#it's that time of night where my brain just makes bullshit connections | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chemerr2 · 8 days

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i’m not sure if you’re taking requests but…. if you are comfy with it, could you please supply the thirsty jeff sluts with a smut? :,)

plot could be something where y/n and jeff don’t get along at all and constantly fight but one night they just say fuck it and give in to each other and😏😏😏 but like hateful maybe.. but still passionate🤭

hi sorry anon i’ve been MIA lol but i haven’t given up writing tho.

a/n: i like this request and hateful sex with jeff is indefinitely sexy 🙈

warnings: rough sex like..very rough sex, degrading, reader cries, cumshot and a bunch of swearing.

god you hated the way his eyes pierced into the back of your head after you walk pass him or how he purposely tried to trip you up but you caught yourself in time before falling face first on the hard dirty floor. He picks with everyone, but you’re his favorite victim to terrorize when you try to enjoy your evening;minding your business.

It wasn’t too long before you got fed up and started to yell at him for how he treats you: the rude and offhandedly comments he makes about you for literally just existing. But you expressing your discomfort didn’t cause any realization to what he was doing..it just went one ear out the other. He’d continue to fuck with you all day by saying mean things, taking or moving your things around and doing something reall petty. It’s only fair that you start to mirror his actions and attitude, right? when you did: oh boy jeff was far from pissed, he wanted to paint his bedroom wall red with your brains after you start doing the same shit he does to you; to him.

you push him around, nudge him, make fun of him, purposely take the last of everything so he sits there like a angry pup watching you eat the last of his food. How you break his things and call him names 10x hurtful than the ones he’s called you beforehand. He HATED this treatment, he hated the way his own medicine tasted so he decided to spit it out by busting into your room: head full of shit to do and say to you.

as your sitting on your bed doing nothing, he barges in your room, looking down at you. “what the fuck? get out my room.” you say annoyed, beyond pissed he had the audacity to even touch your doorknob. “you’re stinking up my laundry” you chuckle to yourself but when he slams your bedroom door you look over at him and he’s still peering down at you. No matter how pale and damaged his skin is: in the face you can see him turn red out of anger and the way his brows are practically connected from being furrowed. Now you’re beyond nervous and angry, because: One. what are his intentions? Two. You don’t want him in your room!! but jeff doesn’t know what a no is anyways, he rejects the rejection. Looking back at him— he starts to speak— and to no avail, straight bullshit comes out his dirty trap “i’m tired of you talking to me crazy and saying the fucked up ass shit” he inches closer “sometimes you just need to shut the fuck up, y/n” he got close to where his abdomen was touching yours from the way his posture is horribly constructed but he was still close enough for you to feel his hot breath washing over your mixed face of emotions.

in a whiff: he grabs your backside, squeezing your fat, spongy ass in his large, coarse hands; dirty nails digging deep into your skin. — pulling you close to him. You can’t lie to yourself anymore.. you had to admit: his deep and raspy voice turned you on. Especially when he yelled at you and laughed in your face. His voice was alluring in a way; definitely when he hurt your feelings. So you didn’t fight back when he slipped one of his hands underneath your shirt. With no bra on: he began fondling your tits and rubbing over your nipples with his thumb. No words were said as he began helping himself to your body: licking your tits, sucking them, biting your nipples, pinching them, slapping your tits around, grabbing your ass cheeks and spreading them while your still in your pajama pants. Finally, he’s done playing around! your shirt is barely off all the way; only being partially off to get a view of your tits. your chest is wet with his spit and you swear your pussy juice is sliding down your leg from how wet you are.

you lay yourself down on the bed, being submissive. Jeff unbuckles his belt: letting his pants hit the floor on its on and you were stunned at his..length. For someone who talks a lot of shit like jeff— you weren’t expecting him to carry a vast pack of dick around in those horrid skinny jeans he wears. He looks at you through his lengthy black locks before aggressively stripping your pajama pants off your body. He sees your full, meaty pussy soaping and slobbering for his dick. “no bra..no panties, you really are fucking nasty.” his words meant nothing before so why are they making you horny now? positioning himself between your legs, he began slapping his tip between the wet substance that covered your pussy. He wanted to tease you..knowing you were loving this and needing it— needing his cock in your tight pussy so it can hug him and grip his brick hard cock. Jeff relentlessly teased you by slowly slipping his tip in and out your pussy, barely putting an inch of his cock inside your. Seeing how impatient and annoyed you were getting by the expressions on your face nd the look your giving him, made his cock throb and his balls wiggle with excitement. He bent down to your ear and grabbed both your wrist with his hands “you really want this dick then you better beg for it.” jeff gruffly whispered before kissing your neck with his tongue— putting himself back upright while looking down at your body, exposed and just for him. You were stubborn, especially when it came to demands but you couldn’t help yourself when he dragged his cock along your clit and used his thumb to rub harsh circles on it.

“please..” your moan dragged your word out like saliva. “please what?” jeff bantered with you while you were in a submissive state. “fuck me, please” jeff laughs at your eagerness before he rammed his dock deep into your pit. You cry out loud as the stretch of his cock was greater than your last— dick was fat and an inch bigger than average. 20 minutes hadn’t pass and he’s already kissing your cervix with his red tip. Your wailing moans and cries— he was reaching far back into your pussy, touching depths of it you never knew would be there. In desperate attempts: you try and push him off you,, hands on his abdomen as he’s drilling you in like a nail. “FUCK! jeff” your cunt was so tightly packed with his girth that it felt like he got stuck at times “you givin up? s’too much for ya? hm?” he said through clenched teeth.

“i hate you..bastard” you moaned out trying to keep what little of morality you have left inside you. Grabbing on his hair and pulling him close as he fucks you into the mattress with each thrust resulting in you hitting your head against the hard wall. His dick ramming into you and slipping out became a routine in the last 30 minutes before he grabbed your throat and started mate fucking you against your bedroom wall and on your bed; foreheads against one another and he’s looking into your eyes but you can’t see nothing but hate and lust. A sadistic smile on his face as he pulls his cock and cums all over your belly and pussy— leaving it gasping and clenching for air. Pulling back he let’s go of your neck and stays on the edge of the bed catching his breath..mumbling something before putting his pants on and leaving out your room.

#creepypasta #creeepypasta headcanons #jeff the killer #creepypasta smut #creeppypasta smut #creepypasta jeff the killer #creepypasta jtk #jeff the killer smut #jeffery woods #jtk #jtk smut #jtk x reader

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msmcnevertweet · 11 months

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GHOULBOYS - Where ghosts are real, or not I guess.

GHOULBOYS is a one-shot horror/comedy TTRPG for 3 players. It's about amateur paranormal investigators hunting for ghosts in supposedly haunted locales, interpreting evidence and bullshitting with their friends. I made this one! I love ghost things! Let's talk about them! But first...

Will we finally answer the question... are ghosts real?

Inspired by shows and games like Ghost Files, Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural, Phasmophobia and Most Haunted, you'll play as one of three classes:

The BELIEVER, trying to uncover evidence that the paranormal is real, and detail the nature of the supposed haunting.

The SCEPTIC, who believes that everything has a reasonable explanation, and the idea of ghosts is kinda funny.

The PRODUCER, who’s recording this whole thing, and looking out for what the other two might miss.

It's a GMless game where you and your two friends fuck around in abandoned buildings with spirit boxes, motion sensors, and turn the gain up on your microphone incredibly loudly to hear what might, maybe have someone saying half a word.

If that sounds cool, it's $5 until the end of the month!

My friends it is time to peer closely at a blurry photo

YES IT'S TIME FOR MORE SELF INDULGENCE BELOW THE CUT.

(Potential) Spoilers for: Ghostwatch and The Blair Witch Project.

Bro bro bro did you see that bro BRO

When I was a teen posessed by the grim specter of an idea known as "Thinking I was a guy", I used to get very stoned and sit in cars with my friends and drive around at night. Being stoned with The Lads was a good way of pretending I wasn't possessed, I guess.

One time we drove to a supposedly haunted stretch of road; the story was that a woman who lived nearby had gone out onto the road late at night and been hit by a car and killed. If you drove along that road at the time of her death, you might see her, wearing the nightgown she died in.

After about an hour of driving up and down the road, we were about to give up. The driver swung into a driveway to turn the car around, and out of the pitch blackness, I saw it. White, twisted, grasping. It was just a flash, but I know what I saw. I screamed, my friends screamed, the tires of the car screamed as they span griplessly on the tarmac for that endless split second before it pulled away.

Yes of course it was a fucking tree. But for at least 5 minutes, we all believed I'd seen her. As plain as day, a dead woman in a nightgown had grasped at me on the other side of the windscreen through the darkness. The real fear lasted seconds. The adrenaline lasted a few minutes. The laughs lasted for a while afterwards.

I don't believe in ghosts. But the idea of them has the power to make us conjure them. We stare at the fuzzy frozen frame of video and think we can see a form, a face. We listen to the overpowering static hum of a shotgun mic pointed into a hallway and swear we hear a voice. We peer into the darkness, and our brains connect the dots we've decided are there. We want to be scared, especially when we can laugh about it afterwards.

It's just the Pipes

youtube

If you know the Orson Welles' War of the Worlds radio broadcast, Ghostwatch pulls a similar trick. It's 1992, you've sat down to watch a live TV show doing a "scientific investigation" into a haunted suburban home with Big Name TV News Guy Michael Parkinson, Big Name TV "Robot Wars" Guy Craig Charles, and a bunch of other Big Name TV people I don't really know.

The house is supposedly possessed by a malevolent evil spirit who the homeowners kids call Pipes. They hear banging noises at night, their mom tells them "It's just the pipes." Watch along at home, phone in using the number on your screens with your ghost stories, and you know, just in case you maybe see anything on the footage that we might miss.

It's staged, of course, and staged incredibly. It's very fucking creepy. Kitchy, mundane 90's TV gives way slowly to creeping dread that never seems to stop creeping, eventually arriving at a terminus of full on Blair Witch surrealness. It drew so many complaints from people whose children were turned to traumatised wrecks that it was banned from being broadcast for 10 years.

Probably because the newscaster they saw on TV every day turned, in the course of about half an hour, from this

To this

There's not really many clips on youtube but trust me, it's good. It's slow. Give it a chance, you should watch it.

Josh? Is that you down there?

youtube

There's so many jokes about The Blair Witch Project, but that's not because it's bad. I mean, it IS kind of bad, and that's the point. Heather, Josh and Mike are just amateur film makers making a documentary on a shoestring budget, about the mystery of the Blair Witch, the details of which matter little to what happens next. The jokes are attempts by people trying to break the hold the film has on them. But it holds on tight.

It works so well because it's so sparse. The minimal, natural sets, the handheld footage, the we're-not-even-really-acting-I'm-actually-kinda-just-creeped-out performances. The characters talk like convincingly kinda shitty people, deal with getting lost like real people, argue like convincingly scared people. It explains nothing about the greater mystery, cares not for any attempt to make sense of what's going on, all it wants to do is slowly drag you to it's stark, screaming conclusion.

Like many successful horror films, it got a bunch of sequels which I've not seen, and don't care to. It doesn't need them.

Ok but what about real ghosts

youtube

There's something about a weird dollar store Trent Reznor and his bros crawling around a tourist spot that makes Ghost Adventures so fun to watch. Trant Reznot is out here shouting at ghosts with his whole chest like "I HEARD YOU DON'T LIKE BIG LIGHTS SHINING IN YOUR FACE HUH", and it's great. When the often questionable "activity" occurs, it's rarely actually spooky in any way, but the deadly serious way with which they describe the mote of light (read: dust particle) moving across the footage that it's endearing.

These shows (Most Haunted, 28 Days Haunted, et al) tend towards having a pseudo "intellectual" angle. Ghost Adventures doesn't care, it's listening to Tool in it's car outside the high school, passing you a joint and saying "Isn't it fucked up that people die, but like, aren't gone, man?" I can't tell if it doesn't take itself too seriously, or if it just doesn't really know how to be serious, but it's good.

Hey there demons, it's me... ya boi

youtube

I watched so much god damn Buzzfeed Unsolved through Covid. I watched it until the early hours of the morning, until I'd successfully creeped myself out to the point where I had to run from the living room to the bedroom in the dark to avoid the Texarkana Phantom Killer that my brain had successfully materialised just behind the back of my head.

Somehow Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural - it's sister show focused on.. well, supernatural stuff, and it's successor Ghost Files manages to be both scary, whilst also simultaneously very stupid and funny.

Both Shane and Ryan are always ready to be scared, but they're also both ready to laugh. They have a very endearing camaraderie too, like two kids in class trying to get the each other told off by the teacher, and despite the semi serious presentation, unlike Ghost Adventures they're not precious about trying to make sure you're scared. It invites you laugh and be afraid in equal measure, and it feels natural, especially in the early episodes. If Ryan is freaking out about the Waverly Hills Hospital body chute, it's because.. well.. watch the video? I would absolutely not go down there.

This tension between laughing and screaming drives the show. The balance between spooky-funny and spooky-scary is a delicate one. Ryan and Shane are great at knowing when to tip that balance, one way or the other.

It's easily the single biggest influence on Ghoulboys (I mean, of course it is?) because of this. When playing, you're always caught in this in-between moment that the Ghoulboys themselves do so well. Waiting for something to fall over, the spirit box to speak, the SLS scanner to show a fleeting figure. Whether it's scary or silly, your brain is waiting for it, ready to draw the shapes of ghosts we want to see.

Thank you for coming to my Ghost TED Talk

Man ghost stuff is so good, real or fake. I just wanted to make a funny game that occasionally made you raise your eyebrows and look at each other like "Oh, shit..." and had lots of stupid ghost hunting equipment, and I think it worked out. Thanks for reading.

Again, if you want to check out Ghoulboys, it's $5 until the end of the month. Take a look! There's a video of me and some friends playing it!

#ttrpg #horror #indie ttrpg #buzzfeed supernatural #ghost files #paranormal #incredible self indulgence #Youtube #buzzfeed unsolved

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lavenderbexlatte · 2 years

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day 12 - breathplay

stray kids 1.3k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Hwang Hyunjin NSFW

🖤 warnings: kink experimentation, mild d/s dynamics, handjobs, there are right and wrong ways to choke in the bedroom and i am very strict about this we will be learnin’ tonight 🖤

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

"I guess I've never really thought about it before."

You look away from Hyunjin, silently judgmental, and you immediately pull up an image search on your phone to really drive in how dense he's being. It only takes a second to find the gif you're looking for.

Hyunjin himself, made-up and coifed and glittery for a music video, with a hand (Chan's, you'll have to write him a thank-you note or something) tight around his throat. You turn the phone toward him silently, and he glances at it briefly before scoffing at you.

"That doesn't count," Hyunjin insists.

"Bullshit, it doesn't count. He's choking you."

"For a video. He's acting."

"Chris can't act."

"That's not my fault."

"You can't say you've never thought about it," you say. "It was a whole thing! Right here!"

"Fine, then I thought about it for the fifteen minutes it took to film this, and then never again," says Hyunjin.

You put your phone down again. "If you're just saying that because you don't like it and you want me to let it go, that's fine, you know."

"I never said that, either."

He hasn't really said anything of value at all, but that's Hyunjin for you. Contrary for the fun of it, affectionately pushing your buttons and shutting you down whenever he can. You'd known he was like that with his friends (hi, Changbin), but you didn't know he's be the same with you until you'd gotten closer to him.

"You ever wanna try it?" you ask, slyly.

"Try it?"

You nod. "Choking, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he mimics. "I guess, maybe."

"You don't have to say yes. I'm really asking."

"I'll try anything once, you know that," he says, rakish.

But he's still avoiding the question, so you let it go for now. Not worth making a fuss, not when you're supposed to be having a nice night in.

-----

You think Hyunjin has completely forgotten that little discussion, until the next time you're spending the night together.

It's going about how these things usually go, for you two: Hyunjin pressed to the mattress, you up on your knees looking down at him while he squirms and whines and mostly just looks pretty. You don't have any kind of set roles or routines, but he likes being spoiled and you like spoiling him, so things just fall into place.

You haven't even done anything to him yet. He got naked all by himself, and now he's just there. Being pretty.

"I think..." Hyunjin starts, and then stops.

You look at him expectantly. Whatever it is, you can do it. For him? Anything.

"I think I want to try."

You blink. "Try what, baby?"

"I mean - if you want, we could try-"

He's babbling at this point, and you put a hand on his shoulder. It stops his mouth, and stops his wiggling, leaving him just looking up at you wide-eyed.

"Try again."

"Can we try...ch-choking? Like you - like before, like you said..."

It's like he thinks you're going to say no. As if you could say no to him.

"'Course we can," you say.

Hyunjin has been hard this whole time, but he twitches when you say that, like his cock is reacting to the idea before his brain.

"Never tried it before."

"Yeah, we established that," you say fondly.

You smooth back his shaggy black hair where it's falling in his face, because as beautiful as that is, you want to see him well, make sure he's listening.

"You gotta tell me if you want me to stop. Even a little bit," you say, "Even the littlest bit uncomfortable or scary, you have to say something."

"I will," he says.

It gets overwhelming in the moment, though, so you hold out your hand, pinkie raised. "Promise you will."

He smiles, dazzling as always. "I promise.

You link pinkies and press your thumbs together, a very serious and sexy unbreakable promise.

Talking your way through it seems like the best bet to keep him comfortable, so that's what you do. "There's a right way to do this."

"And a very wrong way, I assume," he says, talking through a pouty plush lower lip and making you want to coo at him.

"You never want to go for the windpipe," you say. "Crushing someone's throat is a boner-killer."

"I'd say so."

"So what you have to do, is go for the oxygen supply."

He's relaxed more, now, just listening to you talk, so you move over. Kneeling to his side, equally within reach of his pretty face and his pretty cock. You trace your hand over his chest, up the delicate skin of his throat.

"On the side," you say, tapping below his ear at the pulse point. "Cut off blood supply, you get dizzy but it doesn't hurt."

"I want it to hurt," he says immediately, like he's lost complete control of his mouth.

"No, you don't."

He just smiles again, so pretty.

"I'm gonna show you what it's like," you say. "Just for a second."

"Okay."

Verbal consent. He's so good.

Ever so slightly, you squeeze at the sides of his throat, as well as your hand can grasp. You can feel his pulse, hard under your fingers, and after a second, he gasps. You pull back right away, let him go, and he whines.

"Well, don't stop!"

"It was okay, then?" you smirk.

"I think it was," he says, "I think you'll need to do it more so I can decide."

He is really such a pain.

You have a very convenient way to get him to shut up, though.

The grasp you have on him is more confident this time, surer of how he's going to react. And he does, letting out a gasp that you can feel through your palm over his throat. A glance downward reveals what you'd been hoping for: the trail of precum leaking from his cock, revealing exactly how much he's enjoying this.

"You think you could cum untouched from this?" you ask, more curious than seductive.

You let go so he can answer.

"I - let's find out," he sputters. "Fuck, baby, please-"

"Correct answer."

It sounds fun, and you'll certainly give it a go at some point, you're not going to put that pressure on him, not on his first try.

This time you have a careful grip on both his neck and his cock, digging your fingers into the gorgeous column of his neck and as well as you can given the very precarious multitask, giving a good pump up his shaft and a twist around the head to match.

More pressure on his throat, less on his cock, and vice-versa, as both pulse in your hands.

His breathing gets more ragged as you go, and just to check, you let up on his throat for a second, giving him a chance to get some air properly if that's what he needs, lavishing more attention on his cock. But as you draw away, he grabs your wrist, dragging your hand back to his neck.

"Please," he says, so hoarse, so needy.

"Baby, I don't want to do too much."

"So close!" he whines, "Just - please!"

The flushing of his length, the way it's swelling in your grip, he's not lying.

"You're okay?" you ask, voice firm.

He meets your eyes, clarity under the lust. "Yes. More. Please."

Who are you to deny Hwang Hyunjin anything?

He whines, barely audible, and cums as soon as you tighten your fingers around his throat again, spilling over your hand the instant his air supply is cut off.

"Oh, baby..." you hush him, stroking him through it.

You're off his neck and his cock as soon as he's spent, going instead to cup his face in your clean hand and make him look at you.

"Jesus," he's breathing, chest heaving beneath you.

He looks fine, but you ask anyway, "Does anything hurt?"

Hyunjin shakes his head, and you have to brush back his messy hair again.

You look at him, so fond, and then you smirk. "That was fast."

#kinktober 2022 #kpop kinktober #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids hyunjin fanfic #stray kids hyunjin smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #sub!idol #dom!reader

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nintendo-666 · 8 months

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Alright so here's the drama! This was the best way I could think to do it.

@moonlightnova @loveless-nameless-graceless-two

Other people who might get a kick out of it/I want to tell @kannibalkaiii @isaacclarkex-art @toadstooltyrant @this-ken-is-babygirl @xdia-morphin-e

Anyone else, feel free to read! I feel like I'm in a romcom!

Okay! I want to start this off by saying that I am doing fine in this situation. This story involves someone I've been starting to see less and less, and have been looking for a reason to break up with for a while. I'll call them Stack (they/he)

Yesterday, I got a message from someone relatively distant in my life, who we'll call Plushie(they/them). They wanted to discuss someone we mutually know. Totally random, but okay. The person in question turns out to be someone I've been casually dating since February.

Stack and plushie have been hooking up (nbd, major poly situation) but recently stack did something sexually without permission that triggered plushie. Plushie reached out to me to see if I thought stack was a trustworthy person. They were told that I was JUST A FRIEND. And one he had JUST MET IN THE LAST FEW WEEKS. Not someone stack has been following around for 8 whole months, frequently proclaiming undying love to. Stack, as a condition of our relationship, tells me about "all" of their other partners and hookups, but I haven't heard of plushie once. Plushie also brought up ~another~ name I've never heard.

So this of course lead to us discovering a massive web of lies. Stack currently has covid. Sent me pictures of the positive test. But specifically told plushie (immunocompromised, btw) that they only had a sinus infection. They also told plushie that they were single. But as far as I'm aware, stack has 4 partners including myself. Stack is constantly telling me how badly they want to raise a child with me, but told plushie that they're getting a vasectomy in a couple weeks. Stack told plushie that they're "saving the last season of wwdits so that they can watch together". Stack has fully already watched it with me. Stack claims to me that they use condoms with everyone else. Unsurprisngly, not the case. And then there's this whole roommate debacle where stack moved a much younger ex into their apartment, prayed on the power dynamic, and swore up and down that they two weren't hooking up. Also bullshit. During our 5 hour phone call, plushie and I kept finding more and more things stack has lied about. Things that don't make sense to lie about. We found explanations for times that he acted suspicious about things. Like when he was complaining about being low on money, but completely clammed up when plushie asked why. The answer is because stack had just taken one of their partners to a fancy hotel I recommended for their birthday. Which plushie couldn't know because, DESPITE THEM ALSO BEING POLY, stack hid all of their relationships from them.

Bizarre. The entire situation is fucking bizarre. All last night was spent scratching our heads and connecting dots. But it all makes sense. Stack has, in one way or another, sexually assaulted both of us and then made it about them and their depression. That we're the ones being mean and overreacting. Stack is incredibly manipulative and self centered. And a bad, yet seemingly compulsive liar. And now, they've been caught.

Anyways I know that was a lot and I feel like I said very little. Honestly, my brain is still reeling from the situation, and I'm feeling a little fried. But trust me when I say that we pieced together a LOT of lies. The next step is to figure out the funniest way to break up with them, with our new information. We're open to suggestions!

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sluttyhollow · 1 year

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Garden

Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

Can you remind me of my gravity? Ground me when I'm tumbling, spiraling, plummeting down to Earth You keep me down to Earth

Warnings: fluffy smut, feelings, reader has anxiety, talks of toxic relationships, weed smoking, past Draken and Emma, oral sex (f receiving), reader gets pick up, reader has fem anatomy no pronouns, use of honey/love dubcon (?) just in case because they were smoking, consent implied but not explicitly given, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: this is part of @sirenh4ll’s sza collab for Garden! You don’t have to listen to the song while reading but it does set the mood. I had a lot of fun writing this. As always, reader is implied as black! No descriptors used though so feel free to read.

You were never one for fairy tail romance or relationships. Dealing with other people was never easy for you. Riddled with a brain that didn’t produce enough serotonin and an amygdala that reacted so often your body was always in a constant state of restlessness you usually kept to your self. So when you did find people that you could connect with you attached yourself to them and stayed with them as long as they were supposed to remain in your life. This lead to a series of toxic friendships and partners that sucked every ounce of who you were from you until you were nothing more than a shell of your former self. Which is how you ended up here. After your last relationship ended and you graduated you packed up your things and accepted a job that allowed you to move out of your home country to Japan giving you time and space to start over.

Everything wasn’t perfect, no. You still struggled with things, and had your days where you sat in your bed and cried for hours, but it was better than it was. You were growing, learning how to be yourself without repressing yourself or fear. Plus, Being a foreigner people tended to avoid you anyways making it easy for you to matriculate through the streets, to work, and back home without hassle. Everything was going great until you met him. Not that he made things worse, no he undoubtedly made things better, easier, you felt comfortable and that’s why you were scared.

Ken Ryuguji, or Draken, as he insisted you call him the first time you all met on the stairs of your shared apartment building, he lived a few doors down. You two became quick friends as he insisted on showing you around considering you were all alone. As time progressed you two spent hours hanging around each others houses, spending nights out with each other until the sun started peaking above the horizon. You two shared bits and pieces of your lives before your paths converged, never fully allowing the other in. You weren’t eager to make the same mistakes you’d made again, unwilling to bare yourself to him completely just so he wouldn’t disappear like everyone before. Unbenounst to you draken fely the same.

Currently the two of you sat on the floor of your living room passing a lit joint between the two of you. Draken propped up on the floor against the couch right beside your legs that were dangling over the edge. As usuall, in times like these both of you let your guard down just enough to let your mouths move freely with each other.

“You know Kenny, I’m glad I met you. I was fucked up when I got here, felt like I just floating along and then boom you’ve been keeping me grounded ever since” the words just sort of slipped out with an airy giggle at the end.

Smoking always made your tongue a little looser. He had been your saving grace, always coming through when you needed him, even if you never said you did. The man had a sixth sense, felt your turbulence and acted as the pilot to guide you through it. He’d been there to give you sound advice, called you on your bullshit, encouraged you when you needed and pushed against you when he knew you needed him to. Made you stand on your own but was always close enough to catch you. Even let you hang out with his friends and make them your own.

“I don’t think you’d say that if you knew everything about me honey”

“I don’t think you’d think that way if you knew everything about me”

“‘s nothing like my pas- ”

“I like you just how you are now Kenny, that stuff doesn’t matter to me”

“And I’ve stuck beside you this long haven’t I”

Those two encrypted confessions leading your next actions, making them feel like they weren’t your own. Your body instinctually moving from the seat of the couch to rest on his, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling your mouth to meet his, which he easily reciprocated.

He was unhurriedly savoring the way his lips fit against yours, the way your tongues were introducing themselves to each other, hands coming to clasp behind your back dragging you just that much closer to him. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about this, not initially but days spent with you had left him in need of making his thoughts tangible. After his messy breakup with Emma, he didn’t think he’d be willing to trust another person to be in his life in that way again. But with you it was easy, you didn’t want anything from him which made it so easy for him to give you everything that he saw you needed and deserved. He wanted to pick up your pieces, see the rest of what you hid within your little garden, and help you make it grow.

Pulling himself away from you just enough to push a few words through the space “ready to be mine ‘s forever or nothing” instead of words you pushed your mouth back against his in response. Bending his legs and pushing himself up to stand still holding you in his arms he walked the path down to your room in the back of the apartment. Lips never leaving yours all the way, before flopping you onto the bed causing you to giggle. Without wasting much time, he looped his fingers into the band of the sweats you had been wearing and pulled them down your legs, grabbing your underwear in the process. Reaching up to remove your shirt and toss it over your head before reaching to take his own off as well.

His hands, rough from years of mechanic work, roamed across your body before spreading your legs apart. He fixed you with a look, giving you another chance to back out which you declined with the slight incline of your head, before dipping his head and attaching himself onto your arousal. A deep moan left your mouth, he was everywhere. Hands still exploring your body, tongue writing love notes across your clit before taking exploratory licks into your hole, his eyes locked on the expressions flittering across your face. It was too much, his ministrations leading you into your first orgasm faster than anyone, yourself included, had ever done before. Ensuring he drank everything you gave him he placed a small kiss on your clit before making his way back up your body to meet your lips again.

“pants off now” a whine of words, more than anything but unwilling to make you wait any longer he quickly disregards his pants and underwear in one motion leaving him exposed to you. He was pretty. Sized perfectly for his tall and lean frame, veins leading their way towards a perfectly pink tip. Grabbing your legs, looping his hands around your knees pushing them up to meet the sides of your chest and lining himself up with your now throughly dripping hole he slides himself in to the hilt not giving you much time to adjust to him as synchronized moans rack through both of your bodies.

“S-so good for me baby, jus fits in you so perfect” his hips start moving, just barely enough to be a noticeable amount of friction but also just enough to have constant stimulation hitting that one little spot inside of you. “Feels soo good hugging my dick so tight love” constant streams of his praises falling into your ears causing your second orgasm to rip it’s way through you without warning. The constrictive pulsing of your walls around him sending him over the edge just after you. Draining every drop of himself into you before pulling out to watch it drip out and down towards the sheets. Using his tongue to capture the fallen droplets and kissing your sensitive clit he finally dropped you legs and laid beside you.

Arms wrapping around your body to pull you into him, eyes meeting yours filled with a deep affection you were sure you missed before “you know I love you right” looking in his eyes you were sure you believed him, how could you not “when you say it like that, I don’t think I could believe anything else” returning his embrace with a small “I love you too” mumbled into the planes of his chest.

#shwrites #tokyo rev smut #Draken x reader #draken x black!reader #x black reader #shwriteskenryuguji #✞SOS. collab #one shot #long fic #tokyo revengers

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priestessofspiders · 2 months

Text

Ambulatory Flesh

A lot of your quirkier “I fucking love science” types will joke about us human beings as consisting of an intelligent organism, the brain, piloting around the body like some sort of fleshy mech suit. They’ll say that all this clumsy flesh is just a casing for the real life form within, the “man behind the curtain” so to speak. Rykors and kaldanes, y’know? But that’s all bullshit. It’s just a modern retelling of Cartesian dualism, an attempt at devising a secular conception of a soul. There is no meaningful distinction between some abstract, pseudoplatonic “mind” and the sweating, reeking hulks that are our bodies. We’re all just meat in the end, and no amount of philosophizing will ever truly be able to hide this fact.

It all started at a Japanese restaurant. I don’t remember the name of the place, it was a group excursion with friends and I didn’t get to pick where we went. Well, I say friends, but in all truth I don’t think I can even recall the names of the people I went with either, our only real point of connection was through my (former) friend Ted. Most people, I think, don’t actually have the energy to go out and make connections with other human beings, other ambulatory sacks of meat and bone. They get nervous, or overthink things, or are bad at managing time, et cetera, et cetera, an endless parade of excuses to avoid having to deal with the mortifying ordeal of being known. Ted, however, seemed to be able to ingratiate himself with nearly anyone imaginable. I have no idea how he maintained the intricate web of friendships and acquaintances that he possessed, and whenever I spent time with him he seemed to be introducing me to some new person he only met a week ago yet already knows their entire life story. I’d long since come to expect that whenever he asked to hang out, I wouldn’t be the only one attending.

I never really liked Ted much if you couldn’t already tell. He talked too much and too loudly, and never knew when to let a joke die. If there was a contest for beating dead horses, Ted would have won gold medal every time. But, he did possess some sort of natural charisma which caused folks to gravitate towards him, and I never was especially good at making friends, so whenever he sent out an invitation for his little get-togethers I would tag along out of the nagging fear that unless I spent time socializing on a semi-regular basis people might think I was a bit strange. Anything to keep up appearances, after all.

But, that’s not important. I’m rambling, trying to avoid getting to the point of what happened. It feels like maybe if I don’t think about it, if I don’t remember that night at the restaurant, it will have never happened, that maybe if I just go to bed I’ll wake up and everything will be normal again.

Ted was laughing slightly too loud at a joke that one of his new friends had said, and I could feel the prickle of second-hand embarrassment as I watched one of the other guests at the restaurant glance over to our table with a look of slightly detached judgment. My humiliation was cut short, however, when the waiter finally brought around our platter of food.

After a cringe inducing “arigato” escaped from Ted’s beaming, incredibly white mouth, we began divvying up the dishes to their corresponding diners. Usually I was somewhat cowardly when it came to ordering from restaurants, sticking to the beaten path with regards to what foodstuffs I felt comfortable ingesting, but for some Godforsaken reason on that particular day I had decided to be adventurous. I had ordered the sashimi. The plate full of raw fish was placed in front of me, and I gazed upon it with a sort of dull fascination.

I wasn’t disgusted, you must understand, I’m not some squeamish idiot who didn’t know that the raw fish I’d ordered would, indeed, be raw fish, but there was just something so simple about it, so… pure. No other ingredients, no fancy cooking techniques, just clean, uncooked fish, sliced into appealing portions and served with a side of soy sauce. I snapped the binding of the cheap wooden chopsticks before using them to pick up a piece gently, inspecting the sliced tuna for a few seconds as though I were observing some sort of laboratory specimen.

Ted peered up at me from his bowl of ramen with what I assume was meant as a look of encouragement. “Go on Delilah, are you gonna eat it or just look at it?” he asked, playfully.

I was about to respond when the tuna suddenly twitched on the end of my chopsticks. I’m not ashamed to admit that I shrieked as I pulled my hand away in alarm, causing the blob of fish to hit my plate with a meaty smack. Frankly under the circumstances I think it was a perfectly reasonable response.

All eyes turned towards me, and all I could do was point down at my plate, where the dismembered cut of fish was clumsily, blindly undulating towards me, like a slug having an epileptic fit. I was trapped in a booth seat, stuck between two strangers and unable to get out as this limbless blob of disembodied piscine tissue just kept twitching and spasming.

I wasn’t afraid for my life, I think. I don’t believe that I thought I was in any immediate danger, it’s not like the sashimi would be able to do anything. It had no teeth to bite with, no claws with which to cut me. What bothered me was simply that it was moving, and that it should not have been able to move. We don’t expect something which we are going to put into our mouths to still be twitching when we do so. The thought that I had very nearly been about to take a bite made me want to vomit.

Fortunately, my cry of terror had alerted one of the waiters, who, upon noticing the mobile meat, swiftly took the platter away while the rest of Ted’s friends tried their best to calm me down. The man himself, however, was too busy laughing to be of any assistance. He was still guffawing when I managed to extricate myself from the table and make my way back to my car. The moron never did know when to stop turning everything into a goddamn joke.

Now of course after I got home and calmed down a bit with the assistance of some Smirnoff, I took the time to look up what happened on the internet. A quick Google search confirmed that yes, sometimes, very rarely, raw meat can still move around a bit. Something to do with stored energy in the muscles, the cells not being quite yet dead. Fish seem to be particularly susceptible, but it appeared that all sorts of animals did something of a postmortem jig now and again. One particularly nauseating video showed the plucked, headless carcass of a chicken, spasming as though trying to escape as it lay atop a pile of its immobile comrades.

Now, knowing something is natural doesn’t necessarily make it stop being horrific. Understanding how static electricity functions doesn’t make a lightning strike any less shocking, if you’ll pardon the pun. But, at the very least, I was comforted by the knowledge that what I experienced was simply some sort of biological fuckup rather than a sign of the supernatural. At least, that’s what I thought at the time, anyway.

I remember the night after my first experience I had a particularly vivid nightmare. I was standing in the foyer of the Japanese restaurant, and it seemed very busy. A waiter ushered me over to a table, where a number of other people were already seated, including Ted who was guffawing loudly. Laying on the table was a blandly attractive naked woman, her body covered in sushi.

I never really understood the appeal of eating the sushi off of someone’s body, to be entirely honest, even accounting for my own heterosexuality. It’s not as though I’d want to eat off of a handsome man either. There’s something odd, the reduction of a human being into little more than a sexualized table. I mean it’s objectifying, obviously, but I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it? Regardless, I could feel my dream self’s skin crawl as I sat down in my appointed place, knowing that something horrible was about to happen.

As I watched, all of the little slices of fish began to wriggle free from their seaweed binding, squirming and twitching off of the beds of white rice. The woman on the table opened her mouth as the dozens of chunks of ambulatory flesh moved up towards her face. They began to crawl inside, stuffing her open mouth until she couldn’t breath, her face turning blue, but she just kept staying perfectly still, even as her exposed chest heaved up and down, desperately trying to get air into her blocked windpipe. All around me the other guests started to giggle and snicker at the sight, their mirth increasing in intensity as the woman slowly suffocated. When she finally stopped breathing entirely, the whole crowd was engaged in uproarious, hysterical laughter. After a few seconds, the corpse began to twitch and writhe in the same way the dead fish had, its glassy, blank eyes staring out from its lifeless face into nothing. I woke up sobbing.

It was a few weeks before I had my next encounter with unnaturally moving meat. In the intervening time I tried very hard to forget the whole matter, though I did make an effort to avoid Ted, social conformity be damned. Whenever I thought about his stupid laugh it made me feel sick all over again. As a matter of fact I spent a lot of time avoiding everyone, really. I prefer solitude, especially when after I’ve undergone something upsetting. It may seem silly that I’d go to all this fuss over a single piece of twitching sashimi, but I’ve always been fairly sensitive, and something about the whole concept of dead tissue still being able to move bothered me beyond belief. Maybe I just watched too many zombie films when I was a kid or something, who knows?

In any event, the second time happened at a company barbecue. Mandatory attendance, of course, it was that sort of a workplace, all focused on teamwork and working together “not just as a business, but as a family.” I don’t exactly know why I needed to be so focused on forming a bond with my coworkers when my own position as a data entry clerk left me working in blissful isolation for most of the time, but I imagine the overpaid men in suits who arranged these corporate equivalents of elementary school pizza parties instead of just giving out raises probably didn’t understand the concept of introversion. Anything to force employees back to the office after years of working from home, I suppose.

Fortunately I didn’t need to drive to the event, as it was just held in the parking lot during lunch hour, which I ordinarily spend sitting in my car curled up with a book (I could never stand the constant chatter of my coworkers in the break room). Like most corporate teamwork building events, it was simultaneously deeply awkward and a little bit sad. A few grills were set up with some bored looking catering staff cooking up burgers and steaks, while the halting half-laughter and polite tones of corporate enforced camaraderie emanated from the office drones clad in blandly professional outfits as they sat at the various card tables set up under white plastic tents.

I held out a paper plate like a priest soliciting donations from his congregation, and one of the underpaid pitmasters plopped a well-done steak onto it. I slathered it with a generous helping of barbecue sauce and then sat as far away from everyone else as I possibly could. Just because the powers that be could force me into attending this little gathering didn’t mean they could make me talk to anyone.

I sat glumly, stewing in my own petulance (I’m nothing if not self-aware) as I cut a piece off of my steak and popped it into my mouth without really looking at what I was doing. The texture was… off, somehow, and the flavor was unusual. I looked down at the steak to see that beneath the crispy, almost burnt exterior, the meat was quite rare, undercooked even, and was leaking blood onto my paper plate. It was thick too, not the watered down juices from a rare steak, but sticky, opaque, red as a bullfighter’s cape. Then, the hunk of charred flesh lunged towards me.

I don’t mean it twitched, I don’t mean it crawled, the thing leapt like a goddamned jackrabbit right at me. I fell backward in the cheap plastic folding chair, banging the back of my head against the concrete in the process which caused my vision to be filled with stars. I could feel the sticky, greasy piece of meat slithering across my chest, moving towards my open mouth, and I screamed in terror and pain. I could feel it pulsing as though it had a heartbeat, and the warmth from the grill made it feel sickeningly close to body heat.

It was only a few seconds before some of my coworkers rushed over to help, but it felt like an agonizingly long time as I lay there in pain, the quivering hunk of burnt flesh squirming closer to my face. Finally, someone helped me to my feet, and as though shy in the presence of other people, the steak seemingly lost its capacity for movement, falling to the ground with a wet splat.

Everyone wanted to know what happened, they kept asking me over and over again:

“Are you okay?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you hurt?”

The whole time I couldn’t focus on what they were saying for long enough to give a satisfying answer, I’d just see their red, fleshy tongues flapping in their mouths and feel sick all over again, feeling painfully aware of the blood that the steak had leaked all over my dress. They’re all just mounds of walking, talking, meat, covered in a thin layer of greasy, stinking skin and wrapped up in cloth to hide the truth of what they are. What we all are.

I managed to eventually stammer out some sort of excuse that my manager accepted as reason for me to take the rest of the day off, and I drove home after I calmed down enough to feel safe at the wheel. I didn’t tell anyone about the moving steak. I knew they wouldn’t believe me. It’s not like anyone else saw it that time.

When I got home I threw out all the meat in my refrigerator. Starving children in the third world be damned, I wasn’t going to risk having the fucking bologna try and smother me in my sleep. Call me paranoid if you want, but after what I’ve been through, I feel pretty goddamn vindicated. It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you after all.

See, it didn’t stop with the steak. Even after I cut all meat out of my diet (I pretended it was a health thing), I still wasn’t free from dead flesh moving. It was little things at first. Dead flies on the windowsill twitching tiny legs previously held stiff with rigor mortis. Soggy worms that were still just moments before struggling to escape their watery tombs as I pass them by on the rain-soaked sidewalk. Hell, maybe it had been going on a while even before the sashimi incident and I just never noticed. But once I had an eye for it, it seemed to happen everywhere.

I knew it wasn’t natural. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, dozens and dozens of times afterwards over and over until you feel like clawing your fucking eyes out rather than see another roadkill squirrel try to drag itself across the pavement towards you is a sign that God just hates you. I can’t even walk into grocery stores anymore, I have to get everything by delivery, because if I even get within a hundred yards of the meat department I might see the sausages and chicken breasts and steaks and pork chops and dozens of other plastic wrapped corpses gently flopping and spasming and twitching, trying desperately to break free of their refrigerated prisons to get towards me. I know I’m not just going crazy. Usually, nobody notices, the meat quieting as soon as anyone else is around, but not always. I remember once watching a young girl start crying as she saw a T-bone steak crawling like an inchworm behind the glass case of the meat counter. She asked her mother why it wasn’t dead. Meat asking the meat it budded off from why the meat which should be still is moving.

Who are you supposed to talk to about this sort of thing? Where were you supposed to go? It’s not like a shrink would do me any good as I am in no respect delusional, and I certainly was not going to try and seek out the assistance of a priest. If anything the moving meat has more firmly cemented my disenchantment with the prospect of divinity; any God that allows such violations of nature to exist is not one who is worthy of worship. I wasn’t going to beg on my hands and knees for the help of a deity who presides over a broken world.

So I just dealt with it. I kept away from grocery stores and supermarkets, I turned a blind eye to the twitching bugs and spasming roadkill, and I stuck to my new vegetarian diet. I also had to remove all the mirrors in my house. I couldn’t bear to look at my reflection anymore, to be reminded of the meat that is me. Every twitch of an eye, every deep breath, it all just felt like that same unnatural mobility of dead flesh. Go ahead and call it denial if you want, my disposal of the mirrors, but it gave me at least some peace of mind. Besides, I didn’t like looking at the bags under my eyes that I was getting from all the nightmares.

This continued for a while, my coping with the impossible by simply ignoring it. Maybe a month or two, though it is hard for me to remember exactly how long. Things weren’t perfect, I drank a lot and had a few breakdowns here and there, but who wouldn’t under the circumstances? My point is I was getting on with things, to the best of my ability, and not just crumbling from the pressure. I wasn’t going to be beaten by a bunch of lifeless tissue being puppeted around by some unknowable force. I’m stronger than that.

Then came my father’s sickness. It happens to everyone in the end, doesn’t it? Meat spoils, after all. I don’t remember all the details, the doctors used a lot of fancy sounding medical terminology for it, something about blood clots and brain damage, but what it all boiled down to is that the man who raised me was on his deathbed, unconscious and unresponsive.

I never knew my mother. She ran off at some point shortly after I was born, leaving daddy dearest to take care of me the best he could. And he did do his best, I’m sure of that now. He fucked up along the way, but everyone’s parents do. They’re not perfect. Nobody is perfect. We’re all just meat, after all.

I started spending a lot of time with my father. He spent so much of his life caring for me when I had just entered this world, I felt like it was only fair I was by his side as he left it. I wasn’t deluded into thinking that he’d get better, or even that he would be aware of my presence, but it felt right for me to be next to him. I didn’t want him to die alone.

I’d sit there by his side, reading from one of my books. Sometimes, if the mood struck me, I’d read aloud to him. There was never any recognition in his eyes, he’d just stare blankly at the ceiling, his rattling breathing providing a distant background hum, but I didn’t mind. If anything I kind of appreciated that he didn’t do much. I was so used to things that shouldn’t move moving that it almost felt like a relief to see something which should move remain more or less stationary.

Now, they didn’t have him hooked up to life support machines or anything like that, you must understand. Nothing to monitor his vital signs, no machine to keep his heart beating, he was just laying in bed under scratchy hospital blankets. My father wasn’t afraid of death, and had demanded that he not be resuscitated in the event of something like this happening to him. Better to die with dignity than be forced to live with the help of machines.

It was because of this lack of monitoring that I didn’t initially notice when he finally stopped breathing. I was just sitting there, reading, when all of a sudden I was struck by how quiet the hospital room was. I put down my book and looked over to the bed, and my father’s chest had ceased to rise and fall. He was gone, and I hadn’t even realized when it happened. I knew it was coming, but I wanted to be there for him, I wanted to hold his hand as he crossed that final threshold. That this was taken from me made me start to cry.

I grabbed hold of his hand, hoping to experience at least my father’s warmth for one last time before he went cold. There was still the faintest touch of heat in his calloused, old fingers, and the tears flowed freely down my face.

“I’m sorry”, I said as I squeezed his hand, “I’m so sorry dad.”

He squeezed back.

Gasping in surprise, I looked up, hoping against all hope to see my father’s smiling face as he woke up, as if from a long dream, miraculously alive and okay. But that isn’t what I saw. This isn’t that kind of story. This isn’t that sort of world.

The corpse that was my father began to twitch and spasm, writhing and squirming as if made of a hundred tiny pieces each trying to break free from the whole. What was once my father’s head rolled lazily to face me, doll eyes blankly staring forward as the lifeless thing wriggled towards me.

It was like watching an octopus move, each limb in possession of a mind of its own, its hand in a vice grip against mine. I tried to pull free but I couldn’t, it was grasping too tight. I screamed for help, calling for anybody to get this corpse, this meat, away from me. My cries were cut off as its other hand grasped my throat, bent awkwardly at an impossible angle as I heard its bones snap.

My vision faded to black, and the last thing I saw before I passed out was my father’s face, lifeless and dead, staring into nothing.

I lived, of course. I wouldn’t be sitting here typing this if I didn’t. Whatever unnatural force was animating the corpse, it didn’t stick around long enough to do any lasting damage beyond leaving some bruises on my neck. A nurse found me unconscious on the floor, my father’s body laying on top of me stiffly.

They didn’t even try to come up with a realistic explanation for what happened, they just said my injuries must have been self-inflicted during a “psychotic break brought about by the traumatic event”, because no doctor is going to believe a woman who says her dead father tried to strangle her to death. The most they humored me was admitting that it was possible that I witnessed some postmortem muscle spasms. Meat that didn’t know it was dead yet.

I’m working through it though. I’m facing my fears. That’s what you’re supposed to do as an adult right? You just sit down and deal with things, you don’t make a fuss about it. And so that’s what I’m doing, I’m handling all this with maturity and grace.

I’ve even started eating meat again.

Little pieces.

Nice, bite sized chunks.

I’ve almost gotten used to how it feels as it wriggles down my throat.

#horror fiction #horror story #horror #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creepypasta

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deathbyseventeen · 1 year

Text

DBS Masterlist

Hello! You’ve found my mobile masterlist. Congrats! Hopefully you find something you like here 💕

Trigger Warnings can be found in the descriptions of the fics when you click on them!

GUIDE: A Personal Fave [ ✨] | Popular Post [❤️‍🔥] | Angst [💔] | Fluff/Romance [ 💕] | Part of a Series/Same Universe [🧩]

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.OT13.

> Click a Prince ❤️‍🔥 💕

Curse your bullshit destiny. It was decided that on the 100th anniversary of peace in your kingdom, the eldest princess would marry a prince from the other thirteen kingdoms. That day has finally arrived and thirteen princes have gathered. Who will you pick?

> Mirror Stage 💔

If his math is correct, and he sorely doubts it isn’t, then it’s almost time for them to wake. The clock is ticking. He’s waiting.

> AU ideas from the FEAR teasers

5 AU ideas that popped into my mind from the teasers.

.S.COUPS.

> Blinded 💕

This isn’t what Seungcheol meant for Jun to do.

> Trauma 💔

Again? Again. They said to each other as they started the simulation again.

> Friendship? 💔 💕

He liked you. But no. You liked him. But no. They knew. So why not help a friend out?

.JEONGHAN.

> Before Christmas 💕

A Nightmare Before Christmas AU.

Crossing through a door in the woods, you and Chan end up on Earth. And you really just freaked out a man named Jeonghan.

.JOSHUA.

> 3lue ✨ 🧩 💔 💕

(World: 3lue AU)

Blue. His powers were blue. It’s been years since you last saw him. Your memories of him were also blue.

> A Dance Meant for Two 💕 💔

> Because You Were Gone ❤️‍🔥 💕 💔

You never knew when to give up. It wasn’t your superpower but it sure seemed like it.

> Guardian Angel 🧩 💕 💔

(Series: of Guardian Angels)

You had taken some notes on the page, not many— the professor’s lecture had been brief and had ended with a “simple” question. One single question that for some unexplainable reason — except that the topic had always existed in the depths of your brain — seemed to rattle you.

You blinked, the words came into focus: Renaissance Art 14th to 17th Century: Religious Depictions: Angles.

> I Saw 💕

Maybe you should have thought of your wishlist beforehand….

> Untitled AU

From a Song+Member inbox night

> The Switch 💕 💔

Perhaps it was karma that he wasn’t in his own body anymore, living it up and spending his money the way he wanted to. To you that was a bittersweet blessing. Maybe he could change (you doubted it), but at the very least, you got to meet Seungcheol (and Woozi).

> What is Love?

A 100-word drabble

.JUN.

> Breathless Words 💕

Being alone on Christmas Eve isn’t as rare as everyone makes it out to be. Then you go and meet him.

.HOSHI.

> Princess, Please ❤️‍🔥 💕

You tried getting out of the field trip to the reindeer ranch. Hoshi’s family owned it and you’ve been avoiding him as much as you could.

> Secret Santa 💕 💔

You spent so much time, and thought, trying to find Hoshi the right Christmas present. You’d only forgotten the Secret Santa exchange was going to happen during class.

> G&R: Yule Ball 💕

Anger came when things didn’t happen like you hoped. But at least he loved you and overlooked your outburst. Now just…confess.

> Missed Connections ✨ ❤️‍🔥 🧩 💕 💔

(Series: Between the Dusty and the Sparks)

They’re from different societies, meant to hate each other. But when you don’t know where the other’s from…there’s always the possibility of love. But when they find out, what are they meant to do?

.WONWOO.

> The Marionnettiste || Part 2 💕

Too shy to pursue. Too bold to let you go so easily. Want to play a game a chess? Some one has to make the first move.

> Guarded 🧩 💕 💔

(Series: of Guardian Angels)

He hadn’t seen you in so long. There was a reason for that.

> Letting Go ❤️‍🔥 💕

All Wonwoo had wanted was for you to show up to Mingyu’s party. It’s bene hours since it started and he’s already lost all hope.

> Untitled AU

From a Song+Member inbox night

.WOOZI.

> Saving Colors 💕

Black is black, red is red - find it, find me - before All Hallows Eve ends. Before it’s too late.

> Night ❤️‍🔥 💕

When the cute guy you keep staring at in the campus cafe turns out to be your neighbor (and you’ve been unknowingly annoying them for a while). Christmas break just got better.

> Miraculous Ladybug!Woozi || Part 2

Woozi as the Miraculous Ladybug headcannons.

> I’ll be your Heaven, I’ll be your Hell 🧩 💕 💔

(Series: of Guardian Angels)

He saw you often, even through the pain because it was the only wish that kept coming true.

> Since the Day I Met You || Part 2 ✨ 🧩 💕 💔

(Series: Between the Dusty and the Sparks)

For better or worse, he’s been your friend since the day you met. You’ve been through a lot together already, you, Jihoon, and your ragtag rebel family. But someone messed up, someone made the elitist Sparks government focus on you all– a group of nobody rebels in the cast-off City of Dust that have never even seen the luxury of the walled-off City of Sparks. With a heavy, love-stricken heart, choices have to be made; and, as the leaders of this family, for better or worse

they will be made.

.SEOKMIN/DK.

> Warmth 🧩 💔 💕

(World: 3lue AU)

Ice had to meet Sunshine at some point, but they had to learn how to stand on their own.

.MINGYU.

nothing here, sorry :(

.THE8/HAO. > Drunken Mornings ❤️‍🔥 💕

A party long into the night gives you a hungover morning, and memories of a drunken morning.

> Ashes 💔

You weren’t ready to admit what it was, the song you kept hearing in your head as grew up. Neither of you were. But, it never changed what it was: a curse teasing you about its impending arrival.

.SEUNGKWAN.

> Fight or Fight 💕

...He’s forgetting something… isn’t he?

> Peppermint 💕

(Soulmate AU)

Who was to guess that it was in demise that Head Elf #11, otherwise known as Seungkwan, would finally meet his soulmate.

.VERNON.

> Monster Mash 💔

It’s at a Halloween party two weeks after an accident, that Vernon and you are haunted.

> Snowed In ❤️‍🔥 💕

Arrangements are made when no one can go home because they’re snowed inside.

.DINO.

> Sleigh Bells 💕 💔

I jingled some bells. You didn’t notice. They threw bells. You noticed. You said bells rang in your head - so could you listen to mine?

> A Dream of You 💔

It’s only in your dreams that you’re still able to see him.

> 5:15pm: As the World Caves In (Teaser)💕 💔

Coming home after the apocalypse. Home sweet home.

> As the World caves In (Full Fic) 💕 💔

(Post-Apocalyptic AU, Zombies!AU)

The world ended on a Tuesday in November, days after Halloween, when the sun was less than an hour away from setting. Chan had just left his dorm’s building, late to his History of Dance 136A lecture, when it happened. You hadn’t been as lucky on the day the world began to crumble.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen au #seventeen #seventeen fanfiction #svt imagines #svt #svt au #svt fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #masterlist #DeathbySeventeen

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freuleinanna · 2 years

Text

postcards

Characters: Travis Hackett Chosen ending: The Hacketts are all dead except Travis, Laura survives Short summary: Travis is trying to cope with the trauma of losing his family as best he can (which is not good at all). At the same time, unsigned postcards start to arrive. Words count: 2595 (trauma, healing)

Tags: @b33barlowsstuff, @imperfectjam, @sera-wonderland, @strawberryoverkill, @hrefna-the-raven (tagging my Travis squad, though it's ok if this one's not to your liking)

(I don't pretend to write master psychology or trauma, so I'm sorry if you hate it, but a Travis!meta thought wrote itself into a fic, plus I'm still on my Travis x Laura enemies-to-slightly-less-enemies-with-connection bullshit, oops)

September, 26 This feels stupid.

(no date)

fix the fence

buy coffee

start those quarterly reports !

check podcast nothing new

(no date) No, I know, it ain't it. I'll try tomorrow. Can't think of anything worth saying.

October, 6 Here's the thing. Chris used to keep a journal. He said it helped, and I owe it to him to try. Just gotta write whatever's on my mind or stuff that happened. So. Drank a beer. Took another patrol shift. Way behind on the quarterlies, really gotta start on them now. What else?

God, what a load of crap. Chris is dead. Bobby's dead. Caleb's dead. Kaylee's dead. Dad's dead.

That's what's on my fucking mind.

October, 7 Ma is dead. There, I wrote it. Feels good. Not that she's I don't mean fuck

October, 19 Full moon yesterday. Didn't know what else to do, so I started packing. Unpacked around dawn. I don’t need silver bullets anymore.

October, 27 A postcard came from NY. Weird. Nothing but the sender's address. Threw it out.

October, 31 Fucking habits.

I was patrolling, and drove to the camp site. Didn't mean to, just sort of ended up here. Sat in the car like an idiot looking at the windows. Usually, one would be lit. I'd get out, come in, we'd crack a couple of cold ones. I can’t bring myself to //

A bunch of kids just tried to break in on camp's grounds. I think they were looking for a place to get wasted on a Halloween night, which I completely forgot about. One of them was dressed as a werewolf and kept howling. For a moment, I thought Anyway. Scaring the shit out of them felt good. Shouting, too. Disrespectful assholes didn't have any right to be here. Not here.

PS. Almost called Chris to tell the story and have a good laugh.

November, 14 Sent in the quarterly reports last week. WAY overdue. Things kind of lose their importance, even I know it’s not a good sign. Everything that happens swooshes right through my brain, in and out, like a bullet. Maybe a bullet is what I need

That last part came out of nowhere. I'm not really thinking it. I mean I wasn't, but now that I wrote it, I obviously am. Shit! This whole journal thing is fucking my brain up. Great advice, C. Real nice. It should be helping, not making more mess. How am I supposed to figure it out?

No, fuck that. Ma raised us better than self-pity.

But then, Ma also raised us to protect the family.

November, 19 Full moon. I still measure time by calendar marks. Three moons ago they were all alive.

December, 18 Full moon.

December, 26 Another postcard came. Obnoxious Christmassy stuff, with one snowman sneezing the carrot out and another dodging it and shouting 'I'm okay!' Nothing more, nothing less. Someone must have screwed up the address. This had better stop.

Anyway, this past month. Nothing much to say, I was clearing out the house. Couldn't be there with all of the rooms untouched, so. Yeah. That's it. Done the job.

(later) No, I shouldn't lie, should I? What's even the point.

It smells empty now, the house. Desolate. Like a place where people haven't lived for a long time, even though I've literally been there. I can't seem to fill it up on my own. I'm not enough.

Many things there. Memories. Found Bobby's old book about horses. He fucking loved horses, that kid. Couldn't remember where he put his shoes but recited dozens of breeds by heart. He dreamt we'd turn the house into a ranch. It was that one year when our folks shut the Quarry down cause Bobby was getting bigger, and more and more different, and he needed more attention instead of less. He was obsessed with the idea for months, driving Ma insane. Chris finally had to step in and say, 'Hey, I'll do you one better. We'll reopen the camp, and you'll have lots of kids to play with, how's that?' Bobby almost shat his pants with happiness. Poor lonely kid. I was too grown-up and off to college, and Chris was too… I don’t want to say normal, but maybe he was. He had his own friends. Bobby was with Ma most of the time and Ma was… well, she was Ma. Out of us three, Chris was the only one who had his special way with her. So they decided to reopen. I don't know if Bobby ever remembered the ranch idea again because I think, from then on, he slept and saw himself with a bunch of kids playing together on the camp's grounds.

Spent half an hour on the floor with that goddamn book, nearly crying. We should have got the fucking horses.

January, 17 Full moon. Don't know why I keep doing that.

January, 27 Moved into the station a couple of weeks ago. With all that space in the house, there's just too much, well, space. I'm used to having a big family, that’s the thing. Another habit. Anyone who grew up with one would know, it sinks it teeth in and doesn't let go.

Even C. and I, we went away for college only to come back home. I think, by then it had already been late. That's how Ma rasied us, always keep close to your family and care for it as best you can. We learned it with Bobby, and then with Chris's kids when they came along. We had been a wolf pack long before half of us turned into wolves. The house is cracked in the corners and crooked all over, and we were, too, with our issues and complicated relationships. It was never simple. At least, I knew who I was when I was there. A son, an elder brother, an uncle, lots and lots of strings upon strings. I don't really know who I am now. A survivor, I guess. I survived my family. Any one of us would say that's worth a gold fucking medal.

February, 3 Apparently, in order for it to help, it's supposed to hurt. Catharsis.

Don't have much time to write, but I got on one of those websites for people who lost someone. There are therapists there, too, so you can talk to them if you need to.

Long story short, after a few false-starts, I found Doc Morgan. She was okay. Talked to me for a while about loss, about myself, too. How I’m eating, how I’m sleeping, agitations, fixations. There was, surprisingly, a lot to say. That’s when the catharsis thing came up, I was talking about how Chris was writing and I was trying, too, but it wasn’t working. Then she started asking questions about my family and how I lost them, when it happened (this I could answer) and how (this I couldn't), so I had to drop it.

Before that, she also said I 'harbor a lot of guilt'. No shit, Doc. I wish there was someone to talk about it with. Someone who knew the truth.

Catharsis, huh? Shit.

March, 8 Thirty-five years on the force, and that’s the first time it happens. Got shot on the job. Nothing deadly, a bullet in the arm. Had to wear a cast for a month, so writing is more of an exercise now. Some punk was trying to rob the petrol station, things went south, and I got a bullet, that’s it. Guess hunting werewolves makes you cocky enough to underestimate an ordinary dick with a gun.

Anyway, the whole thing blew out of proportion, and I got handed an award and got my picture taken. Sweet fucking Jesus. I bet they knew there’s no other fool who’d agree to patrol this god-forsaken piece of land, so they were sucking up like hell.

Two new postcards came. This is getting annoying. Haven’t had a look yet, just noticed them in the mail box.

February 16 was the full moon. Still restless.

March, 9 ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

The postcards. Almost forgot about them again, but went to take a look.

One looks kind of vintage, with two dogs sharing a bone and the ‘I don’t have a bone to pick with you’ phrase in a heinous font. The other is a goddamn get-well card sent by post.

I looked the address up, should have done that long ago (some cop!). It’s a dorm address, for the NYS College of Veterinary Medicine at Cornell University. A vet college.

I don’t know if I’m tired or pissed. Both. Pissed, more. Who does she think she is sending me postcards? Why? Is this a joke, does she think we’re friends? Why would I ever want to hear from her? What in hell are those writings? Got a hold of the previous card, the Christmas one. ‘I’m okay’. And now, ‘I don’t have a bone to pick with you’. God, and the get-well one, too. She must have checked the local papers to see that article. The sheer ARROGANCE. Should have left her right there in that basement with Chris.

(later) Got so wound up that I drove to the nearest post office. Picked the one white card there, the one you’re supposed to draw on to make it personal. Left it blank, wrote STOP IT on the back, and sent right away. This has got to end.

March, 18 Full moon. Up all night again. This, too, has got to end.

March, 26 Went patrolling again and drove to the Quarry by the end of the shift. There’s nothing horrifying on uneasy about it in morning light, just a bunch of wooden cabins with sun shining on the surface of the lake. Almost peaceful. Walked around for a while there, thinking. You’d never guess how close to the earth lie the dark secrets hidden all around.

I don’t know what to do with it. The main cottage is ruined, and I don’t exactly have the time or money to repair it. Even if I did, I certainly can’t run it on my own. Chris knew his way around, he loved it. Really, loved it. Spent hours designing improvement plans, or getting the best deals for food delivery, or talking with kids. He was a natural. I’m no Chris. I can’t really fill his shoes, never could.

I’ll probably have to shut it down or resell. The thought doesn’t sit right. I’m on the verge of the right, reasonable decision but can’t make it for the life of me. It’s all wrong.

April, 4 A postcard came. Of course. I guess I felt it in my guts that it would.

A profound-quote kind this time, the type that’s used for aesthetics, not for actual posting.

Stood by the mail box for a good minute. I think I understand now.

Catharsis.

April, 13 It’s time now, makes no sense to postpone it any longer. In order for it to help, it’s supposed to hurt.

I have always, all my life, tried to be a good person. Do the right thing, make the right decisions. I am a police officer, for God’s sake, have been for thirty-five years. I swore to protect people. But Ma also raised us to protect the family. What does one do when being a good person contradicts being a good brother, a good son?

I harbor a lot of guilt, Doc Morgan said. Damn right, I do. Good people, innocent people died, because I made a choice. All it takes is one broken oath, because once you break it, there’s no going back. There’s no clear path, nowhere to put your loyalty. All you can do is keep going, further and further into the woods. And along that road, there’s always a choice. People you don’t know, whom you’d sworn to protect, or your family, whom you love. Who do you protect? Whose life do you save? They don’t have answers in the police academy. It’s like that ethical problem where you’re riding a trolley without any sort of brakes, and if you keep on your track, you’ll kill a bunch of people, but if you make a choice to pull the lever and switch the trolley to another track, you’ll only kill one. They say the answer is often ‘don’t switch, don’t take that responsibility, let it ride’. Here’s where the catch comes in. What if those people are your family? One stranger seems like a reasonable enough sacrifice to save the ones you love. Here’s another catch. What if this situation comes up over, and over, and over again? And what if you pull the lever so many times that the pile of bodies grows out of control? Does a good person still do it? Does a good son?

He does, it turns out, because no one ever says: enough. Not one damn person. Dad didn’t say it, Ma certainly never did, not even Chris. The good son, the golden son. I can’t hold it against him, really, we all loved him. He was the kind of person who made everything better simply by showing up with his broad smile and stupid jokes. It just so happened, that the choice was mine, and there were always switches, and Chris was always on the tracks. His children, too. Ultimately, all of us. And once I stopped making that damn choice, the trolley rode right through.

‘Guilt is a ravenous creature,’ that’s what it said, on the postcard. It is, indeed. It’s the never-ending tear between ‘what if I never pulled the lever’ and ‘what if I pulled it just one more time’. It’s people you swore to protect but didn’t, and family you were raised to protect but didn’t. The guilt of not being a good person and not being a good son.

I’ve split myself over it so much I can hardly feel the halves, so I’m saying: enough. I’ve done enough. I’d loved them and protected them as best I could but the truth is, the most important choice is to stop sitting in a crashed trolley contemplating your choices. One person with a rope can’t pull everyone else back from the well. At some point, you’ve got to decide to cut the rope. I’m doing just that. I’ve spent enough time being a good brother and son. Maybe I can try being a good person again now.

April, 14 Went to send a postcard. I don’t know what she’s gonna make of it and if she understands at all. The whole thing is just too hard to explain. Catharsis.

For a second, I even thought of tearing out the last entry and sending it as a letter, but shit, the drama. So I went to the camp and took one of the Quarry postcards instead, from the souvenirs stand. Didn’t know what to write. Then just wrote THANK YOU. Maybe it helps her guilt, too, the one that’s been making her send those cards.

I hope so. God, I hope she understands.

April, 17 Full moon yesterday. Slept through it.

May, 1 The answer came. LIKEWISE. She did understand.

P.S. July, 7 I didn’t plan on writing anything else, but then another card came. A happy-birthday card, an absolutely idiotic one, with printed cake, and candles, and confetti.

I’m not even gonna ask how the hell she knew.

But then again, I could always send a postcard and find out.

#i'm still not sure if it shouldn't have been a shorter post but here we are #i promise i'm gonna do other characters some time soon :D #the quarry #the quarry fics #travis hackett #travis hackett fics #laura and travis brotp rights #travis hackett meta #laura kearney but like she's not even named here #BUT SHE IS IMPORTANT #anna writes the quarry #the quarry spoilers #tw: trauma #healing

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2bhankfan · 1 year

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HELLOOOO 2BHANK HEADCSNONS HEART EMOJI :]

the ideas that have been in my small little brain

even when others are nice to hank he finds it very empty which is why in project nexus he doesn't really connect with others however his relationship with 2bdamned is more than "He's nice to me" its the fact 2bdamned is actually displaying more than words, because he realizes that 2bdamned is doing more than he has to in any capacity. they share a goal of defeating - or atleast subduing - the AAHW. 2bdamned's assistance in providing high level weaponry and teammates should be enough, but he's giving MORE. after hanks first death on a mission after beginning to work with 2bdamned, he finds it strange that 2bdamned is the one to help revive him but that gives them time to spend together. He finds it even more strange that this is his first encounter with another person that includes physical touch but no harm, he doesn't know what to make of that. Eventually its not just when hank dies. It starts happening enough that 2bdamned says he has to come by so often he might as well start living there, but hank takes that as a serious offer and obliges. Both of them are surprised, but it happens anyway.

I think that's the point at which they start to know each other well enough to advance this to a relationship past "We just need to get by" to "I'm doing all these super nice things just as a favor" which are definitely not just favors, they spend more and more time together as a result. Hands lingering over stitched wounds 'just to check one more time', small talk during treatment, i think around that point is when hank opens up to doc a lot more. I like to think they do stuff outside of work or simply "Living" too, having a drink together and such. I think it's obvious they want to keep it "strictly business" but it's been past that point ever since they started living together, and WELL past ever since they started becoming more ... casual to each other.

I don't truly know to what extent hank feels for 2bdamned, but I think he kind of struggles with the fact he hasn't killed him yet when there's reasons he COULD and he SHOULD, but i supposed it's something in the back of his mind that he can when it comes to that point. The better question is why hasn't it? How did it get to THIS point where it's become past the work? Why would he do something like be open to someone like HIM? Why hasn't he done anything about it?

2bdamned's own emotions are pretty clear to him but he's in denial saying it's about the research or the practicality or some other bullshit not willing to admit its spending more resources than it's worth to keep the fucker alive, especially if hank doesn't exactly need 2bdamned's talents to revive himself. It's needless use of vital things like giving up privacy to live with the Scariest Guy In All Of Nevada or using reviving when Hank doesn't even need any of the fancy tech in the first place to be revived. It's the same question of "How's it come to this?"

i need them to be a little more fucked up emotionally than just snuggle buddies at movie night. i mentioned this elsewhere but their relationship is kind of like. They both think theyre the guy taking care of the cat, but they're both the cat. sorry less of a headcanons list and more a dump of some headcanon emotional garbage but here's some stuff i think theyd do and be gay about

drinking together (mentioned) and getting a bit more closer emotionally, both of them talk about their jobs and what they do what they do but i also think doc would mention something about being ex-aahw and being like "FUCK!!NO HE'LL HATE ME NOW!!" and hanks like "AHHAHAHA see it's just better to hang with me" and at that point they became besties (CODE FOR hot gay lovers)

also after that doc just begins complaining so so much about the AAHW especially the working conditions

THREE WORDS. HOMO!! EROTIC!! SURGERY!!! you all know it by now yes the "oh so you're in my guts. okay. buy me dinner first" but like you know. i think people should focus more on the touching aspect and i never really see it enough... gimme some tracing over the stomach and hank being all fucked up over how this is the only time of the day someone gets to hold him without it following his head being bashed in. I do think it's a little funny thinking about this though, i think 2bdamned definitely forgets all the time he's working with a LIVING body not a dead one so he just kinda sticks his hand in there sometimes and when hanks like "AUGHTR" he's like oopsie ^_^ forgot

hank tried to kiss doc once after surgery and he had to play it off as being delirious and then stomped out really all mad at himself

they have to sleep in the same bed or it's that doc is sleeping in a fucking chair but the problem is all of his chairs are stools. they HAVE to sleep in the same bed man. there's only one bed trope but contest to see how long they can last before making out. do this in real life with your best friend

also that doc is the one that cooks for both of them and it is kind of shit food but compared to the fact hank cant fucking cook its like a miracle hank gets anything other than Cheese Pizza in his system

you remember that "Pretty Please" note doc wrote to hank to tell him to Pretty Please Destroy The Only City In Our Fucking World i think he talks really jokingly to hank, but doesnt do it because hank doesn't really pick up on it being a joke. usually does try to remain serious and normal for most conversations

if i think of any more i'll psot them later but it is 12:30 am !!! i like them a lot. i like them a lot

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she-waves-at-cats · 1 year

Text

Ok, I really want to talk about it. I have thoughts that will rot my brain if i don't get them out.

I had a meltdown in karate class. (My entry for the "most autistic sentence ever uttered" contest if someone wants to organise one.)

It was my first experience of public overwhelm since my autistic realisation, so I can now see these events from a new perspective.

The how and the why: Intense day of mostly-positive experiences that included a phonecall (omg) with a job recruiter who was extremely nice to me. Also I forgot to eat lunch. By the time the evening class rolled around, I was in a good mood overall, but my brain had had enough I guess, so it started "shrinking". It was hard to coordinate movements, which stressed me out, so it was hard to recall movement sequences, which stressed me out, then we did an exercise with a partner and I was self-conscious, so I just froze... And then the teacher took notice, so he took time to individually drill me in basics, which was what pushed me over the edge. I know the basics, I'm so good at this stuff actually. I have more theoretical knowledge than any other student in that room, and he knows that, but seeing me fail once made him forget about all that. I cried. He lectured me, publically.

Here's something he thought was appropriate to say: "You're not supposed to be crying, you're supposed to enjoy the class."

Isn't this the most controlling, gaslighting bullshit an authority figure can say? You're not experiencing appropriate emotions, so I will now remind you what emotions you're supposed to experience. And I used to swallow things like that, hook, line and sinker. I used to grab myself by my own nonexistent bootstraps and beat myself into expressing emotions others can comprehend. That's what masking is, not a happy acting exercise, it's violence that you are convinced you have to exert on yourself.

But my real conclusion is that while up to a point, I could've prevented this event if I had read my own clues better (positive stress is still stress, and I was not careful managing my resources because I thought happiness was giving me more resources), OTHER PEOPLE MADE IT WORSE.

The teacher could've just let me do the exercises badly for one day. He could've just given me corrections like normal, without worrying I was not immediately improving. Without making it a whole thing where he pairs me up with another student specifically to watch me and correct me. And it's not like I didn't say "remembering things is hard for me today". He just didn't get that it means "leave me alone today, tomorrow I will remember things again". He did extra work with me that was completely useless.

And when I took my bag and left, the other female student followed me, wanting to know what happened, not taking "just a stressful day" for an explanation, kept asking if I was definitely ok, disparaged the men in the class for not knowing how to take care of a female friend, and then offered me a ride home. I let her drive me - I'd wanted to be her friend and was actually frustrated that she always came late to class and left immediately after, so we never had a chance to connect before. But man, was it hard to think of things to say in that car, when my mind was the size of a pea and my memory behind 3 vault doors.

It took a whole night of processing and then a whole day of being quiet and treating myself gently until I felt like myself again. If people had just left me alone, there would've been nothing special to process and recover from. I would've had a mediocre class, then taken a long walk home and remembered I was basically happy.

Showing that I struggled wasn't WRONG, exactly, but the problem is that if I show struggle, or god forbid a tear, people react in ways that make it impossible for me to calm down. And the worst thing is that none of the people in this story are neurotypical - we're adult karate nerds after all - but neurotypical methods of dealing with emotions are so ingrained in us, we think we will let a friend down if we don't pester them for more emotional work when they are already at their emotional limit.

I used to think that to get the support I want, I needed to communicate better. That day, I communicated. I was so articulate for someone who can barely think and talk. But people did not accept my true words at face value.

What we need is more education about autism before there's acceptance of alternative ways of experiencing stress and processing emotions. We are only taught neurotypical communication, to the point where we hurt each other.

#autism #actuallyautistic #autistic adult #autistic problems #autistic solutions #meltdown #i think i need a new tag for original text posts #lynn's words #that's my name

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starrystevie · 2 years

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i touched on this idea in my most recent fic but i can't stop thinking about robin, steve, eddie and nancy as the main four from the wizard of oz.

robin dressed up as the scarecrow. she has long limbs that cause her to trip over herself, all clumsy and fluid movements. she said it herself that she didn't learn how to walk at the same time as all the other babies. it was easy to convince her to dress as the scarecrow for that alone but then came the lingering fear of being seen as the one without a brain. robin was smart, she knew she was, good grades and witty comebacks and niche interests. yet as the years went on and they fought monsters, things were suddenly going bump in the night like they did when she was a scared little kid and she couldn't get her brain to stop or slow down or even just think the way it used to. this creeping anxiety that filled every minute of every day had her once smart brain turning on her, convincing her that she was wrong or she was seeing things or that all the different ways the world could fall apart were real. her brain became her enemy, her weakness.

then there was steve. big, strong, powerful steve with the swing of an athlete to wield an ax in protection of his friends. it was obvious for him to dress up as the tin man and he did it willingly knowing he'd get a fake ax that he'd get to swing around. he felt oh so confident with something in his hands but then his thoughts kicked in. the tin man, a lumberjack turned to metal for his lack of a heart. steve, who had been told that his love was bullshit, he was bullshit. steve, who learned over time that just by being his parents didn't automatically mean love. steve, who yearned for connections, for love, but was it really that? did he want to love or did he just want to be loved? he had heard time and time again that he was a king and that people fawned over him but he could only hear that for so long before it didn't mean anything substantial. did he want a heart? did he want the ability to love? or was not having that thumping thing in his chest the only keeping him from getting hurt?

the most obvious of all was eddie as the lion, craving courage. a big preening presence with a booming voice and a great head of hair who could bark as loud they come but had yet to figure out how to bite. the boy who tucked his tail between his legs before he ran, always running, always scared. he could show off with the best of them and boast how in his little fantasy world with dragons and wizards that he was the top of the food chain. but when it came to the real world where girls float on his ceiling and jocks hunt him like game and his own desires are wrong, he can't be anything other than scared. hell, he almost died in an alternate dimension after trying to make the hero play and couldn't find the guts to tell his savior that what he thought was adoration and appreciation was quickly turning to something more. eddie wanted, he needed, to find it in himself to learn how to stand his ground with the best of them but how could he do that when the world felt safer under running shoes?

and nancy, wonderful and beautiful nancy in a blue and white gingham dress with curled pigtails and ruby red slippers was dorothy. the girl in the center of it all. on the outside, her life was the epitome perfection, loving family and friends, smart as a whip, big dreams with the passion to get there. but then the monsters came. she learned how to fight, how to bear her teeth and shoot a gun and stand firmly with her feet planted in the ground. in reality, all she wanted to do was fly. nancy wanted to pack up and soar wherever the wind would take her, to find new places and big cities that matched her dreams and showed her things she would never see in a small town in indiana. she wanted to run and feel free and live up to all the idea rattling around in her brain. but then the monsters came, yet again, and all she craved was home. this unattainable thing that was just out of reach. a home of years before she knew how to load a gun, before she knew what rotting flesh smelled like, before she knew that she was small. nancy yearned for a life far away and mourned for that life every second that her home, her real home, was swept from under her feet. how could there be no place like home when home was cracked and burning?

#surprise bee thought of something and missed out on hours of doing actual work at work so she could type this up #stranger things headcanon #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #stranger things fic #sorry but i'm sad about this and it would have ruined the vibe to put it in my fic so you al lget it here #long post #also ps this is absolutely not read over for editing so sorry in advance #fruity four #fruity four headcanon

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