was trying to get you jealous. And Satoru... well... let's just say you had to pay bail.

So here you are, in the living room, both sulking and irritated. You and Satoru recently met a friend who's a couple's therapist apparently, and she said what you and Satoru currently have is highly toxic. She recommended you and Satoru fix things before it gets out of hand.

"So, no more getting jealous." He repeats.

"Same goes to you." You mutter. "And no fighting other people."

"Or threatening or glaring-"

"-that's impossible." You glare at him to prove your point.

"Look, I'm not any happier about this than you are." He says. "But.. apparently this is what we have to do to move our relationship forward."

You sigh. And so the deal begins.

You try to soothe your glare away as you watch Satoru teach a new student. Sure, some guidance is needed, but does he need to have his hands touch her to do it?

Feeling lasers at the back of his head, Satoru turns around and grins when he sees you glaring at him. He wiggles his index finger as if saying "no, no, no jealousy or glaring," but proceeds to put his hands on the new student (appropriately, ofc, just enough to make her blush).

"Ugh." You roll your eyes when you see Satoru giggling. You're ready to let the thought go and walk away, but then you see a familiar face walking towards you and a brilliant idea pops into your head.

"Hmm, two can play that game."

"Megumi!" You call out the raven haired boy.

Satoru's head cocks to the side as he hears your voice fade, realizing your attention isn't on him anymore. Then he sees you looping an arm around Megumi -- which you've never done before, and he pouts.

"Fine. I guess we are playing that game."

You spend the rest of the day with Megumi, dragging him to where Satoru always is, feigning it as coincidence -- you're just showing the kid around the school grounds that was just recently renovated.

And though you might think Satoru will never be jealous of Megumi, the child you and him practically raised, don't forget that Satoru is jealous over any attention you give to other people but him.

"Can I go now?" Megumi sighs, tired of circling around the school grounds twice now.

"No." You smile sweetly at him before dragging him to walk towards where Satoru is.

Satoru's finished teaching the new student, and just as he's about to walk back, he runs into you, talking to Megumi about something you're apparently so passionate about.

"Hi sweetie," Satoru smiles, "Having fun with Megs?"

"Don't call me that." Megumi rolls his eyes.

"Megs and I occasionally have a good time," You answer. "Finished teaching? Hope he wasn't too rough on you." You smile back to the new student.

The new student looks flustered and Megumi sighs, deciding to be a good senior and take her back to her dorm room, away from all of your and Satoru's toxicity.

"Seriously," Megumi adds, "Get it together."

You roll your eyes at the younger boy. Always acts so mature and such an adult when he doesn't need to be one yet. Reflecting at your own actions throughout your relationship with Satoru, it's possible that you might've been acting childish.

"So this isn't working, huh?"

Satoru sighs, shaking his head. "Guess not."

You walk back home with him, hand in hand. "I'm sorry I'm a jealous person... I'd say I'll do better but... we both know I won't."

"We're both very jealous," Satoru adds, "but at the same time I'm cocky enough to know that there's no one else you'd rather be with but me."

You laugh and playfully elbow his side, "not wrong."

Satoru puts his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. "But in all seriousness, I want you to know that even though I am very jealous, I also trust you with everything I've got. I know you won't do anything to purposely hurt me."

"Never." You affirm, "And me too. I get super jealous and it's probably not healthy to silently threaten every girl who gets close to you, but I know you won't do anything."

"But is it going to ruin our relationship?" You ask out loud.

"Maybe it's just our dynamic?"

"It's super weird as far as dynamics go."

"Yeah," Satoru nods, "But we're both weird."

"We? Oh sweetie." You shake your head. "It's really just you."

Satoru pinches your nose as you tease him.

"I fucking love you, you know that?"

"I fucking love you too."

[thebibliosphere]

I receive many wonderful and kind comments about Phangs in my inbox daily, but the ones that stick with me the most are always from fellow neurodivergent people, usually elated or crying because Phangs is the first book they've been able to read since their teens, sometimes even decades.

"I thought I'd lost the ability to read; I thought there was something wrong with me; I thought I was broken," over and over and over again.

I've talked about it before, but just in case you need to hear it: it's not just you; it's the publishing industry.

If you follow my Twitter, you may have seen the thread where I talked about what that was like, and how I was often handed the "problem" writers who struggled to conform to the industry standards. (The original thread is gone, but for context, it was about the lack of accessibility in publishing for people with ADHD) I didn't know it then because I wasn't yet diagnosed, but I understood the problems these writers were having because our brains functioned on the same wavelength.

I understood why they felt specific changes harmed the text, but I also understood that it was the cost of being published, and it was my job to help them with it. I went above and beyond to make it as painless for them as possible. All the while listening to my colleagues around the wine water cooler deride these writers as "pretentious" and "too thin-skinned for publishing."

I hated them. I still hate them, and I hate that the industry is the way it is because it's really not that difficult to accommodate.

Suppose an ADHD author tells you the changes you've made have made a sentence incomprehensible to them (and I cannot stress enough how distressing it is to have something you wrote be turned into something you cannot read). In that case, it's likely because you've removed certain critical elements for the sake of brevity. It might not look like vital elements to you, but for ND brains, longer sentences with additional qualifiers and descriptors can really help us latch onto the "rhythm" of a text, which can help us feel more immersed and hold our attention better*.

Filler words can help with this; it gives our brain time to process but also figure out which parts are essential and to hold onto. It's sort of like, uh, how people say "like" and "uh" a lot (😋). These act as both social cues that indicate that while we might be pausing in our speech, we are not done talking yet, but also help keep our brains jogging along via the act of vocal stimulation. (If I can find the study I read on this, I'll come back and post the link.)

Regarding "superfluous" adjectives and "weak" adverbs, they often function to provide emphasis and context we might otherwise miss. Sure, you can go overboard with them, and they can lose all meaning if you do, but the general writing advice that "adverbs NEVER be used" is not only lousy in general but also means those of us who struggle with social cues and emotional context can be left feeling out of the loop.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had to go back and verify that a character is experiencing an Emotion because it wasn't emphasized, or the author tried to make it into a gut punch by using "sharp, punchy" language (but all they use is "sharp, punchy" language!), and my brain glossed over it because, well, if it's not part of the greater sentence structure, it's irrelevant.

And this shit is my job! I'm being paid to notice these things! It's just not how my brain works naturally, and forcing it to do so long-term is not only exhausting but distressing. Why would I keep trying to read something that causes me exhaustion and makes me feel stupid because I'm struggling to understand it?

Now, obviously, there will be times when a text needs sprucing up. Everyone has their "comfort" style of writing, and while repetition can be soothing to read, it can also make the text hard to engage with. Same with run-on sentences. Sometimes you need those one-word gut punches. Or everyone's favorite, the italicized "oh."

The trick is finding a happy medium between the two that retains your personal voice and writing style. A good editor will work with you to make this possible. A bad one will hack everything to pieces and tell you, "that's just how it's meant to be."

I was lucky with my editors. Sometimes, I had to tell them that the proposed changes wouldn't work and were causing me distress because I couldn't read them. And I knew. I knew if I couldn't follow the sentence structure, a good chunk of my prospective readers wouldn't be able to either. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were doing their jobs and ensuring my book had as much mainstream readability appeal as possible. However, the problem is that "mainstream readability," as we've already established, isn't accessible to a large chunk of the population. So we found ways to work around it. We made it work.

As is evident in the messages I get in my inbox daily.

Every single day, someone else tells me their friend recommended Phangs to them, and they were skeptical because they haven't been able to read a published book in years. And every single day, someone new tells me they loved Phangs, but the biggest thing they loved about it, was that they were even able to read it at all.

So thank you for the greatest compliment you can give me. A lot of work went into ensuring Phangs would be accessible to as many people as possible.

Also, sorry the industry is like *gestures* this.

----

*This is a generality and not true for everyone. People are not monoliths. I am merely speaking from my personal experiences from the things I have observed in the industry as an editor, a writer, and a lifelong reader who also now struggles to read the current style favored by the mainstream industry.

[ms-demeanor]

hello! sorry to bother w this but im sort of desperate at this point. given your post about school abuse: so like. i had a similar experience and i thought that i had sorted my brain out. BUT. big but. now im trans and every time i have to correct people w/ misgender or come out to people that i dont already know their opinion on the issue, i get an anxiety attack that makes me unable to do it. ive told many therapists and no one so far has understood why im terrified of making stuff that other people can perceive as me being difficult to work with. would you have *any* advice? thanks!

Okay so first of all it is totally valid to feel that way; that isn't an irrational response, that is your body and brain going "!!!! I have learned this lesson before!" But just because it's a sensible response doesn't mean it's functional in the long term, which is why it needs to be addressed (which I'm sure you already know, I'm just explaining for people in the back).

So now here is some meandering advice:

Spend time with people you already know you can trust. It's okay to take a break from new people and situations (as much as is possible) when you are processing traumatic events and learning to care for yourself. Spending time with people who you don't have to come out to, who don't misgender you, can help you normalize being out and correctly gendered to yourself.

Recognize that you don't have to be out to everyone and some assholes aren't worth it. This is going to depend some on the context, but you don't owe everybody an explanation for yourself and if people repeatedly misgender you after being corrected you may just be better off not spending time around those people.

Loop in trusted people in low-stakes ways. If you get the sense that someone who you think is pretty safe has misgendered you on accident, it might still feel too intimidating to correct them in person but it might be a good idea to follow up with text or a call or a message to say "hey, just FYI, I think I heard you use a/b pronouns for me earlier, I just wanted to let you know that I use c/d pronouns. Did you want to meet up again next week?" the breakdown on why I think this is effective is - Distance means you're safe - nonthreatening "FYI" means you aren't saying "I'm offended" and assumes good faith from the other person - feels less accusatory (not that you need to tone police yourself, but if you're trying to lower the stress level overall then assuming it was a mistake and letting them know you don't think it was on purpose should reduce the overall tension) - request to meet up again or topic switch to something lighter once again says "I'm not mad, that was just regular information, we can now return to our scheduled programming"

I think that, generally speaking, this is also a decent way to come out to people if you're nervous; physically remote and emotionally casual can be a good place to work from (even if you're actually panicking in your head but you can pull off casual in a written message)

Find (or create) a space where people are 100% going to support you. If you need to create a discord server, if you need to schedule a regular coffee date with trusted friends or family members, whatever it is, give yourself a space where you are unconditionally supported and can have people to bounce ideas and concerns off of. Even if it's just you and one other person, it's good to know you have *someone* who you can say "I think I want to tell this other person to use my pronouns but it's scary" to and know that you're not at risk in any way. I'd say try to make sure that you're still interacting with people outside of that space, but have a space to retreat to where you can just drop the worry.

Recognize that somebody else's problem is not a reflection of you. If you have, for instance, a coworker who is being a piece of shit and refusing to recognize your gender, that is not a reflection of your gender that is a reflection of them being a piece of shit. If there is a classmate or a sibling who uses the wrong pronouns after being corrected that doesn't mean you're not entitled to your pronouns that means they are being a piece of shit. Some people are just not going to accept you and that's on them. Try to minimize your time spent with them and if you have to spend time with them at work take steps to ensure your safety, but don't fight losing battles with assholes.

It really is legitimately scary. You have good reasons to be scared and you are doing a very frightening thing (and not to do the meme thing but you are legitimately being so brave about it; the fact that you are reaching out and asking anyone for help, including randos on the internet, means that you are taking steps to doing the scary thing and that is SO GOOD and I'm really proud of you for making the effort in spite of the fear).

Here is some less meandering advice:

Practice. Talk to yourself in the mirror, practice with friends, practice with your therapist. Practice coming out to yourself in a casual way. Practice correcting your pronouns. Practice an introduction for yourself that explains the information you want to give to new people you might meet. Get it down to a quick little patter, get it to be something that's easy to say to yourself in the mirror first, then try it with friends for practice, then try it around the safer people you might want to give the information to. It'll get easier as you go.

Look for a local support group (or an online support group). If there's a local LGBTQ+ center you should see if they've got events going on or a support group you can join or workshops or any manner of social thing where you can go interact with people who have been through similar stuff.

Journal. Each time you find yourself frightened of talking to someone about your gender, do what you need to to get through the day and then sit down and think about that interaction. Write down what happened, write down what you were thinking. Was there something in particular that made you anxious? Is it something you can practice addressing? Was there something you noticed about the person that made you uncomfortable? Is that a common thread in the times you have trouble talking about this? If you're able to narrow down specifically what is making it hard to speak to some people that might make it easier to explain to therapists but will also make it more actionable for you.

Here's some very optimistic advice:

If at all possible find a friend who will be rabid and unflinching in their support for you and hang out with them around new people. Get yourself an attack dog copilot who will cheerfully step up and make corrections for you. I know not everyone can do this and I know that if you can find someone like this they can't be around all the time, but it can be wonderfully reassuring to find that one person who you know is going to be ride or die about making sure that everyone in the room respects you. (Being that person for someone else can also teach you how to be that person for you)