The Rodeo Rule: you only have to do it for the first time once.
The Rohan Rule: if you are at a social function full of new people and you want to be liked, find someone doing important work like setup or food prep and offer to help.
The Tutorial Mode Rule: to navigate an unfamiliar situation where you fear you will mess up an interaction, preface the interaction by mentioning that you've never done this before, and let them know if you have a specific concern or question.
The Rocket Science Rule: most new things you want to try seem very complicated but are simple when taken step by step.
The [X] Will Remember That Rule: if you need to make small talk with the same person on a regular basis, try to save one fact or current event in their life from a given conversation and bring it up next time you talk.
The Cool Binder Rule: by wearing clothes and accessories that are to your taste instead of trying to blend in, people will be more likely to compliment you and show interest in you as a person.
Yk I’ve had this idea of like something to do with six. Maybe six meeting reader who is in like a similar program to the sierra program n he only ever finds out ab it because they’re told to collaborate? Could lead any which way after such tbh thats where idea ends 😓
Alternatively, something to do with Henry Letham. Anything would do, fluff, angst, anything n all. I needa rewatch the movie lwk tho cuz I got soo lost towards the end n I’m not sure if it’s because I watched half one day n the other another day or what 😓😞
henry letham x male reader
tags: sleepy morning fluff, sickfic, established relationship, canon divergence; everything is Okay, kind of proposal (it's henry after all)
a/n: this was genuinely so hard to pick dude i love them both </3 but i rewatched stay the other day and had to see him happy and cherished 😞😞
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Henry stirs very slowly. Awareness reaches him in faint threads, knitting itself together as the memory of his dream already begins to fade and he becomes aware of his body again. It's a far kinder awakening than the harsh blaring of his many alarms wrenching him from sleep most days of the week, even with the faint achiness present in his limbs.
Warmth crowds in from all sides—the flattened pillow against his cheek, the rumpled blankets and sheets he's buried in, his own body heat, soaked into the mattress beneath him—and still he's cold. He's quick to notice its terrible absence in his foot, where it sticks out from under the covers, and just as swiftly he pulls it back in, curling into himself.
In the same motion, eyes still pressed loosely shut, he swings his leg back, searching out the man-sized furnace he shares a bed with in hopes of leeching some warmth.
When instead he finds a vague spot of ebbing warmth in the empty space behind him, Henry huffs mournfully into his pillow, prying his eyes only halfway open. He blinks a few times, eyelids sluggish and achy with an already-rooting headache, and attempts to focus on the clock on his nightstand. Drowsy as he is, he might as well be staring at it through a glass pane. A very foggy, very thick glass pane.
He turns to the window next, figures he'll have a better shot at gauging the time there—it's light out already, but the sun seems muted, pale, and isn't pooling inside the way it does around noon, so Henry estimates he can sleep in for another hour or two.
He stretches his limbs out, quivering all the way to his teeth, and then goes boneless back into his pocket of warmth right as the bedroom door creaks softly.
Henry's eyes squint back open where they'd fallen shut during a jaw-aching yawn, and more warmth finds his chest at the sight of you heedfully slipping back inside. His gaze slips when you turn to shut the door, down the expanse of your bare back and the low-sitting waistband of your shorts. How you aren't freezing your ass off is beyond him. Then again, you haven't been saddled with a particularly stubborn fever for the last several days.
"Oh," you say upon spotting his drooping, sleepy blues gazing up at you. "You're up early."
"What time'sit?" he mumbles, rolling over to face your half of the bed and patting your vacant spot with his palm.
"Just past eight," you reply as you crawl up the mattress and settle in beside him. "How are you feeling?"
"Where'd you go?" He demands in lieu of an answer, distantly aware of how disgruntled the question comes out, but sue him, he doesn't enjoy waking up to an empty bed anymore, especially after he had to banish you back to your own place for a few nights so he wouldn't get you sick before finishing with your finals. So, he just tucks his nose against the junction of your shoulder and neck and sighs.
"Had to take a leak, I need your permission to get out of bed now?"
Henry hums noncommitally into your shoulder, holding his tongue but swinging a thigh over your hips. Instead of a true response, he jerks both ice-cold feet out and presses them cruelly against your legs, snickering when you hiss. With great might you power through, and slip a hand up out of the covers to press flat against his cheek, then forehead.
"We might have to go to Urgent Care if your fever doesn't break," you hum, a thread of worry tightening your voice. Henry is quick to shake his head with dismissive looseness. Neither of you own a car, so he'd rather avoid paying for a ludicrously overpriced Uber—and the thought alone of stepping into a subway station in his state, with all its sounds and smells and lights, makes his head pound. Still, it hurts less than it did yesterday, and far less than the day before.
"I'll just sleep it off," Henry mumbles into your skin, weaseling a flat hand between the back of your ribcage and the bed, effectively trapping you. Already, that same sinking weight of tiredness makes itself known again in his limbs. "'M already feeling better."
Your fond puff of breath falls into his hair, followed closely by your fingers, which begin sifting through dark, sleep-mussed tufts and scratching gently over the base of his scalp. The sensation sparks feathery little chills racing down his spine, in response to which he noses further against your neck.
He has a feeling he won't be able to fall back asleep, but he keeps his body loose and his eyes shut, just to bask in the moment for as long as he can. You, on the other hand, seem to have no problem dozing off again—seeing as you had your last final exam yesterday after a particularly punishing exam season, so Henry understands, and when he eventually angles his neck up to watch your sleep-soft face, does so quietly, gingerly, so as not to disturb you.
He props his head up on his open palm, heel pressing into his temple. Your stomach rises and dips in even waves beneath his leg, eyebrows loose on your face, lips parted a mere hair's breadth.
Henry's chest feels funny just watching you. He itches to scour for his sketchbook—wherever the hell he left it—and capture you on its blank pages. But he's too tangled with you, and preserving your peace at the moment takes firm priority.
He can hardly believe it, even still, that he gets to have this. Gets to have you. For months you'd existed to him as some unattainable wonder, one he'd only permit himself to appreciate from measured distances: across a lecture hall or a few benches down from you at the subway station. Then, somehow, you'd spoken to him, your eye caught by one of his paintings at a portfolio exhibition, and the two of you hit it off so smoothly, you'd gone out to a 24-hour diner after the event and talked all night. He'd been buzzing by the time you two parted ways in the early hours of the morning, both from all the coffee he'd downed as well as the elation of having finally, properly met you.
He's endlessly fascinated by you, in a way he never is with other people. With art, certainly—maybe even a particularly good song or poem, but never people. People are fickle and frustrating, often cruel, prone to disappointing him. But since that evening you first spoke to him there was a sort of good-natured disposition to you, in the way you spoke but also in how you listened. He was so certain he'd scare you off once he'd started speaking, quoting Tristan Reveur and detailing the admittedly bleak inspiration behind his painting—but you were fascinated, seemingly as rapt with his words as he was with you.
He's pulled out of his reverie when you crack an eye open.
"Do I have toothpaste on my face or something?"
A tiny smile curls at the corner of his mouth, shaking his head as he skims his palm from your ribs along your warm, bare chest and up your neck. His palm lifts, only to leave his fingers tracing your jaw, all the way up to the hinge below your ear. Meanwhile, your own drifts lazily up and down his back over his loose sleep shirt.
"I love you," he murmurs, very matter-of-factly, swinging his thumb around to the other side of your jaw, catching it in an infirm grip. "Know that?"
"I had my suspicions," you reply playfully. "I love you, too." He feels the faint shifting of muscles under his fingertips as you draw up a soft smile. Your eyes don't stray from his mouth for an instant, but Henry keeps your head fixed on the pillow. Despite your efforts, you are endearingly easy to read.
Your hand strokes higher, the heel of your palm ultimately falling into the shallow dip between his shoulder blades and applying a degree of pressure that's more a question than anything else. Henry purses his lips, angling his head slightly away.
"You'll get sick," he says when your brows gather in a frown.
"I got my flu shot this year."
"Go back to sleep, you look exhausted."
"I should be telling you that," you grumble, still trying to urge him down into a kiss with the hand on his spine. Henry shakes his head in fond exasperation, curling his fingers to scratch down your jaw—and you seize the opportunity in order to dart your head up.
Fortunately for your immune system, regardess of the defeated groan you soon make, Henry just about manages to intercept the kiss with his palm, sealed over your mouth.
"Stubborn," he muses, pressing the pad of his thumb underneath your chin to feel it shift as you swallow, peering up at him with a cross of betrayal and amusement. Your tongue darts out, poking wetly at his hand, but Henry holds his ground. It'll take much more than that to gross him out.
If only to appease the pitiful edge to your expression, Henry ducks his head, presses a few fleeting pecks to your temple and the top of your cheek over his fingers. Your fingers drum insistently over his back, but your eyebrows loosen faintly once he leans his upper body over yours. The warmth of your breathing chest seeps into his, his skin oversensitive and tingly the way it gets when it's feverish but soothed by your body alone.
When your free hand drifts up to his narrow wrist and pulls it down, Henry doesn't resist, just straightens and blinks down at you. You kiss him, finally, and he allows it because he can very rarely deny you anything—and whatever, he's sick, he thinks he deserves a kiss from his (very mulish) boyfriend.
It's warm and chaste, but far from a quick peck. You finally return to his hair, cupping the back of his head to keep him in place while your lips slide with familiar ease against his. He thumbs blindly at your collarbone, slipping his eyes shut. Like a switch suddenly flipped, Henry forgets why he was even so adamant on not allowing you to kiss him. Well, he doesn't forget, exactly, just decides very promptly that if you do get sick, he'll gladly nurse you back to health, just as you've been doing with him.
The kiss fractures every now and again, though continually reconnects after half a beat, both of you reluctant to pull away.
Henry curls further around you when a shiver zips through him, one he isn't entirely sure is attributable to his sickness. His chest is so tight, heart stuttering under the immensity of his adoration he doesn't know what to do with it. He has to get it out somehow, put it down on paper with charcoal and paint. Feels he has to make something out of it, or else it might slip away and he won't have anything to show for it.
"Love you," he repeats against your lips, reaching up to the side of your neck, feeling under his pressing index finger the steady thump of your pulse. "Marry me."
Your smile ends up being what fully breaks the kiss. You scratch distractedly at his scalp, going a little cross-eyed as you try to meet his gaze, noses knocking.
"What a proposal. Very romantic," you tease, but Henry doesn't laugh—though not for lack of fondness. Strangely enough, he's completely untroubled, not embarassed nor anxious over what you may think or say, whether you'll be put off by the idea or move to pull away.
You won't. He knows you won't.
"I'll buy you a ring, I'll get you flowers, whatever you want," he continues, darting between both of your eyes. "You're it for me."
"Alright, loverboy." Your hand on his head comes around to cup his cheek, tracing the bag under his left eye with your thumb. "Let's think about this for a minute—"
"I'm not just saying it. I mean it."
"I know you do," you say, ever patient when it comes to him. "I'm just thinking logistics here. We're college students working minimum wage, baby."
"It doesn't matter," Henry says, smiling minutely, shaking his head despite knowing you're right. "I'll ask my parents for some money."
You laugh, and his forehead drops to your shoulder, huffing in faux defeat. It's so damn cold in this room; he presses himself flush to you, thighs and hips and chest melting into you under the covers, wishing he could crawl into you and curl up there, soaking up the heat that runs like a current under your skin. He presses his mouth to your neck for a few seconds, if only to warm his lips, and then you twist your head down, meeting his eye. He clears his scratchy throat.
"So, not a no?"
Your lips twitch, eyes tired but open and earnest. "Not a no."
He kisses you again, disregarding his prior concerns—he just can't help himself. Soon, you're both smiling too much to sustain it. Without looking away, Henry searches under the covers for your hand. Once he finds it, he lances his slender fingers between your own, imagining the feel of a smooth golden band around one of them. Imagines, for the first time in a long time, growing old, and doing it beside you.
"Get some sleep," he quietly says, then, somewhat cheekily, "Mr. Letham."
You snort, but comply and let your eyes drift shut.
ᯓ★ I’ve scoured near and wide to find any Ryland getting pegged fics and found none thus far :/ so, here’s mine 😝 I just want to tease Dr. Grace until he cries, is that too much to ask?
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You insisted Ryland kept the glasses on.
He’d tried to take them off, shyly smiling as he did so, but you stopped him. Grabbing them before he could fully remove them, sliding them back onto his nose with a wink.
“No?” He murmurs. He sat at the edge of your shared bed, you standing over him, legs between is. Staring up at you, his eyes looked so big and so, so blue.
You hum, gently tapping the center of his chest. He falls backward onto the bed easily, like you’d pushed him, already anticipating your familiar song and dance. “No.”
You lean over him, nuzzling into his neck and trailing kisses up the sensitive skin. His breath catches.
“Keep them on for me, yeah, Ry?” you purr, running your hands up and down his arms and squeezing at his muscular biceps. You swoon a bit internally at how firm they are in your hands.
“Uh—uh-huh,” he breathes, throwing his head back. You nip at his collar bones and he whines.
You know he doesn’t understand your fascination, but when he’s ass up two minutes later, moaning from how well you’re fingering him, the real show begins. The glasses dangle precariously off his face, sliding down his nose, adding to the wrecked image before you. It is wonderful.
You lean down, slowly sliding a second lube-soaked finger in past his rim.
“Oh—oh!” He whimpers, clenching his eyes shut.
You kiss and mouth at the back of his neck, adoring how he trembles and whines against your lips. He squirms beneath you, but you settle your weight on top of him, forcing him to stay still.
“That good, baby?” You hum, breath tickling his ear and making him twitch.
“Mmm—mhmm,” he trails off into a whine.
“Yeah?”
“Y-yeah,” he gasps. “Yeah, it’s so goo—oohh! Ohhh, ohh, ohhh.” Ryland throws his head back, nearly smacking against you as you begin to scissor your fingers.
You slip another finger in for fun, loving how it makes him whine.
“Mmm, c’mon,” he pleads. “Just—just… please?”
You huff out a chuckle, curling your fingers against his g-spot. Your mouth waters at the keen he makes, how his eyes widen and jaw drops. “Please what, Ry-Ry?”
“Pl—uh—please…” he wheezes, “please put it… in me…”
You frown. ““It”? What’s “it”? I’m afraid you’re going to have to use more words.”
“Your—” he gasps, “your cock!”
You watch in adoration at how the flush around his neck and sheets deepens, his ears burning red. He clenches his eyes shut, embarrassed, but you can tell by how he’s practically humping the bed that he loves it.
You chuckle, pressing another kiss to the back of his neck before pulling away. You slowly slide your fingers out of his hole, sounding downright pornographic as you squelch past his rim. You moan along with him at the sight.
Ryland quivers, little aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through him as he waits for you to get ready. You watch him greedily, drinking in the way he shivers and sighs, ready to be fucked. Craving it.
He glanced around his shoulder, shy, and you smile coyly. You wiggle your fingers at him, the ones that had just been in his ass, and he flushes, unable to hold your gaze. You snicker, grabbing the lube on your bedside table and squirting a generous amount on the same hand, before reaching down to palm at and stroke your strap.
Ryland watches with rapt attention, eyes wide and eager. He watches you glide over the fake cock, glasses sliding down his nose. And then he pushes them back up, nearly falling onto the bed without the support of one of his arms. Oh, you could cum just at the sight of his pathetic form.
“Ready, baby?” you ask.
Ryland nods eagerly. “Yes, yes, please.”
You grab your strap and circle it around his tight hole, watching how it twitches in anticipation. You bite your lip. Fuck, that’s hot.
Ryland whines in impatience, attempting to gently thrust himself back onto your strap. You have half a mind to stop right then and there and continue just teasing and teasing until he actually starts crying, but you can’t. You’re buzzing with the need to see him come undone, and you can’t wait much longer.
“Ah-ah-ah,” you chastise still, swatting his bottom. He winces away from you, hips stuttering, but you can tell from the unhinged moan he lets out he’s far from displeased.
“Ah!” He whines. “Please! You know I hate this part…”
“What part?” You hum, leaning down to press a series of wet kisses down his spine. He arches into you.
“The… the waiting,” his voice is almost childish in its whininess, and he attempts to grind down harder into your bedding, but you don’t let him. You grip his hips and his breath catches, like he’s expecting you to thrust in, but you don’t.
“Just…” he huffs, and you almost think you’re getting what you want, but all he says is “please?”
“Please what?” you continue. He glances over at you, eyes big and wet and begging, but it proves counterintuitive when it reveals his glasses were nowhere to be seen. You tut unhappily.
He scrambles to pick the glasses back up, but you take them from him, reaching over his shoulder to slide them onto his face. You tilt his chin toward you, leaning forward to kiss him softly. He moans into your mouth.
You slide your hand back over his shoulder and under his arm to his torso. “C’mon baby, focus,” you coo into his lips, sliding your hand down his torso to give a few tugs to his poor, neglected cock. “Try your best to keep them on for me, please?”
Ryland throws his head back with a loud moan, leaning up against your shoulder. “Oh, mfphuuuhh… uh-huh, uh-huh…”
“Now, tell me exactly,” you grip his cock tighter and he whines, “what it is you want.” With a flick of your finger over the tip of his dick, you pull your hand away, much to his whimpering dismay. You trace it around his stomach to his back, trailing down to your strap, before you begin circling the rim again.
He ducks his head, inhaling shakily. His arms strain under the weight of holding himself up, so you push him into the bed, onto his stomach. He huffs.
You start teasing the strap around his rim again and he hangs his head. “Please…” you push into his hole slightly, teasing him, before pulling away “Oh! Please! Please f-fuck me…” his cry trails off into an embarrassed whine at the use of the obscenity.
You grin, gripping his hips and lining up. “Of course,” you purr, slowly pressing into him.
“Ahhh!” He buries his face into the bedding, gripping at the blankets as you slide in. “Ahhhh, ahh. Ohhhh, God…”
You take your time before bottoming out, leaning over him to kiss across his shoulders. “You alright, baby?”
“M-mhmm,” he whines, high pitched, muffled by the bed.
“Can you look at me, please?”
He twitches, shoulders tensing, before slowly glancing over at you. The sight is delectable. His eyes are glazed over and needy behind his glasses, which threaten to completely slip off his face. He’s open mouthed and panting with need, entire body heaving with the extent of his pleasure.
You lean forward, slipping his glasses back on, before steadying yourself with an arm in front of him. You kiss down from his forehead, the bridge of his nose, to his lips. It’s more of a press of open mouths than anything, he’s already so out of it he can’t even purse his lips against yours. You love it.
Gently, you begin to grind into him, and he moans into your mouth. You tilt your head, lapping up his sounds, growing more and more confident with every noise.
You begin to slide out and he whimpers like a kicked puppy, gripping your arm for stability.
“You alright, Ry?” you whisper, kissing his cheek. As you do, you slide back in, and he chokes.
He nods vigorously, managing only a weak “Please…”
You allow it. Lifting off of him, you drag your hands down his sides, sending shivers down his spine, and stop at his hips. You grip him firmly, rubbing circles into the sensitive skin beside his v line and making him jump in your hands. Then, you really start moving.
It’s achingly slow at first, and you watch with rapt attention at how hole rim sucks the strap in and spits it back out, rim catching on every ridge and curve. He chokes on his own gasps and moans every time you bottom out, and it makes you feel insatiable.
He mumbles something into the bed, arching his back.
“What’s that, baby?”
He lifts his head up weakly, pushing his glasses up his nose with shaky fingers. “Can you…” he whines, “go faster please?”
“Such good manners,” you praise, immediately picking up the pace. You don’t want to speed up too fast and overwhelm him to the point where he can’t feel anything anymore, but also can’t help the way your hips very quickly begin to piston into him at his sweet moans and pleas.
All that he can get out is just a slurred jumble of fucked out “Please, pl—ohhhh—pleaseeeeuuhh, please, uh, uh, uh, pleasee!” which you interpret as requests to go harder, rougher, faster. So you do. Sweat beads on your brow and your breath becomes unsteady, but it’s all worth it just to see his reactions.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he whines, pushing his ass back int the strap and meeting your thrusts with his own.
“So desperate,” you tease, salivating at the sight. “You just love getting fucked, huh, Ry?”
He ducks his head and moans, arching his back. You see the glasses fall off again and decide, paired with the lack of response from him, to immediately to slow down.
“N-noo,” he garbles, pathetically, scrambling for his glasses. “No, don’t stop, don’t stop, please—”
“I only have one request,” you say, chest heaving. You take advantage of the break, running your hands around his ass cheeks and spreading them to better watch the slow entrance and exit of the strap.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he cries, awkwardly shoving the glasses back on. “Please don’t stop!”
“Then make sure to keep those glasses on your face, baby,” you purr, pulling out slowly just like before, then suddenly snapping into him to add emphasis.
“Oh!” He exclaims, arching his back, eyes wide.
You pull out completely, the tip slipping out with an audible pop. You lick your lips at the sight of his hole quivering, begging for you to go back in.
“Pl—” he starts, only for you to shove back in to him at once. He chokes off, chest dropping onto the bed in shock. “Ohhhuhnnnn… oh my God…”
With that, you begin another relentless pace. Ryland scratches at the bedding as you punch out abrupt grunts and whines every time you bottom out. “Oh, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!” he cries.
You grab at his hair, tugging his head back to you can see his face clearly. His jaw is slack and his eyes are unfocused and glazed over.
“Oh, shit, that’s hot,” you mutter, leaning over the lick into his open mouth.
Ryland lets out a guttural moan. He tries to kiss you back, but he can’t stop his own cries and groans of pleasure, and it makes you burn with desire. You suck on his tongue, just about cumming at the sound of his broken, slurred whines.
“Like that, Ry?” you tease, breathless. “Does that feel good?”
“Uhh, uhn, uhn, uhn,” was all his response, eyes rolling back into his head.
You grin. Finally.
“You close, baby? Gonna cum for me?”
He nods as well as he can, gasping.
“Yeah? Yeah, Ry?”
He nods again. “Y—y—yeahhh!” he whines, clenching his eyes shut.
“Think you can roll over for me, then?”
He shakes his head. “No, no, ‘m so close—please—”
You pout, pulling his head closer to you so you can whisper right into his ear, “But I’m working so hard, Ry. Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”
He whimpers, aggressively shoving his ass up against your strap a couple more times, before he sighs and stills and lets you move him. Well, not completely. You let go of his head and pull out as quickly as possible, snickering at how he writhes with need as you flip him over on to his back, reeling from being denied his release so close to the end.
This is your favorite part. Normally, he’d be too shy to let you see him fully, unable to relax in favor of covering himself with a stutter and blush. But now, he’s too fucked out to care. He’s completely sprawled out, arms and legs practically spread like a star fish, and his cock stands proud and tall in the middle of it all. You feel a pang in your core at the sight. It’s bright red, twitching, and leaking.
He opens his mouth, and you know he’s about to beg, so you shove the strap all the way in before he can. He arches his back, jaw dropping, and his eyes immediately cross. “Oh, God!”
You lean over him, settling your arms on either side of his head so you have a better angle to fuck him. You snap into him with reckless abandon, and he cries out, clawing at your arms for some semblance of stability.
“Oh, look at you,” you huff, breathless with exertion. But you can’t stop; you’re absolutely enamored with the way his glasses are sliding off his nose with every thrust. The way his eyes are wide, unfocused, and the way a constant stream of slurred gibberish falls from his open mouth. It’s too erotic to be real.
“Need a little help, baby? Want me to make you cum?” you ask, voice saccharine sweet.
He nods vigorously. “Pl—please, please, please—”
You nod. “Of course.” Finally caving to your desire, you reach forward and grip his dick.
That’s all it takes.
Ryland’s head smacks against the bed and his back arches completely off.
“Oh, shi—i—it!” he curses, toes curling, and begins to cum. Hot, white bursts of seed erupt from his cock, painting his stomach as his legs shake so violently you worry for a second he’s going to snap in half.
“Hah, hah, hah!” he cries, eyes wide, before falling limp.
He settles onto the bed with a thoroughly spent whine, jerking from the aftershocks. You gently slow to your ministrations to a stop, so as to not shock his system any more, bottoming out one last time before you pull out completely.
He whines as the loss and you pull the strap off, hissing at the chafing you hadn’t realized the harness had caused. Once removed, you lay down next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and brushing some of the hair away from his face. You straighten his glasses and cup his cheek, allowing him the time he needs to rest before he blinks his bleary eyes open.
“Hi,” he whispers, smiling shyly.
“Hey, baby,” you whisper, adoration squeezing your heart. “You alright?”
He licks his lips and nods, rasping out a quiet “Yeah.”
“Was it good?”
He nods, smiling abashedly. “Yeah, yeah, it was, uh… really good. It was great. Loved it. Ten out of ten, would bang again.”
You grin with pride, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “Good. I’m glad.”
You pull away, nuzzling into his neck, fully content to lay there until you decide it’s time to clean up. You will, you just… really don’t want to get up and get a wash cloth right now. You both need to chill for a little bit, anyways.
But Ryland apparently has other plans.
“Just…” he groans. “Just give me, like, an hour, and then I’ll pay you back.”
You straighten. “O-oh. No, no, that’s okay, Ry. I just want you to rest.”
He’s barely able to keep his eyes open, but he scoffs. “It’s like, five o’clock in the afternoon. I’ll be fine. Just give me a few, and I’ll be up and kicking in no time.”
“I don’t know if I should be insulted or excited,” you murmur.
Ryland smiles. “Excited. Definitely excited.”
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ᯓ★ Guys I’ve never posted my writing before 🫣 Please tell me if you like it I’m nervousss… also this was way freakier than I intended for my first post, but hey, ain’t nothing wrong with starting out with a bang! (Ba dum tsss 🥁😼)
the way teenagers are treated these days is wild. when i was a teenager we were all watching porn, jerking off, and going to horror movies with 3000 gallons of blood. Nowadays they make kids get a permission slip to watch anything darker than Barney the Dinosaur. Insane.
& then for some reason people fixate more on "ugh these teenagers just want to be treated like babies!!! teenagers are to blame for the rise in puritanism!!!!!" than how this is a very obvious example of ageism and the increased control over a socially vulnerable and exploited group
I think a commonly overlooked part of this coddling is that it teaches kids and teenagers to be afraid of things they don't need to be afraid of, which is exactly how they end up as "puriteens". I remember as a child being terrified to change the channel on the tv because I had ended up with the impression that seeing even seconds of an R rated movie or tv show would give me nightmares. And then as a tween every time I saw swearing I felt sick to my stomach because I had been taught such a thing is bad and harmful. I think I would have suffered less if I hadn't been raised with everyone around me acting like mature media was so bad. By the time I was a teenager I had figured out this was bunk, but understandably a lot of people don't. By making this whole system worse and stronger you have teens who have been told that seeing explicit or dark media Will Harm Them, and so they act in ways that would be appropriate if it really was the info-hazard it's implied to be.
^^ never heard anybody specifically talk about this but yeah. parents acting like sexual or any "dark" content in a story or show was going to put bad things in my head that were going to be there permanently just gave me a deeply distressing sort of contamination anxiety
shoutout ppl w tooth gaps btw. or overbites. or underbites. or crossbites. or uneven teeth. or other dental conditions. and also ppl who don’t want to/can’t afford to get that stuff changed/"fixed". ily
additive edit from rbs n replies: also ppl with discolored teeth, and broken/damaged/decaying teeth, and missing/no teeth
and i'll probably keep adding stuff as i think of it. just know i love ur teeth and/or lack thereof. ur cool n ily
YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU CAN HANDLE CRITIQUE. YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU CAN EMBRACE BEING TOLD YOU WERE WRONG. YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU CAN ACCOMPLISH UNPLEASANT TASKS. YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU CAN DELIVER DISAPPOINTING NEWS. YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU KNOW HOW TO BE DISAGREED WITH. YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU CAN BE CORRECTED. YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU CAN BE TOLD YOU MESSED UP. YOU ARE A REGULAR GUY. YOU ARE ABLE TO DO HARD THINGS.
wait until it gets dark and make tea or coffee or hot chocolate, or if it’s too hot outside make yourself a healthy smoothie with your favorite things in it at any point during the day
put on your favorite underwear, it helps, trust me, it’s an old family secret (i’m not kidding)
if you have a pet, play the “how many things can i stick on you until you move or get mad” game (bonus points if they fall asleep, extra bonus points if a family member sees you and tells you to quit it, extra double ultra points if they join in)
rip a peice of paper into as many little pieces as you can
go to animeseason.com and click “random anime” until you see one that looks completely ridiculous (or actually good) and watch the first episode. repeat if it sucked or if you get bored halfway through
spend at least an hour making a music playlist for how you feel right now and save it for now or when you feel a bad mood rise again
curl up in bed and cover yourself with blankets and pillows and put in music and just lay there for a while (sleeping is also good)
eat everything
drink lots of water
it’s okay bad moods don’t last forever!!!!!! i promise!!! you will be yourself soon and there are people who love you very much, don’t be afraid to reach out to them
i bet there is still a box of crayons in your house somewhere (if not you can get them cheap during back-to-school sales); find them and use them (maybe while watching ridiculous anime)
sunshine if you can manage it or just a sun lamp trust me it matters more than you think especially in winter
hugs even if they are stuffed animals or your pet or your pillow whatever is on hand
if you’ve got a favorite lotion/soap/thing that is scented use it liberally
cry if you need, if it doesn’t start by itself or if you don’t want to attract attention put on a sad movie so you have an excuse
write this down to pull out on future bad days:
it is okay to have a day where you don’t get things done
it is okay not to have a reason for feeling bad
taking care of yourself is a worthwhile use of time
if you still don’t feel better it is not your fault (and it is okay to ask for help)
prguitarman
amandla
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
