summerlovinbabe

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[summerlovingbaby]

Masterlist

ACTIVE FANDOMS

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My Hero Academia

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Riverdale

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Criminal Minds

Gossip Girl

Marvel

Attack On Titan

The Falcon And The Winter Soilder

Stranger Things

All For The Game

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[yms1]

I love days when it feels easy to find beauty in everything

[summerlovingbaby]

an unhinged rant

i am so fucking tired of TikTok discourse, everyone has to have a take or opinonon on everything and everyone and if you disagree then you are stupid and dumb and need to do some internal work, and i want to start this by saying, this rant isn't because i keep disagreeing with takes im seeing on my fyp. actually most of the time i don't because my alogorithim is pretty tailored to me, this takes from the annoying that everyone now has an opionon and if you disgree you are a morally bad problem, too stupid to be an adult and should get off the internet. i stopped liking videos about this and i still always get them and its starting to get on my nerves. weather its over cortis and music being bad, or voice memos, kibble vs raw, reading 100 books a year, i don't care. im not saying you don't get to have an opiopn but if you make broad sweeping statements and get mad when people dont agree or wtv, they call it bean soup theory and in while essence i can agree that obviously if you don't like bean soup don't eat bean soup the comparison seems kind of disengenoius because you cant say a statement like "shaving makes you a victim of the patricachy" and not expect some of the people who see the video to have a little push back. everyone is entitled to their own opion but sometimes things need to be sent to the groupchat as opposed to posted on the internet for potional millions to see. i would love to post more on tik tok but i am preptually afraid of doing something that sparks weeks worth of disccsion.

[academic-vampire]

I am so thankful that books & reading exist

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

✨writing rant because i’m UNWELL and someone said enemies to lovers is “overdone”✨

okay listen.

i don’t care how “overdone” the trope is. let her fall in love with the enemy prince. let him smile like a knife and lie like a prayer. let her fall anyway. and then let her stab him with a hairpin. a hairpin!! we deserve this.

this isn't about originality. this is about execution and emotional violence and aesthetically pleasing betrayal.

tropes aren’t dead. they’re haunting us in new outfits.

every trope is a reusable little narrative skeleton and you get to dress it in whatever cursed, beautiful, petty, yearning flesh your heart desires. you can take enemies to lovers and make it toxic, or tender, or tragic. you can give them shared trauma. you can make them childhood friends turned enemies turned lovers turned enemies again. you can make the stabbing literal or metaphorical. you can make it an almost-stabbing, where she presses the blade to his throat and doesn’t do it. you can make her do it and then sob in his arms while he bleeds out whispering her name like a prayer he never meant to say out loud.

you can make it GAY.

that’s the power of tropes. they’re not restrictive. they’re launchpads. they give readers expectations so you can BREAK them. or better--fulfill them in devastating, soul-twisting ways.

also. like. if you think a trope is “overdone” maybe it’s not the trope that’s the problem. maybe it’s just being written without any real teeth. no emotional bite. no stakes. no tension. no pain. and that’s not the trope’s fault. that’s just boring writing.

give me the obsessive yearning. give me the knife-to-throat confessions. give me the battlefield truce that turns into a five-second pause before they go right back to trying to kill each other. give me quiet moments in enemy territory where they realize they’re not so different. give me the one bed. give me the i hate you but i’d burn down a kingdom for you and hate myself for it.

let the prince kneel at her feet, kiss her knuckles like he’d never crush them, and then go home and report to his war council like nothing happened. let her wear the hairpin he gave her while plotting his assassination. let them both suffer about it. let them choose each other anyway. or don’t. let them fail. let them fall apart in the final act and still reach for each other across the ashes.

i literally do not care how many times we’ve seen it. i want it again. i want it done well. i want it done with spite and softness and aching inevitability. i want to feel like the betrayal was worth it. i want to scream into my hands and text my writer friends like “why would you do this to me” while secretly living for it.

write your trope. write it the way it’s been done before or write it sideways and backwards and messy. just write it with emotion. and a little hairpin. and blood under their fingernails.

okay bye

Rin T.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[prophetic-writer]

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

[tothearkz-deactivated20260414]

exactlyy!!! i remember myself activating the writing talent when i was on chai back then writing a whole ass essay like Shakespeare possessed me, lol. yes IT IS that deep and it WILL BE ALRIGHT !!!!

[books-bread-and-brigandage]

ok worst case if you write it and its bad? If you still want to have sritten it but be good, you can rewrite, you can add chapters, drop chapters, reorder them! You can come back and reword things, even change whole paragraphs. Say this with me please, with your whole chest "This need not be my final draft!" Greatness belongs to those who do the work.

[animentality]

[summerlovingbaby]

I would rather die of passion than out of boredom

[tonycries]

I Lasted Ten Rounds!

Synopsis. Marathons - they’re better in bed.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, marathon séx, major overstím, pússydrunk boys, CÚMPLAY, creampíes, mean Geto, squírting, innappropríate use of jujutsu (Gojo and Sukuna), pússy-slappíng, best friend!Choso, aphrodísiacs, true form Sukuna, dp, spítting, BRÉEDING, making them cry, full nélson, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hope y’all have a good leak day mwah <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 5 rounds

“Raw.” he breathes, and there’s a strained - almost whiny - shudder being wrenched out of Toji’s hulking body when he sinks inch after long, hefty inch into your plush cunt. Bullying past the barely-there resistance of that first ring of muscle with such a harsh tug of your pliant body down his swollen cock. “R-raw. You- fuck- you finally let me–”

No, it wasn’t the first time you let Toji fuck you into these silken bedsheets without a condom - that was a few hours ago. But that didn’t stop him from spitting out that same, strained accusation, the same greedy little push and pull of his toned hips smacking sloppily against your clingy pussy. 

He was addicted. 

“O-oh, Toji–” you’re babbling, swollen lips glossed with tears, thighs burning at just how long he’s been pounding into you like this. “S’already the- the third? Fourth? Or-”

“Fifth.” he’s cutting you off, with a hoarse chuckle - voice shot already. “Fifth n’-” Head lolling drunkenly into the crook of your neck, it’s all he can do to bite out brokenly, “-oh, my girl- hope y’know m’not hahhh- letting you go until I physically can’t anymore.”

Fifth, huh?

Oh, it was setting in - fuck, was he feeling it. You were so pretty underneath him, sweat-slicked body splayed out all shamefully for him, slurring words barely coherently. And Toji couldn’t even keep his eyes open, stars popping up behind his lids at every one of your velvety clenches, abs burning with each ravaged mash of his overworked, weepy head against your ravaged g-spot.

Fingers jittery where he’s hauling your body desperately to his muscled one. Clinging onto you so close - like a lifeline - that you could hear every tremoringly quiet ah! ah ah! following those long, solid glides, feel his happy trail scratching against your sluttily arched back. 

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good, that even after painting your gluey, sloshing insides white four times tonight already, Toji wanted more more more-

A bludgeoning knee comes down to shove your thighs spread even wider, spreading your puffy pussy lips so gapingly around his thick shaft. 

“Oh sh-shit.” he’s hissing. And Toji Fushiguro never stutters, he never throws his head back to let out such pained whimper like this.“Such a f-filthy pussy.” His pretty pink lips purse to spit a languid wad of his spit down on the bullseye of your slobbering cunt. The chilling dredges oozing a slow trail down your split-open pussy. “The fifth time- n’ y’pretend like this cute cunt of yours can’t handle more of me.”

“Ngh-” your teeth are clamping around one of the cushiony pillows, trembly fingers scrambling jerkily at the headboard, the plush mattress, anything- “You’re in s-so deep- feels like m’gonna pass out. How the hell are you still going?”

Toji rolls his eyes, acting for all the world like those whiny little words of yours don’t have his red, angry tip painting your insides with another honeyed coat of his sweltering precum. “Told ya not to hah- test me doll- just had to run that pretty mouth, huh?”

You’re keening when all five of his calloused fingers come up to smush your cheeks together embarrassingly, “Saying m’not gonna last going in raw- look where ya are now.” Toji’s craning his head to leave wet little kisses up your spine, your jaw, your forehead. Fully bending you in half to meet his lips, angling his riotous hips to graze his sensitive slit right against the swollen, bruised divots on your cervix. “Look where I am- I can’t stop.” 

And your hypnotized hips can only manage to give a last sticky heave meeting Toji’s drunken staccato before splaying limply down on the bed. Moaning around the lewd sucking of his lips around your heavy tongue. 

“No- no come back- shit, m’not-” He’s slowly losing control of those lingering thrusts, desperation bleeding into the way his big arms frantically circle around your weakening waist. Dragging you up, up, up like some glorified ragdoll, “How are ya n-not able to keep up when you hah- came up with the idea, ma.” And for all how gentle he’s being suckling on your pouty lower lip, one hand of his glides down easily to cup at your bulging pussy. Smearing in another quick, branding stream of saliva on your struggling, swollen folds spread so lewdly open around his thick hilt, “Ohhh, gonna make a man lose his sanity with a pussy this heavenly. Doesn’t seem so fair now, does it?”

That delirious little shake of your head makes him bare his canines in a grin, smiling at how utterly fucked-out you were on his mean cock. There’s a lazy, glistening trail of drool at the corner of your lips that Toji idles out his hot tongue to lick away, “Now now. Why don’t you- ah- use those words like a big girl, huh?” 

“Hah- didn’t-” those wet gurgles bubble at your throat, dying down after each harsh clash into your most sensitive spot. He’s reaching every nook and cranny inside of you - drilling cock expanding even girthier with each heady second. “Didn’t think you’d get so-” Another pretty glob of spit onto your cunt, “-addicted!”

“Well, what can I- hah- say?” Each taunting word is pushing you further and further up the bed, Toji’s tense hips hammering into you with no rhythm and rhyme now. Just lingering, mindless grinds chasing that painfully good smack! of his heavy, cum-filled balls at your ass, “When- ngh- when life gives you a wife this cute-”

You think he’s cumming - you think you’re cumming. But you can’t even be fully sure at this point, your own high nothing more than a few white-hot tingles, Toji’s overwhelmed cock straining to squeeze out a few more wispy strings of his milky seed. Until you were drenched in a silky coating down your inner thighs, beading pearly drops of his seed and your sweet sweet juices. To stuff you full even more.“-fuck her at least five times.”

“At- at least?”

Toji grins, “At least.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - As many as you can take (and a lil’ more!)

“My love.” Two soft pads of Nanami’s long fingers tap gently on your cheek, lingering when he lovingly cups your glossy pout. “My love.”

Biting your lip, you whine at his heated intrusion at your pretty cunt. Free hand thumbing open your soppingly wet slit to spread even wider around his thick hilt, scratching up so rawly against those neat tufts of blond at his sharp pelvis. “N’nothing, s’just that- hahh–” cocking your head to nuzzle his large palm, “You’re not- not tired, Ken?”

“Doesn’t matter.” he breathes, minty hot breath fanning your face when he leans in. And you think he’s going to kiss you - to maybe mouth away those big fat, overstimulated tears rolling down your face - but instead, Nanami’s stern lips wrap around your lolling tongue. Sucking. Moaning so depravedly. “All that matters is that- hngh- that–” Splaying out all five fingers on your stomach, pressing down hard where he can feel the divot of his very head, “-the mother of my future kids s’doing alright.”

He can feel that rotund clenching of your snug channel, the way your pussy grows increasingly more soaked with every stuttering nudge at your g-spot. 

When the heady bedroom air is only punctuated with a few sticky squelches from your cunt Nanami has to grit out - to force himself to speak. “Please-” hissing at the velvety silk or his seed swirling around your hole, it makes his toes curl, overworked balls squeeze achingly. Shit. “Give me an answer- please, darling, your cunt s’driving me insane. Fuck- I’ve- I’ve lost count at this point how many times I-”

At this, you can’t help but giggle. Reaching up to lick at the stray, glistening tear falling down his sharp cheekbone, “Are- are you crying, Ken?” The heels of your trembly feet curl tightly against the sinful dimples at the end of his spine, plunging him even deeper into the gloopy bottom of your pussy. “Can’t take any more?”

“No!” Nanami’s usually steady voice just cracks pitifully at the end. “No no no- just- hngh! I can take it- can give y’more. Anything for you, ma.”

Each of his hammering thrusts are slowly getting meaner. Slowly losing control. They’re haphazardly alternating between long, thorough slams of his entirely swollen length to mere jutting, half-thrusts - as if it just pained him to part with your clingy pussy more than that. 

And, shit, he’s so thick - so jaw-slackingly hefty when he twitches animalistically against all your sensitive spots. Gliding in solid, wet smears of his leaky tip against your cervix reminding you of the sheer strength he held. Fucking you so mean, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it - tired, fatigued body moving on animal instinct.

“Darling–” Nanami’s wet croon has you blinking away the lusty haze in your pupils, locking them with his own blown-out ones. “Eyes on me- have to make sure you can- ngh-” You can hear his jaw click with strain when you’re giving an experimental squeeze of your velvety cunt, “-m-me. Hafta make sure you can take it- you can take it, right?”

You’re gasping out brokenly, nodding in response to his question - thighs jittery and you don’t know whether you want to run or fuck yourself back down for more more more-

“Then why are you running, ma?”

Just as those billowing words leave his mouth, Nanami’s falling back onto his thick thighs, grabbing your body right along to seat you prettily down his brutal dick. It was devastating. It was sloppy how silky, stringy ropes of cum were rushing down in a glossy coat. Smacking so sluggishly down below.

“Wh-what?” you’re batting your teary lashes, jaw hanging open at just how much this didn’t sound like your usually gentle husband. Deep voice jagged, gutturally dangerous - he was talking to you in a steady, hard tone as if you were some prey. Setting his lewd sights on you to mash up even harder into your pretty cunt. 

He’s breathing out shakily in a way that told you he was getting close, thighs aching, red tip so angry and flinching in such a dizzy way. “Why- are- you-” The metal band of his gold wedding ring burns into your heated skin, digging possessively when he hauls you close. “-running away? Don’t- don’t think you can escape, darling.”

Those drenched silk sheets bunch up messily behind you at just how firmly he was halting your escape. “S’jus’-” you’re whining, in that syrupy sweet tone that makes him only grow painfully harder. Stiffening his back to drill copious inches, he’s tracing his fingertips back across your stomach. “-you’re in so deep. Think m’- hah, think m’getting close.”

“A-ah– of course you are.” he whimpers, tone lilting upwards at the end. It was just so stimulating how you were taking him so well despite being stuffed to the brim, overflowing in a creamy sheen. “Gotta- gotta get my pretty lady to cum- ngh! Breed her pussy full.” And oh, despite how composed Nanami seemed on the outside you could sense the waver in his words, the way his ruthless pace was evening out to something more messy. Untamed. “Make her the most beautiful momma.”

Brows knitting deeper and deeper every, it hurt - fuck, but it hurt more to not stuff you full until you were round and glowing. To leave even the tiniest chance of you being carried out of this bedroom without carrying his future kid. 

“You can do it- cum f’me.” It’s almost like he’s whispering to himself at this point, stamina withering. One hand of his guides your other own down from your searing grip on his unkept strands, down past his tear-slicked cheeks, down past his wobbly plump lips. Wrapping your fingers tightly around Nanami’s pale neck, forcing your nails to dig into the sweat-beaded skin. “Cum f’me- jus this once, because after this time m’not gonna be playing nice, my love.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 7 rounds

“Shhh, gorgeous.” Geto’s hushed, smooth voice in your ear would almost be soothing, his large thumb gliding against the very peak of your puffed-up clit almost distracting- “S’all part of your special initiation.”

If it wasn’t for the rest of the cult standing behind those semi-sheer watching all of this happen to you, that is. 

Ah, you didn’t know whether that syrupy sweet idea of a special initiation - a rite of passage “just for you” - had you joining Geto’s religious association even sooner.  

Because here you were - your thighs burning with the relentless stretch of Geto’s forearms hooked underneath them, spreading you so fucking shamelessly towards where the countless others in the group were stood behind the covering around the creaky bed. A barely-there sense of privacy while he just ravaged you into the meanest full nelson possible. 

“Oh- fuuuck–” Geto’s groaning at your drunken little squirms on his cock, mouth salivating at the wet squelches being wrenched out with each pressurized thrust. “Just one more round now- come on, seven’s my lucky number. And y’wanna hngh- finish the initiation- right, pretty girl?”

His two strong legs plant even more vice-like on the absolutely drenched sheets, seeping into the creamy puddle of cum and honeyed slick spreading further and further each obscene second. 

That lolling nod of your delirious head has him crashing his sensitive, throbbing tip against your spongy g-spot, already so branded with the bruises of his divot. Holding back each whine after whine threatening to drag out from his throat when your swollen lips meet his in a sloppy graze of a kiss.

Shit, you were so cute - no wonder he had the fucking brilliant idea of fucking you like this. Even if it hurt - even if his achy cock was rubbing raw, over and over and-

“Aww, my pretty baby wants a kiss?” Geto’s leering grin only grows when he glides a dripping coat of wispy precum right across the back of your cervix, it’s so hot inside you - and you feel drunk off of every ooze of his cum from before, sloshing down in a milky white sheen. “Well not until you hngh-” He’s moving to bite down onto your earlobe, pussydrunk mind wondering whether your gummy walls were shaping around every ridge and vein of his shaft by now. “-cum f’me once more.”

“S-Sugu–” your eyes are rolling to the back of your head at the warm, wet cascade of his juices down your thighs, slipping and sliding you easily down his girthy length. “Don’t know if I- if I can cum- hah-” That admonishing smack! on your achy clit is taken in stride, gaping your gummy entrance even wider to swallow his every fucking inch greedily. “But- but I wanna. Wanna cum f’you so badly.”

There’s a muted shuffling from behind the curtains that have Geto’s darkened eyes narrowing in hostility, and he’s possessively turning his head to take in that sinful view of you down below. 

Shit- he could’ve almost came from just the sheer sight. The sight of your glisteningly puffy folds stretched to their limits around the creamy translucent ring around his thick hilt. Velvety walls contorting to massage his attritioning veins, grinding in thorough, purposeful gyrations against his heavily twitching balls. 

You were taking him so good.

And Geto’s never been more happy you couldn’t see the full plane of his face. Eyes rolling to the back of his head at the mere sight, teeth biting down on his plump lower lip as if to draw blood. 

“Then do it.” Geto’s biceps just bulge against the small of your waist when they dig into a restraining loop around your body, pinning you down so helplessly to his sculpted front. “Cum f’me like a good girl then. Show me, show them-” The hand not rolling over your sensitive clit dips upwards to angle your face towards the still-watching crowd. His lips are drag so slowly at your heated ear, “-show them what a good girl you are f’me.”

Your cute, wobbly lips cry out in a broken little whine - and then your slutty cunt is just gushing down the entirety of Geto’s furious front. Slobbering a glossy, glossy sheen that coats his milky skin, syrupy and sticking - meshing your bodies so close together he doesn’t know where you begin and where he ends. 

”Good girl- good- hah- good girl.” Geto’s gritting out, trying for all the world to not sound as wrecked as he feels right now. Fuck, ignoring the spiking sensitivity, the stars behind his eyes to chase every little suck of your sopping wet walls, thighs trembly, eyes crinkling with such pathetically big tears. Shit, he’s pussydrunk. Only babbling out, “Ohhh- so perfect f’me, right? Even squirting- too generous f’me, gorgeous.”

It only takes a few more gasps from his ragged chest - heaves even. Delicately pink tip stuffing you so wholly full it’s like you’re about to explode, and Geto’s not too far behind. 

Not at all, in fact, with the way a final, harsh nudge against your springy cervix has him spurting out ribbons of creamy white cum. Oozing out in a thick, viscous polish that drools out of your bulging slit. Leaving a lewd trail of evidence where Geto’s fat cock was rummaging your poor insides. Over and over until he’s shooting nothing but blanks.

And it’s so hot, that you can almost feel it in your lungs. Limbs twitching mindlessly, he’s finding it easy to pull out - to display the gloopy filling lazily trickling out of you. Those slender fingers of his on your clit dance just downwards to circle the ring of your sloppy hole, swirling around that messy gloss. He coats his fingers until they just gleam in the dim lighting. Around and around. 

With a look of pure, unfiltered pride Geto clears his throat authoritatively. Jolting, you realize he’s not addressing you this time, “Everyone, say hello to your new second-in-command.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 6 rounds

Choso thinks he’s cumming - Choso thinks he’s crying, begging out such broken little pleas in your open mouth. He’s wrapping five pale, jittery fingers of his around the furiously red base of his cock, angling the bulbous head of his fat tip just right to press deeply into your greedy entrance. 

“Oh!” you’re smirking down at your best friend, biting back a wrecked moan at just how much he was stretching you, barely even reeling back at the brief resistance. His shredded patience can only wait a beat - two - more watching the snug channel of your cunt gush down in thick, hot streams of his seed from earlier, before bucking his hips up, up up- “Even five times wasn’t enough for you? What did I hah- tell ya about th-the-”

“I know I know, m’sorry, baby–” Choso cries, dark lashes batting at his cheeks when his eyes scrunch up into a pathetic bawl. “M’sorry I accidentally ate your- your ‘special chocolate’ but I fuck- it feels like m’burning all over. Like m’gonna die if I don’t fuck your cute cunt.”

And yet his bruising grip on your hips don’t waver, he’s still prying down your sticky body onto his, strong arms wrenching open your thighs to straddle him even wider. Still so needy - so hot all over with the itching greed to fuck you until one of you breaks.

Truly, it was a surprise to come home and find out your sweet best friend had raided that joke stash of aphrodisiac chocolate gifted by your coworkers last week - a welcome surprise. 

Because here he was - splayed out on your drenched silken sheets, big fat tears glistening across his cheekbones, toned body jolting so harshly at each one of your touches. So pussydrunk that you almost wondered whether it hurt, how his poor, overworked cock wasn’t fucking seizing at this point.

And even if it did, Choso wouldn’t complain - not one bit. 

“Please-” his breath comes out in a feverish puff, as wild as the fingers now toying with your swollen clit. Smearing the creamy dredges of his seed all over your puffed-up folds in tight little circles over and over and- 

Slam!

In a split-second, Choso’s hands are being pinned above his head. It would’ve looked almost comical - your much smaller ones restraining his own, fingers twitching animalistically with every sloppy drag down his pulsingly needy length - but oh, was Choso letting you. Letting himself be used like your favorite toy. 

“You’re being real greedy, Cho–” your teasing voice sends shivers wracking down his entire body. Powerful thighs bucking up in pressurized ruts up into your squelching cunt. “First you ate my- hah- secret stash, n’ now you’re being so hasty makin’ me cum.”

Each one of your words are punctuated by a sticky slam down onto his slowly-reddening pelvis, the fat of your ass being smacked with his sharp hipbones. You were riding him to insanity. 

“Yes!” Choso’s jaw hangs deliriously open, rosy red lips forming around your name again and again like a mantra. “M’so greedy- so greedy for your pretty pussy.” He whines, and just the feeling of your velvety walls milking his fat length for so long has his syrupy mess of a mind thrown into such a primal frenzy. “Can’t help it when you’re so heavenly, baby– K-keep wantin’ to fuck this cunt forever.”

The painful pull of your fingers weaving into his dark strands have him keening, latching onto the very tips of your sensitive nipples bouncing temptingly onto his face. “Can’t help it.” he echoes, swirling his hot tongue around your sweet areola, looking up at you with his gorgeously glassy, dark eyes. “Really can’t help it.”

There’s such a sickly, syrupy sweet staccato of Choso’s probing tip pressing deep into the drippingly wet g-spot inside you. And slowly - but steadily - your deft fingers find themselves dancing a path down to wrap around Choso’s heavily gulping throat. Breath hitching when they squeeze-

“Cum f’me, Cho-” he raises his lolling head up to meet yours, meshing back into a messy excuse of a kiss. Your teeth sink down to tug on his pouty bottom lip, fingers tightening, “Cum f’me- s’all to cure you of this chocolate after a-all, right?” 

At the reminder of that, his wrists try to wrench useless in your other hand’s vice-like hold. And honestly, Choso doesn’t know if he wants to cum again - he doesn’t know if he can. But the soft clingy feeling of your walls against his girthy shaft have him gasping, poor, overworked balls so raw. Tight and clenching painfully with every crashing push into your g-spot. He’s absolutely ruined. 

And both of you know it.

Oh, his head was so light now - your fingers vice-like around his pale throat. The only thing that Choso can seem to urgently choke out right about now is a honeyed, dragged-out drawl of, “Spit-” His wild cock leaking hot precum in another drippingly saturated wave everywhere, “Spit in my mouth, baby–”

And you do - that translucent wad of saliva barely hitting right in the middle of Choso’s lolling-out tongue before he cums. That ravaged divot on the very tip of his fat head stuttering out only one, two tiny beads of milky seed before he’s riding out such an addictively dry orgasm. 

Dewy eyes rolling to the back of his head, body sweat-slicked and clinging onto yours with creamy strings of cum and spit. So desperate when he’s fucking into you so filthy, pummelling you along the curve of his length like he was trying to drag out another milky stream of seed. Again and again and-

It takes only a split-second to break out of your hold - of course, it does - and you’re barely even registering it when Choso pins you back onto the sloppy mess of your soaked sheets. Hips still relentless, voice still ragged- “Think we’re gonna hafta hah- skip the dating n’ go straight to marriage after this, baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 8 (and a half) rounds

If there was ever a time that the infamous king of curses would let out raspy little whimpers of his baritone voice - muscled just heaving deep gasps, looking at you all four eyes glistening with wet tears, hearts in his gaze - it would be right now. 

When the day sitting around his throne had been too long, when there’d been just a few too many scum curses groveling at his feet. 

When you were sprawled all prettily on his muscular, manspread thighs, your expensive robes pulled up just enough for that gummy cunt of yours to stretch open gapingly around his two matchingly rock-hard cocks. The plush of your ass on full, obscene display for him, limbs twitching with each swallowed-up inch down his fat, throbbing lengths. 

“Fuuck- take it easy, woman.” he’s hissing, powerful hip rutting upwards to skim his sensitive tip over the ends of your slobbering pussy. 

That has you pouty tearily, huffing out a low, “W-well- jus’ want you to hngh- be right-” Skittish fingers fluttering over to where you could feel him coating every hidden spot of your insides in his potent seed, angry cockhead bruising your taut channel more and more open around him. It was such a delicious stretch. And you’re pressing down where you can feel the divot of his head knock feverishly on your womb, splattering around milky dredges inside you, “-here.” 

Sukuna’s hips just surge forwards, like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. 

“Kuna- wh-wha-” you’re barely able to get out, whirling your head half-lucidly over your shoulder. But you don’t get very far - because one domineering palm hastily turns your face right back. “What are you-”

“No.” he’s letting out a strangled moan, leaving neat little indentations of his black, sharpened fingernails on your skin. “No you don’t get to- oh–” In a flash, sharp canines are digging menacingly right above the pulsepoint on your throat, and his hot breath fans over your ear. “Ah- y’don’t get to see me hngh- like this- fuckin’ embarrassing. I can’t even-” 

Sukuna’s cutting himself off by getting up onto two unsteady feet, holding you plastered so close onto his bowed body. The position is so precarious that for a second you’re worried, wondering how the hell the two of you haven’t broken any bones these past eight rounds. 

It’s his reversed curse technique, you later learn - but for now all you can do is gasp at your legs dangling in midair, spine arched back against his bulging pecs in a perfect arch, raising your head up, up, up and oh-

His eyes are aflame, glowing through the hypnotically dim lighting. Teeth bared into such a vicious grin one which only curls wider when you ask, “C-can’t even what, Kuna?”

He hisses down at the absolutely sultry look on your face - kiss-bitten lips falling slack into a soft oh! eyes half-lidded and miles away, your moans ringing through his ears like his favorite melody. “Heh- the fuckin- ah-” Another staggering push past your clingy sopping walls have him spitting out little swears, vision blurring dangerously at the corners. “-the fuckin’ audacity t-to ask me that, knowing what yer doing to me. S’pposed to help me relax but you’re hngh- driving me insane.”

You swear, you could feel his bulbous heads grow even thicker, expanding their way into contorting your gripping walls around his very shape. The even deeper intrusion has him throwing his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing with a dragged out moan of your name. 

A limp hand of yours dares to thread its way into Sukuna’s, tugging - pulling, “Look at me, please–?” And when he finally does - though, not before punishing the curve of your ass with such a stinging smack - you smirk, “Look so- ngh! pretty when you’re ruined like this, Kuna.”

That makes him falter - it makes his eyes grow just a bit wider, the insides of your elastic cunt being inflated open with another fresh wave of his furiously leaking precum. 

“Don’t-” Sukuna clears his throat of any traitorous dredges of a whimper, “Don’t push your- your luck, brat.”

But he couldn’t hide the fondness in his tone, that tiny little drawl of a whimper in his words. Heavy, pink lashes clumping up together with his overstimulating tears. It only takes a few more solid rams into your sweet hole - milking the bloated ends of his lengths for something delicious - a few more sharp, branding slams of his curving balls against your cunt. So large and aching for release that when they do, the sheer volume of Sukuna’s cum makes you dizzy.

Double the amount. It overspills, splattering half the thick, silky contents onto the decadent throne room floor. Soiling a sinful little puddle that he just can’t help but smile at, tutting mockingly, “Now now, look what you’ve done- making things even- hngh! even more stressful f’me now with this to clean up.” 

Out of his four beefy arms, two of them pin your own easily behind your back, the other dipping down to roll your puffed-up clit between his thick index and thumb. And the last one- fuck, the last one was pooling all the milky white ribbons of cum slobbering out of your stretched-out entrance. Velvety spurts dousing your walls once more - and he’s having so much fun, molding out your gummy cunt around to squeeze his fingers right in-between his two cocks. 

Still rutting into you - still cumming from both heads - every jackhammering thrust sparks stars behind his eyes. Back muscles curving deeper and deeper into you when he replaces every dredge of cum oozing down your saturated slit with a new one. The thrumming hum of his jujutsu making you keen-

“So messy. Such a filthy cunt my woman has-” he sighs, in a dark little way you knew meant he was just seconds away from tearing you apart. “Hmmm…wonder if it’ll be more relaxing. if I cum dry?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - RIP.

The strongest looks up at you with big, teary blue eyes, long lashes twinkling his pretty cheekbones every time he’s batting them. “Please. Just the tip-”

“Toru-”

“Please.” Gojo whimpers out, two of his massive hands laying at rest on the curving globes of your ass. Squeezing. Kneading you desperately in shallow, lazy grinds up and down his furiously leaky cock, “Please, sweetheart, don’t think I can handle cockwarming.” His abds are aching when they flex upwards towards you, “Haven’t had my hngh- fill just yet.”

You’re gasping when he has the audacity to give your plump clit a sharp smack! the pressurized buzz of his jujutsu from earlier sending white-hot electricity running down your arched spine. Splaying your cunt so deliciously to massage against your bulging g-spot. “N-nice try.” you grit out, legs trembling at the feeling of his thick, potent cum sliding out of your surprised entrance. “But I don’t think you’re ready- you’ve already set the lights off with your jujutsu being overstimulated, Toru.”

“Jus’ the tip- m’kay? Just the tip, I swear-” If you were of a clearer state of mind maybe you’d have pointed out that Gojo was well past the tip at this point. Feeling his fat head curve at your womb, knocking in a merciless, methodical pace. “Just missed you so much today- hah- gotta make up for lost time.”

He flashes you a devilish grin - one you’re somewhat ashamed to admit has your sopping cunt drip down a fresh sheen of your sweet sweet juices down his curvaceous length. Pooling at his frantically, painfully squeezing balls. 

And Gojo notices - of course, he does - even with his six eyes getting a bit too bleary right about the eighth? ninth? round. Ah, fuck, it didn’t matter anyway- 

“Then- then that’s good, isn’t it? Lights out- across all of hah- Tokyo, I bet.” His wretchedly strained tone is so different from the incessant pace of his bullying cock. Bludgeoning deep into your most secure spots, he’s nudging apart every velvety crevice of your walls, making such a mess of the creamy white seed of his dripping from the inside. Gliding his nose up the sweat-slicked column of your throat, “So really- we have nothing better to do. How about you- hngh- let me paint this pretty pussy white all over again?”

Of course, you wanted him to - but it was so fun how your barest tease makes Gojo fall apart. Pouty lips running a mile a minute.

His words are almost sleepy, and both of you aren’t even lucid enough to do anything about the ever-spreading puddle of cum and slick right below you. Meshing your lips drunkenly in an intoxicatingly sloppy kiss, “Come onnnn–” he’s babbling at your pointed silence. “One more? M’begging- begging, sweetheart. You got the strongest on his ah- knees n’ unable to use his powers.”

You knew so many people - so many curses - would kill to have Satoru Gojo all helpless like this. His lips moving faster than his overstimulated mind right now, drool dripping down the side of his rosy red mouth. So sensitive right now - unable to fight back. The only show of his previous prowess of strength being a stray flicker of blue lightning at his eyes when you’re cushioning his fat length with your clingy walls just a bit too hard, 

He’s heaving now - gasping deep, lungfuls of air every time his bruising grip is just bouncing your pliant body erratically down onto his. Wreckless, lunging slams that have your knees weak, stars flickering behind your lids. 

“Come on- come onnn–” He spits so syrupy sweetly into your panting, open mouth. Slender fingers wrapping around your clit, and it just throbs with the steady hum of his reversed curse technique. Stopping the two of you from breaking bones - because shit, how the hell is Gojo going to fuck up into you like an animal. Desperate little pleas of yes! yes! yes! wrenching from you at the stimulation. “Give it t’me, missed so much when you were gone out today. Please-”

“Hngh! S’too- too-” you’re drawling out incoherent sentences to match his. “Yeah- fuck yes- jus’ like that, Toru–” 

It’s only because of Gojo’s ungodly stamina that he was even able to last this long - the fact that he hadn’t fucked himself into a stupor at this point. And that’s the only thing, along with a few fumes of his reversed curse technique that have him careening smacking away your pathetic attempts to meet his thrusts.

The sensitivity too much, that he’s bawling - unable to handle the saturated drags of your slobbering pussy down his raw shaft. Mouth lolling open when you feel two big arms circle around your waist, mumbling tearily, “Wait- fuck hold that- think m’-” Like something snaps in the air.

Because then he’s cumming - at least, Gojo can feel himself cumming. This time, there’s no shattering of lightbulbs, no gleaming power in his pupils, because his poor body was too fucked-out for this. Too tired to do anything but have his heavy, strained-out balls just clench, shooting up wispy blanks into your readily swallowing pussy. 

“Oh!” he’s throwing his head back at the sheer overwhelming pleasure, beading out only a few, pearly little beads of sticky seed. But fuck, was Gojo riding out his high - riding out yours. Fucking you through each convulsing little clench of your silky cum-slicked walls, a high you’ve barely even registered still. “I don’t- I don’t know if I-”

“Don’t, Toru.” you warn, but it’s too late - only one, fleeting glance at your prettily stuffed pussy, the creamy little outer ring on your entrance, the way your puffy folds are just quivering like you’re in need of more - has Gojo intaking a sharp gasp. 

His wrecked eyes widen, looking almost afraid. Breath hitching, his words are shrill - barely audible, “Think- think we haven’t made up for lost time yet, sweetheart.”

“Toru, I was gone for five hours.”

“And?”

A/N. Gojo nation will we get a comeback today plsplspls?!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[televisionenjoyer]

Bitches can't even like a show and admit it has copaganda anymore it's always gotta be something like "my show's different" "he likes guns because he has gun autism he's not like other cops" it's genuinely less embarrassing to be self aware and say "I like x character/element/etc while I also recognize that some particular qualities of it are meant to positively influence the viewer's opinion on cops via fiction." It's literally that simple

[confessionsandcreampies-deactiv]

 ꒰ sex ban for the mha boys 🙂‍↕️ ꒱ྀི　

— midoriya izuku - “the ban is for your protection too”

you’re sobbing. legs trembling. sheets soaked. it’s 2am izuku wipes your tears like a sweet little boyfriend… while still thrusting into you.

“you said one more,” you cry.

“i said i’m close, baby,” he coos, kissing your damp cheeks. “almost done—be good, you’re doing so good—”

you go limp. soul gone. the next morning, you can’t get out of bed. your legs scream in protest. your clit throbs in fear.

izuku peeks in, beaming. “want some breakfast?”

you throw a pillow. “i want a mobility aid, you sex-obsessed beast.”

he freezes, startled. “wha—i thought you liked it—?”

“sex. ban. five days.”

his eyes go wide, like you ripped his heart out. “five—five days? but what if i just eat you out?”

“no.”

“what if i cry a little?”

“…still no.”

now he’s pouting, flexing shirtless, doing squats next to you on the couch and muttering things like, “i’d treat that pussy with respect if she’d just let me see it again”.

— bakugo katsuki - “you treated me like a fucking pocket pussy”

you wake up in bed, bruised, dazed, and possibly concussed. bakugo walks in with zero shame, biting into an apple. “you good?”

you sit up with a grimace. “you choked me out on the headboard.”

he grins. “you told me to.”

“you said, and i quote, ‘i’m gonna split you open like a wishbone.’”

he shrugs. “and you came like a bitch in heat.”

“i had a vision. i saw my ancestors. sex ban. one week. non-negotiable.”

his jaw drops. “you got me fucked up—i should ban you, you’re the one who gripped my cock like you were tryna keep it.”

“you folded me like lawn chair mid-thrust.”

he scoffs, already adjusting his boxers. “you’re gonna break before i do.”

now he’s stomping around half-naked, fisting the couch cushions, moaning dramatically every time you bend over just a little too far. you’re not gonna make it to day 3.

— aizawa shouta - “you don’t get to break me and then nap”

he’s still asleep. you’re staring at the ceiling, completely naked and so overstimulated you’re vibrating. you limp to the bathroom, looking like you got hit by a train, and find hickeys down to your knees. you confront him in the hallway, wearing a robe and rage. “you fucked me like a criminal, and then had the nerve to fall asleep while i was twitching on the mattress.”

aizawa opens one eye. “you came four times.”

“you edged me for an hour then ruined me.”

he yawns. “you said you wanted something intense.”

“i wanted foreplay. not carnage.” you fold your arms. “you’re banned from my pussy. three days.”

he raises a brow. “is that so?”

“and no lazy finger-fucking while you grade papers either.”

now he’s dangerously silent. letting you sit in his lap during staff meetings, letting his hand hover just above your thigh… brushing your hair off your shoulder and whispering, “ban’s almost over, right?” you’re the one that caves hard.

— shigaraki tomura - “you said you’d be gentle”

you’re clinging to the headboard, shell-shocked. legs trembling. back scratched to hell. your voice is gone.

shigaraki stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, sweat dripping down his neck. “you’re alive,” he mutters. “that’s what counts.”

you rasp, “you called me your little pet and choked me with your shirt sleeve.”

his lips twitch. “and you came so hard you squirted.”

“on the wall, tomura. the wall.”

he shrugs. “didn’t know you could do that. neat.”

you grab your robe like it’s armor. “sex ban. a week. you’re unstable.”

he scoffs. “you think i’m the problem?”

“you growled ‘mine’ and bit my inner thigh like a feral stray.”

now he’s pacing, jerking off with one hand while glaring at you. “if i don’t get to fuck you by friday, i’m decaying the bed.” he keeps leaving your vibrator on your pillow like a threat. you’re scared. and turned on.

— dabi - “you lit my soul on fire and then asked if i was good”

you’re curled up on the couch with an ice pack on your pelvis. dabi’s walking around shirtless, covered in hickeys he made you give him. “you okay, babe?” he says, lighting a cigarette.

you groan. “you called me your ‘favorite cum dumpster’ and then came in me four times without blinking.”

he blows smoke. “you said you wanted to feel used.”

“i said slightly.”

he smirks. “you were crying and saying ‘don’t stop.’ what was i supposed to do?”

you hiss. “sex ban. three days. minimum. i need to regenerate my spine.”

he leans down, whispers in your ear. “so i shouldn’t bend you over the couch right now?”

you kick him weakly. “i will die.”

now he’s tormenting you. letting you see his hard-on every time he changes, jerking off loudly in the shower while moaning your name, licking his fingers in front of you like he’s tasting you again. you’re gonna fold on your knees.

[x-v4mp3y3lin3r-x]

but seriously I wish more people would read indie queer books instead of just whining about how mainstream TV never does anything queer. like I KNOWWW it's because people think they're Too Good™ to enjoy the lowly self-pub stuff on Amazon/Itch, but I'm sick of hearing y'all whine day in and day out about how you can never find queer romance media to enjoy, and then never actually take the recommendations that people give you

don't have money? join Queer Liberation Library. Follow authors and wait for their books to go on sale.

struggle with reading because of e-reader inaccessibility? my favorite e-reader is "Moon+ Reader" because it's free and has tons of accessibility options. it takes a little bit of finagling to get used to, but you can even make your books look like ao3 works (if that's what you want)

don't know what to read? cool, let me tell you about all these mlm books I've read (specifically mlm because remember this account used to be for my gay posting, but everyone feel free to reblog and add other queer books you've read!) and I'll link the goodreads pages so you can read the synopses if you're interested

trans authors highlighted with a star ✯

The Tithenai Chronicles by Foz Meadows ✯ - A great adult fantasy duology about an arranged marriage, murder mysteries, and fantastical politics. Great book for people who like high romantasy and hate miscommunication.

Mismatched Mates by Eliot Grayson - This is a long series of standalone romance novels about animal shifters, warlocks, and vampires (oh my) which is NOT OMEGAVERSE and doesn't include any mpreg. These books are pretty silly and I enjoy that. I recommend reading the first few in order, but you don't have to!

Vampires of Eden by Karla Nikole - This vampire romance series is connected to Lore & Lust but I'm recommending it because I think it's lesser-known. Karla Nikole's writing has been getting better and it shows with this series. The vampire lore is really unique. Should be read in order, but book 1 is kind of a slog? I LOVE book 2.

Twilight Mages by Eliot Grayson - Standalone fantasy romance novels set in a universe where some mages are cursed with needing to fuck or die. The first 2 books are about mages who have to bottom, the 3rd is about a mage who has to top. Odd premise but weirdly interesting books. Definitely for people who like CNC (or maybe for those who won't admit it lol)

Radiance series by Tavia Lark - Fantasy romance novels with an over-arching plot of taking down a corrupt religious institution. Demons, magic, all that good stuff. I'm gonna be honest, these books are all pretty different but equally great. Like, genuinely.

Darkmourn Universe by Ben Alderson - These are gay bodice rippers. That is how the author describes them, and it's an apt description. They are good books!! But they are bodice rippers, and so if you're looking for healthy contemporary romance.. this isn't that. If you're looking for fucked up stories loosely based on fairytales (Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Hades and Persephone, Little Red Riding Hood) this will be a fun time for you

The Prince's Dearest Guards by Beau Van Dalen ✯ - M/M/M with a trans protagonist, these indie novellas are definitely interesting. They're only a few bucks on Itch, and then you get to keep the epubs forever, so give them a chance, you might like them!

The Flowered Blade by Taylor Hubbard ✯ - Another fantasy book with a trans protagonist but this one is about an elf prince being held captive by an orc. (Yes, fantasy racism, I know, I know.)

Love Immortal by Kit Vincent ✯ - Vampire/human romance in a "dark academia" setting. (Which is to say, a weird college in bumfuck nowhere Vermont) With a little bit of murder mystery sprinkled in. Dracula fanfiction.

Galaxies and Oceans by N.R. Walker - A contemporary romance about healing from abuse, mourning, and Australian lighthouses. I've given my opinions about this book in the past, so I'll just say it's highly rated and a pretty good slow burn cozy, vibey romance.

Cloudy With A Chance of Bad Decisions by Fae Quin - I don't know how to describe this book. It's a contemporary romance about two guys whose invasive families are trying to force them together during a camping trip? I DON'T KNOW all I know is that it left me fucking gobsmacked every 5 pages. Hilarious read. The main character has a dildo named Nine Inch Neil. insane.

Last Courtesan of Olympus by Amanda Meuwissen - This is the first erotica on this list, it's about a courtesan being bedded by the greek gods. Extremely interesting premise, I haven't read the sequels but book 2 is about a guy sleeping with the norse gods?

I'm done listing shit, I gotta go eat dinner. my point being to just start reading shit, even if you think it's silly, even if you think the premise is bad, just fucking read. You have literally nothing to lose.

also no I didn't recommend any BL media because I think the "just read BL/GL" shit is a fucking cop out, too. there's tons of queer romance media on the western market and we can enjoy both gay romance books AND gay manga simultaneously, we don't have to pit either culture against each other. (read The Metalhead Next Door tho thank u 😋)

also note: i know not all of the books I listed are indie

[topazadine]

The Myth of the Martyr-Artist

Today’s going to be a heavier topic, but one that I feel is incredibly important. I’ve been pingponging this around my head since I saw the disturbing responses on a Reddit post, where a fellow writer was encouraging others to care for their overall well-being.

Many commenters responded very negatively to this, insisting that all their best work comes when they’re in the throes of suicidal despair. They claimed that saying you should care for your mental and physical health is some form of ableism, then promptly got into pissing contests about how terrible their mental health is, as if this is a badge of honor (it’s not).

Well, as someone with bipolar disorder, I’m here to tell you that’s a damn lie. You do not need to be a martyr for your art; in fact, it can really damage your craft.

I will note that I am speaking from my experience, though backed up with ample science. You'll find a bunch of good sources here that you can use to educate yourself on mental illness and, perhaps, share this message with others who may still believe the myth.

But before you go, “well, this is all just your opinion, and I am special and my mental illness is a creative treasure,” hear me out.

Once, during a psychotic episode, I walked 13 miles in the middle of the night in freezing cold weather because I thought I was a torchbearer for the Paralympics. It wasn’t even the right year for that.

I then broke into Navy Pier after hours (for reasons?? vibes??) through a mistakenly unlocked front door. After letting me twirl around for a bit, the cleaning staff called the cops on me, likely scared for their lives.

Upon being kindly kicked out of this esteemed establishment, I believed I was in the running for the Nobel Peace Prize and started tweeting incessantly about Malala Yousafzai while dancing to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A on a CTA bus. I’m surprised I didn’t get escorted off the bus too.

Yes, of course, all of that makes absolutely no sense: that’s what psychosis does.

My list of prior medications is so long that I don’t even remember all of them; I’ve been involuntarily hospitalized six times. Once, I even spent Thanksgiving in the psych ward. The food was surprisingly good.

I’m not trying to get pity by explaining this. This all happened a decade ago, and I have been perfectly stable thanks to the world’s best medication, Lamictal. (Insert paid sponsorship here! Please?)

Rather, I want you to know that I’ve been about as deep as you can go into a mental breakdown, and I can tell you that it did nothing whatsoever for my writing abilities.

First, let’s dive into the most important reason that you should take your mental health seriously instead of wallowing for your craft.

Untreated Mental Illness Damages Your Brain

Mental illness is not just feeing sad: these are brain disorders that cause real, quantifiable damage to your neurological functioning. This, of course, should set off enormous warning bells telling you to get treatment now.

(Now, a quick note: I'm focusing on depression, bipolar, and psychosis here, because that is my experience and what I can speak to best. I am certain that these adages still apply for other mental illnesses and neurodivergencies, but I'm staying in my lane.)

Depression causes brain shrinkage, including in the hippocampus, which is crucial for memory and learning. It also damages the prefrontal cortices, which help us to relate to others and regulate our emotions.

The areas of the brain impacted by depression are all those that we need to write: our ability to empathize, to plan, to remember important details, and even to feel emotions so that we can accurately depict them.

But it’s not just about writing, of course.

These areas moderate key life activities, making it difficult for you to succeed elsewhere, too. Executive function, concentration, motivation, and emotional management all go out the window with depression, bipolar, and other mental illnesses.

There is also the fact that persistent, untreated depression is correlated with neuroinflammation. Brain inflammation is one of the cardinal precursors to Alzheimer’s disease, a tragic disorder that results in a painful and devastating death.

As you would imagine, the changes are even more extreme in bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, resulting in a marked loss of brain volume and significant impairment in everyday activities. Just one manic episode can cause lifelong changes that increase the risk of dementia and even heart disease.

If you can get treatment, do – as fast as possible.

Don’t give up until you find the right treatment for you, because the risks far outweigh the rewards.

In fact, there are few rewards of untreated mental illness, including writing ability.

No, You Don’t Write Better When Sick

I promise, you don’t, even if you think you do.

You may tell me “but Topazadine, I’m the exception! My work when I’m happy is terrible, but my work when I’m on the brink of suicidal despair is genius!”

Is it? Is it really?

A symptom of many mental illnesses, including bipolar, is anosognosia, which means that you do not recognize that you have an issue. This is how you get someone insisting that they’ve had brain surgery, even when their psychiatrist tells them that never happened.

What? Don’t look at me like that. It made sense at the time.

And it does make sense to the ill person, because they are living in a different reality. Their brain is making wrong connections between facts, sensory inputs, and memories that diverge from the real world.

What happened to me is a very extreme version of this, but those insisting that they make their best work when they’re messed up are also suffering from anosognosia. They’re not able to see that the work they’re doing is not at the same level as it could be if they were better.

As an example, let’s look at some poems I wrote during different mental states. This is one from my Psychosis Era.

Shiverheart shiverbrain banana banana shrivel, press the dancing bone to watch the sun sink for another fifty years, another fifty years we sacrificed for the sake of our bloody maries. And sweet Antoinette, whose brocade was stained with her juicethoughts, and the maid had a tantrum. Sleep sleep deep deep where the cars can’t find you where the wheel always turns soft smooth like butter like butter, except for when it’s not. Babygut sand colonoscopies for free, like daisies for a winter wedding, but we’re all oozing black massacre wine from our very pores, like insecticide. I am dying, I am dying, so quiet, so soft, wavering upon the shore between dream and deritus, crashwave summoning, crashwave beckoning, welcoming me home. But my feet cannot cross the sand. Saline eyepus coming to wash my sins.

It’s straight word salad, and I don’t mean that in the silly politician sense; this is a textbook example of the disorder. It makes no sense and is, frankly, dogshit.

I’m sure I thought it was deep at the time, but a sane person would be horrified. Clearly I believed I was the next William S. Burroughs (spoiler alert, I am not).

Now here’s an excerpt of one I wrote during an episode of bipolar depression.

I sat on the train writing my will and the tracks were humped like vertebra of my scoliosis back. We were running over corpses. Would they take us and throw us to the end of the train and pose with our dead bodies our berry juice staining the floor? But this is not, this is not, and I choke down bile and say my testament like rosary. Where will we go after the meals have been spat out and the toys burnt to carbon and the babies rocked to coma and the prizes won and coffins bought when there is no more suffering to drink?

Yeah, the Sylvia Plath vibes are strong with this one. I will say that it’s better than the bizarre world salad poem, but it’s still … bad. It’s bland and repetitive, which perfectly encapsulates the soul-bleaching monotony of depression.

There’s also the fact that it is really depressing, but that’s to be expected when you’re depressed.

Lastly, here is one that I wrote recently for What Is Cannot Be Unwritten, the fourth book in The Eirenic Verses series, now that I’ve been stable for many years.

Bending neck like willow bough, wings that sweep like summer snow, dark eyes of blackest bright, gleaming river of cool delight. Swan seeks silent melody, turns its feathered prow to sea, paddles past every boundary, acknowledging no nationality. Stretch one’s beak to the yielding sky and trumpet out the true heart cry. To be wild and proud and limitless, bowing just to love’s largesse.

This one seems quite sweet but you’d be horrified at the context. That's a secret tool we'll use later, though.

Notwithstanding that it has a much more pleasant theme, the fact of the matter is that this poem is objectively better than either of the poems I wrote while unstable. The theme is more coherent, the rhyme scheme gives it a better melody, and the imagery is stronger. It’s not my best work ever, but it’s certainly much improved.

After a decade of treatment, I can look back and recognize that being ill did not help my work at all. However, I think that some people still believe this myth because they haven’t had that experience … yet.

You May Not Realize How Much Better Your Work Can Be

The thing many people do not understand is that a brief period of stability isn’t true remission. You may feel better for a few weeks or even months, but your brain is still in a fragile state and can relapse at any time.

In fact, the brain changes that result from a manic episode have been observed up to six years after the initial episode, and there’s evidence that even medication-compliant patients still show abnormal brain structures despite having no symptoms.

Researchers also have found that brain changes from depression persist for years after remission, though it’s not clear how long that really lasts.

The point here is that a few months of feeling better does not mean that you are cured.

It takes time for the brain to heal itself after a serious episode of mental illness, so you really can’t know how much you’ll improve until you are half a decade or more in remission.

And those years while you are healing are messy; you’re not doing your best work then, either. My poems and stories really only started to get better about five years after my manic episode because my brain was still rorienting to Normal Neuron Stuff.

Additionally, psychiatric medications can cause issues with cognition, memory, and personality while you’re stabilizing for a reason: they’re equalizing your neurotransmitters. You’ll feel weird and brain-foggy even if the medications are working because everything is out of wack.

This is completely normal, but it can be frustrating to writers, and it may make them falsely believe that recovery is the reason that their work isn’t so great.

No. The problem is still your mental illness, but that adjustment period can make it appear that treatment is the issue.

Sadly, many creatives decide that medication isn’t right for them because they don’t like the adjustment period, leading to an endless cycle of remission and relapse. The more frequently you cycle, the more likely you are to end up with severe impairments, so it is crucial that you fight hard for stability.

It is true that some medications can cause serious side effects. In fact, I suffered from extrapyramidal symptoms while taking the antipsychotic Geodon; essentially, I'm brain-allergic to that specific medication. The trismus that resulted would leave me with my jaw locked open for up to six hours.

Imagine a charlie horse but on your face. I had to go to the hospital looking like the Scream and write down what was happening so the mystified ER doctors knew to give me a Valium injection.

Most people would not have faulted me for throwing all those pills down the toilet and never trying again, but I kept at it until I found the right medication for me. I understand that the risks of psychosis are far worse than any physical discomfort, no matter how extreme.

This discussion flows perfectly into the next part I want to discuss – which is also the most controversial.

We Idolize Suffering Artists Because of Survivorship Bias

Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Edgar Allen Poe, and so many others are famous both for their work and their incredibly depressing lives. And yes, I’m not discounting how great they were, but we’re really focusing on the wrong thing here.

Firstly, we have no idea how much better they could have been if they were not ill, or if they’d received treatment and wrote restrospectively of their sorrows.

I know that my writing about serious issues is much better when I get some distance from it. I can better contextualize the pain and come at it from a more balanced standpoint, not veering into melodrama or self-pity.

Secondly, pointing to them as proof of why suffering is good for art reflects survivorship bias, meaning that we are only looking at those who became famous due to connections, luck, or talent.

There are millions of other prodigies whose work never gained renown because of their mental illness.

Maybe they were institutionalized, or they became too ill to write, or they didn’t have a support system who helped them in their journey.

For example, A Confederacy of Dunces was only published after John Kennedy Toole’s suicide because his mother met Walker Percy and advocated tirelessly for its publication. If Thelma Toole had not been so passionate about seeing her late son’s work in print, we never would have known his name or that his manuscript even existed.

And finally, we have the sad fact that had these literary heroes not been so severely ill, they may have produced many more incredible gems.

I think frequently about how many people could have done such wonderful things with their lives had they not died by suicide. What is missing from the world because they didn’t receive the support they needed? How many books remain unwritten, poems never finished, films unstarted?

We can’t know, of course, but I imagine that some of the best creations were never made because their creator didn’t live long enough to see it through.

And that, frankly, is one of the worst things I can imagine. Mental illness takes so much not just from the individual, but from our society at large.

Your Health Is More Important Than Your Craft

Let me be clear and firm: your writing is not all there is to you. Like me, you probably lose yourself in your work; you identify so strongly with being a writer that not working is physically painful.

However, you are so much more than just your craft.

You have friends who love you and want to see you well; you have family who misses your laughter. You may have a partner who would love to see you smile again, or pets that are desperate to go on fun adventures when you gain the strength to get up.

There’s so much that mental illness takes from us, including our creative fire. It’s not fair, but you don’t have to let it take more from you by choosing not to get treatment.

I’m not saying that you can’t write while you’re sick – not at all.

The germs of genius may be in there, and when you’re better, you can recycle that into something even more beautiful. I’ve taken a lot from older works and generated some truly amazing poems that have such better flow than the original; I wouldn’t have had that raw material if I were not ill.

But that’s still not an excuse not to get better, to stay stuck in illness because you think it’s the best thing for your craft. I am telling you now that it’s not. Your work can be great now, but it can improve dramatically when you improve.

You deserve to be happy.

And you can get there, no matter how much your brain tells you otherwise. If I can come back from trying to jump into strangers’ cars because I thought I was late for my own wedding, you can reach stability too.

Mentally ill brains lie to us because getting treatment is scary. The human brain thrives on stasis, even if that stasis is killing us; it makes up all sorts of cognitive dissonance to dissuade us from trying to change. For writers, one of those cognitive distortions is that we write better when we’re sick.

Don’t listen when your brain starts whispering that you shouldn’t bother. Realize that mental illnesses are serious and, in many cases, degenerative disorders that cause far more harm than good.

You do not need to be a martyr-artist.

Each person reading this deserves the happiest ending possible. We should never take the tragic tales of tortured souls as some sort of inspiration, even if their writing is amazing as it is. Their lives were cut short and they never reached their peak, but you can.

Please get treatment.

Admitting there’s a problem can be daunting, but it is so worth it. Take it from me. Stay in treatment, work hard to find the right combination of therapies that help you, and hold onto hope.

It gets better. Your work gets better, too. I promise you from the bottom of my heart.

[antiwhores]

You accidentally had sex with Bakugou.

You two had fallen asleep in his room after a hang out. You were bestfriends but you had some underlining feelings for him. So when you woke up in the middle of the night to him cuddling you, you almost choked.

You needed to pee really bad so sadly you had to pry yourself out of his arms. When you came back his eyes were cracked open just barely. He mumbled something before opening his arms for you to join him again.

It was out of character, maybe tired Bakugou was just a touchy guy. It couldn’t be more than that.

So you joined him on the bed. You buried your face into his neck. You had to savor this cause most likely this’ll be the last time this happens. Also, you were too tired to freak out. You just wanted to fall asleep in his arms.

You can barely explain what happened after that. He hiked your leg onto him, still with his half open eyes, and thrusted right against your clothed pussy.

The next thing you know, he’s dry humping you. And then he’s fingering you. And finally he’s fucking you.

It felt good, too good.

But the morning after? You felt embarrassed. No way you just fucked him without even a first date. He’s gonna think you’re easy. He might even tell everyone that you are.

Of course, that would never happen but you were panicked. You couldn’t possibly comprehend that the great Dynamight chose you. You weren’t famous. Not a vogue model, a hero, or even wealthy. You had nothing to give him.

He had to be messing with you.

So you slipped out of his hold at 5am sharp and went home.

You fell back to sleep in tears and woke up to several texts and calls. Good thing you had your ringer off.

Bakugou - 6:34am

Where’d you go?

I was gonna make you breakfast dumbass

Bakugou - 6:52

Y/n?

Missed call - 7:00am

Bakugou - 7:30

Is this about last night?

I’ll wait for that call back so we can talk about it.

Missed call - 10:03am

Bakugou - 10:05

Call me and we can talk about it. This ignoring me isn’t gonna make it go away.

Missed call - 11:12

Missed call - 11:26

Missed call - 11-31

Bakugou - 11:40

Fucking call me back, this shit isn’t funny.

You’re so lucky I don’t know where you live yet. I’d be there in 15 minutes if I knew.

You debated calling him back. But your embarrassment and anger stopped you from letting him explain himself. How could he use your feelings against you like that! He probably knew that you liked him and wanted a quick fuck.

You started to cry all over again.

A week passed by with no contact. He sent you the occasional text telling you to talk to him but after the 6th day he seemed to give up. At least you thought that until he showed up at your door.

You opened the door wide without checking who it was since you were expecting a package. Your eyes widened when you noticed the blonde leaning against the doorframe, still in his hero costume. He must’ve just gotten off work, saving civilians and climbing the charts. It was another reminder of how he could never want you.

“You gonna let me in or am I-“

You tried to slam the door in his face but he shoved it back open easily. He let himself in, scanning the place.

“Nice place, ‘don’t see why you hadn’t invited me over.”

Maybe it’s because your small, cosy apartment didn’t compare to his high rise penthouse at the top floor.

You grabbed his arm and tried to pull him out. But he wasn’t having it and didn’t let you move him an inch.

“You need to leave, Bakugou.”

“Wow. Last name basis and I was inside you a week ago.”

“Yeah well that shouldn’t have happened.”

“Okay but it did so let’s fuckin’ talk about it.”

You just wanted him to leave before you bursted out in tears. You shook your head, trying to pull him harder but to no avail. Your lip quivered in frustration as tears welled up in your eyes.

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and set you on the couch.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

You broke down in tears.

You told him everything, every assumption you made and every insecurity. You told him how you liked him but you knew he didn’t like you back. He sat there patiently, not speaking a word until you were done.

He got up with a blank face. You thought he was gonna leave at first but he kneeled down to be eye to eye with you.

“Wanna go on a date?”

It surprised you. It was the last thing he expected you to say.

“I’ll take you on a date and prove to you how much I want you. And for the record, I’ve probably liked you longer than you have me. When we met in that coffee shop I immediately knew you were the one I wanted. ‘S rude of you of you to make assumptions but I’ll let it pass if you go on a date with me.”

You agreed as he wiped off your tears. Who were you to say no?

[antiwhores]

This post was made in May and ppl are still asking cor a part 2 LMFAOOO 😭😭 sorry yall

[fricks]

"choso, did you just... cum?" ☆

you don't mean to sound accusatory but you're so caught off-guard that you can't help but ask. your not-yet boyfriend is sat beneath you with his eyes screwed shut and bottom lip still caught between his teeth.

he shakes his head no in such a quick manner that one of his hairties come loose. a rosy pink blushes his nose and cheeks and you can’t quite tell if it’s from embarrassment or the fact that he literally just came in his pants from kissing you.

you weren’t even grinding on him. sure, you were sat in his lap and were more than aware of the hardening bulge beneath you—but you’re so early in this relationship that you’re not even sure you can call him your boyfriend just yet, so you obviously weren’t going to address his boner regardless of how badly you wanted to feel his dick pulse against you.

okay so maybe you were grinding on him a little. chasing just enough friction to remind yourself of all the good things in life, like choso and his abnormally large cock that you hope to one day soon feel so deep it's practically in your stomach.

"i didn't," he lies poorly. "i just... sneezed."

"you didn't sneeze."

"i did, it was a silent one."

"like a silent fart?"

"no! god, just... i need a minute, okay? to clean up."

you sit down a little more firmly against choso's cock, which is still so rock hard that you almost wonder if he didn't actually cum in his pants. you know an orgasm when you see it, though, and the way choso basically moaned like a whore once he got a taste of your lips left nothing to the imagination. he came alright.

"you need to clean up your silent sneeze?" you tease him, pressing another kiss to the corner of his lips. "are you lying to me, cho?"

"will you break up with me if i say yes? i'm embarrassed." god he looks gorgeous with this hazy post-orgasm gloss to his eyes. his lips look swollen from your kisses, and you decide you want to keep him like this until he's old and grey and too fucked dumb to ever move.

"can we even break up? are we dating?" you ask, and drag your clothed cunt along the length of his sensitive cock for good measure. "you never asked to be my boyfriend."

choso looks offended. "but- but you just..."

"what, made you cum with a kiss? i've about earned the right to call you my boyfriend, right?"

he nods frantically and, without meaning to, bucks his hips up to meet yours a little better. you can feel all of him now, rock hard against your most sensitive spots even with a few layers of fabric between you. you wonder if lust-induced hypnosis is real and whether or not you're a victim of his wiles.

"it's settled then," you nod. "you want help cleaning up?"

"uhh..." choso hesitates. he didn't think becoming partnered meant sponge baths, though he doesnt think he'd deny you the opportunity, or himself the experience.

"a blowjob, choso. i want to clean you up. with my mouth. this is dirty talk."

choso blinks. "oh," he says. "then yes please."

[fricks]

"please? it's the only way i can fall asleep." ☆

you can hardly hear choso's words, they're muffled into the crook of your neck, but you can hear the desperation in his tone as clear as day. he always gets like this when he's been away... touchy. horny.

"i'm pretty sure i've seen you sleep standing up like a horse," you grumble, trying (and failing) to push the mass of body weight off you. "we just had sex, cho, i've got enough of you inside me as it is. we don't need to cockwarm."

you aren't wrong, he told you he's been 'saving up' for you, and it wasn't an understatement. he's only been away for a week, but you're almost bloating with what feels like a months worth of unspent cum inside of you. you'd think, if he weren't so insistent about keeping you all to himself, that he was trying to fuck a baby into you.

"even better," he lifts his head and looks down at you, his cock already hard again and pressing against your sore thigh. "i can... plug you up. keep it in."

"very unhygienic. do you know anything about PH?"

"what? i don't use that site anymore. it makes my stomach hurt. feels like cheating."

"no, i mean—" you blink up at your boyfriend. "wait, what?"

"why would i want to watch other people do those things? i'm not a cockholder."

"cuckold, baby."

"i'm not a cuckold."

you can't help the laugh that slips past your lips. it makes choso laugh too, though you're sure he doesn't know why the two of you are laughing.

laughter turns into kisses somehow, as it usually does, and then kisses quickly turn into a wet tongue trailing down the column of your neck. his tongue laves at the juncture of your throat and shoulder, slow and sloppy like it's new skin he's exploring and not the same flesh he's conquered ten times tonight.

"wanna fall asleep inside of you," he pleads. "i'll be so good, i won't move or anything. you'll hardly notice me."

well that's a fucking lie if you've ever heard one. choso is more than big, and has a tendency to force your body to tighten up around him in some twisted biological ploy to keep him inside of you.

still, the idea is appealing. you always find yourself melting into his pleads, especially since he asks so nicely... "fine," you groan. "okay. you can put it back in, but we are going to sleep."

"i promise," he practically moans already pulling one thigh open to fit himself at your entrance. "thank you thank you thank you."

despite having taken him countless times already, you still gasp at the stretch of him pushing inside of you. you wonder if you'll ever get used to it.

he drapes his weight over you once he's buried himself to the hilt and you let out a deep sigh in turn. you can only describe how well he fits inside of you as natural—like every inch of him was moulded to fit your heat without fail.

"see?" he whispers against your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before tucking his face back into the crook of your neck. "i could stay like this forever."

and for a little while, he does. he relaxes fully, the only indicator of him still being awake is the sweet hums he lets out as you card your fingers through his hair and scratch gently at his scalp. and, despite his weight on top of you, relaxation takes hold quick, and you find yourself drifting off into the comfortable embrace of slumber.

until he moves, of course. his shoulders tense and his face scrunches up against your neck in obvious frustration.

"don't," you keep your eyes shut beneath him. "don't you dare."

he shifts against you, cock twitching where it’s locked deep inside. "but—"

"choso."

he groans pitifully and lifts his head just enough to look down at you. "i need to move."

"you promised," you crack one eye open to look at the flush decorating his cheeks, visible even in the low light. you try and keep a stern look on your face, but you're already shifting your hips in anticipation. "we need to sleep."

choso's forehead drops down to press against yours. he screws his eyes shut, looking a lot more distraught than need be. "i know, but i..." he swallows hard, and you can feel the pulsing of his cock inside of you, "...i wanna fuck you so bad."

this is a repost from my old deactivated account. i didn’t steal this, and if you say otherwise im gonna put unsavoury things in ya bum and make you bark like a dog