#and by ‘like this very often’ i mean that this is an unfiltered look into my h/orny brain

[wasyago]

I'm so curious, but it's okay if you do not have an answer for me; did something happen to Etho in your recks au for him to need all of those robotic prosthetics, like an accident of sorts? Or did he, I guess, experiment on himself or something like that?

Wonderful design, by the way! I can't stop looking at it, I love it so much.

haha yeah something did happen :)c

so, as you may or may not know, the world of recks suffered from a catastrophe caused by the moon going off its orbit and almost crushing into earth; which caused the creation of many gravitational anomalies all over the planet; which caused most of the big cities to evolve downwards and move under the sea level; which created this odd phenomenon of many skyscrapers in the middle of the city being abandoned and staying vacant, even if the buildings are technically fully operational.

and so teen etho, our smart little boy, thought "Hey, i don't wanna live so low underground where the sun doesn't reach when there's perfectly good houses on the surface!" so he just kinda... left his home and moved to one of the abandoned buildings. which, i mean, good for him and all that. BUT.

see, the thing about run down buildings is that they don't have a good water supply. and the thing about water in recks au is that it has a ton of bad chemicals, moon debris, leftovers of destroyed infrastructure, etc, in it when unfiltered or filtered poorly.

and etho, although smart, wasn't smart enough to give proper attention to the metallic taste of the water in the building he moved in to. like, sure it tastes a little weird but otherwise it's fine, it's something you would expect from an abandoned skyscraper right?

well, little did he know that the water he drank for god knows how many years of his life, was actually slowly dissolving his insides and poisoning him! and yknow, sharp pain in your guts every so often is one thing, but actively coughing up blood is another. and thank god he met cleo by then, because they forced him to actually do a check up to see what was wrong.

everything was wrong how you might've already guessed, to the point where the damage wasn't reversible anymore and there was no way to heal naturally. sooo etho had to get the prosthetic and say goodbye to his organs. the other option was to say goodbye to his life tho so he got pretty lucky there i think. thankfully cleo is a prosthetics doctor neurologist person, and she was able to get everything sorted fairly quickly for him and get that man on the operating table as soon as possible.

so at the end, all of etho's vitals had to be changed, including his throat and lower jaw because it also god badly damaged by being in contact with the water. (turns out etho had the raspy voice not because he was cool but actually because he was dying 😬) and! let me tell you, removing someone's entire set of vitals and changing them for the artificial ones in one surgery without killing the person in the process is actually very hard!! who would've thought huh...

well uhmm, yeah so this is what happened to etho o3o

(the eye prosthetic is another story tho, this post is already pretty long so maybe next time)

#recks au #recks!etho #recks!cleo #briefly mentioned but very important #yagotalk

[junosmindpalace]

s/o asking dcst characters what hairstyle do they like the best on them? (like braid, low/high ponytail, bun, hair down, etc?) some fluff :)

preferably with senku, gen, ryusui, sai and tsukasa, but feel free to change the characters if you want to ^_^

thank you very much for you request!

a/n: if the premise didn't give it away...reader is implied to have long enough hair for styling in certain ways, but i did my best to be vague ;,)

SENKU: hair tied back.

-He’s not the type to care so much as to have a preference. Consciously, at least.

-But you spend loads of time with him in the lab, doing experiments or just spectating as he performs his own. Either way, most of your time with Senku is spent with your hair tied back. 

-Whether it be a headband or hair clips or a hair tie, you’ve gotta have it outta the way when you’re in the lab. So for the most part Senku is accustomed to seeing you with your hair back.

-And as everyone knows, science is his greatest love. He loves doing experiments, he loves learning about science, he loves talking about it, he loves it when people indulge him in his rants and is able to talk about it unfiltered with the person on the other end not only being able to keep up, but add on to the conversation meaningfully. 

-And you do all of that. 

-The connection here is weird, but bear with it!!

-There is nothing more attractive to Senku than someone who is passionate, and can keep up with him, as his general company usually cannot. Someone who takes an interest in his interests, and are capable and witty--and kind. 

-And because you spend so much time with Senku doing science related activities--going to museums, doing experiments, talking about theories, spending time in the lab--that big love of science sort of becomes synonymous with you.

-He starts seeing you just a little differently during all of those times when your hair is back; when you say something witty, when you laugh victoriously at a successful or aweful experiment, when you challenge his views with ideas of your own. When you best demonstrate your intellect and curiosity, all things that Senku finds leave a stirring in his chest and when he sort of views you at your most beautiful, your hair is tied back.

-So even though on the surface he really doesn’t care how you choose to wear your hair, subconsciously, he’ll always find you at your most beautiful when your hair is back, associating it with the thing that made him so attractive to you in the first place. 

“I don’t really care.”

“Can you for once not be difficult?” You deadpan from behind your goggles. He doesn’t even spare you a glance when he responds to your question, keeping his eyes trained on the various beakers in front of him as he circles the counter they were sitting on. You huff as you approach the opposite end of the counter, lowering yourself to be at eye level with his engrossed gaze. “I mean--really? You don’t have any style that stands out to you?”

“Maybe if you randomly shaved it all off.”

“So you like buzzcuts?” 

“I don’t care.” He repeats back, this time finally looking up to shoot you an irritated look through a slit in between two beakers, and you huff, muttering about how he’s no fun before getting back to the experiment at hand. 

But when he’s certain you aren’t paying attention to him any longer, he lets his eyes find you again, and they linger as he takes in your features. 

He can’t help but think back to your question as he does so, his mind simulating various styles he’s seen you wear your hair in almost like a makeover game. 

They’ve all been nice, every single one he envisions in his mind. Some quirkier and more elaborate than he personally prefers in general, but still; nice. 

The simulation ends in his mind's eye and he’s back to present day you, with your hair tied back as it often is with all the experiments the two of you work on, and he can’t help but think he has a certain appreciation he just can’t describe for it. All he knows is that he likes it and that it suits you it in a way that leaves his heart skipping a beat, and if he really had to answer your question, he’d probably say that he preferred this style.

GEN: hair down, framing face.

-It’s a more modern, glamorous preference, what can he say. 

-It’s pretty stereotypical, but there’s a reason why it’s so appealing. 

-He likes how perfect your hair looks, as if you came out of a dream. 

-It just takes his breath away; of course you look gorgeous any time, but when you go out of your way to style your hair all shiny with delicate and elaborate pieces framing your face, his breath gets caught in his throat and he’s staring a little too much. 

-It’s maybe because it’s more rare; you’re not always going to have the energy to style your hair so elaborately, so it’s more of a treat that he can’t help but appreciate. It’s a good kind of different. It only enhances your already gorgeous features and he can’t help but grow warm at the sight. 

-He’s embarrassing, really. It’s soo obvious he has this preference, but it’s also endearing the way he can’t stop making heart eyes at you. He’s sooo fucking smug with himself when you hold his arm when you wear your hair so elaborately, as if he’s showing off a treasure chest of gold--though not even all the jewels in the world could amount to you. 

-Also likes to twirl the framing pieces with his finger. He thinks he’s so slick, he tries to be 100% more charming. You just make him so nervous with how gorgeous you look, he feels the need to make up for his own feelings of inadequacy. Especially when other people also appreciate the look as well. 

“So you think I’m ugly, then?”

“I never said that!” 

You snort at his horrified expression, crying out defensively when you accused him of only finding you attractive with the glamorous hairstyles he had been dreamily going on and on about since you asked him, with his answer being a lot longer than you anticipated. 

“I’m kidding! But really? I rarely style my hair like that.”

“I can’t help what I like.” He replies simply, leaning an arm back against the trunk of the tree the two of you were sitting against as he leans over to tug at the ends of your hair. “It’s grown out a bit.” 

“Not like I can get a proper haircut in this era; or a glamorous look.”  You state frustratedly, observing both yours and Gen’s primitive clothing slightly distastefully. It could be absolutely worse, but you miss your old, comfortable, stylish clothes along with the elaborate do’s you’d get done for special events.

Gen could only turn his brows up empathically and offer you a shrug, pulling his hand away from your locks of hair. “Haaah…well, what can you do?” 

He stares at you from the corner of his eye, however, a playful smile dancing across his lips.

“You don’t need it, though. You look breathtaking all the time.” 

You snort again and roll your eyes at the exaggerated compliment, but lean in closer so you could rest your head against his shoulder. 

“Wish I could say the same about you.”

“Oh, you wound me.” 

RYUSUI: he likes them all…but likes when you accessorize your hair. 

-It’s criminal that you'd ask him such a question, really.

-When he absolutely ADORES all of them. 

-Each one makes you a different kind of endearing that he just can’t get enough of, from simple, lazier looks to time-consuming and expensive do’s that make you look like you belong on the red carpet--which he always thinks you do, by the way (not to mention he funds all your trips to your stylist).

-He genuinely has to wrack his brain and pick apart all of your looks if you really insist on him answering the question properly. He thinks of all the updos, all the curls and waves and straightening, all the specific cuts…and he STILL can’t pick a favorite.

-Sorry, you can’t get much more out of him than that. He can go on and explain the appeal of each one if that's what it’ll take for you to realize what you’re asking isn’t so easy to answer. 

-To satisfy you, however, he does say that he particularly loves it when you accessorize your hair in one way or another. He likes the creativity, and it just suits your hair type so well. Whatever it might be--pretty hair ties, any special head accessories, whatever--, he thinks it only enhances your already incredible look. 

“Ryusui, I don’t care about all that. Can you please just answer properly?”

He gets where your exasperation is coming from, truly; after all, he’s the one having the most difficulty answering your question as he illustrates in detail what’s going on in his mind as he thinks, every hairstyle having its own charm that he adores. 

“But how can I pick? I love them all!” 

You frown at him for a moment before eventually sighing and shrugging your shoulders, putting your hands up in surrender as you sit down on one of the benches in his workroom. “Okay, fine. If you can’t choose, you can’t choose.” 

“Exactly!” he says almost relieved, pointing the pencil he was using to make blueprints at you. But even so, he follows and takes a seat on the bench beside you and continues to go through that mental list of hairstyles he’s seen you wear as he leans his head back against the wall and eyes your strands of hair. 

There’s a pause between the two of you for a moment before he says, with all the seriousness in the world: “But you know…I especially like when you accessorize them.” 

You tilt your head to look at him and raise your brows. “Accessorize? With what?”

“With anything. Any way you wear your hair is gorgeous, but it’s somehow even better with something in it.” and as he says this, he brings the pencil he had been twirling between his fingertips up to your face, tucking it into the strands by your temple. You laugh when he pulls away, and he can't help but smile.  

Yup, any accessory.

SAI: anything with a braid.

-He is SO flustered when you ask.

-And even more embarrassed when you insist he gives you a straight answer after he meekly responds that he loves every single one of your looks.

-And it’s the truth!!!

-But you still want a singular, concise answer, so he thinks, nervous that this might be some sort of test he has to pass. 

-And like his brother, he truly can’t pick one specific look that he really likes. 

-But then he spots a pattern when he reflects on looks that he’s really liked and realizes they all shared a common feature: they all had some sort of braid in them.

-Doesn’t care about the style, length, thickness, whatever. Whether it’s one big one or two small ones framing your face or your entire head braided, he loves them. He loves the variety, and in general he just finds the design so beautiful. 

-He doesn’t admit it when he answers your question, but he finds himself even more in awe of your hair if the braids in one way or another are accessorized. A ribbon, a bandana, whatever, he thinks it adds to the look tenfold. But he thinks just the simple braids on their own look gorgeous.

“If this is another one of your tests--!”

“I promise it isn’t! Can you please just answer?” 

He stares at you expectantly, and a little bit nervously, as he tilts his head away from yours. 

“I mean…” he starts carefully, still not fully convinced by your words. “I like them all…”

You give him a look that tells him you aren’t convinced by his words, and he finds himself getting irritated again from the (completely unnecessary) pressure of the question. “It’s the truth!” 

“Yeah, but! Don’t you have one specifically?” 

“I don’t know…”

You huff, frustrated by his lack of response, and take a step away from him. He mentally sighs in relief over being free from the hounding. “Not even one?” You try for the final time. He pursues his lips and thinks on your question again.

He likes that one time you wore your hair up; he really liked that one. And then that other time you had a sort of half up half down. And those unique buns were also pretty nice...

And as he continues to reflect on instances where he found himself doing a double take over your hair, he realizes that all of them share one detail in particular. 

“Braids.”

“Hm?” 

“I like…when you wear braids.”

Not actually expecting a genuine answer, you can only stare and blink at him. His face grows warmer at the blank eye contact, pink rising up his face at your lack of a reaction. “What?!”

“Nothing! I just didn’t expect that.” 

But after your initial shock, you can't help but smile at how bashful he is over his answer, and he only grows even more exasperated (and embarrassed) when you now badger him about which specific braid styles he likes best.

TSUKASA: low styles, specifically hair down. 

-It’s simple, but it's the simplicity that’s so beautiful to him. 

-He likes to be able to touch your hair one way or another, whether by patting your head, twirling the strands or raking his fingers through the locks, and having it in an updo or some sort of elaborate hairstyle means he cannot do that. Doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like them of course! But if he were to have a favorite hairstyle, it’s a more casual one. 

-There isn’t all that much to it. He isn’t one to find a specific style uglier or superior, but he likes that this specific style is so versatile; it doesn’t necessarily have to be open either. Whether it’s in a low hairstyle like a bun or a ponytail, he just likes the lower styles better. 

“What hairstyle do you like best on me?”

It’s quiet in the classroom the two of you are sitting in, most of the students simply lounging and drifting around as they wait for their next class to begin. You and Tsukasa respectively lean your arm against your heads to bring them closer together, faces only inches apart as you talk lowly among each other. A little break to catch up after spending the busy school day mostly apart. 

He watches you as a finger circles around a stray strand of your hair, brows ever so slightly creasing together. “Hairstyle?”

“Yeah, like…do you prefer my hair in buns? In waves? Think I’d look good with an undercut?” 

He glances at the hair curled over his finger and framing your face, thinking to himself for a moment as he mulls over the question in his head. “I like your hair right now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like it down.” he mutters with a small smile, twisting the soft strands between the pads of his fingers, reveling in the sensation and watching the curl it creates bounce.

“You don’t like waves, or a cut of some kind or…?”

“I do. But you said to pick one, right?”

And with all the love and attention he’s showing your hair as he delicately cards his fingers through the strands, you can’t help but smile and hum in validation, satisfied enough with his answer. Enjoying the relaxing sensation of your hair being played with, you rest your head down on the desk, and he smiles at your content expression.

#yall ill beautify my posts again TRUST i just have to figure out how #entering the final week of finals! hope everyone has been doing okay with theirs! #dr stone x reader #dr stone fluff #dr stone oneshot #senku ishigami x reader #senku ishigami fluff #senku ishigami oneshot #gen asagiri x reader #gen asagiri fluff #gen asagiri oneshot #dcst x reader #dcst fluff #dcst oneshot #ryusui nanami x reader #ryusui nanami fluff #ryusui nanami oneshot #sai nanami x reader #sai nanami fluff #sai nanami oneshot #shishio tsukasa x reader #shishio tsukasa fluff #shishio tsukasa oneshot

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (16/22)

Chapter summary: You go through a difficult period following your breakup with Yelena, and you and Wanda end up falling down the rabbit hole for the second time around

Chapter word count: 6.4K | Warnings: Angst, Mild smut | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Before you say anything, I have a plan. Enjoy :) P.S. My requests are open

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next chapter: Seventeen Part One

--

Sixteen

“And then she kissed you?” Agatha asks. She looks the same way she does when she’s actively participating in gossip, hanging onto every detail of the latest scandal that keeps most people entertained in their insignificant lives.

Wanda solemnly nods, as if validating a piece of tragic news.

“Why aren't you thrilled?” Agatha observes quietly, picking at her tooth with her fingernail. “I mean, doesn't that confirm that she still has feelings for you?”

“You remember what happened last time, right? When she did more than just kiss me?”

Agatha grimaces, “Right, of all places, in our stockroom." Then, her tone morphs into a more probing one, “But, did the kiss feel as if she just wanted to get into your pants?”

Wanda lets out a sigh, her heartbeat quickening as she reminisces about its tenderness. It felt akin to a first kiss—vulnerable, slightly apprehensive, tinged with anxiety, and yet, at the same time familiar—like finding her way back home.

It was perfect in every sense. 

But it was tainted by its very nature. It was a betrayal. And if there were truly raw feelings behind it, then it’s worse—it would mean that you have been emotionally unfaithful to Yelena. 

Wanda may have ruined yet another relationship.

In the midst of her internal struggle, she finally manages to answer Agatha, “It felt like hope,” giving voice to her undeniable feelings for you. “But she’s with Yelena.”

“I never really had faith in that relationship to begin with,” Agatha retorts dismissively, cleaning her hands with a towel before reaching for one of the cookies on display.

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Wanda chides.

“I’m only being honest,” Agatha says, unapologetic in her bluntness. “You were fucking each other like rabbits and then a few weeks later, she gets a girlfriend. That's a classic rebound scenario. I'm surprised the woman she's with allowed herself to be used like that.”

Wanda finds Agatha’s uninhibited words a little offensive, though she understands that their deepening friendship has allowed for such unfiltered honesty between them. Even though she's jealous of Yelena, Wanda understands that she is good for you. She doesn't like how Agatha talks about Yelena as if she's too naive to try a relationship with you.

Wanda feels she can relate with Yelena. Often, love makes us scared that we might never get a second chance, so we choose to take a leap of faith, despite the warning signs.

“So, what are you planning to do about it?” Agatha asks, taking a bite of her favorite cookie. Wanda makes a mental note to deduct that cookie from the stock count.

Wanda shakes her head, replying, “Nothing,”

Agatha pauses mid-chew, her eyes wide with shock. Wanda can't help but observe the crumbs of food lodged in her teeth. “You're not going to seize this opportunity?” Agatha questions, disbelief coating her voice.

“Y/N needs to sort things out,” Wanda lets out a heavy sigh. “Without my interference.”

“You’re not afraid of missing out on this chance?”

Wanda sidesteps Agatha's question with one of her own. “Why are you suddenly supportive? It wasn’t long ago when you couldn't stand her.”

“I’m supportive of you. I’m rooting for your happiness, dear. But I’ve seen you at your worst, and I think you’re putting on a brave face right now.”

Wanda's eyes dip down. Her friend isn’t entirely wrong.

“What happens if she decides to stay with Yelena?” Agatha probes further.

Wanda's response isn't immediate; she takes a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before replying softly, “Then I hope she’ll be very happy with her.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes, because of course, Wanda would say that. Even if you were being served to her on a silver platter, she’d worry for your happiness over her own. 

“And where does that leave you?” Agatha asks, folding her arms across her chest.

Wanda lifts her shoulders in a casual shrug, her face unreadable. “Living life as it comes, I guess. Just one day at a time.”

At this, Agatha decides to drop the subject. She has a strong feeling that Wanda’s just waiting for you to come to her, and when you do, she's certain that Wanda won't maintain this pretense of indifference. As for Wanda, she doesn’t want to obsess over what you’re doing or thinking. She doesn’t want to make the same mistake of hoping for an outcome that only you can decide.

Switching topics, Agatha raises an eyebrow and asks, “And the pup? Is he doing okay?”

Wanda smiles faintly, “I brought him home yesterday.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Agatha remarks. “Do you reckon Sparky masterminded all this to get Y/N to your place at an ungodly hour? Can dogs be that crafty?”

Wanda throws her an incredulous look. “Are you being serious right now?”

A wicked giggle slips from Agatha, spreading until Wanda finds herself laughing along. She doesn't notice the arrival of a guest until the distinct sound of the call bell jars her attention.

It’s Valkyrie, casually leaning against the countertop, looking awkward and so unlike her usual self.

Agatha casts a sly glance at Peter, who's been trying to catch her eye ever since Valkyrie stepped into the cafe. When Agatha isn't around, Peter fills her in on the latest happenings, a reliable source of juicy tidbits. Peter quirks his brows and discreetly nods towards Valkyrie, his mouth miming a silent message. Reading his lips, Agatha pieces together that this is the woman who recently found herself entangled in Wanda's intricate web.

Agatha sweeps her eyes over the woman appreciatively. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Wanda rubs her palms together, a habit she’s developed before taking a customer order. “Hi, Val! What is it for today? We have new beans delivered all the way from Niseko–”

“Actually,” Valkyrie softly cuts her off. “I was hoping we could talk?”

Agatha watches their exchange, an eager twinkle in her eyes. With the pace at which interesting events are unraveling, she may as well pop a bag of microwave popcorn to truly savor the unfolding drama.

Wanda nods and moves away from the counter, temporarily handing the reins to Agatha. They pick a spot in the furthest corner from the kitchen, well out of earshot, much to Agatha's disappointment.

“First off, I owe you an apology,” Valkyrie begins. “I’d blame it on the alcohol, but there’s no excuse for me pressuring you too much to take shots. That wasn’t cool at all. You already said no several times and I ignored you.”

Wanda waves her off casually. “Oh, it's alright. I appreciate the apology, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You couldn't have forced me to drink if I really didn't want to, right?”

Valkyrie's frown dips further at Wanda's easy dismissal of the issue. “No, Wanda. If I'd kept on, I might've pushed you into it even if you didn't want to. I'm just glad Y/N stepped in when she did.”

Something flashes in Wanda’s eyes at the mention of your name. Valkyrie catches it but opts to ignore it for the meantime.

“Yeah, I did feel a bit cornered that night,” Wanda concedes, a smile returning to her face. “But it's water under the bridge now. Was there something else you needed to discuss?”

“You sure don't beat around the bush, do you?” Valkyrie attempts to lighten the mood, but her tension is evident in her shaky voice and the way her fingers fiddle with her watch.

Wanda chuckles. “It's a skill I've been honing lately.”

Taking a deep, measured breath, Valkyrie gathers her courage. "Alright, here it is..."

Wanda tilts her head at her curiously, wondering what it’s about.

“I like you,” Valkyrie blurts out. “I don’t normally confess to someone I’m not even dating, but you’re… incredible. That's how I feel about you and I thought you should know."

“Oh! Uh…” Wanda trails off, blushing at Valkyrie’s confession.

Valkyrie nibbles at her lip, observing as Wanda fumbles to put her thoughts into words. She silently hopes she's left Wanda speechless in a good way.

“There’s… someone,” Wanda manages to utter out eventually. “I've been in love with her for the better part of my life.” Or maybe her whole life, if she’s being brutally honest.

Valkyrie nods, her throat tightening to hold back the sting of rejection. “It's her, isn't it?” she ventures, silently alluding to you.

Wanda diverts her gaze and emits a modest laugh. She must have made her feelings too obvious for anyone to see.

“She’s my ex-wife,” is all the explanation Wanda offers.

“Wow,” Valkyrie looks taken aback by the revelation. “That sounds messy.”

“It's beyond messy,” Wanda retorts.

“Go on,” Valkyrie encourages.

Wanda looks at her, thoughtful. “Are you sure you want to delve into my past? It might take some time.”

Valkyrie smiles, already leaning in closer to signify that she’s all ears. “I made time this morning specifically to talk to you. I want to understand, at least, why I'm being rejected.”

Wanda chuckles softly at the gesture. Collecting her thoughts, she starts to narrate a condensed version of the turbulent history she's had, of how she ruined everything that’s good in her life.

When Wanda wraps up her story, Valkyrie simply says, "Wow, that's... pretty fucking messed up."

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Wanda admits, biting her lower lip, anxiety swirling in her gaze. She worries that revealing her darkest past may have cost her a budding friendship. “I think I saw your interest, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions and have the wrong idea. I just wanted us to be friends. I still do, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course, I want to be friends with you, Wanda. More than the fact that you’re hot, we have a lot in common too.”

Wanda's cheeks tinge a soft pink at Valkyrie's flippant comment about her being ‘hot’.

“So, friends then?” Valkyrie extends her hand.

Wanda smiles in relief. “Friends.”

***

A phone call rouses you from sleep. You groggily glance at the clock and realize you've overslept.

“It’s done,” your lawyer's voice cuts through the grogginess as soon as you pick up the call.

Disoriented, you squint against the daylight streaming in through the window. “What are you referring to?” you inquire, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Vision has settled,” she elaborates, her words crisp and distinct. “And he caught a flight to Tokyo last night.”

“He's gone?”

“From what I've heard, he intended to use the settlement money to finance his studies overseas. He won't be returning in the near future. But even if he does decide to cut his trip short, you're safe. He has no legal means to trouble you anymore,” she assures you.

“You've got snitches now?” you quip, your eyes narrowing in suspicion even as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

Her laughter rings out through the phone, followed by a breezy, “You're welcome,” before she ends the call.

It's over. A chapter of your past has finally closed. Vision has physically left the city, and you've literally paid your dues. You hadn't realized you were in a kind of self-imposed cage until now, when a sense of liberation pulses through your veins.

Before you can fully indulge in the relief provided by your lawyer's news, however, a persistent knock at your door breaks your reverie. You can't help but wonder who it could be, and how they bypassed the building's security without a notification from the concierge.

As you pull the door open, you find yourself face to face with the last person you expected to see.

“Nat?”

She appears ready to tear you apart. For a moment, the thought crosses your mind, 'this is it, this is how I go, at the hands of my best friend'. Strangely, you're indifferent to whatever she might inflict on you. Having her here at least affords you an opportunity to have a conversation.

Yet, Natasha doesn't respond. She doesn't even spare you a glance. Instead, she brushes past you and starts gathering random items into a large duffel bag she brought along.

“Nat, can you please just talk to me?”

“What for, Y/N? I have nothing to say to you.”

“Yelena broke up with me,” you say.

Natasha scoffs. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Nat, please,” you plead. “You can’t just cut me out forever. I’m your best–”

“Are you?!” The outburst that tears from her is enough to make you recoil. “Are you my friend, Y/N? I woke up to my sister on my doorstep, in shambles. All thanks to my ‘friend’.”

You wrap your arms around yourself as tremors course through your body. Tears start to flow down your cheeks at the mere mention of Yelena.

“You want to talk? Fine, I’ll talk,” Natasha rages on. “I stood by you through thick and thin. I held your hand through all the shit you went through last year. I brought you into my home. I took care of you. I loved you–” Natasha's voice catches on 'loved', and your heart shatters at her use of the past tense.

“–and you just betrayed me, like I meant nothing. You betrayed my sister like she meant nothing. We both cared about you, Y/N.” Her voice dwindles near the end, her next words coming out just above a whisper. “So, no, we’re not friends. Not anymore.”

“Nat, I’m s–”

“You know what? I can’t fucking do this. I’m just gonna send someone to collect Yelena's things. If I don’t, just throw out her stuff like you did with your relationship. Goodbye, Y/N.”

The door slams shut behind her. You find yourself on the floor, curled into a ball, as you grieve the friendship you’ve known all your life.

***

Dark screens and unreturned messages follow.

Yelena has blocked you on every possible platform, cutting off any form of communication. Natasha hasn't, but she leaves all your messages unread, allowing your calls to go unanswered, seemingly enjoying your desperation. Clint ignores your texts, and Kate only responded once, promising to try and speak to Yelena for you. That was a week ago, and there's been no word since. You didn't think you'd be back in the dark place you were in a year ago, and the worst part is, you brought it on yourself this time.

The only news you get about Yelena is from your own mother. A few days after Yelena left your shared apartment, your mother called to ask what had happened. Apparently, Yelena had told her the news herself and asked her to take care of you and make sure you were alright. Throughout the call, you cried silently, feeling the remnants of Yelena's care for you even after you broke her heart.

And your mother, perennially at odds with handling emotions, simply offered her condolences. Although by doing so, she offered more support than she did when you were weathering your divorce from Wanda the year before. With your latest tragedy out of the way, she proceeded to ask if you could make time to visit Montauk over the holidays.

***

Drinking is… a problem. Again. 

But you approach it with more caution this time. You don’t drink as much at home so you can avoid not showing up at work the next day. Rather, you sneak in a flask in the office, sipping from it from time to time to keep you the right amount of…adrift. You’re too good with numbers that even with a little haze in your head, the alcohol doesn’t interfere with your work. 

It interferes with other thoughts.

***

When Kate finally calls you, you’re in the middle of a disastrous presentation at work. Her words had been brief, only giving you the time (three in the afternoon) and location (The New York Public Library) where she wanted to meet. 

It takes some time for you to locate Kate within the vast elegance of the Rose Main Reading Room. She's tucked away in the northeast corner, engrossed in her work, even on a Sunday. A towering pile of books rises to her eye level on her desk.

“I can’t believe I was wrong about you.” Kate says without looking up as you settle on the vacant seat next to her.

“Wrong about me?” you ask, keeping your voice in a hushed tone.

“I had this fleeting thought that you might actually be a good person.” she says.

Swallowing hard, you struggle to find a response, well aware that Kate is just laying out the facts. What kind of person would cheat on their best friend's sister? What kind of person would throw away years of trust and a lifelong friendship?

“She told you?” you finally manage to ask.

“Yelena didn’t say much,” Kate says with a hint of sorrow. “But I've never seen her look so…” she trails off, struggling to find the right words, and eventually concludes, “She doesn't look like the Yelena I know.”

You’re afraid to ask what she means by that. You haven’t looked in the mirror yourself, in fear of seeing the results of your own wreckage.

“She quit today, you know?” Kate reveals, setting down her pen to give you her full attention. You don't see resentment in her eyes, only caution. This is the most compassion you've been shown since your relationship with Yelena fell apart. 

The news of Yelena's resignation hits you like a punch to the gut. She had a promising career ahead of her, and she'd found a supportive environment in her workplace. It's hard to believe she'd just abandon that so abruptly. You feel a wave of nausea at the thought.

“I sort of saw it coming,” Kate adds. “Not her resignation–God, I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't budge. I… I saw you running back to Wanda.”

Your eyes narrow curiously as you regard Kate. “How?” 

Kate sighs, pushing a pile of papers to the side to give you her full attention. “It's not a secret, you know. You might think you're being discreet, but you’re more transparent than you'd like to believe. You’re a completely different person when she’s around. I saw it during the 6-miler event we all joined by chance.”

There’s no point in denying any of that. The weeks that follow after that, you were crying to your mother regarding your conflicted feelings about Wanda. But if you had been aware of the signs as early as then, would things be different somehow?

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Kate,” you say, the words sounding weak and inadequate to your own ears.

“I know,” Kate says quietly, and there's a touch of sympathy in her eyes that makes you feel even worse. “But that doesn't change the fact that it did happen. And people are getting hurt because of it.”

You can sense that Kate is one of those people–by hurting Yelena, the girl she clearly loves. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you whisper. You wish there was another way to convey how sorry you are–a keyword to make it all go away.

“Yeah, me too. Mostly because I have to tell you that we can no longer be friends.” Kate says, looking genuinely upset about her decision, her gaze dropping to her hands as she twirls the pen between her fingers.

“I know,” you nod, appreciating her honesty. “Thank you.”

“Look, I have no idea how deep your thing with Wanda goes. All I know is you can’t keep running away. You can’t keep hiding behind the comfort of other people.”

You bob your head in acknowledgment, even though you're uncertain how to put her words into practice.

"Can you pass on a message to Yelena for me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously.

Kate lets out a sigh, her fingers halting their movement on the pen. “I’ll try. No promises though.”

“Could you tell her that I'm sorry...that I truly loved her?”

A moment of silence follows your request as Kate studies you, her lips pursed. It might seem hypocritical of you to make such a claim, but she refrains from passing judgment. But seeing your bloodshot eyes and your pale chapped lips and the lack of life in you, she thinks there’s probably some truth to it.

***

It takes you an additional week before you summon the courage to visit Wanda's apartment. 

Truth be told, you've been hiding away in shame, confining yourself to either your bedroom or your office, instructing your assistant to keep the door closed and not to disturb you, secluding yourself from the outside world. Aside from interactions at your work, you haven’t talked to anyone. 

A moment of misjudgment led you to lose everything that you were left with when you lost Wanda. But gradually, even as you were beating yourself up over and over again with the dissolution of your relationship with both Romanovs, Wanda became the only one you can think about. You can't escape her pull, no matter how hard you try. 

Eventually, you devolve into nothing more than a compulsion; a compelling need to see Wanda. Which is what brings you here, with your fist poised to knock on the door. But just before your knuckles make contact with the wooden panel, the door swings open, and Wanda's voice unthinkingly spills into the hallway where you stand.

“–let me ask if the neighbor has some sugar–” Wanda halts dead in her tracks as she comes face to face with you.

The timid smile on your face drops as soon as you realize she's not alone. Behind her, comfortably perched on the couch is Valkyrie.

“Seems like you're already entertained. I'll head out,” Valkyrie proposes, getting up on her feet. “I'll pick up my shirt when you come around for the run next week, sound good?”

Wanda nods in a daze to that, her eyes never leaving you.

"No, I should leave," you counter weakly.

“No, Y/N, please stay,” Wanda implores. “See you later, Val. Thanks for the shoes.”

You stiffen and step aside as Valkyrie moves to gather her belongings. When she finally approaches the door, standing next to you, she tilts her head to murmur a parting sentiment intended for your ears only.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I had a spill on my shirt. Don't let her down this time,” she whispers. 

Her words stun you into silence long after she's left.

“Y/N? Please, come in,” Wanda invites you, her voice trembling slightly. Nodding silently, you step inside.

You regard each other quietly, simply observing one another for what feels like an eternity. This isn’t how you imagined things would go when you thought about coming here this morning. You wanted to see Wanda because you needed to be with her. But now, all you can think about is Wanda and Valkyrie being all over each other.

“It’s been awhile,” Wanda offers, not really sure how to begin as you stay awkwardly near the door–as if you’re strategically placing yourself there in case you decide you want to run. She studies you, attempting to read your expression, to figure out what this could be about. She’s been thinking about the thumb drive that contained the video of her and Vision. Did you finally see it? Did you decide to pay him off?

Or is this about Yelena? Wanda’s been thinking if you came clean to your girlfriend about the kiss, wondering if you've managed to patch things up, and if Yelena has forgiven you.

If you’ve chosen to be with Yelena after all.

“Yeah, Valkyrie was here pretty early, wasn't she?” you state more than ask, a hint of bitterness edging your words. You glance at your watch, adding, “At 6:30 in the morning, no less.”

Wanda furrows her brows at your tone, as though she's on the receiving end of an unfounded accusation.

“She was on her morning run, dropped by to hand over a pair of shoes from her club's sponsor. Nothing more,” she explains.

You snort, "Sounds awfully convenient."

Rather than entertain your skepticism further, Wanda redirects the conversation elsewhere. What you presume about her and Valkyrie is the last of her worries right now.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” Wanda asks, her voice a little unsure. When your eyes meet hers, Wanda sees the signs of sleepless nights and a certain emptiness that paints a clear picture.

You and Yelena are done.

And it's breaking you. Her heart aches, even knowing that you're now, technically, available. She never wanted this for you. And she can't help but feel that she messed up your happiness once again.

“I just... I needed to see you,” you admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Looks like you didn't waste any time though.”

“Valkyrie and I are just friends,” Wanda insists, the edge of her patience beginning to fray.

“You seriously think I'll believe that?” you shoot back.

Wanda heaves a sigh, exasperation seeping into her tone. “Believe whatever you want, Y/N. Doesn't change the truth.”

“She was wearing your shirt.” you highlight, not quite ready to drop the issue.

“She spilled coffee on herself. I gave her a clean one. That's it.”

“And I'm supposed to accept that at face value?” you challenge, an eyebrow arched skeptically in her direction.

“Yes, you are!” Wanda says firmly. “Because it's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you.”

I wouldn't lie to you. Her words reverberate within your skull, playing on repeat like a broken record.

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? You're not sure whether you can still believe her.

“Y/N, please,” Wanda's plea rings out, sounding lost and desperate. She isn't even certain what she's asking for. What she does know is that you're teetering on the edge of a breakdown, still reeling from the pain of your breakup. 

You don’t look like you’re in the right mindset to talk about what you’re going through. About how you both left things. And as much as Wanda wants to figure this out with you, she can’t do anything if you’re not willing to trust her.

“Wouldn’t lie to me?” you repeat, your voice laced with sarcasm and a painful sort of humor. “Alright, let's put that to the test, shall we?”

Wanda's throat tightens. She's unsure where you're heading with this.

“Yelena and I broke up. She left me that same morning,” you start off casually, as if discussing the weather. “Because she deserved better. Because I am, as it turns out, selfish and deceitful, right?”

“No–”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Wanda's mouth snaps shut at your words, a sense of finality creeping into her. “...yes,” she admits quietly.

Slowly, you advance towards Wanda, your steps intentional and calculated. She remains rooted in her spot, refusing to back down.

“Do you feel happy that Yelena and I have broken up?” you ask.

Wanda looks hurt by your question. "Y/N, no, of course not–”

Your stoic expression tells her you're not buying it.

“Do you regret our kiss?” you probe, stepping closer, until Wanda finds herself backed against the wall. You lean in, foreheads almost touching, your dark eyes daring her to lie to you.

Wanda takes her time to answer, but when she finally does, her expression is resolute, as though she's trying to prove a point to you. “No, I don’t regret it,” she murmurs, her words a mere breath against your lips. Wanda looks so taken by the hungry look in your eyes that she fails to see what comes next.

The kiss this time is a stark contrast from the last. There’s an edge of danger to it, almost like the kiss that started Wanda’s downfall that culminated in a near-death experience, the kiss that was punishing and every bit of the hatred you harbored for her. 

But there's also a desperation to it–as if you're sinking and this kiss is your lifeline; a frayed, ragged lifeline that could only be the one to pull you back to the surface. 

As Wanda's head hits the wall with a soft thud, a pang of concern breaks through the haze of your fervor. Swiftly, you slide your hand between her head and the hard concrete, cushioning her as the urgency of your kiss escalates. Wanda almost sobs at the subtle tenderness behind your action, the considerate gesture leaving her somewhat taken aback, considering the harsh exchange you'd had just moments before.

No, this is nothing like your previous encounter.

You're not biting down to break skin. Your fingers aren't pressing into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Your tongue isn't demanding or invasive, it's simply there, matching her rhythm and intensity. Wanda is unable to do anything but moan under you and rub her thighs together to relieve the pressure that’s building there.

Yet, you still don’t let her touch you. You don’t let her fingers venture up your stomach from under your shirt. Instead, you catch her hands, lacing your fingers through hers, and pull her arms above her head. All the while, your lips deftly trace a path down her throat. It’s soft and wet and so utterly delicate–everything Wanda thinks she hasn’t earned.

Nothing prepares her for the moment your hand makes contact with her core, even through the fabric of her shorts. She realizes just how much you’ve been holding back when you cup her forcefully, groaning from the heat and dampness that hits your palm.

If this means what Wanda thinks it means, she doesn’t want it to happen against the wall of her living room.

“Y/N?” she whispers raggedly in your ear, feeling the heel of your hand starting to grind against her clit. 

“Yeah…?” you moan against her heated cheek as your fingers slips beneath her panties and find wet, wiry curls.

“Fuck–” Wanda whimpers at the contact. “B-Bedroom, please.”

Following her lead, you hoist Wanda up and her legs instinctively coil around your waist. She directs you towards her bedroom with verbal cues, realizing you're far too engrossed in lavishing attention on the skin just above her breasts to care about bumping into furniture. Your hand drifts up her back, finding the clasp of her bra and skillfully unfastening it.

And then no words are spoken at all after that.

***

Wanda stirs awake near noon, realizing that she's skipped her therapy appointment. Instinctively, her hands reach out to the area beside her, expecting to feel your warmth. However, she is greeted only by the cool sheets of the bed, the space vacant.

You're gone.

While she had been lost in dreams where she had a second chance at the life she yearned to have with you, you had quietly dressed and slipped out of her apartment, leaving no trace or note behind. You had vanished as silently and swiftly as a dream at daybreak.

Wanda arches her back, mimicking the languid stretch of a cat, the resulting pops of her spine easing the tension more than the action itself. The sex was… phenomenal. She couldn’t think of a better word to describe it.

When a bit of the afterglow wears off, she is haunted by a question: What happens now?

More importantly, are you coming back? Or is this a one-time thing for you?

With a weighty sigh, Wanda allows herself to collapse back onto the mattress. Doubt creeps in as she begins to question whether her decision to let this unfold was the right one. After all, you’ve both been down this path before, sex was not a magic remedy that mended everything. 

What she couldn’t deny, however, is how gentle you were with her. You were making love to her, and nothing could sway Wanda from this belief. It sparks a tiny ray of hope within her that perhaps this time, you're ready to give her another chance.

Maybe, just maybe, you're open to trying again.

Yet, the vacant space next to her feels almost accusatory. Wanda has never been fond of waiting. But it’s the only thing she can do for now.

After all, beggars can’t be choosers.

***

The call from her therapist comes at around nine in the evening. Wanda considers it a little unprofessional, given the late hour, but she supposes that Calliope sees at least a dozen patients a day. Truthfully, she’s been anticipating this call all day, especially after she deliberately skipped her session to–

A soft snore escapes from your half-open mouth, drawing Wanda’s attention momentarily.

–spend time with you. Wanda can’t explain it, but she’s afraid to bring this up to Calliope. And she knows that if she sees Calliope or talks to her, it would open the floodgates and everything will come rushing out before she can stop them.

She's missed two calls now, but the phone in her hand vibrates again and Calliope’s name stares back at her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda finally picks up.

“Hello, Wanda?”

“Hi,” Wanda replies, aiming to sound cheerful.

Calliope wastes no time getting to the purpose of this call. “You missed this morning’s session. Did something happen?”

Wanda's gaze drifts to you, sleeping soundly, your hair a mess as it spreads out in every direction. The sheets have slid down, exposing your bare back in a manner that makes her want to abandon the call and join you.

“Oh, uh... I just got tied up at the cafe. Sorry for not informing your secretary,” she hastily lies.

“So, everything's okay then?”

“Yes,” Wanda confirms, her eyes never leaving you as she replies honestly this time. Calliope seems satisfied with that and proceeds to book a slot for Wanda two days hence before ending the call.

You open an eye at her lazily, your voice muffled by the pillow as you ask, “Who was it?”

“No one,” Wanda says without batting an eye. “Just a supplier for the coffee shop.”

Your response is a drowsy murmur, your face sinking deeper into the pillow as you pursue the lingering traces of Wanda's scent. A smile tugs at Wanda's lips at the innocence of the gesture, despite the fact that you’re very naked under the covers. She hadn’t anticipated she’d see you again so soon, moreso that she’d sleep with you again right away when she does. But you had showed up unannounced, yet again, and casually asked Wanda if she'd eaten dinner already. Wanda had barely gotten the word ‘yes’ out, before you’re urgently reaching out and snatching her into a hungry kiss.

And then it was all lips and touches and her coming into your mouth three times until she had to literally cover herself with her hand just to get you to stop. 

Wanda's cheeks warm as she surrenders to the memory of your fervent reunion from only a few hours prior, but your sleep-laden murmurings, muffled as they are by the pillow your face is buried in, yank her back to the present. She chuckles lightly and perches herself at the edge of the bed, drawing a line along your back with her fingertips, raising goosebumps along the path.

"Can you repeat that?" she prompts, massaging your neck.

You lift your head slightly, your eyelids still heavy with sleep. “I said–do you need me to go?”

Wanda shakes her head, even though you can't see her. “Let’s just sleep,” she whispers.

Wanda gets up to remove her shirt over her head. Then, she slides back under the sheets and curls up against you. She presses her bare body to your back, fitting herself perfectly against your shape. Your warmth seeps into her, filling the cold spots that your absence had left behind.

Wanda notes that this is the first time you’re willing to stay since before you found out she cheated on you. She closes her eyes and allows herself to drift away. If you’re staying, then there's an opportunity to talk about this tomorrow.

***

Leaving a slumbering Wanda behind is not easy. You have to gingerly disentangle yourself from her grip to avoid waking her up. Initially, sleeping with Wanda was not part of your plan, but seeing her with Valkyrie had stirred a sense of jealousy within you that led to a powerful desire to claim Wanda as yours.

And so it kept happening, again and again–like a drug you just couldn't shake off.

You haven't really thought about what it all means. To be honest, you've been actively avoiding it. A week of overthinking has left you stuck at a dead-end, feeling numb and desperate to feel something, anything at all.

And in all this, Wanda is the only one who seems to fill the void, the only one who doesn't make you feel so alone.

***

“Dr. Williams?” Pietro says hesitantly as he picks up the call.

“Hi, Pietro. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time,” comes Calliope's voice, clear and loud.

“No, I was just–did we have a scheduled meeting that slipped my mind?” he inquires, wondering about the suddenness of this call. 

“We didn't,” Calliope assures him. “I'm actually calling about Wanda. Have you had a chance to speak with her recently?”

Pietro doesn’t like the sound of this. “No, I haven’t. Is she okay?”

“She missed her appointment this morning without notice. It’s the second time in a row. And I just got off the phone with her… she was deflective.”

“I'll check in with her,” Pietro promptly assures, before adding more softly, “Should I be worried?”

“She has agreed to meet me on Tuesday,” Calliope replies, deftly skirting around his question. “So, it may not be a pressing matter. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“No problem at all, Dr. Williams. Feel free to call anytime.”

As the call ends, Pietro is left alone with his thoughts. His mind is whirring with worry for Wanda, and he sits there for a moment, lost in thought. With a sigh, he places his phone back on the coffee table, a frown etching itself onto his face.

Feeling restless, he picks up his phone again, fingers swiping the screen with a certain degree of nervousness. His gallery opens up, a collection of countless memories frozen in pixels. He scrolls through it, stopping at a particular picture that still haunts him.

It's a hard image to look at, a memory of a particularly painful day. But he keeps it, just in case he needs it, a ghost hiding in his phone.

He knows, if push comes to shove, he has this to fall back on.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife| @justagurlwholikes | @lizziesplant | @cowxpoke | @sokovianbaby | @swiftie1-0-1

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[anjaelle]

Wind Me Up

Pairing: Tangerine x Black!Reader

Warnings: Poking at an assassin's hidden praise kink for fun. No smut, but an allusion to smut.

Word Count: 1.1K

a/n: Something that was just rattling around in my head. What if you could get an assassin to whimper for you? There's something really fun about disarming a man that dabbles in violence for a living.

(gif source)

--

There were a few things in life that brought you pure, unfiltered pleasure: fresh laundry, the first scoop of ice cream from a carton, the sun on your face on a warm spring day, and making Tangerine flustered. It didn’t happen often. He very clearly liked being in control of most situations and had a huge affinity for bluntness.

And you usually acquiesced. But today you felt like being a menace.

You found him in the kitchen drinking whiskey and scrolling through his phone, chuckling under his breath. You could tell by the low chuckle that he was probably talking to Lemon. Because, between the both of you, Lemon was probably his favorite person and you couldn't even be mad about it.

You'd probably choose Lemon over you, too.

Tangerine was dressed down in black sweatpants and a tee shirt from some action movie you’d never seen, and his dark curls swept across his thick furrowed brows. You let out a slow, heavy sigh when he took a sip from his glass and his tongue darted out to absentmindedly lick his lower lip.

The devil on your shoulder said, “Ruin his evening.”

You strolled into the kitchen with pursed lips, admiring the way his arms and chest looked in that shirt and how good he smelled. You rested your elbow on the island separating you and said nothing but watched him with wide doe eyes until he sighed and shoved his phone into his pocket.

“You alright?” He casually asked. “What’s up?”

You felt the corners of your mouth twitch, but you softened your gaze. “Nothing, baby, I just wanted to come look at you.”

You both stared at one another for a beat, and he quirked a brow at you.

“…Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful, what do you mean?” You responded matter-of-factly. He squinted at you, but you maintained your innocence, “You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

He finished the last of his whiskey and placed the tumbler in the sink, all the while refusing to take his eyes off of you in suspicion. “The hell are you on? You takin’ the piss?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and sigh as you rounded the island to get closer to him, “I don’t joke about beauty, honey. I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

He snorted at you. Because of course he did. But as you hopped onto the counter and gently pulled him between your knees, he couldn’t help but rest his large, ring adorned hands on your thighs and mumble, “You’re serious? Or are you just trying to fuck with me? You want something.”

You felt his gaze rake over you, but you weren’t giving in. You would maintain the upper hand here. You gently caressed his chin and ran your thumb across his jaw.

“All I want is for you to keep looking at me. God, look at those eyes,” you cooed through slightly pursed lips, “and that nose, and those dimples, and those lips. Look at you. You’re so pretty, baby. How’d I get so lucky?”

His nose twitched, but you could see the hint of a pink bloom across his cheeks as he averted his eyes from yours, choosing to focus on his hands on you. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"

As you cocked your head to get a better look at his attempt at coyness, you shot him a playful and flirtatious smile, "You're so fucking cute when you blush."

"Okay no. Nope. Fuckin' no." He pulled away from you but you caught the way he seemed to fight the smile on his face by biting the corner of his mouth. Even though he turned his back to you and pretended to rummage through the fridge to escape your treachery, you knew you had Tangerine right where you wanted him. "You're not doing this."

"I don't know what you mean." You sighed, swinging your legs and hopping down from the counter.

"You do. You know what you're doing. You're being...me"

You couldn't even argue against that, because you were absolutely taking every page from his playbook. You wondered if anyone had ever told him these things before. Judging by his reaction, you guessed not. But it's not like you were really lying about what you told him. He really was the most gorgeous person you'd ever seen. Even his gruff, sarcastic demeanor had a level of natural charm to it. He had to have known that at least. You hummed to yourself and sidled up behind him, wrapping your arms around him to run your hands up his chest. You could feel his heart thud under your hand.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" You purred, placing kisses on his back, "I'm thinking about the way you looked last night...with my hand wrapped around your throat and that fucked stupid glaze in your pretty eyes."

You felt his back tense and he looked at you over his shoulder. You challenged his gaze and he swallowed hard fighting some unreadable thoughts bobbing around in that adorable head of his. He seemed to be coming up short, so he parted his lips to simply say, "You're evil."

Maybe. But you weren't wrong. You could feel yourself going powermad now that the shoe was on the other foot, and you couldn't bring yourself to stop now.

"So are you saying you don't like getting on your knees for me? We both know that's not true."

In the blink of an eye the fridge was closed, and you were back up on the counter with his hands gripping your hips. His face was even redder than it was before. You gave him your best shit-eating grin.

"You're not allowed to do that." He declared, though his voice cracked a bit and you saw right through the faux bravado. The look in his eyes didn't match his demand in the slightest.

"Do what?"

"Just...that. Whatever you're doin'. It's--"

"What do you mean? I'm being so nice to you. You don't like it?" You reached up to comb your fingers through his hair, and not so innocently grip a handful in your fist. He let out a low groan and slowly closed his eyes. "There he is," you cooed again, kissing the corner of his mouth and along the stubbled, delicate skin of his throat. And when you kissed the pulse point just behind his jaw, and nibbled on his earlobe--earning a low whimper that spurred you on--you whispered in his ear, "there's my sweet boy. You're so fucking perfect, baby."

He hesitated as if his brain short circuited, and he let out a hoarse, "Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hummed, pulling him in closer, "In fact--"

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he blinked like he'd been pulled out of a trance. Confusion and disappointment crossed his features, and as he pulled out his phone to answer, he shot you a sidelong glance.

"Yeah. It's me. What is it now?" he answered after clearing his throat. Considering his evening sufficiently ruined, you jumped down from the counter and kissed him on the cheek.

"Have fun at work." You whispered.

#tangerine x black!reader #tangerine x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #atj x reader #aaron taylor johnson x black!reader #atj x black!reader #jaelle writes

[sirfrogsworth]

Mounjaro's Revenge: The Inevitable Adventures of Froggie, Chapter Unknown

I keep saying I can't leave the house without having some kind of adventure. And I really thought I was going to have a quick, uneventful doctor's visit with my monthly checkup this past Wednesday. I'd go in, they'd check the box Medicare requires every month, and I'd come straight home.

But adventure seeks me out. I can't seem to escape its grasp. And, yes, sometimes I like having adventures. They give me something to write about. And sometimes they are fun memories. But sometimes adventures just make me tired. And not all adventures are positive.

For the past 3 weeks I have been on the second dosage amount of Mounjaro. Unlike the Ozempic, I have had a few issues with side effects. Roughly 48 hours after my injection, I get sick to my stomach and feel pukey. It lasts for about two hours. I either vomit and lose the urge or I hold it in and it fades. I am then compelled to take a nap.

Considering the weight loss and glucose control, getting sick for an hour or two per week isn't a huge deal. There is a good chance I will get used to the medication as time goes on, but even if I don't, I am okay with this consequence.

My injection day was Tuesday, and based on past experience, I figured I'd have until Thursday morning before I got sick. The past 2 episodes happened at almost identical times, so I figured Wednesday wouldn't be a problem.

But right before my doctor's appointment I started feeling extremely... rough.

Optimistic for no good reason, I was hopeful I could get through the appointment before the urge to vomit arrived.

I get to the office and there are 3 patients ahead of me. This was not a good sign. My doctor tends to overbook and I was probably going to have a bit of a wait. I arrived in the middle of a lively conversation about where to get a good steak in St. Louis. I'm used to waiting rooms being full of quiet and bored people staring at their phones so when I opened the door it felt like the conversation smacked me in the face.

The cast of characters were as follows...

There was an older black man who had the spirit of a kindly grandpa. He seemed nice and wise and was enjoying the steak conversation. Let's call him, Old Guy.

There was an older white fellow who was anxious about the wait time due to having another appointment soon. He was on hold with the other doctor's office trying to delay his appointment time. He was only mildly interested in steak due to that distraction. I already used Old Guy, so... Anxious Guy.

And then there was the steak expert who was leading the conversation. Actually, leading is not strong enough. He was *dominating* the conversation. As I sat down and his visage entered my field of view, I was a bit taken aback.

Do you know how in Star Trek everyone has a mirror universe doppelganger who may look the same, but they usually have personality traits that are reversed?

They are often identified by arch overacting or a change in facial hair.

The steak expert was my mirror universe counterpart. He was of similar age, height, and weight. Same color hair and eyes. He even wore similar clothing.

But he had a goatee instead of a beard. *gasp*

And he wore... sandals. *double gasp*

He had clearly been in a recent transporter mishap.

I mean, I could *never* wear sandals. The world is not ready to handle my nude foot and I find very few sandals have the load-bearing capacity necessary for people my size. You are asking for foot pain if you are over 300 pounds and wearing sandals.

Mirror Froggie was very outgoing and personable, but he had trouble filtering what he said and was often obliviously rude. He clearly thought himself to be hilarious but struggled to make even kindly Old Guy chuckle.

Old Guy said, "I think Longhorn makes a decent steak for the money."

And then Mirror Me's unfiltered response... "Longhorn is shit. You shouldn't eat there. You are wasting your money on shit steak."

"I don't know, I've always enjoyed..."

"I'm telling you, friend, it is shit steak. End of story."

You could tell that made Old Guy feel bad for suggesting what he liked. But he brushed it off and asked for a better suggestion. Mirror Froggie confidently told him of a restaurant called "Sam's" that had "the best steak in town."

Old Guy proceeded to ask Siri to look up Sam's and it took a few tries. He reminded me of my dad fighting with the iPhone and repeating things over and over with increasing volume. I think Old Guy wasn't specific enough as he got the wholesale club on the first few attempts. Finally he said, "SAMMM'S STEAKHOUSSSSE" and found success. Old Guy saw the reviews and some of them were... not great.

But Mirror Froggie was like, "You can't read reviews. They're all liars." And I was questioning why people would take the time to lie about a small St. Louis steakhouse, but whatever. He then said it was because the restaurant was in disrepair and needed new plumbing, but that's why they could sell such amazing steak at reasonable prices.

Theories are less logical in the Mirror Universe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anxious Guy got off his phone call and cursed into the void. He missed his other appointment. He interjected with, "Is that Sam's place expensive?" And that sent Mirror Froggie into a long diatribe about the price of meat at different places and his annoyance at steak-related inflation. Soon after, Anxious Guy finally got in to see the doctor. Old Guy was keeping Mirror Froggie busy with conversation, so I just closed my eyes and rested as they discussed the price of oversized shrimp "as big as your fist". I guess they ran out of things to say about steak.

As they were talking I started to get a spidey-sense about Mirror Froggie.

He *needed* conversation.

He *needed* distraction.

His boredom abhors a vacuum.

Whenever there was a lull or silent moment, I could see him getting very antsy. And if Old Guy got called in before Mirror Froggie... I was going to have a problem.

I was feeling sicker by the moment and did not have the bandwidth to help some stranger with his inability to accept boredom.

And... Old Guy was next.

Because, of course he was.

I feel like sitting there with my eyes closed and also not having said a word the entire time was a pretty decent social cue that I was not interested in talking. But Mirror Me decided to poke that notion with a stick in order to find a way in.

He speaks barely above a whisper, "I wish I could sleep in a public waiting room. Not sure how you do that."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling well. Nothing contagious, just very tired."

"Well, if you're sick, I guess you're in the right place, am I right? *long pause* Cuz we're next to a hospital. *short pause* Right?"

Oh great, he's a joke explainer.

Mirror Froggie did not care about my desire to sit in peace while I waited. His foot was anxiously a-tappin' and he was vibrating with energy that needed someplace to go. He tried standing up and walking in circles. And I guess because my eyes were shut he decided to narrate his walking and stretching to keep me informed. That satisfied him for roughly 20 seconds. He sat back down and was clearly struggling to be alone with his own thoughts.

"Hey, friend."

I open my eyes slowly.

"Do you see that magazine next to you? Would you mind handing that to me?"

I thought, "This is good. He's seeking out an alternate source of stimulation. He can read the magazine and I can rest until my turn."

Seriously, brain... where is this optimism coming from? I've been a cynical misanthrope for like 4 years now.

He flips through a few pages. "Look at this. It's got Oprah on the cover. It's got to be good, right? They don't put Oprah on the cover unless it is good, ya know? Though she doesn't look right after losing all that weight. You know what I mean, friend?"

Well, shit.

I didn't give him a distraction, I gave him a conversation starter. Still, I kept my eyes closed in the hopes he would give up.

"Hey, friend."

Crap.

"You want to hear a joke?"

I open my eyes. I'm not getting out of this.

"Sure." as unenthusiastically as I can manage.

He proceeds to tell three jokes all strung together. All of them terrible and none of them coherent enough for me to remember. I gave him complimentary singular chuckles even though two of the punchlines didn't make sense. I think one was about accidentally eating cat food.

"Hey, friend... how'd you like my jokes?"

I jokingly replied back, "Well, you said *a* joke and that was *three* jokes. That wasn't what I agreed to."

He chuckles and I close my eyes again.

"Hey, friend."

Jesus Christ, would someone jingle their keys for this dude?

"Do you want to hear a 'locker room' joke?"

Oh fuck me.

"I... guess?"

There was no way out of this aside from unpleasant confrontation and my energy calculation of that was much higher than just suffering through a dirty joke.

Here it is, as best as I can remember...

"So there is a pirate ship. And the captain has a beautiful daughter who has come aboard. He tells her that the crew hasn't seen a woman in a long time and they aren't safe to be around, so she should keep a razor blade 'down there.' After the voyage he assembles all of his men and instructs them to pull down their pants. Every one of them has had their dick cut off... except for one. The captain goes up to the only one with their dick intact and says, 'Thank you for not deflowering my only daughter. You should be commended for your restraint. And as a reward, I will make you my first mate.'"

I literally cannot type the punchline because it was an unintelligible noise. Basically, Mirror Froggie imitated someone without a tongue trying to speak.

Yeah. That happened.

I could not hide my disdain for this joke and I was feeling too awful to muster up any kind of response. He seemed confused by the absence of laughter from his wonderful rapey body mutilation joke.

"You get it, friend? He lost his tongue because he ate her pussy."

Yes, explaining the joke always helps... friend.

In whatever the opposite of the nick of time is, moments after this stranger said "ate her pussy"... the nurse calls Mirror Froggie in for his appointment.

I would feel relieved, but the Mounjaro side effects were getting worse and the urge to lose the remaining nutritional value from last night's dinner was increasing by the moment. I was next in line, so I was hoping Mirror Froggie didn't take up too much of the doctor's time with horrible "locker room" jokes and dubious steakhouse suggestions.

Roughly 5 minutes later the nurse calls me in to get my vitals. She weighs me and I am down another 3 pounds. That reminded me of why I was suffering this tummy tantrum. My blood pressure was perfect but my pulse was quite high. I was very anxious holding in my stomach contents and I tried to explain, but she asked me to try and relax to lower my heart rate. We compromised when I got it down to 107.

The nurse keeps forgetting that I don't really have a family anymore. And I know she has a lot of patients in and out and they probably all blend together. But she always ends up asking me questions that require me to remind her my parents are dead.

"Did your mom put up the Christmas tree yet?"

I went with, "No tree this year. Too much work."

"Aw, that's too bad. I actually got mine up early this year. You gotta put up a tree for Christmas."

Thankfully her job was done at this point and she abruptly ended the conversation.

Next up, the pee guy.

He has never actually told me what his name is so that is just what I call him in my head.

Every month I have to sacrifice my urine to the gods of Medicare so they know I am taking my meds and not selling them on the mean streets of Spanish Lake. And the pee guy always comes in to collect my sample. The little cup is kept in a white paper bag for discretion. He used to just give you a clear ziplock, and that was a little embarrassing, as everyone in the waiting room could see your pee. I definitely prefer the new white paper bag system.

It could be my lunch or some cookies or a bunch of peanuts.

Who is to know?

The pee guy is a bit of a talker as well. But the nice thing about his conversational style is that you can't get in a word edgewise. If he asks you a question, he'll even answer it for you. This requires very little effort on my part.

"Hey there, Mr. Benjermin!"

(I have noticed Ben-jer-min is a common pronunciation among Black folks in the area. Not sure if that is just a St. Louis thing or not. Perhaps I have a dialectologist follower who knows.)

I wave hello.

"How's it going, Mr. Benjermin!? Good? Good. Just gotta get your sample. Still taking the same meds? (I nod yes.) Okay, just need you to sign here. New Year's is coming up. Gotta be careful not to party too hard. You'll be regretting that. Though you don't look like a drinker to me. (I nod no.) Yeah, you're a good one. You keep it clean. Okay then, Mr. Benjermin. You're all set. Here is your new sample cup for next time."

He replaces my white paper bag with a new white paper bag and leaves the room without me saying a word. And I'm just realizing he asks me if I am a drinker quite a lot. He must sense my teetotaler spirit or something because he always assumes (correctly) that I don't drink. He's just really concerned about me partying too hard.

Finally the doctor comes in.

My doctor is kind, compassionate, and competent. The almost 3 Cs. But he's got a touch of what I call "Boomer-itis." He's on the progressive side of most things but there are a few ingrained sensibilities from that generation he didn't escape. It's mostly harmless. Though he said something sexist in front of a nurse practitioner student during my last visit that made her roll her eyes behind him.

He greets me and I tell him I'm not feeling well from the Mounjaro and that I am still recovering from my trip to Florida. He tells me that a lot of people can get sick for days from these new drugs, so getting sick for an hour or two isn't so bad. I agree, though I really wish I had not gotten sick at the exact time of this appointment. I keep eyeballing the trash can in the corner just in case things go sideways in my tummy.

He asks about my trip to Florida and I predicted that—as I already had photos ready to go on my phone. I scroll through them, showing off amazing cityscapes and mountainous clouds and an orange sunset over a lake—hoping to impress him with my photography skills to no avail. And then he sees Katrina. Now, I am not blind to her attractiveness, but I do sometimes forget how people respond when they see her next to me.

"Oh, wow. She's beautiful!" he exclaims.

I almost felt flattered on her behalf. But then his Boomer-itis starts to kick in. And he repeats, "Yeah, she's *really* beautiful. Just a friend, you said?" His facial expression and tone of voice are like, "You poor thing, you have been friendzone'd." And probably a touch of, "She's out of your league, buddy." I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it is this familiar look of pity and worry. This is usually followed up with a probing question trying to figure out what our "deal" is. Why is it so odd to that generation that a man and woman can earnestly be just friends and perfectly content with that arrangement?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just say, "She's gay" and that she isn't "out of my league" as she plays an entirely different sport. (Competitive Subaru Ownership?) But my friendship with Katrina is not some consolation prize due to her queerness. I shouldn't have to explain or justify why I'm "just friends" or why I'm not "being led on."

In a worried tone, "So, umm, how'd you two meet?"

There it is.

"She is an artist. I posted some of her work on my website and it was very popular and helped people find her work. She messaged me to say thank you and we were instant friends. 10 years later she's my best friend and very much like family."

Thankfully his pity face evaporated and he finally saw how long-lasting and meaningful this friendship was. But it is a weirdly common obstacle I have noticed whenever people see a fat guy has a conventionally attractive friend.

Friends are great. Friends have been more supportive and beneficial to me than any romantic entanglement I've ever had.

All of my friends are hot and queer and that's awesome.

Note to self: Put that on a t-shirt.

Knowing how difficult it was, he congratulated me on surviving the trip and we wrapped up our appointment quickly. All I have left to do is check in with his assistant, get my prescriptions sent in, and make my next appointment. I can see the finish line, but my tummy is rumbling and I am making contingency plans for the Great Upchuck of 2023™. I'm clocking trashcans with plastic liners. I'm trying to remember where the nearest restroom is. And then I look down at the little white paper bag containing my urine sample cup and think, "Last resort."

Trinica (the competence ninja and my favorite person in the office) is processing my meds and searching the calendar for next month's visit. Shelly is keeping quiet and working on her computer. I start pacing back and forth. I'm not sure what I think that will do, but I think desperation is taking over at this point.

Shelly sees me and asks, "How's that whole disability situation going for you?" She is acting like my best friend now after cursing at me on the phone. I have a feeling she had an unpleasant conversation with my doctor after that episode because she isn't this sweet and nice to anyone.

I give her the update, "Everything is submitted. My lawyer is happy with all of the records we were able to find. It's just a waiting game now. It could be a couple of months but if I have to see a judge it could be over a year."

She commiserates with me about how slow the process can be.

Then, out of fucking nowhere, Mirror Froggie reappears in the little sliding reception window like a jumpscare in a horror movie.

Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?

"Hey Trinica, do you have a business card for the doctor? I want to recommend him to Doug."

Who the fuck is Doug? Are we supposed to know Doug? Is Doug the tongueless pussy-eating pirate who needs medical attention?

Trinica looks in her desk and is unable to find a spare card. So she stops processing my stuff and starts hunting around the office. She has a bad leg so she is slowly limping while searching every desk. I have never wanted to strangle anyone before, but my doppeldouche was really pushing his luck.

At this point I am just staring at the little trash can in the blood-draw room. I can feel the scrambled eggs reversing course through my digestive system.

Trinica finds a fucking card for fucking Doug and fucking Mirror Froggie finally fucks off to bother people that are not me.

Trinica gets me all sorted, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and make to the car.

I sit in the driver's seat, and with that unearned optimism, say to myself, "I made it."

For all of you who are squeamish about bodily fluids, you can just pretend this is where the story ends. Everything was fine. I made it home and was happy and comfortable and nothing gross happened. The nausea faded away and I lived happily ever after.

The End.

Thank you for reading this and have a lovely day.

Just scroll on by to the next post!

.

.

.

Okay, so you all probably thought I was foreshadowing a monumental barf.

But foreshadowing is typically subtle. You don't want to give away the ending. Of course this was going to end in barf. The barfing was inevitable. The barf was not what I was *actually* foreshadowing at all.

Did anyone catch what it was?

You know that discrete white paper bag?

The one that could be for peanuts or maybe a sammich and definitely not my urine sample cup?

The last resort?

Look, it's all I had.

I was not going to make it home. I was not going to make it back into the bathroom. No trash bins on the horizon. Nothing in my car.

At first it was just an itty bitty baby barf. A perfect amount to be contained in a flimsy paper bag. I felt a relief wash over me.

"That's all?" still being stupidly optimistic.

But then I made that noise.

That... pre-retch noise.

That one where your head kinda juts forward and your lips make a giant O shape and you make a very specific grunting sound. That sound where if another person hears it, they involuntarily make the same specific grunting sound.

This was when I had one of those movie moments when a character knows they are about to die and they can't do anything about it. And I made this exact face as I waited for the impending doom of a vomitous explosion.

The Great Upchuck of 2023™ commenced.

And it was... intense.

Everything inside my stomach transferred rapidly, furiously, projectile-ly into the bag of foreshadowing.

I mean, I'm pretty much convinced my stomach is a TARDIS because I do not remember ingesting that much food. This sheer volume of barf had to be coming from another dimensional plane.

I could see it staining the sides of the bag as it was clearly not meant for this. When I finished it was barely intact—soggy, if you will. When I was absolutely sure I had ralph'd to completion, my only option was to gently place it on the passenger's side floor (sans floor mats). All I needed was for it to last 5 more minutes on the trip home and then I could dispose of it and pretend this never happened.

Physically I felt such a relief. Sometimes there is this post-puke euphoria where you just feel, well... lighter. Unburdened with no longer having that feeling. Happy it is over with.

I place the key in the ignition and head for home. As I'm driving I can't help but stare at the bag. I can see it mocking me as it changes colors. The exterior was getting... damp. If this were someone else's vomit, I would have been vomiting because of it. Just... so gross.

I get home and park the car. I walk around to the passenger side to begin the extraction process. I pull the trash can close and I have to psych myself up to deal with this horrible hurling happenstance.

And this next part, well... it would be hilarious if it weren't so damned disgusting.

I stare at the bag.

The bag stares back at me.

I take a deep breath and approach the bag.

The bag grins at me.

I gingerly grasp the very tippy-top in an effort to not touch any of the offending material.

I slowly lift up the bag.

And the very instant it reaches just enough height to do the most damage...

The bottom falls out.

If the bag had broken just as I was picking it up, the carnage would have been minimal. Only a small area to clean up. But clearly this bag read the Wikipedia page on air burst nuclear weapons. It knew you get a much more devastating blast radius if you detonate from an elevated position.

A TARDIS worth of partially digested scrambled eggs just pour and splatter and spray onto the floor of my car. It looked like the bag was puking out my puke.

The bag is now dead but I can feel its ghost laughing at me.

I stand there frozen holding the top of this evil deceased white paper bag trying and failing to process what just happened.

I realize I have no idea what to do with this situation. This is something that would usually be followed with, "MOoooOOOoooommmmm! How do I clean up vomit?"

And she would say, "You'll never do it right. I'll clean it up."

And I'd pretend to be like, "Oh no, it's my mess. I could never let you do that for me."

And she'd insist and break out her endless supply of very specific cleaning potions and magics and soon it would be as if the vomit didn't even exist.

So, I guess my question is... do I have to get my car detailed now?

The Actual End.

#long post #the inevitable adventures of froggie #trigger warning #vomit mention #rape mention

[rileyslibrary]

I’m rewatching succession and I can’t stop thinking about kendall roy. what about a prompt with ghost dealing with a partner who is a drug addict and is in recovery?

Hi reader! I rarely watch TV, and had no clue who or what you were referring to, so I did some research. Also, you didn’t specify what you meant by “partner” (in the army or real life), so I tried to incorporate a little bit of both. 🍫

Warnings: mentions of drugs, addiction, disease, death of a relative and dark humour/making sarcastic comments of a very serious situation below. DNI if you’re uncomfortable with any of the above.

“What are you thinking about?” Ghost asks as he takes a sit next to you at the roof of the the truck.

“Y’know, stuff.” You reply, gazing at the horizon.

“Drug stuff?” He asks.

You slowly turn to look at him. For a man who has been trained to be a tactical machine, he is anything but tactful in his interactions with humans. Sure, you’ve seen him feed stray dogs and pet alley cats while you were on patrol together, but when it came to people, he had the social grace of a clown at a funeral.

“Well, I do now, lieutenant,” you reply sarcastically.

“Well, shit,” he shrugs and lights a cigarette, “didn’t mean to remind you.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure him, “it’s always on my mind.”

“Talk to me about it.”

He wants to play therapy now; great. Every time he saw you like this, lost in your thoughts, he came and talked to you, persuading you to express your feelings. Things which you considered to be native to this man, but he was trying his best, even if he was heavy-handed in doing so.

“Sometimes I feel lost,” you explain, “without it.”

He nods, indicating that you continue talking. You sigh and look up at the night sky.

“Like, I know I’m doing the right thing, Simon,” you continue, “but I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re a lot of things, love,” he says, “good things.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side, “last time I remember doing something good was not stealing from an old lady because I thought she needed the money more than me.”

“See?” He says and opens his arms, “that was a good thing.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, “very Dalai Lama of me.”

You both stay silent for a while, and he turns to you.

“I know why you feel lost,” he says.

“Enlighten me, Lt.”

“You’re both strong and fragile at the same time,” he explains, “your will is strong, but your mind is playing tricks on you.”

“My mind is a mess.”

“I know,” he agrees, “which is normal.”

“Ha! Normal says the guy who walks around with a skull mask on,” you spit, and he looks offended.

“Hey, love, we talked about this,” he says, “don’t want to distract the enemy with my moneymaker.”

He gestures at his semi-covered face, and you both chuckle. Unfiltered comments and offensive remarks came out of your mouth quite often now that you’re in recovery. The good thing was that Ghost was a master at turning insults into banter, which was quite helpful in making you reflect on your words. He was very understanding and patient for a guy who was trained to be tough and emotionless on the battlefield.

“How do you know so many things about it?” You ask.

“It.” He mocks, “don’t talk about your struggles like they’re fucking Pennywise.”

You let out a long exhale. “Jesus, man,“ you exclaim, “how do you know so much about addiction and recovery?”

He looks down at his dangling legs. “My brother,” he explains, “went through the same thing.”

“Fuck,” you sigh, “hope he’s okay now.”

“He’s no longer with us,” he replies and faces you, “but you still are.”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, and he thanks you. He had never opened up about his family before. You knew he had issues but nothing more than that. Perhaps that’s another reason why he’s so supportive of your journey. He wants to see someone make it out alive.

“Seriously though,” he continues, “what you’re doing is huge. You’re fighting against a disease, and that takes a lot of courage and strength.”

“Disease?” You scoff, “you make it sound like I have cancer or something.”

“Addiction is a disease,” he reminds you, “it’s not something you choose to have, just like cancer. But you’re fighting it.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter.

“Nothing worth having comes easy, love,” he says, “and what’s better to have than your health?”

He’s right. You’ve been so focused on the struggle that you haven’t acknowledged your progress. You’ve been sober for six months now, a huge accomplishment. It hasn’t been easy, but with Simon and your therapist’s support, you’ve been able to stay on track.

“Thanks, Simon,” you say, “for everything.”

“Anytime, love,” he says and puts out his cigarette, “now let’s get back to base; Price’s expecting us for the meeting.”

“Can we stop at a convenience store before we go?” You ask, “I’m thirsty.”

“Sure,” he says, “what are you getting, a Coke?”

You laugh and gently punch his shoulder. “Yes, lieutenant,” you say, “A zero one, of course.”

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #simon riley #cod mwii #cod ghost #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2

[itsagrimm]

Wegbier

Translation: a beer for the road. It’s the drink (often a beer but other drinks like Clubmate or Almdudler for those that don’t drink alcohol are also common) one takes with them when wandering from one space to another while out with friends. And I literally mean wandering. It’s not a drinking while driving thing but a drinking while walking or using the public transport thing.

CN mentions of alcohol and drinking, theft, reader gets lifted up (hold on tight, spidermonkey!), drunk König

Summary: You are walking home with your boyfriend after a night out and cause havoc.

For legal reasons this is a joke.

König X gn reader

1,2 k words

Song that fits this: The Cure – The Lovecats

It was night. Or morning. Somewhere in between when it was hard to tell. You had missed the train to get back into town and instead of waiting for the replacing night bus, you had allowed König to talk you into walking.

“Come on!”, he called back over his shoulder. His long strides made him leave you behind ever 5 minutes and he had to turn around and wait for you to catch up.

“I don’t want to walk anymore!”, you lamented, tired from spending the last hours out with friends and enjoying the summer night at the lake.

“Leave me here, just let me sleep in the woods.”, you gasped dramatically, “That fallen tree with the moss over there looks so cosy.”

He starred into the woods, “That tree looks rotten.”

You suppressed a yawn and took a sip from your Wegbier before dragging yourself on. “Alright, nevermind. Off wandering home, we go. Through the dark hours of the night.”

König chuckled, “Since when are you so dramatic?”

“Since when are you so keen on walking everywhere?”

Another chuckle. “It’s not even 2 kilometres. You are just too used to cars. Less whining, more walking.”

“Easy for you to say, König. You take a step and you already have made about half of that distance.”

“That’s an…”, he paused and took a sip from his Wegbier before continuing while searching for the word, “…exaggeration. That’s the English word. Exaggeration. You exaggerate. For the dramatic effect.”

It was your turn to chuckle.

The evening and the alcohol had turned you into an overdramatic tipsy mess.

But it had turned König into the unfiltered version of himself, laying every thought bare with delightful simplicity.

Your visit in König’s hometown had been fun. It showed you a playful side in him when he joked around with his family, showed you places he loved, or taught you new german words until your head spun from the confusing grammar and unfamiliar pronunciations.

A more surprising thing to you, however, was the amount of walking.

To the store.

To friends.

The odd habit of having to leave the house at least once a day for a little walk like an animal stalking their territory.

And now you walked home with your boyfriend.

At least he walked. You needed a break.

“Come on! We nearly made it”, he called once again before stopping in his tracks and started laughing.

It was a gremlin laugh. One of those laughs followed up by either something very funny or very concerning.

You stared, slightly confused, and finished your beer before putting it next to a trash can for easier access to whoever collected the trash. Another habit König had taught you.

“What is it?”, you called and caught up with your boyfriend, following his stare onto the other side of the street.

“I need this.”, he growled.

“What?”

He nodded into the direction of one of the signs at the side of the road.

You squinted your eyes to see better despite the twilight and the distance to the sign.

K-Ö-N-I-G-S-S-T-R-A-S-S-E.

Your slow, tired and intoxicated brain needed a moment before finally gluing together the letters and translating the word.

Königsstrasse.

Kingstreet.

The street sign displayed your boyfriends callsign.

He laughed again and finished his beer.

“You in?”

You turned to him. “You mean, stealing it?”

He shrugged.

“Yeah. It’s fairly dirty. It will be replaced soon anyway.”

“Awww,”, you teased, “Are you, an active mercenary, trying to justify your crimes? No need, I’m in.”

He nodded as if only half listening and already planning the heist while finishing his own beer and leaving it next to yours at the trash can.

You looked around. A bit off from you there were a couple of houses, dark and silent as its inhabitants likely were deep asleep at this time. The street was empty. And above you a sole nightingale had started to sing.

Determined to get that sign, you crossed the street.

It was up high. Very high.

You jumped, trying to touch it only to miss it by a couple of centimetres.

“There is an easier way.”, König rasped, appearing out of thin air right behind you like a lynx before grabbing you and putting you onto his shoulders.

“Woah!”, you cried out in surprise, “A warning, next time please?”

“Next time? Do you think we are making this a habit, Mausi?”

You giggled at the sound of the pet name and started to feel the street sign for any way to remove the board from the pole.

“Shit!”, you cursed, “We need a screwdriver. Or a socket wrench.”

“A what?”

“A socket wrench.” You made a few cracking sounds to imitate a socket wrench while circling your hands like using… well, a wrench.

“Ah”, was all your boyfriend did while fumbling at his belt underneath you.

You grabbed the sign to steady yourself and grimaced. It really was dirty.

“Try this.”, König passed you his multi tool, “Try the screwdriver on the left side.

You mumbled a few curses while trying to see and get out the right piece of the multi tool in the twilight.

“Got it.”, you finally whispered after having cut yourself nearly twice while fumbling with the tool, “Why do you even have that with you, König?”

“To steal shit and cause havoc of course”, he replied without hesitation.

“Ah-a”, you replied while working on dislodging the sign. It took you a few tries but König hardly swayed underneath you or complained about your weight while you worked on securing the trophy.

“I have it.”, you finally declared and pulled the sign free.

“Is it heavy?”

“No, König, I can hold it. Just let me get down.”

Another of those gremlin snickers escaped your boyfriend as he stepped away from the pole and started walking into the direction of the town.

“What are you doing!”, you cried, trying to hold onto him with the multitool in one hand and the in spiderwebs and dirt covered huge sign in your other.

“I’m carrying you home. You didn’t want to walk anyway, and I’m tired of waiting for you, Mausi.”

“Fucking hell.”, you cursed while grabbing onto his head for balance.

XXX

Epilogue

It was past midday as you woke up. König was snoring peacefully next to you with the pillow over his head to keep out the light.

Still feeling sleepy but not tired enough to get up yet, you turned – and stilled.

Next to the bed was a sign.

A huge streetsign.

You elbowed König and he groaned in protest.

“What is it?”, he grumbled.

“Exactly. What is this?”

With a sheepish look he looked over you.

“Huh, Mausi. That looks like a night's out yield.”

#könig is a bunch of racoons in a trenchcoat #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x you #könig call of duty #koenig #könig is a gremlin #grimmwriting

[lavendergoddesstarot]

How do people perceive your Instagram/social media? (Unfiltered)

Pick a picture/pile

*Remember these may not be true, but it is just how people perceive your social media*

Pile 1:

Page of Swords: People think your Instagram/social media is full of knowledge. You may post educational, thought provoking posts and pictures. This can also mean people perceive you as someone who is full of intelligence and someone who's very skilled. A lot of people most likely spy and check your social media often in secret. They also may think you keep a lot of things hidden and only share your perfect moments. Your posts are likely organized and thought out beforehand.

Pile 2:

7 of Swords: People think your Instagram/social media is deceptive in some way. Some may perceive you as a scammer or someone who hides the truth to make themselves look good. I feel this may be something innocent like charging high prices for a certain service and people thinking it's a ripoff(Like people who think tarot readings should be free or cheaper). So you may have a business or service you offer.

The Chariot: People think you are very self focused and driven. Some people may think you'll do whatever it takes to win and get ahead. You may be a Cancer or have Cancer/4th House placements.

Pile 3:

Knight of Wands: People think your Instagram/social media is full of fun and adventure. You may post mostly content of yourself on vacation or doing fun activities. People think you're always on the move and exploring something new. This gives me vlogger/content creator type of energy. You may also post very consistently or post a lot of pictures/stories/posts. Your post are likely sporadic and maybe even random.

#tarot #tarot reading #tarot community #pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a picture #astrology #pick a image #pick a pile #tarot daily #divination

[themedialmercurial]

✨🥂Leo in the houses and where you shine🥂✨

Depending on where leo is located in your natal chart, it shows you where you shine and where you are bold and unapologetically you. It's where you show the most unwavering passion (dare I say even stubbornness 👀) 🥂💛

P.S. this post is based on my own opinions and interpretations of these placements. This is my very first "astrovation" post so yeah🥸

✨LEO IN THE FIRST HOUSE✨

In the first house, leo shines within the natives public appearance in both their physical looks and personality. They often stand out for their piercing eyes and big hair (if not big hair in the sense of an afro for example, their hair could stand out for its colour and general style that not many others tend to have) since leo is represented by the lion, hence its mane as well. They have a big heart alongside a big personality to accompany it, making them very lovable people. The ascendant house is ruled by aries and in turn, aries rules the brain. This would likely present as an individual with a bubbly, fiery personality who is passionate about their loved ones and their interests. They are the type of people you can hear from a mile away. You can oftentimes find them wearing bright colours to accentuate their overall glittery disposition.

✨LEO IN THE SECOND HOUSE✨

In the second house, leo shines in affairs related to speaking (as in a powerful, compelling voice that easily catches the attention of others) and the way in which they are able to convey their message. The individual may have a speaking tone comparable to a lion (I know this comparison is far fetched lol). They may even have an odd yet compelling singing voice that attracts attention. Next, those with leo in the second house tend to gravitate to bright, shiny jewelry such as, of course, gold (yellow gold in particular. The second house is ruled by taurus and in turn, taurus rules the mouth, vocal chords and neck among other specific parts, connecting the dots as to why these natives have a way of speaking and wearing jewelry (necklaces specifically) that complement their fiery side. They too tend to show a particular passion towards their finances and possessions, likely to show their proudness for their material achievements through their captivating voice. Finally, this person may feel compelled to express their emotions raw, and unfiltered. The lion here cannot hold back its roar in times of great intensity.

✨LEO IN THE THIRD HOUSE✨

In the third house, leo shines in its ability to communicate physically, using their arms, hands, feet to create bodily gestures, such as dancing. The third house is the house of gemini and, in turn, rules over body parts that there are two of, just like the twin symbol of the gemini. These are natives who are bold in how they express themselves, maybe even more comfortable with the use of profanity (free expression)? I can envision them even writing and thinking in a less filtered way and expressing their opinions unwaveringly. They stand firm in their ideas and may appear extroverted (even if that may not be the case in real life). The individuals with this placement may also gravitate towards more boisterous means of communication and or learning themselves such as hip-hop and salsa dancing. As for learning, they may prefer brightly-coloured media and energetic music to hold their attention. Finally, these natives tend to show a passion for learning and will likely love to share their findings with others, in a bubbly and engaging way. In early education, they can be known to be highly engaged in class discussions.

✨LEO IN THE FOURTH HOUSE✨

In the fourth house, leo shines in affairs related to the family and home life, as the fourth house is that of the cancer. These natives are fierce protectors of their family, especially in cases where someone near and dear to them is wronged. I can imagine these individuals planning all sorts of parties and events, particularly in the comfort of their own backyard to embrace the company of their loved ones while in their sanctuary. Also, they can be more intense in the way they choose to "nurture" their children for instance. They may come off as intense and upset when they notice something off about a relative, ready to confront whoever is responsible for their misery. At the end of the day, the pain of their family becomes their pain and they do not play around, just like the ferocity of a lion. This house too governs the stomach, to which I can envision this placement my enjoy cooking "summery" foods such as tacos, pastas, red velvet cake among more vibrant foods. As a means of self-care, they may pamper themselves with bright home decorations, flowers, gold appliances and many more things of that nature.

✨LEO IN THE FIFTH HOUSE✨

In the fifth house, leo shines, well in its own assigned house! Leonine energy naturally shines here and with affairs related to the heart, literally and figuratively. These natives find solace in their hobbies and romantic endeavours. For fun, those with this placement may gravitate towards "heart-healthy" activities such as cardio, dancing and running (as they promote increased <3 rate). They may even dabble in more artsy interests such as painting and singing to feel more alive. In addition to heart-healthy activities, they too will be bold in the pursuit of lovers and will not hesitate to put their best foot forward. They know what they want and they use their heart to guide them in the right direction. They are adventurous people who do not shy away from the spotlight and the opportunity shine in any faucet of their life.

✨LEO IN THE SIXTH HOUSE✨

In the sixth house, leo shines in its ability to thrive in their daily routine as the sixth house is that of virgo, thus shines a light over affairs planning, health and self-improvement as well. These natives may indulge in a daily exercise regiment, including workouts that are particularly beneficial for digestion (since virgo rules the intestines, liver and pancreas). Yoga, bike-riding and walking are prime examples of exercises these natives may indulge in as a means of maintaining their health. In regards to their get ready for work routine, they might opt for reds, oranges and yellows in their outfits (for some reason, a burgundy pantsuit with gold jewellery stands out here) as well as bright red lipsticks to balance out the look. They're the kind of people to blast all sorts of empowering music as they prepare for their job. After work, however, they may decompress with a gold face mask or a nice, bright bath bomb in a bath of course. I can too envision a nice robe, pjs and slippers as a part of their notorious routine. Before bed, they might be the type to indulge in a nice cup of tea.

✨LEO IN THE SEVENTH HOUSE✨

In the seventh house, leo shines in its ability to commit wholeheartedly to endeavours related to libra-esque qualities and, of course, special emphasis on equilibrium. In affairs related to partnerships of all sorts, whether love (marriage in particular), or business, these individuals give their undivided attention and feel the passion course through their veins (since libra rules the veins of course). As well as this can be beneficial, particularly in keeping others engaged with the native, this can too go south with affairs related legal matters. The individual may not know it in their nature to slow down and may result to defensiveness when the slightest question is asked of them. They also can be prone to conflict in undeveloped, straying away from the natural libran quality of equilibrium, which can cause much internal frustration to the native as they just want to express their caring side in a way that no one would doubt for even a second.

✨LEO IN THE EIGHTH HOUSE✨

In the eighth house, leo shines in its natural magnetism and appeal as does scorpio, the representing force of this house. With this placement in particular, strangers may feel inexplicably drawn to the native though some physical attributes may explain this phenomena. The native may have particularly appealing hips and are likely curvy (scorpio rules the hips), making them more romantically desirable thanks to the leonine energy boost. In events related to growth and transformation, leo is loud and proud in their journey, that's not to say that there aren't any struggles of course. This scorpion and leonine energy may tend to clash as leo does not shy away whereas the 8th house tends to be more secretive. This may lead the native to take a more careful approach (more-so if undeveloped maybe) in growth and during their journey, but I can imagine them wanting to scream from the rooftops to anyone willing to listen about their secret experiences. When glow-ups come to mind in particular, this individual will literally shine brighter be more in tune with their leo-like traits.

✨LEO IN THE NINTH HOUSE✨

In the ninth house, leo shines in affairs related to higher education, religion and travel (journeys of all sorts), since this house is governed by sagittarius. The lion is confident in their school-like abilities and applies their knowledge sans hesitation. Since sagittarius also rules the legs and thighs, I can imagine the natives' own would stand out in a positive way. They may enjoy walking, hiking or running, to account for their travels all the while basking in the suns' natural, healing light. Or, they may end up having to a lot of walking at school? Additionally, this individual may also have strong religious foundations that they hold unwaveringly in the way the conduct their daily lives and give them the strength to tackle all sorts of challenges in life.

✨LEO IN THE TENTH HOUSE✨

In the tenth house, leo shines in its public perception and affairs related to the career. This is the house of capricorn, placing a more serious outlook on the perception of the world onto the native. Depending on who the individual just so happens to encounter, authority figures may feel strongly about them. On one hand, they will appreciate the natives fiery side and tenacity and on the other, may almost feel insulted by their lack of filter. In relation to career, this person naturally occupies the spotlight, making them the perfect choice for a performer, allowing them to naturally express their leo-like confidence to the world for entertainment purposes. These individuals can often be referred to as "king" or "queen" in the sense that they appear very self-involved in their career affairs. Regarding physicality, capricorn governs the skeletal system of the body; bones, joints and of course teeth. This could result in any of these parts of the body appearing more prominent, maybe even v-shaped tips to an extent (like those of a lion)?

✨LEO IN THE ELEVENTH HOUSE✨

In the eleventh house, leo shines in affairs related to clubs, friendship groups and initiatives that affect the collective, as aquarius is the one who governs this astrological house. The native naturally shines in their friend group and gives off leader vibes in a good way. These are the kind of people who make friends pretty much anywhere and are able to join any friend circle. Also, I can see this native joining clubs that allow them to express their creativity and self-expression such as drama club or even a dance club, more than likely with their group of friends (or new found friends within their clubs of course). As for collective endeavours, the native may find themselves in events such as communal carwashes and bake sales that allow them to interact with many and share their confident energy to the collective. Since aquarius also governs the calves and ankles, returning back to the point of clubs, the native may seek cardio-like activities to accentuate said parts of themselves.

✨LEO IN THE TWELFTH HOUSE✨

In the twelfth house, leo shines, well in affairs related to the hidden part of self, parts that are repressed and should be released. This native keeps their loud, boisterous self to themselves, often fearing the judgment of others. Deep-down, they know that they want to be seen by others but they allow their fears to talk them out of it and promptly retreat back into their shell. Only once in a blue moon may they express themselves to their loved ones though quickly shy away once they point out their abilities, despite the most likely positive response they garner. This reaction is born of insecurity and self-esteem, leading the native to oftentimes feel inadequately loved, despite their own withholding of their true self. To overcome this, the individual must learn to loosen up a little and take baby steps in revealing their personality with loved ones. Only then will they be able to expand and develop their suppressed leonine qualities and live a more fulfilling life.

#leothroughthehouses #astrology #leo #shineyourlight #astrological houses #astro community #astro #astrovations #astrology observations #astro notes #themedialmercurial

[concerningwolves]

Hey! Do you have any tips for breaking writers block when you're adhd and/or autistic? Be it your own tips or a link to another post? My friend and I need help haha

Ahh sorry you got buried under spam and old ask game asks. (I... really need to sort my ask box >.<' ). But here we go, a month late, and hopefully better late than never:

Quick ideas for beating writer's block when autistic and/or ADHD

I've got this old post I wrote on writer's block and focus troubles. Ironically, this was before my autism diagnosis but the tips still happen to be things I, an autistic person, did to manage writing when faced with executive dysfunction (except I didn't know what executive dysfunction was at that point lol). I'm linking this with one important caveat, though: if you have ADHD, "stepping away" might do more harm than good; struggling to start tasks is a Big Thing with ADHD, so not starting the task at all is entirely counterproductive. (Unless you're in burnout! Here's a post about the differences between block and burnout with some ideas on what to do for each, in case that's at all helpful to you).

And here's something yoinked from another old ask-answer:

sometimes a break from more “serious” writing is what you need. Maybe try and take the characters from your main project and drop them somewhere else for the hell of it. I like to throw my characters into the MCU without warning like “lmao have fun in a strange modern world where there are gods and a guy in an iron flying suit bye.” Or, if fandom cross-overs aren’t your thing, find a writing prompt or take an idea you like and use it to form a short story with your characters instead.

Some other ideas I've seen around for writer's block with ADHD/Autism are:

Try voice recording or text to speech (i.e., absolute stream-of-consciousness unfiltered brain-to-mouth, giving yourself permission to 100% bullshit if you like, and see what rattles loose in the brain box)

Stream of consciousness writing in general, not even necessarily about a particular prompt or particular project. This one can be done in combination with:

Writing sprints! One minute timers, two minute timers, five minutes – set it for as long as you want, but when you're fighting executive dysfunction and/or difficulty focusing, the burst of urgency that comes from a shorter timer is very helpful.

And speaking of the sense of urgency: gamify your writing! There are different ways to do this, with varying elements of risk. I'll link some ways to do this at the end under "resources".

Exercise. I don't necessarily mean hitting the gym, but a quick burst of exercise prior to writing to get the heart rate up can help wake your brain up a bit. (Or, if you find repetitive exercise mind-numbingly boring like I do, the writing sure does start to look appealing lol).

Meditation. Okay, this one is sort of 🤔 for me, because I do often hear from fellow autistics and our ADHD cousins that meditation is literally impossible for us. It is for me. But! Like with exercise above, if meditation bores you instead of helping relax and ""clear your mind"", you can probably use that boredom to your advantage. Or, it might work as intended.

Change your workspace/situation/routine. Sometimes the problem is that you need new sensory input, or that your brain has gotten thoroughly bored and decided not to tell you. Use a different chair. Move to the kitchen table. Write at a different time of day. Have a different snack (or try having a snack while writing...). Basically, look at what you're currently trying, and see how you can do it differently.

It's also really good practise to get comfortable with Being Bad At Writing. Perfectionism and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria are the biggest, meanest brain weasels with the sharpest teeth. Don't let them bully you. It sucks. It takes a lot of time and effort and internal work, which is why I was loathe to include this on a post of quick solutions, but. It is important.

And getting comfortable with this doesn't necessarily mean learning how to accept critique, or accepting that sometimes you'll write things that suck. It means accepting that sometimes you won't handle critique or feedback well, and also accepting that you won't always manage to beat the writer's block or be productive. Sometimes you have to make peace with the fact that you're going to feel horrible, feel your feelings, and try to remind yourself on the other side that none of it means you're a talentless hack.

Resources

Anything with a 🪙 next to it is paid only (I've tried to limit these and find alternatives).

The resources are split into things that "gameify" writing (i.e., hack your dopamine/serotonin in ways that reaaaaallly help autistic and ADHD folks), writing programs that are designed to help you focus, writing programs that track your habits and appeal to the "ohhhh numbers going up" brain, focus-aiding apps, and some miscellaneous stuff. Under the cut to save your dashes.

"Gamifying" your writing:

The Most Dangerous Writing App – You can't stop typing before your set timer runs out, or you risk losing your work. Excellent for warming up, stream-of-consciousness, or if you're feeling reckless, working on your actual project. I did a lot of the second draft of When Dealing with Wolves on this thing (it was terrifying yet highly effective).

Written? Kitten! – Get rewarded for meeting your set writing wordcount with kitten pictures. Haven't used this one personally, but heard wonderful things about it.

4TheWords 🪙 – This one gamifies writing in the most literal sense. As in, it's an online game where you defeat monsters, explore and level up by writing words. I did the free trial a couple years back, and I've heard there are a lot of different ways you can lower the subscription cost. The only reason I haven't gone back to it is because I feel like I can't justify spending money on it when I'm doing fine with Scrivener and free resources, but maybe one day I will purely for the fun factor...

StimuWrite – similar idea to Written Kitten; the app provides visual/audio stimulation while you write, which is great for many ADHD-ers and autistics. There's a progress bar, soundscape options, typing effects and emoji reactions as rewards, among other features.

Write or Die – This is The Most Dangerous Writing App meets Written Kitten. As far as I can figure out, the basic web version is free to use; you can set the parameters like how how long you want to write for, how many words to reach, and whether you want rewards for meeting goals or punishments for failing to meet them. There's also a stimulus mode, where the nice auditory stimulus goes away if you stop writing.

Minimalist/Focus writing programs:

Focus Writer [Windows] – thoroughly stripped-down minimalist word processor. As far as I know, it has basic functions like find-replace, but mostly it's designed only for writing. Not for formatting, spellchecking or editing.

iA Writer 🪙 [iOS] – Similar to Focus Writer, it's designed to fill your screen with a simple workspace. Allows you to use markdown formatting, and has a feature called Focus Mode that blurs out everything except the sentence you're typing. (If I could find a Windows-friendly alternative to this with that same feature I would be so happy). A cheaper alternative is 1Writer, but that doesn't have the focus mode.

Typewrite Something – Absolutely bare minimum web-based typewriter simulator. Basically just a blank screen that you start typing on, and the words appear in a typewriter font. Great for stream-of-consciousness without the risk level of TMDWA because you can't backspace. If you don't like the clacky sound, turn off your volume.

Focus Apps

Cold Turkey – Block applications and websites on your laptop/computer for a specified period of time. You can even block the entire internet.

Forest – Similar to Cold Turkey in that it stops you from seeking distractions or getting distracted. Set a timer and the app starts growing a tree. If you leave the app, the tree dies. Once you have a tree, you add it to your forest.

Habit-building writing programs:

Novlr – Simple, minimal layout, and tracks your writing goals per month and day, and your daily streak. There are more features in the plus and pro versions, and you can only have five projects in the free version, but otherwise it looks like a good free alternative to the next two programs:

750 Words 🪙 – Made for free writing, but also very useful for drafting. I had it for a month or so a while back on the free trial. It tracks writing streaks and gives you fun graphs and statistics at the end of each session, including number of distractions, actual typing time vs total time and average words per minute. Also, it analyses the mood of what you wrote, which I always found delightful.

Writing Analytics 🪙 – If writing streaks, badges and analytical graphs get your dopamine going, then I really recommend this one. The writing screen itself is very minimalistic, but it still shows your writing speed (I loved watching that go up) and your goal progress. In terms of analytics, it tracks a LOT of different things, including time spent writing vs revising, average wordcounts per day/month/year, and words written vs words deleted. I used this for about a year before I switched to Scrivener, and the switch was purely because I needed something that wasn't subscription-based. (Apparently since I stopped using it there's also a new feature that lets you create private writing rooms and see other writer's progress).

Misc.

WriteTrack – Not a word processor, but it has very good tools for tracking and planning your writing. Again, if graphs going up helps your brain, this is excellent, but you can't see it in real time.

10 ADHD-friendly brain tricks for writers – what it says on the tin: ten tips for writers with ADHD; I'm particularly fond of "Put away one knife", which breaks the nebulous task of "start writing" into something really simple like just... pull out your desk chair.

#autism stuff #adhd #writer's block #writing advice #writing resources

[witchthewriter]

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        

🌿ISFJ 🍁Gryffindor 🔮Leo Sun, Pisces Moon, Saggitarius Rising  

SFW🌿 ⭑ You met during the events of the Fellowship of the Ring; he thought you’d be a liability at first. With your unfiltered thoughts and bold attitude

⭑ You became fast friends with the Hobbits; Merry & Pippin especially. Their lively personalities were a fresh breath of air. 

⭑ There was an incident with a group of orcs where you saved Aragorn’s life. He saw you in a different light then -

⭑ You constantly teased him about saving his ass; 

      “I bet you’re happy now I’m here,” you had said with your arm outstretched. With a grunt and partial effort, he grabbed onto your hand and hoisted himself up. You were quite strong for your height. 

⭑ The hobbits wanted you and Aragorn to get together so badly. Merry and Pippin created as many situations where the two of you would be alone together

⭑ You love pranking Legolas

⭑ Aragorn is constantly looking out for you; one second you’re walking next to him and then in the next you’re hanging off a tree branch

⭑ You’re the type of person to let your intrusive thoughts win (licking things, ‘let’s just see what happens’ is the type of person you are) 

⭑ Aragorn is the responsible one, always

Aragorn: Y/N NO!

Merry & Pippin: Y/N YES 

⭑ You may stress Aragorn tf out, but you keep him on his toes and give his life excitement 

⭑ Braiding Aragorn’s hair at night because you can’t sleep. He wakes up before you, because you crashed at like 4 am. And he has random plaits sticking out everywhere 

⭑ You like wearing his clothes, and often take his stuff. He doesn’t mind though 

⭑ He loves how much you make him laugh

⭑ You love to dance and Aragorn’s heart soars whenever he watches you 

⭑ Relationship Tropes: 

  ✧ Big Calm/Stoic/Reserved x Small Chaotic/Curious/Sensitive

  ✧ Has seen it all x Curious about the world and wants to experience it

  ✧ Battle Couple  

NSFW🔞minors dni!

⭑ Aragorn seems like a gruff, rough-around-the-edges type of man. But really, it’s just his outward appearance. 

⭑ He’s a soft lover that likes to hold you close

⭑ I think he’s an equal giver and receiver. He would like head but have pleasure with doing the same to you

⭑ Aragorn is very big. He’s girthy and quite long. 

⭑ Not a very rough person, doesn’t like to smack or leave many marks. But he does like to kiss you so tenderly that tears start to form in your eyes 

⭑ His favourite position would be missionary, he loves being on top of you; eyes staring into your own as he thrusts inside of you

⭑ I don’t think Aragorn would be up for any threesomes or orgies. He wants you to be his and his alone. 

⭑  Aragorn is VERY good at aftercare; I genuinely mean it. He makes sure that you’re fully taken care of. 

#aragorn #aragorn x reader #aragorn headcanons #aragorn x you #lord of the rings #LotR #LotR headcanons #lord of the rings headcanon #headcanon #imagine #witchthewriter #the hobbit #reader insert #fanfiction

[moonswolfie]

Could we get Bokuto and 19? 🥺🥺🥺

Bokuto x gn!reader

But ofc!! Idk if u knew this nonnie but bokuto is my favourite boyo💕💕 i'm always happy to write about him🥰🥰

Time to prove to him that even his faults can be loved😤

His teammates often tell him that he's too loud, childish and irresponsible. He always feels compelled to deny it, but his teachers say the same thing. Even his parents scold him for that sometimes.

So then it must be true, no matter how much he defends himself.

In volleyball, being too loud isn't much of a problem and even excites the crowd a lot, but something like math class is a different story.

"Honey, you're too childish and irresponsible for a relationship." His mom hummed from behind the kitchen counter when hearing Bokuto whine to himself about still being single. All she got in reply was a sad groan.

Do these parts of him make him that horrible? He already had a bad day at practice today and then the boys basketball club leader decided to taunt him about still being single. Being reminded of his "bad traits" wasn't helping in the slightest.

He slowly got up, going into his room to sulk.

"I think that was too harsh, darling. You know how he is, he'll take your words to heart." His dad worriedly glanced at his mom while chopping the vegetables.

"You're right, I should have phrased that better..."

.

So he found it quite surprising when one day you, one of his classmates, approached him out of nowhere during a break.

"Hey, ummm, I'm in your class, but we don't know eachother very well." You started, fiddling with your fingers. It took a lot of convincing from your friends to even get you here, but there's no way back now.

"OOOH! I remember you!! You sit in the second row!!" He had no idea what you wanted, but it was always nice to talk to someone new.

"So, I'd like to get to know you better..." you looked into his eyes with hope. From what little you did know about Bokuto, he was very outgoing and excitable. So hopefully this goes well.

His eyes widened. "Eh? I mean, yeah, sure!! Of course!!" His face quickly returned to his usual excited expression.

"So!! I'm the coolest ace of the coolest volleyball club in Japan!! But you probably already knew that..." he started. What a cute self-introduction.

"Yeah, I went to your matches before..." you really hoped that your blush wasn't showing too much at that moment.

"REALLY?!"

.

After that day, you made it a habit to talk to him. He got to know many things he would have never guessed about you and his smile grew every day as your initial shyness dissapeared.

He grew increasingly close to you, to the point even his teammates pointed it out. He never noticed how he acts "different" around you.

But now that he thinks about it, he keeps reminding himself to speak more quietly and watch his mouth around you. That's quite strange, since he prefers to be his unfiltered self and tries not to be bothered by what others say.

Then why is he being subconsciously careful only around you, a person who never voiced their discomfort for his loudness or irresponsibility?

"Honey, you're too childish and irresponsible for a relationship."

No way.

Those words replayed in his head over and over. There's no way he's actually in love with you, right? You're just so amazing and beautiful and- UGH!

But if what everyone around him says is right, then that means he has zero chances with you, right? Ohhh, this is making him feel all sorts of sick...

Maybe google can fix this.

"Hey, bro. Come to dinne- What are you doing?" his sister's reaction shifted to one of worry when she found him laying on the bed, staring at the volleyball in his hands with a strangely solemn expression. Googling "how to get rid of your crush" did nothing for him since he doesn't want to distance himself from you.

"...Nothing."

"Are you having one of those mood swings again?" his sister sighed. "Come on, just come eat." she pulled him off the bed and he silently joined her for dinner. His family didn't question him all that much, already being used to his often times unstable mood.

Besides, they figured he needed space. Usually, a little "you're awesome" would work well in brightening his mood but instead of cheering up as he usually does he just hummed sadly, contuinuing to shovel at his food.

He himself hadn't expected those feelings to hit him like a truck. First love was supposed to be a cute, sweet, uplifting feeling...

.

"Hey, umm, Koutaro, I have to tell you something... Can you come with?" you asked one day out of the blue. The two of you were already on a first name basis, surprisingly you really clicked with him. Which made his little crush all the more bothersome.

He kept stuttering over his sentences when you smiled at him so sweetly, his heart swelling at the little things you remembered about him.

If only he wasn't so annoying and childish...

"I- Uh, sure!" he let you lead him off to a more private area, wondering what awaits him. You sounded nervous, like back when you first asked to get to know him. This could only mean something bad, right?! Or is he just overthinking it?

Since when does he do that, anyways?

"So... I kind of have a crush on you..." you looked down, too afraid to meet his eyes, missing the way his eyebrows raised and eyes blew wide.

"YOU LIKE ME?! You really like... me?" he almost couldn't believe his ears.

"Uhh, yeah.. I do." you yourself were a little surprised at his response. You thought for sure that Bokuto would just get really hyped and accept. Well, if he liked you too in the first place.

"Even though I'm loud? And childish? And irresponsible?" he asked in quick succession. What? How would those characteristics of his affect your feelings for him?

"Of course? I like you, even the less favourable parts." you smile at him happily. You think you know why he brought that up now. Judging by the amount of times the teachers scold him for those very things, he must think they're an annoyance and a hinderance to you.

You misjudged him, it seems. He lets things get to him more than you thought. Not that that's an issue at all.

"Ohhh, this might be my second favourite feeling in the world..." he said, relief evident in his tone as he hugged you tightly.

"Only second favourite?" you questioned, hugging him back.

"The first one will always belong to the feeling of a successful spike, of course!!" he squeezed you so hard you thought your bones might break.

"S-So, is that a-"

"Yes, yes!! A million times yes!! I'll be your boyfriend, your husband, your f- ANYTHING!"

oops i accidentally made it mutual pining and WAY too long bo bo tends to have that effect on me🌚

#˗ˏˋ ★ ☁︎ 「Wolfie’s works」 ☾ ★ ˎˊ˗ #haikyū!! #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #bokuto imagines #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #hq bokuto #bokuto x y/n #bokuto x you #bokuto fluff #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutaro x y/n

[cattonicdragon]

How about monkey tigress and viper x a lion reader that's a guard at Chorh-Gom-Prison(bonus if the reader was there during tai lung's escape and go injured but lived).

monkey,tigress and viper x lion chorh-gom prison guard reader

I rlly like this idea anon!

I accidentally added abit of angst but it's all good so :D

Proofread

Monkey

Monkey is very happy that you got such a big role and very proud of you for managing it

Though he wont deny how worried he is

Your trying to keep a highly unstable and powerful individual from escaping

And if that prisoner is tai lung it's no easy feat

He worries that if he breaks free then you probally wont survive

So rationally,once he hears the news he immidatly feels dread overwhelm him,what makes it worse is that zeng saw you lying on the ground after tai lung the the explosive

Although he wants to believe your Alive he fears that your gone

That is until you burst into the jade palace scratches and burn Mark's littering your body as you heave out heavy elongated breaths

Monkey barely manages to catch you as you pass out

He leaves you in the care of shifu whilst he and the rest of the furious five confront tai lung.

Once crane returns with the furious five paralysed you've woken up

You and monkey reunite and hug eachother,but the moment is short lived as you must evacuate the valley.

Before the two of you split he promised that once this is over you'll have a proper reunion.

After the fight monkey would probally never fully get over the nightmares of you in his hands passed it

The thoughts and nightmares haunt his dreams

But once he sees you fine and safe it seems to feel the growing anxiety his has even if just a little

Tigress

Tigress is very prideful and often closed off,letting very few people in her personal bubble

You were one of those people

She had told you many times how worried she was for you,aswell as how proud she is

She dosnt want to worry,because in return you'll worry for her,and that cant happen when your keeping a highly dangerous individual contained,

She tells you shes worried as her way of saying to be careful

Her worst fears become a reality once she catches wind of tai lung escaping,at that moment she wasnt be able to mask her emotions,dread quickly chewing at her from the inside

The night were she and the furious five go to confront him shes filled by pure unfiltered rage

However on the way to the bridge the furious five find your battered form,barley able to walk as they stop dead in their tracks

Tigress wastes no time as she takes you into her arms hugging you tightly

You huff out and tell her an abbreviated version of what happened and that he was soon going to be there

Tigress hushes you as your finally able to rest

She quickly takes you to the nearest infirmary promising you that once everything is over you can talk about it more.

When tigress comes back she looks almost as battered as you,she helps you up and informs you that they are evacuating

After the fight she has alot of guilt

She feels like there was a way she could have helped even if deep down she knows she wouldn't have been able to

When you reasure her that she did what she could she feels abit better

After all the thing that matters is that your still here

Viper

Ik I keep using the same gif for viper but I cant find any better ones

Shes so proud of you for having such a trusted job

She does have a deep fear for something bad happening to you

Viper is wise,she knows that tai lung cant be contained forever

However she fears that you'll be hurt in the crossfire

Which despite best efforts her hunch was correct

Once she got news of tai lungs escape she immidatly wanted to see if you were somehow,by some miracle alive

Of course,shifu wouldnt allow her,not only that but tigress wanted to stop tai lung at the bridge,meaning that there was a small chance she would get to see you if you were taking your dying breaths

It's not until shes been bested by tai lung and evacuating the villagers that she finds you

You stumble through the crowd looking for the snake

She cant contain her joy as she launches herself at you wrapping herself around you in a tight hug

You eventually pass out from the exhaustion,either one of the furious five carry you or a villager who lends a helping hand

Once you wake up again the fight is over and vipers imbracing you in a warm hug

Viper will most likely check on alot,this is due to the fact that she feels something bad could happen to you at any moment,she will calm down abit after a while but the fear of losing you will never truly leave

#cattonic writes #kung fu panda #kung fu panda x reader #tigress #tigress x reader #kfp monkey #kfp monkey x reader #kfp tigress #viper kfp #viper x reader #jfp viper x reader #lion reader #request

[slytherhys]

12 Days of Christmas - ACOTAR Edition

This is officially the last chapter of the 12 Days of Christmas series! I want to thank everyone who took a little of their time to read these stories. You guys mean the world to me and I'm so lucky to be able to write to such an amazing fandom. Every comment, every like, every reblog means everything to me and I take your appreciation with me every time I'm writing a new story.

You can also find this series on AO3

12th day of christmas - Christmas Dinner

A Blessing. All of it - Rhysand Drabble

The High Lord of the Night Court wasn’t known to be a very emotional male. He had a reputation all across Prythian, and it certainly wasn’t one that spoke of his sensitivities. He had a role to fill, and he had filled it gladly in order to protect his family. To protect Feyre.

That High Lord, however, was nowhere to be found tonight.

As his inner circle gathered around the dining table, chatting, and eating, Rhysand couldn’t help but feel unfiltered joy settle deep into his bones. Wherever he looked, love and happiness shone as bright as the candles flickering on the table, sending a warm haze all around the living room. The scent of holly and pine was as strong as scent of the meal Elain, Nuala and Cerridwen had so carefully prepared - and not nearly as mouthwatering.

By his side, Feyre sipped her wine as she chatted with Morrigan about her studio, his cousin offering her own advice every once in a while. Azriel, on the other side of the table, seemed too enthralled by whatever Elain was telling him to even notice the smile blooming on his face - a rare sight to see. For her part, Elain seemed just as enchanted. Across from Rhys, Nesta and Amren were engaged in a heated debate about books, Cassian chewing his food and nervously looking on as if prepared to intervene if necessary.

Rhys looked down at the babe drooling all over his shirt, a smile tugging up at his lips. Nyx had crashed only minutes after they had all sat down for dinner, the excitement of his first Solstice too draining for his tiny body. His little first was wrapped around Rhysand's sweater, his covered, little feet kicking him in the stomach every so often, as if Nyx was trying to take flight in his own dreams. Rhys was completely enraptured. Incredulous, too, seemed appropriate, for the truth was that he had lived many, many lives – had known loss, and heartbreak, and pain. But never had he known happiness like this; love like this. He’d never imagined he'd be deserving of it in the first place.

Now, he couldn’t imagine it being any different. Every tortuous road had led him to this table, surrounded by the people he had loved the most. As hard as it had been, they had all found each other – broken and lost – and against all odds they had made a family. A bickering, messy, but true family.

As he rubbed his son’s back, as he felt Feyre’s hand reach out for his under the table, he could feel no regrets - what had made him cold and lethal to the world had been what allowed them all to be here tonight. For that alone, he would not - could not - have changed a thing. No, he simply looked up at the stars and thanked them - tonight, there was no war, no duels, no political scheming. For at least tonight, it was their turn to just be.

And what a blessing that was.

#rhysand #pro rhysand #drabble #12 days of christmas acotar edition #elain archeron #azriel #elriel #feyre archeron #feysand #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #morrigan #amren #nyx #nyx x feyre x rhys #christmas fic #acotar fic

[doublestarsystems]

Crowley loves this universe so much. He loves creating a thunderstorm to watch Nina and Maggie fall in love just as much as he loved lighting up the cosmos.

Here's what I think:

I think Aziraphale doesn't realize this. Whether it's because of his Religious Trauma or the fact that Crowley doesn't let people see him happy/excited, Aziraphale doesn't believe a demon like Crowley is capable of feeling love for the universe. This is in part why Aziraphale wanted Crowley to become an angel again, because he desperately wants Crowley to be happy in the way that he was when Aziraphale met him. But the thing is, he can be, and often is- he just DOESN'T SHOW AZIRAPHALE THAT SIDE OF HIM. So Aziraphale thinks that Crowley will only be "happy again" as an angel, and Crowley is misinterpreting this as Aziraphale thinking that Crowley isn't GOOD enough. Side note though: Aziraphale knows Crowley can be happy (like when he's rescuing Aziraphale), but he hasn't seen that unfiltered JOY from Crowley in so long. He has a lot of unpacking to do before he understands that angels aren't the only occult creatures who can be joyful and content.

Miscommunication is a theme of this season. At the start of the season, they have communication difficulties. "I think your exactly means something different than my exactly", etc. The conversation they had in the last ten minutes should have been twenty different conversations, but they were speedrunning it all because of the circumstances they were under, and their overwhelming fear of being vulnerable with eachother in that way. A love confession was always doomed to be very difficult between them, because of the nature of their relationship, 6000 plus years of not communicating, and a lack of letting their walls down to let eachother grow together.

In season three, they both need to realize so much shit.

Crowley needs to realize that Aziraphale is in an abusive relationship with Heaven. The Metatron is essentially a figurehead of this abuse that Aziraphale is experiencing (that's why I think they chose for the Metatron to appear as a fatherly figure, possibly even our flawed idea of what God looks like). I think Crowley and Nina should have a chat, and Nina should explain to Crowley how much time it takes to rewire your mind after being in an abusive relationship.

Aziraphale needs to come to HIS OWN CONCLUSION that Heaven is not a fixable institution. This might require an arc of him trying his damned best to fix something made to cause harm. The harm of abusive relationships do not disappear when someone wonderful confesses their love to you (cough cough Nina and Maggie cough cough)

Crowley needs to realize that running away would not end well for either of them. It's not in their nature. They love Earth. THEY CREATED THE FUCKING SOLAR SYSTEM WHEN CROWLEY SHELTERED AZIRAPHALE WITH HIS WING IN THE OPENING SCENE. They can't abandon Earth together.

Aziraphale needs to realize that the Crowley he loves deserves to be as he is (this connects to him needing to understand that Crowley can be happy and joyful without being an angel.)

The important thing to hold on to is that neither of them have malicous intentions towards eachother. they love eachother so god-damned much, they love EARTH so god-damned much, but no matter if you're a 10 year or a 6000 year slowburn, you ain't getting no-where without some fucking character growth.

thank you for reading my thoughts. currently good omens is 98% of them.

#good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #gos2 spoilers #gos2 #gos2e6

[zu-is-here]

Hey zuuu, I've been thinking about studio dream and his behaviour.

I see that most people are calling him just a mean guy right? Well idk, I might just be spit balling but hear me out.

A lot of the times he's been rude in the comic so far haven't seemed to be on purpose, he seems unfiltered and even reprimands himself for bringing up the girl.

I might be projecting here, but did you ever consider the idea that he could be on the spectrum. I can recognise behaviours in him that I exhibit sometimes. A lack of social awareness and a lack of filter.

As with epic, when finding out he was 'just a janitor' and had a hard time with even getting that job, he responded rudely. However to someone on thr spectrum saying something like that could be down to a genuine confusion and a lack of understanding on social interaction.

His short temper can also be a sign, as another factor can be a difficulty with emotional regulation. I can especially struggle when negative emotions are involved. They can hit me very harshly.

The moodiness as well, in high stress times it can be harder to find the strength to mask and a more moody and un social look can slip out. And I'd say getting kicked out is that.

Sheldon Cooper may not be a very good example of representation, but one thing he said 'it's like an inch in my brain I can't scratch ' is apparent.

Thoughhh, this is not all ASD people as it is a spectrum for a reason, there are alot of factors and these can just be signs in some cases. Representation of the condition isn't something that's often done well in the media so this might be a sensitive topic.

I just can't help but wonder, if these character flaws could indicate that, because that could be an amazing angle. I'm not trying to say that his behaviour isn't his responsibility, because it still is.

If he was, then it acts like someone who might not be aware or hasn't yet learnt how to manage his condition. Learning coping mechanisms could help him improve his behaviour and filter. If he grew up with people constantly excusing his behaviour because he 'can't help it', then it can also factor into narcissism or compared with sibling thing you mentioned. So him accepting that there are things he can't help, but also things he can do to manage the symptoms, he could have a complete character arc in that way.

All that being said, I know this is most likely not at all what you intended, and you probably have no interest in pursuing this idea. But idk it's been on my mind and I can't help but feel like it could be a interesting angle. You can tell these boys live rent free on my head lol.

It does sound like him actually, thank you very much for your suggestion and explanation, Gayfish! (*ﾟ∀ﾟ*) I'm glad to hear that his flaws feel so real, guess I'm on the right track with "exploring" him ᕦ(òwóˇ)☆

"He seems unfiltered and even reprimands himself for bringing up the girl" is just what I felt when trying to see more of him, not Dream *^*

In this story, I'm a mere observer just like you, and they're still a bit of a mystery to me (ò_óˇ) It may sound weird since I'm the one who draws, but to be honest, I just "open" them up more with each new page and try to find the way they would act, not how they should / I want them to act.

That's why I'm still not sure what they'll end up with... "A complete character arc" would be the best outcome indeed, but who knows? Not me x)

UPD:

That's it! :'D

#updated #ask #zudio