under exposed

As promised: an explanation

I have a seizure disorder called epilepsy. Occasionally, when I’m under enough stress and exposed to the right stimuli, my brain acts like an overloaded computer and essentially BSODs. Sometimes this involves falling, sometimes its going unresponsive, occasionally its screaming, and in rare cases, its my body jerking and twitching in a manner outside my control.

This month has been littered with a ridiculous amount of these instances, pretty much all the incidents described above. I’ve barely gone two days in a row without one interfering with my life. But then this month has been unusually stressful. Difficulties with money, food uncertainty, new roommates, change, nightmares… It hasn’t been very friendly for me.

I woke up feeling fine, took a walk that was long, for me. I cleaned my room, did some rearranging. I even managed to make two meals! I was proud of myself. Then the whole day had to go sideways because the light in the kitchen had to start flickering when I was headed in with dishes.

My brain shut down and at the advice of my caregiver and standing orders from my doctor, I’m in bed for a week. I HAVE to recover from this. This means all my projects and commissions, Brainstorm, Si/Si, Voltron portraits, commissions… All of that… It has to wait until I’m better.

I’m very sorry. I feel like I’m letting people down. I want to be able to do the things I said I would do, especially considering this is a Big Deal Month for me, but I can’t.

Elixir

Soaking
in contemplation,
naked and exposed
under clouds
of consciousness.

Your distant pulse
drips
into my veins
this ruminating elixir,
fantasy’s tender musings
invade my mind.

I remain drunk
in craving,
patience depleting
with each
sumptuous sip.

Limbs
weightless in lust,
wholly intoxicated
in thoughts of you.

I am completely
undone
left empty of self,
waiting for the next
indulgent fix
of you.

Brie ~ 2017

Noses~Sirius Black

It was there there were stars. Swimming. Swimming in orbs of grey. Vivid grey. Clouds of colour floating in his eyes. 

It was warm. Your bodies presses together sharing heat. Your noses prssed lightly togetehr sent fire through your veins. 

You were both on the couch in the common room, HIm on the inside, you on the outside. His arm was draped over your waist and he was tacing patterns into the exposed skin under your shirt. 

Snow was falling outside onto he cold ground. Ice was forming on the windows, wet from the morning dew. 

Sirius was playing with your hair with one hand and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Every now and then he would reach up and kiss your forehead and nose, but other than that al was still and quiet. There was no movement. 


But then Sirius sneezed.

And you screamed. 

And you found yourself on the floor. 

Now, My Darling, Put Your Clothes Back On

Description: Phil wakes up to Dan sleeping on his chest and has to consider what a sexy night together means for their friendship.
Words: 1.8k
Content Warnings: mentions of sex throughout (no smut), swearing
Inspired by: the lyrics “Oh my god, what have I done? Now, my darling, put your clothes back on” from this song.


Phil wasn’t excited to have this conversation. He wasn’t dreading it, per se, but something about looking down to find Dan curled up beside him, arm splayed over his stomach and face nestled into the crook of his neck, lodged a stone in his throat that Phil could not swallow.

Suddenly he felt all too exposed under the thin sheets, the nearly sheer fabric doing little to protect his body from the outside world. Sure, Dan had seen him naked before. It wouldn’t be the first time for that. But it was the first time he’d had sex with him.

Oh my god, what have I done?

Keep reading

Series “NO” #7 ~ So bored

I’m not fond of zoos but remain open to discussion and a few arguments such as wildlife conservation - but I definitely hated the Bronx Zoo where I didn’t have the heart to take a photo of the lonely white rhino tied on a stage under an open arch, exposed to cold drafts and “patiently” waiting for… I should have… My friend and I immediately left the zoo, disgusted and heart-broken.

© Marie V Vollmer aka Lulette  ||  The Bronx Zoo, New York City, 20 avril 2011

About pupil sizes on BSD, 35-sensei said that he/she gave large pupils to crazy characters and small pupils to good characters.

Then, I remembered about Kyouka and Koyou’s talk about light and darkness.

Now, what happened to a pupil when it exposed under bright light?

What happened to a pupil when it exposed to darkness?

Harley’s Battle Of The Kings competition is back, this time focusing on the Iron 883.
One of the most exciting builds comes from Belgium, via the dealer Harley-Davidson Namur. There are shades of the Revival Cycles ‘Hardley’ build in this one, especially the one-off tank and exposed triangle under the seat.
Namur workshop manager Fabrizio aimed for clean lines and a vintage silhouette, and he’s succeeded admirably. It meant a considerable amount of work on the frame and electrical system, but the result is a Sportster with a genuinely racy stance. The visual mass is now centered on that iconic engine—and it sure looks good.
To see the other five killer Sportster builds we’ve picked out, hit the link in our bio.
@harleydavidson_benelux #harleydavidson #harleygram #sportster #iron883 #HDCustomKings #DarkCustom #LiveYourLegend #bikeexif

midnight snack pt. 2 (Derek Hale one shot)

“Um, I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “I-I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d try eating something, but I couldn’t get the thing… off the thing…” you trailed off, pointing down at the abandoned cereal bowl. Derek glanced down, then stared stonily back at you, crossing his arms over his chest. His movement drew your eyes to his forearms as you admired the way his biceps flexed against his broad chest. You just realized he was only wearing sweat pants. You could feel your face burning, knowing Derek could hear your erratic heartbeat.  

“[y/n],” Derek sharply uttered, breaking your rapt attention from his body, his eyes squinting at you. In turn, yours widened. You felt like a horny deer caught in the kitchen lights. You felt exposed under his scrutiny, bringing your arms around your torso in embarrassment. Derek noticed your defensive stance. His gaze softened. “Why didn’t you tell me you had trouble sleeping?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted. “But then I go and make a mess in your kitchen and wake you up in the middle of the night. I’m the worst,” you grumbled, breaking eye contact.

“You’re not the worst,” Derek began incredulously. “Peter’s the worst. Jackson’s the worst. Stiles is the worst,” he continued with an annoyed expression. The side of your mouth twitched up.

You glanced back at Derek’s concerned face. Your smile disappeared, replaced with a confused frown. “How am I not the worst? Peter and Jackson and Stiles don’t come up to you and ask to stay with you because they can’t even handle their own parents.”

“Look, I’ve seen the way your parents treat you. I don’t blame you for leaving,” Derek grit through his teeth.

You thought back to the time Derek invited himself over to your house because you’d found a way to decrypt a government database on mysterious unsolved crimes in California. He was sitting on your bed next to you while you were huddled over your computer, trying to curtain your face behind your hair. You remembered how nervous you’d been, never before having a boy alone in your bedroom, let alone the older werewolf that bit your best friend, Scott. You were decoding passwords when Derek suddenly grabbed your arm, informing you that your parents were home. He had barely managed to shut your closet door behind him when your parents entered, yelled at you for not working on homework and cleaning the house, called you a hopeless failure, and slammed the door as they left.

Afterwards, Derek carefully resumed his previous position next to you. Your eyes teared up, not because you were hurt by your parents’ words, but because you were so embarrassed that Derek had witnessed that part of your private life. Not even Scott or Stiles knew. You continued working on your laptop when you heard Derek mumble, “You shouldn’t have to take that.”

Too mortified to speak, you just continued typing.

Tensions continued to rise between you and your parents. They even turned on each other. Along with the yelling, they blamed you for all their financial problems, concluding that you were the reason they were broke and unhappy. One night, things escalated. Your parents were arguing when your mother suddenly threw a glass at your father. You watched as it shattered against the wall. You saw your dad take threatening steps towards your mother, so you moved in front of her. He shoved you aside and you hit your head against the banister. That’s when you’d had enough. You knew you had to leave, but you didn’t want Scott or Stiles to see you so broken.

That night, you found yourself in front of Derek’s loft, drenched in rain and tears. He took you in. You told him what happened while he stitched up your head. He took away your pain, but you couldn’t stop crying.

He told you to stay as long as you needed. You hated feeling like a damsel in distress, but you accepted, shocked that the leather jacket clad shadow you once met in the woods could show you such acceptance.

One month later, you were still living in Derek’s loft, still trying to adjust despite being plagued by nightmares of your parents and nogitsunes, still failing to hide the way your body reacted to Derek’s everything.

“I said you could stay because I wanted you to be safe,” Derek reminded. You loudly sighed and finally picked up the cereal bowl from the floor.

“But you’re not obligated to keep me safe,” you groaned. “That’s what I don’t get. Why do you care what happens to me? I am not your beta. Or your wife. Or your girlfriend.” You thought you saw Derek’s eyes flash red. “The only thing I’m good for is hacking.”

He scowled at you before answering.

“Not that I ever intended to have this conversation in the middle of the night. Or ever,” Derek muttered snidely, “But I care what happens to you because you are important. You’re good for a lot more than just hacking. You’re important to this pack and you’re important to me.” Derek finished with a straight face.

He continued, softer, “And you should’ve told me about your nightmares. Maybe I could’ve helped.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, quirking your head curiously. You suddenly felt a draft and looked down, realizing how little clothing you had been wearing this whole time. You didn’t expect to have a heart to heart with your landlord at this hour, so you had left your room in your sleepwear: plaid boy shorts and a v-neck. You preferred to sleep commando.

You looked up at him through your lashes. “How could you have helped?” You inquired innocently.

(Part 3)