#a new one. our brain forcing us to take a break from trying to make everyone else feel better and focus on us.

[doglusional]

polyfrag did brain really will just make anything to fit what we need. cant wait to never see this guy again after a few months :/

[jupiterianguru]

entry 001: messages from your ancestors

            ྀི❀⋆.ೃྀི࿔*:･

author’s note — while tarot can be a tool, you are in control of your own life. life is NOT linear and there’s no black and white answers to anything. take what resonates and if it doesn’t make you feel good, then let it go.

—

one:

the sun + 7 of cups reversed + ace of wands rx

additionally: 8 of swords + the moon rx

song from the ancestors:

these ancestors may have used their hands to create or build. i feel like you come from a lineage that has creative abilities, maybe you tend to have a lot of inclinations towards creating art or even simply appreciating art. there's natural talents or gifts for creation present here for sure.

they're giving you the green light for something. there's a feeling that you must get started on something but you might not know how, in what direction, or what resources to use. there's a mental blockage or a creative blockage if you will. you know, it's said that the throat chakra (responsible for authenticity and expression) is connected to our sacral (responsible for our emotions and creativity). i mention this for a reason, stay with me now. it's almost like you want to get started on said thing but each time you want to begin, your brain starts to bring up unnecessary, negative chatter. you get stuck on the how's, the ifs, and the buts. in turn, you find yourself stuck right before a point of creating. keeping you paralyzed with a feeling of being so close yet so far. spoiler alert: these thoughts are distractions from something deeper. here is where that throat chakra and sacral chakra connection comes in.

you're not doing anything wrong, matter of fact this is apart of your creative process. not only that, your healing. a big part of these thoughts are a core belief that is wanting to be acknowledged and seen. it's not that you're missing the gift, talent, or resources because you possess everything you need to move forward and create. but rather the blockage is coming from emotional needs that have been suppressed. i feel like the individuals that chose this pile are big intellectualizers and have labelled themselves as "self-aware." i'm not saying you're not self-aware. you most likely are... but the problem in this is that you do not allow yourself to sit with your emotions. when you hold space with your emotions, you are allowing yourself to come as you are. there's no good or bad emotions when sitting with them, you simply acknowledge them as emotions that are valid and natural. no matter how complex they may seem, we humans are complex and yet there's normalcy in the fact that we are so complex... you see. nothing is black and white.

give yourself a break and let yourself feel the frustration, the boredom, the angst, the sadness, etc. it's trying to tell you something. it's only when you sit in stillness that you will conquer the chatter and eventually get to where you want to get to. don't force yourself to create. you will get their on your own.

the reason i feel like this was an ancestral message is because i feel like some of your ancestors did not allow themselves to feel and eventually gave up on their craft. leading to a lifetime of regret. the good news is you are aware of this. sit your ass down and ask yourself why you are feeling what you're feeling.

this message especially reigns true for those who have been having or started this year off emotionally turbulent.

thank you. sending you love.

 

    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

two:

10 of cups + knight of wands + knight of pentacles

additionally: ace of swords rx + king of cups

song from the ancestors:

these ancestors feel like people that moved from the heart like genuine passion and love for the world and others. very generous. i also hear laughter so perhaps some of them were jokesters, pranksters, or just simply people who loved to make others smile. i'm hearing that song from tangled "when will my life begin?" despite the happiness exuding from the outside, theres a sadness i feel within. maybe some of the individuals in your lineage never truly got their "happy-ending." whatever that meant for them, it could be that they had a dream to get married and never met that person. or if they did get married, it ended in divorce or tragedy. or maybe their dream was to go to college and become a professional, but they didn't end up finishing or have the resources to go. this is a general reading so of course it varies but the jist of it is that their dreams were either short-lived or couldn't happen at all.

there's a dream that your heart is set on. my grandma told me once that if you desire something so much that it makes you cry just thinking about it, it's meant for you. your ancestors are acknowledging that you have everything you need to obtain this dream. it may not seem like it to you but they have a birds eye view and they're saying that it's in you. but goddamn, you gotta really believe in it.

perhaps you're just starting to realize that this is attainable or you're starting to take steps towards this dream but it feels like such a far journey. it could be overwhelming, sometimes you may have bad days, or you just feel like there's no support and it's lonely. honestly, you guys may catastrophize the situation a bit sometimes. like just cause you have one bad day, week, or even a month doesn't mean all of a sudden your dream is gone or you're not worthy of it anymore. this is called a journey! your journey to your dream is not a easy path, duh, then the dream itself wouldn't be rewarding.

little mini story (i promise it's relevant): when i first read someone for the first time and found out of my healing abilities, i read them for two hours straight and afterwards i just cried pure tears of joy for an hour saying thank you to my team and creator. out of everything, all I could do is bask in that gratitude because it felt like all my pain, my suffering, my joy, etc. lead me to that moment. it was worth it. i've been on my journey for years now and i often go back to that memory, especially when i feel like my heavier days and emotions have consumed me.

this is how it should feel for you. you want this so bad for a reason. sometimes you may go through upbeat and fast times, it may feel like you're working towards something or what you're doing is beneficial to your dream but other times it may feel slow, down, like every step you're taking may be directionless. this is normal! this is how it should feel! despite what those people who have what you want portray on socials, it's a journey. everyone wants results so quickly now without putting work in, without enjoying the journey. this causes faulty foundations and unaligned outcomes. not everything is meant to be fast moving, positive, or happy all the time. you don't have to be in that energy all the time to be worthy of it. embrace both of these moments in the journey and trust that the seeds you have planted are growing. you don't plant a seed and watch it grow right? you nurture it, give it love, care, and trust that it will grow.

when you're lacking clarity or are doubtful, remember to be like the king of cups. move with these emotions rather than stay stuck in them. the king of cups shows us that we can be patient with ourselves and our bigger emotions but not let them consume us or cloud us. having a bad day? take a walk, a bath, spend time with family, friends or a pet. soothe yourself and don't let one bad day dictate the rest of your journey, you won't always feel like this and your situation won't always look like this either.

this message reigns true for those who have a dream pertaining to building a family, community, getting married, etc. your dream will be prosperous, stable, and so emotionally-fullfilling. it's possible the individuals that picked this pile may have came from less fortunate circumstances or just didn't get dealt the best cards in life. just because you came from that, doesn't mean that is your fate. you will make your ancestors proud and all past versions of you proud.

thank you. sending you love.

         

    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

three:

page of cups + 4 of swords + the empress + the hermit

additionally: the high priestess rx + 6 of swords rx

song from the ancestors:

these ancestors carry a heavy energy pertaining to surviving. they never gave themselves a break simply because they couldn't. they needed to work to survive. i feel like crying for this lineage because that's all they knew is how to work their ass off until they were so tired. solely because their life depended on it or their children's life depended on it. health complications may be significant. you may be more susceptible to feeling the effects of stress. you may have things like back pain, insomnia, weight fluctuation, etc.

sit your ass down and rest. the end. that's the message.

no but really, if you're wondering why you don't see progress in any area of your life, it's cause you're not listening to your body and resting. you don't know when to quit and just unwind. let your body rest. let your mind rest. everything is always go go go. and it seems like even when you do rest, it's like your spirit doesn't rest cause either your mind is still running 80 mph or you feel guilty about resting itself. there's a lack of playfulness in your life right now. it's dull and you're probably going through the same routine day by day. I'm here to tell you, nothing won't change, if you don't change.

you are worthy of rest! you are worthy of being kind and gentle to yourself! I know our capitalistic society (if you're in the states) likes us to equate a "productive" life to having your to do list with ten thousand things on it but what if I told you rest was also productive? no? not comprehendible? well, it's time to break down that belief.

let your inner child come out to play! what is one thing you always wanted to see or try? sign up for that pottery class or simply go visit a local park that you've never gone to. if you don't have resources or time to do so, then find ways to switch up your routine like drinking a new coffee or opening a window and smelling the fresh air. find a step in your old routine to kick out and break that loop.

the fact of the matter is you're tired. you have seemed to lost the spark in you. maybe you don't even recognize who you are anymore, where you're going, or why you're doing this for and it's not cause of the work you're doing but rather not listening to what your body needs. prioritize your sleep and take a warm bath. I like working with the spirit of lavender for this so sometimes i'll sit with her though tea, a spiritual bath, or even smoking her. tip: add chamomile for a more gentle, warm hug type of feeling. remember to pray, meditate, or set your intentions. gratitude is so important when working with our plant relatives and their spirit.

you will not move forward or see progress if you don't do this. point blank period. this pile's ancestors talk a very matter of factly. but it makes sense as it seems urgent in a way. you have done enough and the work you are doing whether it's actual physical work or even just emotional work is so important! they're so proud of you but understand that they have worked so hard to be able to give you the privilege of slowing down and resting. do what they could not do!

this message reigns true for those who seem to be workaholics, have mommy issues, or come from a one-parent household. whoever you are, you're someone that can't sit still and you're being asked to do this exact thing. smell the roses, look how far you've come, you deserve this! also, hot baths, hot tea, anything warm or hot is recommended!

thank you. sending you love.

:)

[astraystayyh]

chan x reader. hurt and lots of comfort. description of an anxiety attack and its aftermath (based on my own experiences).

please consider donating for gaza through my kofi. we have exceeded 1k dollars and our goal is 1500! a little goes a long way, you can donate as much as you can! thank you

If you remain still long enough, breathe as quietly as you can muster, would the world forget you exist and pass your anxiety along to somebody else?

A selfish question, perhaps, but one that you can’t help but ask as you sit on your freezing bathroom floor, knees tightly hugged to your chest.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve sat in this position. Time suddenly seemed elusive to you, as if a concept too hard for your frantic heart to grasp. All you knew was the ache of your limbs and the feeling that doom was just around the corner.

It was one of those days where you woke up feeling anxious. As if your brain had made up its mind about you in your sleep, deciding to hold you hostage to your anxiety. The bed was cold, your boyfriend Chan long gone to his studio, his lingering cologne the only indication he was ever there. So, you tried to distract yourself throughout the day— going on a walk, listening to music, cleaning your house, but it didn't help. Nothing seemed to help you.

So here you were, hours later, sat on your bathroom floor, trying to calm yourself down, all alone. But you could tell that it wasn't working, that you were on a losing race against your own body. Soon, you wouldn't be able to control your anxiety, soon it would turn into a full blown attack.

You wanted to call Chan, you truly did, but he was busy, and you refused to be a burden. Especially since he told you through texts that he'd be home late, so that definitely meant that he was making a new track in his studio.

So, you settled on rocking yourself back and forth, your hands slowly moving up to your shoulders, patting yourself down. This is what you used to do before knowing Chan. When you didn't have anyone around you who understood. You’d trick your bruised mind into believing you were hugged, the warmth of your own touch easing your anxiety a little.

But tonight it had the opposite effect. Tonight, you broke down in sobs, your breathing more irregular than ever. You curled into a ball on the floor, your hand moving to your chest in a futile attempt to slow down your heart. You could no longer breathe, the air in your lungs morphing into unkind fingers, choking you from within. White dots started dancing in front of your eyes, as your entire being shook like a lone leaf, left to fend for itself before the unyielding winds.

It suddenly got too much— the sobs, the pain, the ache. You couldn't bare it anymore. So with trembling hands, you unlocked your phone, calling the only person who would be able to calm you down. Chan. You put the phone on speaker, before tossing it on the ground next to you. You couldn't even muster the energy to hold it to your ear.

“Hi my love, I'm a bit busy right now can I call you later?” Chan's rushed words ring through the bathroom, your anxiety intensifying before the possible antidote. “Honey?” he asks again when he doesn’t hear your reply.

“Chan—“ you sob, the only word your weighted tongue allows you to speak of.

“I’m here, I'm here baby. I'm coming right now,” his panicked voice rings through your ears, following the frantic rush of your boiling blood. The sound of shuffling indicates that he’s getting up and leaving the studio, the confused ‘what’s going on?’ Han shouts confirms it.

The only reply you give him is your sobs, and his heart constricts, twists and turns at the sound of your cries. “Hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe for me, okay? Take a deep breath with me, please—” his voice breaks, “please baby.”

You try, with all your will, to force a steady breath to rise from your stomach to the tip of your tongue. It escapes faintly, but Chan catches it. “You’re doing well, baby. Fuck—” he turns on his car’s engine. “Um… Minho bit my ass today.”

His words catch you off guard, the gears in your mind stopping for a split second. You remember a faint conversation under your covers, months ago, when you told him that distractions help you when you’re anxious. Force you to redirect your thinking somewhere else.

He remembered.

“Was it tasty?” you breathe out, and he chuckles, a sweet sound intermingled with a sigh of relief. “I don’t know, I need to ask him baby.”

You nod though he can’t see you, willing yourself to breathe again. In, out, in, out, Chan’s own breathing guiding you. “Should I bite him in return?” he asks. Tears pool in your eyes once again. “I’m close, so close,” he reassures.

“Okay.”

“To the biting?”

“Mm,” you manage to hum, as you hear the door of your apartment open, Chan's hurried steps echoing in your home. You knew he was looking for you but you couldn't call out to him. After painfully long seconds, stretching out as if to torture you even more, he finally opens the bathroom floor.

He finally finds you.

“It's okay, I'm here. I'm here,” he wastes no time before scooping you into his arms and hugging you. He knows that the pressure eases your anxiety so he tightens his hold without you having to say so, pulling you as close as two pages of the same book.

With you on his lap, he starts rocking back and forth, his words coming out a jumble mess. He can’t settle on what to say to you, switching between stupid jokes his friends told him, and words of reassurance he repeats like a promise.

His words break, his tongue faltering each time your sob gets louder, but he speaks. He speaks and speaks for twenty minutes, all to distract you, all to keep you grounded, and safe.

After a long while, the storm finally passes, leaving behind an excruciating exhaustion. You turn into a puddle in his hold, softening like malleable clay. He holds you as gently as a porcelain vase.

His warm palms settle atop your cheeks, his eyes gazing into yours for the first time since he got here. A sheen glaze taints them, one you know is mirrored in your own. His thumbs gently swipe away your remaining tears, grazing your face with a tenderness that makes your being ache. Your lips press a faint kiss onto his palm, his find their way to your forehead, and you feel it all, through his kiss. His fear, his relief, his love, soft and gentle, for you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse as you kiss his forehead back.

“I’ve got you my love. Always,” he smiles at you softly, his dimples appearing like the sun after a cold day.

“Did Minho really bite you?” you giggle faintly, and he scratches his ear sheepishly. “No, but I don’t put it past him to do it.”

“Is that something you’re into?” You cock a teasing eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. “Only if it’s you,” he says as he wraps his arm around your waist, picking you up swiftly.

“I’ll consider,” you yawn, wrapping your arms around his neck, your face finding a refuge in the crook of his neck.

“Why thank you,” he smiles as he leads you to your bedroom, settling you gently atop the bed. He quickly climbs in with you, bringing you so close to him, his warmth ends up spreading through your entire being, filling up every nook and cranny of your soul.

“I think as long as you’re near, I’ll always be okay,” you say, as your eyes close slowly, you miss the tender smile that blooms in his face at your words.

“Good thing I exist to be near you, then.”

please consider donating for gaza through my kofi. we have exceeded 1k dollars and our goal is 1500! a little goes a long way, you can donate as much as you can! thank you

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Hello. I realize this might be overly personal for this blog but I was wondering if you had any advice for my situation. I'm trying to get back into creative hobbies like drawing and writing and while I made some progress with drawing I've really struggled with writing. It's been about ten years. I struggled with my mental health a lot when I was younger and essentially let my depression/anxiety and ADHD destroy all my creative ability. Logically I know the answer is to just write and write badly, but I'm preemptively disappointed and upset that what I write will be. Well. Shit. Or that I'll never improve. Or that I have no idea what to write. And when I do have an idea what to write it's all just gone from my head the second I sit down to write. So. Er. I guess I'm wondering if you have any advice or resources for people like me? Thank you :)

When you're juggling various different Back-Stabbing Brain issues, various pieces of writing advice - getting up at 5pm, forcing yourself to do it, etc - just doesn't work. For me, it's been a struggle to figure out even in optimal situations, so you're not alone. For me, the following is what worked.

Figure out your peak writing time.

Unfortunately, in our capitalist hellscape, you may not be able to use that time to your advantage. My peak time is from 2pm-5pm, right in the middle of work and fades right when I get home. Not ideal. But I can use that knowledge to take advantage of that time on my free days, and I can strategically time my breaks to do some writing. Or just write while pretending to work. Not that I would ever confess to doing that.

Taking the time to figure out when your brain is most willing to work with you is also very helpful. My brain will not work for writing after 8pm. It can, however, still do the dishes. Forcing myself to put off chores so that I can write is super hard thanks to my ADHD (which hates chores until I need to do something else), but I can combat that by making goal lists, scheduling my writing time (with set alarms on my phone!) helps me manage that.

Change location.

I can't get a lot of work done at home. I've tried. I've moved my desk around, I've locked down my internet browsers when writing, I have ignored the way my cat stares holes into my back to try to write. My brain, though, knows that the bed is right over there, we've got that pile of books to read, and oh hey, Tasting History has a new video. Also my cat wants to steal my computer chair and then get constant pets while in said chair because she is a princess baby. It's a losing battle.

What does work for me? Dragging my work to the library. Finding a cafe with enough space and quiet music to get some stuff done. Breaking out a foldable desk on the porch so that there is a closeable barrier between me and my distractions (the cats hate this option).

Changing location is something that works for me. If you have limited options, build barriers between yourself and distractions. Pile stuff on the bed so that it's not easy to give in and lie down for "just a minute." Close doors. Bribe your cats (or your kids). Use a standing desk - shifting your position can help lock down some of the ansty need to be doing something (my chair-stealing cat is more than happy to help with this).

I know of one writer who only gets work done by locking herself in her bathroom, because it's just enough change of scene to get her thoughts to settle. I know another writer who can only get editing done sitting in his parked car. However wacky, trying different scenarios to get something to work can really help.

Find the right tools.

The only way I can draft is by hand. It sucks and I have carpal tunnel, but my brain cannot type words into a blank screen. I need a pile of messy papers that no one else can read to work from.

I'm also very particular about what I write with. I use Uni Power Tank pens from Japan (because they're the only damn pen I've found that doesn't smear my left-handed writing), and I cycle through different types of paper I exclusively work with. Right now it's Five Star Reinforced Filler Paper with the triangle holes, not the round ones.

I don't know why this works, it just does. I've changed up what I've used over time, but as long as I'm consistent and not trying to write a chapter using differently-sized paper (insert scream here), I can get it done. Test out different tools and find what fits for you.

Organization isn't helping? Embrace chaos.

Jeff VanderMeer wrote an entire series on post-it notes, napkins, and on the backs of old bills. I wouldn't recommend that, but if a little chaos gets the job done, then do it. Spread a story across several half-filled notebooks. Map dialogue using only flashcards. Instead of waiting to sit down to get work done, scribble away while on a bus or on the move (safely, of course). Use a speech-to-text app to talk out your writing. Sometimes the more tactile you can make writing, the more you can break up those barriers keeping you from writing.

Try out different things! You'll eventually find what works for you

[canmom]

one of the people i most looked up to when i was first transing has, many years later, pretty hard disidentified with words like 'trans woman', 'transfem' and so on. they still write to an audience of mostly dolls, but they're doing some other gender thing now, and tend not to like being put in the trans woman/transfem box.

chewing on this and other things. fundamentally I don't think gender is real. I have called it an egregore, and that still seems apt. and yet, words like 'trans', 'autistic' and so on are a pretty powerful correlate with the sort of person I tend to vibe with.

transing isn't revealing some inner girl essence. the forces that produce a trans woman when enacted on the eager-to-reshape-itself human brain don't necessarily only produce trannies: it is one of a number of moves available to you.

it is, however, a really big play in the game. given how ludicrously much gender infects every social interaction, going off-script in a big way is going to affect your psychology hugely. doing that activates the feedback loops, the self-exciting instability, a set of rituals let you become something more 'real', or perhaps more precisely, something you have actively defined. the unpredictable outcome of that process is both the entire point and not the point at all.

rachel pollack spoke of transing in terms of religious ecstasy. "I would argue that transsexuality arises from a passion so powerful that it transcends issues of happiness. The word passion originally meant suffering, not pleasure."

so having made a declaration like, i am this sort of creature, you break everything down and start to rebuild. you go on to take actions to affirm it, or even simply build an inner, secret core, and doing this - physically, socially - transforms the resonances of your thinking.

we have constructed many rituals to make the declaration of transness more definite. a lot of them will affect your sensory experience: the immediate effect of hrt on how your skin responds to touch is surely one of the great virtues. take surgery, for example - do you need to get your penis turned inside out? well: the drama of making a drastic alteration to your body, and the sheer difficulty of getting it, makes it an especially powerful ritual. but it's not the only way to go. indeed, most girls I know haven't done it (whether or not they want to), and instead, the symbol of woman-with-penis has become one of our core subculture-images. in the last few years, the word faggot has come back in a big way, with a real gendered connotation now, sorta like what the girls on here were trying to get at with baeddel before all the shit happened. that's also a move.

so this phenomenon, this new game we're building together, includes surgeries as a move. but it also includes a lot of the subculture-building classics: weird fashions, radical politics, drugs, kinky sex, making noises on the computer, and so on.

and since the whole point of this thing is a process of defining yourself into existence, as soon as something starts to become a cliché, an orthodoxy, a mandated practice, it starts to break down. everything is stupid fucking contextual. if everyone around you is desperately pursuing genital surgery, saying 'I like my dick and want to keep it' becomes a potent move. but if the pendulum swings the other way, once everyone is saying 'do you really need surgery, you know you don't need it to Be Trans, please stay as you are since it's easier for us that way', maybe that ritual regains some of its power. it's perverse. perversity is kind of necessary to it.

so the meta evolves.

i am speaking about transness here, but i think similar forces are at work with other self-id games, autism and so on. there is like, actual biological variation, but far more important is the ideas we're playing with on top of that. what concepts are activated when I think 'autism', now largely positive associations: sensory this, obsession that; not the same as twenty years ago. thankfully my fellow autists made an interesting game to make of it: a space to express something.

[clonetrooperjournals]

Clumsy Confessions

Summary : You've always been a little clumsy but when you start to develop feelings for a certain batcher, you become a walking hazard, good thing he thinks it's cute Pairings : TBB Echo x Fem!reader (ex bounty hunter) Warnings : fluff, slight angst, reader is a clutz, cute ending Words : 1.3k masterlist here

“You alright there y/n?”  

You look up with bright red cheeks from the marauder floor as Echo looks over you in your embarrassed state, “I-I’m fine Echo!”  

You quickly leap up and head out of the ship before he can respond, as he stands there looking confused and a little hurt. It was pathetic how frazzled and clumsy Echo makes you, to the point where Omega always keeps band-aids on her. If people seen the way you act around him, they would never believe that you used to be a bounty hunter. You typically try to avoid him as much as possible, so you don’t become a burden to everyone around you, and it’s not his fault he’s the most perfect man you’ve ever met... maybe it is? You don’t even know anymore.  

You first met Clone force 99 at Cid’s after coming back from a job. You were talking to Cid behind the bar when they all piled in coming back from their job, and you were instantly intrigued. Cid noticed your fascination and hired you with them for her next job. You all became fast friends, and you really liked hanging out with them, especially Omega. She needed another girl in her life, and you were glad you could be that for her, which is how you ended up becoming an honorary member of the batch. Going on jobs with them or staying back with Omega when the jobs were too much for her to join, it just became your life, and you finally found a group of people you could call your found family. Then you started developing feelings for Echo. 

You don’t even know when it started but, he would come over and talk to you or ask you something and you would instantly get flustered. He would watch you with Omega and you would get two left feet and trip and fall and take everything in your path down with you. You've always been a bit of a clumsy person, but this was just ridiculous, and worse the entire batch new of your “not so subtle” crush on Echo. His sweet nature, his confidence, his selflessness, and his incredible handsomeness, it chipped at you until all you could think about was how much you liked him, maybe even loved him. However, since you couldn’t even walk in a straight line in his presence, you couldn’t even think about confessing to him which caused you to start avoiding him so you could save yourself some dignity. 

Cid stood behind the bar as you entered and gave you a smug look, “what’d you break now clumsy?” 

“Tripped over my feet and face planted on the ship floor...” you sigh.  

She just laughs at you, “Honestly clumsy, if you don’t confess soon your gonna lose a limb.” 

Tech sits beside you at the bar, typing away on his data pad, “Yes that is a high probability. With the recent increase to your already remarkable clumsy nature, your chances at accidental fatal injury are at 29.2%”  

“Thank you, Tech that was exactly what I wanted to know,” you turn to him, “is there any solution in that big brain of yours to help me?”  

He stops and looks up, “I have to agree with Cid on this one occasion. A confession would put your nerves at ease lowering your rate of clumsiness significantly... or it would increase. Depends on the outcome of the confession.” 

You put your head on the bar top, “and if he doesn’t like me back?”  

“Then I suppose you can continue your failed attempts at avoiding him.” 

You sigh, “I really am pathetic, aren’t I?” 

“Yes, you are! Grow some guts! You can’t be in our line of work and be a walking hazard!” Cid scoffs.  

“I just don’t want to lose him, or you guys...”  

Tech puts his hand awkwardly on your shoulder, “We all care a great deal about you. You wouldn’t lose us over something like this.”  

You look up at Tech’s small smile before he starts to type on his data pad again a warm feeling spreading through your body, “Thanks Tech.” 

... 

“I think I upset y/n.” Echo tells Hunter while their organizing their supplies. 

Hunter grins, “what makes you think that?”  

Echo sighs, “She’s been avoiding me. She won’t even look at me...” 

“Echo,” Hunter puts a hand on his shoulder, “She likes you. It's embarrassing how much sometimes, she’s not very subtle.” 

Echo freezes, “What?”  

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know. She can’t even walk in a straight line when you're in the room,” he chuckles.  

Echo looks at him confused, “I knew she was a little clumsy but... I don’t think it's because of me.” 

Hunter closes up the crate they were organizing, “Well do you like her?”  

A slight blush covers his cheeks, “I-I mean she’s... I...” 

“I’ll take that as a yes. Just confess to her Echo before she takes the whole ship down accidentally,” Hunter grins walking away. Echo stands there flustered and confused wondering if she really does like him back... 

... 

You head back to the marauder thinking about what Tech said and wanting to believe that nothing would change if you just told Echo your feelings, but that feeling of anxiety that sat in your stomach refused to leave.  

You entered the ship to silence, forgetting that Hunter said everyone was running out to do errands. You put your bag down and start to head to the cockpit when the fresher door opens revealing a shirtless Echo.  

You both freeze and stare at each other, your cheeks instantly turning bright red, “wow... I mean, sorry I th-thought no one was... here...”  

You look down avoiding his gaze as he grins realizing that Hunter may be right, “No worries. You mind passing me my shirt?”  

“S-Sure,” you say grabbing his shirt and walking over to him, except because you weren’t paying attention in your frazzled state you tripped over your bag and went hurtling forward. You closed your eyes expecting hard metal ground but instead felt warm skin. You opened your eyes to the toned pale skin of Echo’s abs, your heart jumping into your throat.  

Echo chuckles, “You alright?” 

“Yeah I... yeah...”  

Echo pulls you up but doesn’t let go, lifting your chin to look at him for the first time in weeks, “I always thought your clumsiness was cute, but you didn’t have to literally fall for me.” 

“I fell for you a long time ago,” you say and freeze, realizing the words that left your mouth.  

Echo froze too, scanning your flustered face for any sign that it wasn’t true, but what he found was red cheeks, a fluttering heart, and wide eyes that looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.  

“I fell for you too, I just know how to walk properly when your around me,” he says gently stroking your burning cheek. 

You close your eyes, “D-Does this mean I can ask you on a date?”  

“I’d love to go out with you y/n,” he smiles warmly, his breath fanning our face, “but I wanna do something else first.” 

You open your eyes to his closed ones leaning in and kissing you gently. You immediately kiss back, cradling his face in your hands. He smiles into the kiss, gently trailing his light kisses all over your still red face and then leans back smiling.  

You trail your gaze over his figure a small smirk on your lips as you throw his shirt behind you, “couldn’t find your shirt...”  

He laughs shaking his head, his nose bumping yours, “Oh really?” 

“Yup. Might have to... check the whole ship...” you say as you kiss him again.  

He snakes his arms around your waist, “Well I better hold onto you, so you don’t go falling again.”  

You smile, “I can’t help falling for you, Echo.”  

He smiles kissing you again, “I’ll be here to catch you, every time.”  

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Traumatic Backstories

Hello,it's me again! Sorry for dissappearing, I wanted a short little break from Tumblr. Obviously, I should have clearly communicated that fact instead of just going cold turkey!

From @differentnighttale : "How do I write characters who deal with severe trauma and pain with sensitivity and understanding"

Obviously with our topic today, there is going to be mentions of traumatic events and such. I won't go into any graphic or specific details but I just wanted to make it clear with a trigger warning

Since this lovely asker is specifically asking about sensitivity, I won't be addressing other related concerns about writing trauma but just focusing on this clear sensitivity! GET READY CAUSE THIS IS LONG!

Step One: Specificity Is Everything

You need to understand that various different traumatic instances will have their own different reactions based around various different incidents depending on what exactly happened and how many times it happened.

In general, the more times something happened, the more likely it would be leave an imprint. Obviously this is an oversimplification for the sake of an explanation :)

For abuse situations and other person vs person situations:

Consider the relationship your character has with this abuser! Is it obsessive? Neglectful? Don't just say it was a bad relationship! Describe to yourself what behavior and attitude specifically made this an unhealthy situation.

Did the abuser use any repetitive imagery? Did they use a specific tool most often? Did the abuse center on something specific? This can help guide you towards what can "trigger" this character!

What are the long-term affects this abusive situation have on this character? Did it make them question and distrust their self-worth, their safety, their identity, their body, their stability? Anything?

Was this abuser always bad? I don't mean in the "good person gone bad" route! I mean "is this character always abusive"? Most abusers aren't horrible 24/7 and can have their better sweeter moments. This often leaves their victims confused since the victims know more then anyone that this person wasn't just plain evil.

For natural disasters and accidents:

Where is the blame? Is it nature herself? Themself for not being careful enough? A real legitimate person who genuinely caused this accident? An imaginary individual that had no relationship?

What is the specific fear that this situation ignites? Is it this crushing feeling of isolation as they were suffering with no expectation of help? Is it the realization that life is out of their control which keeps them awake at night? Is it the chaos of that day? The fear of regret? The fear of death?

Answering these questions can often illuminate different ways to approach a character's traumatic backstory in unique and interesting ways. It also highlights potential coping mechanisms for your character.

Step Two: What Exactly Is Trauma's Effect On The Brain?

Remember: The following analogy is an oversimplified explanation of trauma. Afterward, the science explain-y part will come in :)

Imagine that the brain is an archive system. It gathers memories and puts away those memories under certain files. Then, the traumatic event(s) happen. Suddenly, the brain is unable to properly understand this. This causes the boss prefrontal cortex turns off. Now, the assistant is forced to take over. This assistant doesn't know what to do so they just do what they always do! Unfortunately, this fails to pacify the threat. And now the brain is mixing up all of the trauma's documents in an effort to just shove it into a filing cabinet. It doesn't work. Now everything new that arrives in needs to try and work through the trauma documents which are taking up the place!

SCIENCE PART!

During traumatic events, the "fear circuity" is activated. This causes the prefrontal cortex or the "decision-maker" to function less effectively. This causes a person goes into auto-pilot mode where they follow social habits.

This is why a person in a traumatic situation will sometimes engage in polite behavior with their abuser in an effort to "save face" as they typically do in social situations!

These events often physically mpact the brain! Specifically, in relation to learning and survival!

Advice In Order To Avoid Common Tropes:

Trauma is a highly complicated subject that is highly individualized and messy. But here are some "no fly" lists which often lead to traumatized characters appearing inauthentic and real traumatized people insulted.

Don't solve trauma in one conversation or one event. Working through trauma is ultimately about "moving on" in the sense of constantly moving forward but not leaving the trauma behind.

Don't romanticize certain coping mechanism. Oftentimes, media will have a hypersexual girl who learned to be hypersexual for trauma reasons. But this character doesn't exist so we can understand them. They exist for sexual appeal and tragedy brownie points.

Only include traumatic events if you can handle exploring them. If you aren't willing to deal with the implications of a certain backstory or serious mid-story event, don't write it in there.

Don't make it entirely resolved by the end. Recovery isn't about learning to "get rid" of the affect trauma has on someone. It's about working with those issues so you can learn to not drown in your issues.

Don't make the journey linear. Have your character relapse into bad unhealthy behavior. Make them have to struggle to relearn the same lessons again and again. It'll make the journey far more interesting and realistic.

Don't make bad coping mechanism black and white. Bad coping mechanisms were necessary once upon a time. They are good tools that have lived past their usefulness but they aren't illogical or evil.

Don't excuse bad behavior. Traumatic backstories offer an explanation of a character's behaviors but it doesn't make a character's actions okay.

They aren't just traumatic backstory. Oftentimes, they only thing we ever learn about a character is their deep issues and facade. But real traumatized people aren't just defined by the bad things that happen to them. They had dreams, goals, and friends that aren't pure tragedy.

They are people. While people are definitely defined by their trauma, don't make them think only of their trauma. People with sad backstories aren't more special then people who don't. They have stupidly weird behaviors, they have hobbies that aren't related to their issues. Don't make them think of just the bad stuff.

[g4y-th0ughts]

it’s so interesting to me as a(n obsessive) viewer how it’s actually three people in the relationship between lisa and carla, and four people in their family, because the ghost of becky is always looming among them. the woman is physically dead but she’s always there in spirit.

becky lingers between lisa and betsy - she always did when she was alive anyway, playing the mediator and giving lisa the perfect excuse to never deepen her relationship with betsy. to love her from afar and convince herself it was enough. she’s the one lisa still prays to for help with her daughter, sending texts to a number that doesn’t exist anymore, constantly comparing to a ghost and always coming out losing (becks, how do i do this without you?) (becky knew how to manage her better) (my other mom used to do all the touchy feely stuff).

becky lingers between betsy and carla, leaving betsy thorn between loving this new parental figure - who’s so different from lisa and probably so different from becky, who would let her drink beer out of their own fridge and wouldn’t let get away with murder because, unlike lisa, carla doesn’t have what feels like ancient debt towards her - and seeking justice for the one that’s gone, for becky’s memory. carla is constantly reminded that no matter what she does with betsy, she can’t fill a ghost’s shoes. and she doesn’t want to, she knows she can’t, but maybe she’d like to walk alongside her footsteps, make new ones without ever erasing hers. (nobody is trying to replace her) (I don’t want to replace Becky but) (i love you, i love you both).

becky lingers between lisa and carla, forcing lisa into some kind of three-way relationship with the woman she loves and the woman she loved. making place for her dead wife in the life she is building with her new girlfriend. the new girlfriend she loves so much she deep down resents for taking her out of what should’ve been life-long loyalty to a ghost, a lifetime of punishment. moving on feels a bit like betrayal, like breaking an unspoken promise (I’ll be devoted to your ghost and i’ll protect our child, that’s what my life will be like) (fell in love with another woman and almost killed our child). carla is caught in the middle of this silent war, threading carefully in order not to disrespect a woman she’s never even met. fearing that the holy entity could haunt her for claiming something that isn’t hers, that she hasn’t built (she inherited a sinking ship that she’s trying so hard to salvage but could she know better than the one who built it?) (is she good enough?) (can she compete with someone whose memory can never be tainted?)

and ultimately Becky’s intangible presence has an impact on the whole (fragile) family system. they’re always dancing around her ghost. sometimes their reactions don’t make sense unless you remember that there’s an invisible player that they can’t let go of. it’s like there’s a chair around the table that doesn’t belong to anyone present but isn’t empty either. and scooting it away or having someone else sit in it would be sacrilegious. but at the same time, you can’t keep setting up the table for someone who doesn’t eat anymore. so, what do you do? how do you move on without ever really forgetting? how do you set up a peaceful but limited space for your ghost to coexist with you without having her invade all the rooms of your house, your heart, your brain? past and future. so so interesting to watch.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Let's Talk About That

Usually I keep it casual (2)

Psychiatrist!Avenger!fem!reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: The compound has been built, and training has begun. With the two of you living together now stolen moments are bound to happen.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: legal age gap r is 19 and w is 25, talks of depression, bit of angst, bit of fluff, talk of vo*it (once towards the end)

A/N: The moment between R and W is taken from the moment in WandaVision where they go through Wanda's memories so R is taking the place of Vision and says his lines in that moment.

June 21st 2015

The new Compound was finally built and all of the Avengers moved there to live and to train. You got a new office looking similar to your old one and before you could start moving your things in it was time to start training the new recruits.

Captain America and Black Widow prepare to train the new roster of Avengers, consisting of Falcon, Wanda, War Machine, and Vision.

You stand just off to the side of Cap and Tasha. "You ready to finally show off your powers?" Cap asks you as you smirk, cracking your neck to either side. 

"Oh Cap, you know I was born ready.” you tell him as your eyes glow purple. 

"Alright, line up!" You call out. The new recruits line up. "I have a simple task for you four, move me from this spot." You tell them and you hear Sam chuckle. 

"You deal with our emotions, how hard could it be to move you?" He asks. 

"Thank you for volunteering to be my first victim Sam!" You smile. "Please front and center. The other watch as Sam tries to move you in any way, but can't. Even using his wings he can't. Then Rhodey tries and still nothing, Vision attempts and you don't budge. You look at Wanda. "Well?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow up at her. She has this soft look in her eyes almost like a baby deer.

"I don't want to hurt you." Wanda says her being the only magic user besides you currently on the team. 

"Oh sweetie. You could never hurt me. Go on, hit me with your best shot." You tell her, her eyes and hands glow red as she unleashes attacks on you as you swipe your hand up, a purple force field looking much like Wanda's own magic comes to protect you. They all look at you in shock. 

"Oh did we forget to mention something?" You hear Natasha's condescending tone ring out behind you making you chuckle, catching the attention of the newest members. 

"I think we did Tasha." You say pulling the collar of your shirt down, showing off the glowing purple stone in your chest, looking similar to the mind stone in Vision's head. "I have the power stone in my chest. Really I'm the best of both worlds. Brains and brawns. The stone gives me psychic energy manipulation, force field generation, disintegration of objects I touch, energy absorption, magic empowerment, and of course superhuman strength and durability.

The new Avengers stood in awe as you revealed the Power Stone embedded in your chest, their expressions a mix of shock and admiration. You could feel the weight of their gaze on you, but you stood tall, unyielding, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Wow," Sam exclaimed, breaking the silence. "That's... impressive."

You chuckled, feeling a surge of pride at their reaction. "Thank you, Sam. But let's not get too distracted. We have work to do."

With that, you motioned for them to regroup, eager to put their newfound knowledge to the test. "Alright, let's try this again," you announced, positioning yourself in the center of the training area. "This time, I want you to work together to try and move me."

The recruits exchanged glances before nodding in determination. Sam and Rhodey took to the skies, while Vision and Wanda focused their powers, creating a coordinated assault.

As they unleashed their combined efforts, you could feel the energy swirling around you, pushing against the force field generated by the Power Stone. But despite their best efforts, you remained rooted to the spot, a testament to the strength of the stone's power.

"Keep going!" You encouraged them, a grin spreading across your face as you felt the thrill of the challenge. "You're doing great!"

For several minutes, they continued their assault, each attack more powerful than the last. But no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't overcome the barrier protecting you.

Finally, with a triumphant shout, they ceased their assault, panting and exhausted but exhilarated by the challenge. "I... I can't believe it," Sam gasped, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Believe it," you replied, your voice tinged with pride. "With teamwork and determination, there's nothing we can't overcome. You guys are new to being a team. I'm sure you'll be able to take me on properly soon."

As the others caught their breath, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement for the future. With this new team of Avengers and the power of the Stone at your disposal, there was no telling what this new team could accomplish together. And as you looked around at your teammates, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them head-on, united as one.

===========================================================

The Next Day June 22nd 2015

It's late evening after you had roused yourself to get a snack you notice Wanda's door cracked slightly as you forgo getting a snack and decide to knock on her door. "Open." She says similar to you when the two of you first met. You open the door fully and smile at her, but she doesn't have a smile to give you back. 

She has Malcom in the Middle playing as she is sat on her bed, a grey tank top, mostly covered by a black sweater hanging off her shoulder and tight black leggings. She's sitting with her legs crossed, a pillow in her lap that's she's leaning on. "If now isn't a good time I can..." you trail off. She pats the bed next to her, still no smile, but you can read her well enough that she wants company, she just doesn't always know how to ask for it. 

She looks away, pulling her sleeves over her hands and even though they're covered she still keeps tugging at them with anxiety. You sit next to her mimicking her posture as you grab one of her pillows from behind us and crossing your legs. She finally attempts a smile at you for half a second once you've settled. Then turns her attention back to the TV where Hal gets hurt and you chuckle. 

"I only watched Malcom in the Middle when it was on TV, but I tended to find Full House, Fresh Prince, and The Nanny playing when I'd go looking for late night TV." You tell her. 

"You like sitcoms?" She asks and you look at her with a warm smile. 

"Yeah I do. Never got the chance to tell you though." A smile creeps onto her lips without her knowledge. You unconsciously lick your lips as you stare at hers. She always somehow managed to look perfect and maybe it's the repressed emo girl that you used to be, but her in all black, and her black nail polish she just so happened to be your type. 

"Y/N?" You're pulled back to reality by her voice.

"Hmm?" You ask. 

"I asked what's your favorite sitcom?" She repeats and you think a moment, you end up letting yourself fall back against her bed, staring at her ceiling.

"That's honestly hard for me to answer. I'm not good with picking favorites." You look over at her. "I always feel bad when I pick a favorite anything as if the others aren't good enough or something." You confess to Wanda. 

"What about like top 3 or top 5?"

"Hmmm…” You think for a few moments, going through the list of sitcoms you've grown up with, contemplating about each for no more than a moment. “Full House, That 70s Show, Seinfeld, Friends, Golden Girls, and The Office is probably my newest obsession." She smiles before letting a laugh pass her lips. You smile, biting your bottom lip as you do so because she's just so, "Beautiful." I end up saying out loud. She stops and you can see her face redden. You scramble up off her bed. "Shit sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry I'll leave!" You ramble and as you turn to run you feel her grip on your wrist. You look back at her, eyes glowing. 

"If we're being honest with each other Doctor I'd like to let you know I think you're quiet beautiful yourself." She admits to you and something about her calling you doctor sends your brain into a frenzy and you can tell she's hearing every thought going through your head and you can't find yourself to even be mad about it right now as you step back to her, grabbing her face and kissing her.

The moment your lips met, it was as if time stood still. All the worries, the doubts, the fears melted away, leaving only the warmth of her touch and the sweet taste of her lips against yours. In that fleeting moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, lost in the intensity of the connection we shared.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of emotions coursing through you, a mixture of desire, longing, and something deeper, something you couldn't quite put into words. It was as if your souls were reaching out to each other, seeking solace and understanding in the midst of chaos.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you found yourself gazing into Wanda's eyes, searching for any sign of regret or hesitation. But all you saw was warmth and affection, mirrored in her gaze.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have—"

But before you could finish your sentence, Wanda silenced you with a gentle touch of her finger against your lips. "Don't apologize," she said softly, her eyes sparkling with emotion. "That was... unexpected, but not unwelcome."

You felt a rush of relief flood through you at her words, a weight lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for something more between the two of you.

As we sat there in silence, the glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room, you realized that this was just the beginning of your journey together. There would be challenges ahead, obstacles to overcome, but as long as you faced them together, you knew the two of you could conquer anything.

With a smile, you reached out and took Wanda's hand in yours, intertwining your fingers as if to seal the unspoken promise between the two of you. As the two of you sat there, bathed in the soft light of the TV, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together, side by side, as partners, as friends, and perhaps, if we were lucky, as something more.

Wanda pulls you onto her lap after moving the pillow away. She pulls you into a tight hug and whispers, "I've been so tired recently. It's just...it's like this wave washing over me again and again. It knocks me down and when I try to stand up it just comes for me again and I can't-" you hear her voice cracking, her emotion shifting along with her aura as you rub her back. "It's just going to drown me." She confesses.

"No...no it's not..." you tell her.

"Yeah..." She lets out a dry chuckle and you pull back, letting your hands find her cheeks again. You stare into those deep green eyes full of sorrow and hope there comes a point where you can see them full of joy. You’ve only gotten small glimpses of happiness from Wanda and all you wanted was for those glimpses to last longer until there was no sorrow left. 

"No it won't, I won't let it. Not now. Not ever. Do you hear me Wanda?" You're searching her tear filled eyes to see if on any level she believes you because you could only hope that your words offered some solace to her feelings. All you wanted to do was take some of it away, even just a little so she wasn’t drowning anymore.

"How do you know?" Her voice is cracking and soft, it breaks you to hear her like this.

"Well it can't all be sorrow, can it?" She's searching your Y/E/C eyes now, your thoughts even. "Tell me. What is grief if not love persevering?" You ask, a small tilt to your head. Her dam finally breaks as she cries and you shush her, helping her through it. "I've got you Wanda. Always. I'll hold you above the waves. I'd let myself drown before I let it take you." You tell her softly. “I can help take some of it away, would you like that?” You ask her, her tear filled eyes looking up at you and nods ever so slightly, but still asks,

“Will it hurt?” Her voice cracks as you rub her cheeks with your thumbs, wiping the tears away.

“No darling it won’t it’ll make you feel lighter. I don’t do it often. Bad emotions are disgusting. I have to take them out of you and eat them which I’m sure sounds weird and I guess in a way it is, but for you I’ll do it.” She nods once again, clinging to you as you move your hand to her back, rubbing a gentle circle. You can feel the physical manifestation of the emotions pulling them apart from one another, only taking out the pain and grief, not all just enough. 

A black oobleck is pulled out threatening to slip through your fingers as Wanda pulls back to look. You use both your hands to keep it contained as you bring it to your mouth. You open your mouth as wide as you can, tongue sticking out as you let the gooey orb fall into your mouth and swallow. Your face contorts and a shiver goes through your body like when you take medicine you can’t stand. It tastes like vomit in the worst way possible and the main reason you tended not to do this. 

You feel Wanda cup your cheeks and murmur, “You’re okay.” and “Thank you.” As much as you hated it, you knew you’d do it as much as she needed. You lean in, placing your forehead against her own, nuzzling your faces together as you feel your cheeks dampen from her tears. 

“No more tears darling.” You whisper, feeling her smile against you. 

The two of you eventually make it up her bed, laying against her pillows, small soft kisses are peppered in between things. There are no more tears from Wanda through the night as the show continues playing as she falls asleep on your chest. 

As Wanda rested against you, her breathing steady and her grip on you relaxed, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Despite the turmoil and uncertainty that surrounded you two, in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the rhythm of her breaths lulling you into a state of calm.

You gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face, marveling at the serenity that seemed to radiate from her even in sleep. She had been through so much, faced unimaginable challenges and losses, yet here she was, still fighting, still clinging to hope.

And in that moment, you made a silent vow to yourself, to always be there for her, to be her anchor in the storm, to hold her above the waves no matter how fierce they may rage. Because Wanda was more than just a teammate or a friend—she was someone you cared deeply for, someone you would do anything to protect.

As the soft glow of the TV bathed the room in a gentle light, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, knowing that no matter what tomorrow may bring, the two of you would face it together, united in our strength and our love. And as you held Wanda in your arms, you knew that as long as the two of you had each other, you could weather any storm that came your way.

[bodyhopper-files]

Just A Dream

Beau woke up with the sun shining through his window, breaking into his bedroom with a ray of light. With a start, he remembered the peculiar dream he had just had.

"Bro, I just had the weirdest dream..." he said, gazing up at the ceiling with a perplexed expression.

I had been waiting for this moment. I knew it was my chance to make sure Beau never figured out my secret. Pretending to be deeply interested in the dream, I asked, "Oh yeah, bro? What did you dream about?"

Beau's expression changed from puzzlement to awe. "I dreamt I used to be some skinny nerd but then I made a wish to be a dumb bro."

I chuckled, trying to sound as casual as possible. "No way, bro! Just look at you. You're a real bro with a sexy jock body, not some skinny nerd."

As my words hung in the air, I silently thanked the supernatural forces that gave me the power to transform him into a dumb, obedient bro while he was sleeping. I continued to act clueless, though I couldn't help but feel aroused at the thought of his new personality and the possibilities that came with it.

"Huh. So, what do you wanna do today, bro?" Beau asked me with a smirk and a slow, stupid drawl. I could sense the easy confidence settling into his voice and it only fueled my desire for him.

"I was thinking we could hit the gym and pump some iron, bro."

He nodded eagerly, flexing his biceps. "Hell yeah, bro! Let's get jacked!"

"And then I thought we could come home and you could rail me real good."

Beau's eyes widened in surprise at my suggestion, but then his thick, dumb jock-brain caught up and a cocky grin spread across his face.

"Fuck yeah, bro!" he exclaimed, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me close. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that."

My heart raced as I felt his muscular body pressed against mine, his hot breath tickling my neck. I could feel the bulge in his shorts growing harder and I knew he was just as turned on as I was.

"Maybe we should just skip the gym for today," I murmured in his ear as he nibbled my neck.

Beau leaned in, his lips brushing mine. His eyes opened slowly and a devilish smirk appeared on his face.

"Whatever you want, bro."

My face heated up and my heart rate quickened as I realized how far I'd taken him in such a short amount of time. His transformation was complete, and I was ready to enjoy every second of it.

We stripped off our clothes and tumbled into bed, exploring each other's bodies with eager hands. He kissed me deeply as I ran my hand over his bulging muscles, marveling at the perfect body I'd blessed him with using my special powers. We explored and touched and tasted each other until neither of us could take it anymore. Rolling over on top of him, I leaned down to meet his lips with mine, pressing my body tightly against his as our passionate lovemaking began.

He held me close and moved inside me in an exquisite rhythm that only heightened our pleasure. Every touch was electric and every movement was athletically performed. The new dumb jock might not have been all that smart, but his sex game was about to be legendary. I gasped and moaned as we both reached our climax. He finished by pumping his hot jock load into me with deep, animalistic groans.

We lay there afterwards spent but satisfied, curled up next to each other in a blissful afterglow. With one last kiss and hug Beau whispered softly "Bro, I'm so glad being a skinny nerd was just a dream."

[werepuppy-steve]

like june, august was also a rough month. work has been kicking my ass more and more lately, leaving me little to no time to enjoy my hobbies. i've been playing video games more recently to get my brain to relax and unwind more than i've been reading, admittedly. but we're trying our best.

something new this time: a gen rec section where i rec any non stranger things/steddie fics i read for the month!

<- july fic rec • more fic recs • my ao3

you were warm when everything was cold - G, 5.4k, complete @lesbianrobin

tags: lumax, background steddie, established relationship, masculinity crisis, lucas centric

There’s something about watching Steve and Eddie that makes his chest ache, just a little bit. Something that feels like it’s just out of reach, like if he could just jump an inch higher he could grasp it and know what it is, have a name for it, figure out what feels like it’s missing with Max. He never felt like something was missing with Max before. She was perfect. She is perfect! Like, sure, not actually perfect, because nobody’s actually perfect, but she’s perfect for him just like he hopes he’s perfect for her, and they’re perfect together. Maybe Lucas is overcompensating.

Sweet Boy - E, 2/2, complete Ghost_ing_Temptations

tags: dom/sub, puppy play, accidental subspace, good boy steve harrington

Steve is used to it by now, the teasing 'good dog's thrown his way, the occasional 'fetch.' He's not sure when the idea of him as the Party's resident guard dog started, but he's gotten over the swirling feeling in his stomach at those words... pretty much. Regardless, Robin is capable of convincing him of anything. So here he is hosting a Halloween get together dressed in ears, a tail and the real kicker - a collar. What could go wrong?

Horny for Horsepower - E, 2.5k, complete Oralmystery

tags: crackfic, transformers au, masturbation

Steve is a transformer and Eddie is the mechanic in love with him. Dustin accidentally spills soda all over Steve’s backseat and Eddie has to clean it up. In spite of Eddie's best efforts the sticky situation only gets stickier.

future in your hand (signed, sealed, delivered) - T, 10.3k, complete formous_iniquis

tags: no upside down au, penpals, childhood friends to lovers, appalachian eddie, road trips

Dear Eddie, Mrs. Simpson says I’m supposed to thank you for volunteering to be my partner even though you’re a fifth grader. I don’t know why I should though since now I actually have to do this stupid pen pal project. I know she only paired me with an older kid cause she thinks I’m dumb. But thanks for the extra work I guess. Sincerely (cause we aren’t friends), Steve Harrington --- Assigned to be pen pals elementary school, Steve and Eddie find themselves growing closer than they could have imagined as children. Sending letters where they become confidants, friends, and more over the years they write to one another. Nearly a decade after they start an incident sends Steve himself to Eddie. The two leave Hawkins and road trip together to their Happily Ever After.

Burnin' for You - T, 7.1k, complete @soaringornithopter

tags: no upside down au, modern au, t4t steddie, mutual pining, getting together

During a record breaking heatwave, the residents of Hawkins are forced to endure rolling blackouts. Eddie learns he can't handle the unbearable heat and takes steps to try to improve his situation. While on the hunt for work, he repeatedly crosses paths with Steve, who decides to invite Eddie over to take a break from the weather by enjoying the Harrington's pool and reliable central air conditioning. It may take a few visits before they finally get what they both want.

crush notes - T, 4/4, complete @steddiecameraroll

tags: post-s2, secret admirer, getting together

“So, you’re getting love letters?” “Well, I wouldn’t call them love letters, more like crush notes…” Eddie Munson has a secret admirer. He has no idea who it could be, but maybe his new friendship with the one and only Steve Harrington can come in handy.

honeysuckle - E, 2.4k, complete (ao3) @hawkinsbnbg

tags: dom/sub, breeding kink, cock cages, face slapping, daddy kink, good boy steve harrington, overstimulation, prostate milking

Eddie didn't look upset per se. He looked— Amused. Like he knew exactly why Steve acted that way and was more than ready to make it worse.

hidden lace - E, 2.8k, complete (ao3) @steddieas-shegoes

tags: lingerie, secret relationship, car sex, public sex, top eddie, bottom steve

Steve is pissed at Eddie. Like, genuinely pissed. Not that cute, haha my boyfriend was being annoying but I love him, pissed. The kind where if he saw him right now, he’d do something really stupid, like yell or break up with him. And he knew he didn’t actually want to do that.

Bark At The Moon - T, WIP @evillittleguy

tags: pre-series, canon rewrite, werewolf steve, pining

He just wants to go home. He doesn’t even know what home is anymore. He rolls onto his butt and sits in the dirt. Alone in the woods he lets himself cry.  After the worst of it is over and he’s sniffling away the snot and the tears- wiping with his sleeve- he realizes he’s being watched and freezes. In front of him only a few feet away a small honey-brown wolf is poorly hidden in the underbrush.

Coming home to you - E, 1.3k, complete @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

tags: established relationship, post series, fluff and smut, soft dom eddie, sub steve, dry humping

Eddie is halfway through composing an absolutely sick riff when the front door slams shut. The sound rattles the walls of the apartment and sends one of their framed photos askew. Eddie blinks, pulling off his headphones and taking a few moments to get his bearings. It’s starting to turn dark outside and his stomach is rumbling. Shit, for how long was he out?  “Stevie? You home?” he calls, but the apartment stays quiet, bar for the creak of the bedroom door and the thud of a body hitting the mattress. Eddie frowns, setting the guitar aside and padding across the hallway.

don't' want to move on - E, 3.1k, complete (ao3) @steddieas-shegoes

tags: modern au, exes to lovers, frottage

If Steve knows one thing, it’s that Eddie knows how to get under his skin and in his bed. Ever since their breakup, a disaster of epic proportions for the entire friend group, Steve’s kept his distance from every possible interaction with Eddie. He’s made sure to find reasons to miss group outings and put himself on the schedule at work on the nights when he knew Eddie would be at movie nights or dinner. He purposely scheduled pool parties for days and times he knew Eddie would be busy. But he couldn’t get out of this one. And now he has Eddie’s eyes on him from across the room, staring into his soul, reading his mind probably.

Heartache to Heartache - E, 1.7k, complete (ao3) @steddie-island | kintsugi_kid

tags: established relationship, make up sex, top eddie, bottom steve

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Eddie had asked. His hands shook with his anger, his frustration, with the desire to grab this stupid beautiful boy by the shoulders. "What the fuck, Steve?" "I was helping," Steve said, clearly confused. "I just wanted to help—" "No, you were just using Daddy's money to make problems go away again." Steve had winced at that, but then he'd straightened his spine. "Yeah, I used my dad's money. So what? Why does it matter how it got paid for?" or Steve and Eddie have a fight. And then they get to make up about it.

Do it for him - T, 1.5k, complete (ao3) @steddie-island | kintsugi_kid

tags: established relationship, medical trauma, hurt/comfort

"I'm worried about you," Eddie had whispered in bed one morning, when Steve was in that soft space between sleep and wakefulness. "I know your hearing is getting worse, and you need glasses… I know you didn't get looked at after everything, and I get why, but…" He'd kissed Steve's hair, his temple, his cheek. "I can't lose you. Please, Stevie. For me?" That was all it had taken for Steve to finally give in. or Eddie helps Steve face his fears and get himself checked out.

Safe With You - E, 4.8k, complete (ao3) @hotluncheddie

tags: established relationship, daddy kink, under-negotiated kink, hurt/comfort, soft dom eddie, sub steve

‘Tell me something.’ Eddie says between kisses, quiet and deep and Steve feels like there’s whisky in his belly, thrumming through his veins. Drunk on Eddie Munson. ‘Tell me what you like, show me. Let me help baby.’ His hooded eyes pull Steve in, fingers stroking hairs away from his forehead and lips pressing kisses to his cheekbones. Steve doesn’t know how to answer, how to ask for something he wants. ‘No, I. Te-tell me what you like.’ He says, pulling Eddie’s shirt up and off, giving himself a moment away from eye contact, away from the vulnerability Eddie draws out of him. Eddie lets his T-shirt be tossed away, pulling Steve close and swaying them again gently. Slowing the moment once more. ‘Mmm, I like lots of things. Like making pretty boys feel good, for one.’ He ponders, hand soothing up and down Steve’s back. ‘And you, honey, are the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.’ He smiles, teeth glinting in the soft lamplight. Steve ducks his head as his cheeks flush, smiling, hiding in Eddie’s shoulder. (Or Steve and Eddie try something new, it doesn't quite go to plan, but they talk it through.)

Beautiful Decline - M/E, series, WIP Izzy_Grinch | @troublemakingrebel

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr, rough sex, age difference, secret relationship, good boy ceolbert, falling in love, fix it fic

On a celebration that takes place the night after his father has been crowned a new King of Mercia, Ceolbert feels unwisely bold and seeks Ivarr's company.

Of Dandelions and Nettles - E, 22.3k, complete Izzy_Grinch | @troublemakingrebel

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr, friends to lovers, age difference, first time, ivarr lets ceol-baby get away with so much and everyone is shocked, drunk sex, morning after, flower language

Even when Ceolbert messes up Ivarr's game of Orlog, his plans to pass out drinking and his intentions to wake up alone, Ivarr lets him, as he lets his own hands wander into Ceolbert's hair and down his pliable skin.

Hay Fever - E, 5/5, complete Izzy_Grinch | @troublemakingrebel

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr, age difference, friends to lovers, not so secret relationship, time skips, sexual tension,they fuck in so many stables yall

All it takes is a snap of the last straw. Over the course of five chapters, Ceolbert walks a path from his father's son to a Prince, to an Ealdorman, to a King, each milestone celebrated with Ivarr by his side in the questionable privacy of the local stables.

The Skillful Hunter - M, 5/5, complete hapaxlegomena

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr + ubba, age difference, impotence

Ivarr and Ceolbert pass a year together. Hunting, learning the art of war, and other things a man has to know.

[scarisd3ad]

You’re too sweet for me

Pairing - dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

Warnings - age gap (readers in early/mid 20’s and Joel’s at least in his late 30’s/early 40’s), cursing, angst

Masterlist

A/N - can’t get hoziers new song out my head, and can’t get the fact that it’s so Joel miller coded out my head either.

I'm standing in Joel Miller's living room, arms crossed over my chest, eyes watering, wishing I could just disappear. It's 2 pm on a Tuesday, which means my father and his daughter, the two people we didn't want to know about our relationship, are working. "Y/N, you're too young for me," he says, standing about 4 feet away from me. I wasn't too young for him when he was balls deep inside of me two days ago, so why all of a sudden was I too young?

"Why now?" I ask, his brows furrow as he asks, "Huh?" I roll my eyes. "Why now?! Did someone find out?" he sighs, arms resting on his hips as he says, "Tommy, he found out. he's threatenin' to tell your daddy unless we break this off," he says, gesturing to the both of us. Tommy Miller is again the world's biggest snitch. "can't we just lie?" I ask, blinking back tears as Joel takes a few steps towards me.

His hands rest against my upper arms, both thumbs caressing the supple flesh beneath my cotton tee shirt. "You should find someone your own age. Someone you can actually have a future with." My eyes fill with tears once again as I plead, "Please. I want a future with you."

He shakes his head. "We can't, y'know that." Joel was obviously older, in his late 30s, and me in my 20s. I was closer in age to his daughter than him, but that didn't mean we couldn't be together. "Please, Joel," I say, hands grasping at his arms. "Honey, we aren't anything alike; tell me, did you think this was ever going to be anything other than sex?" and just like that, my heart breaks in two. Tears flood my eyes and stream down my face.

Maybe he knew something I didn't; with all the years he had on me, maybe he learned something in one of those I hadn't yet. Perhaps he could see into the future and wanted to save me from himself, but I still can't take it without shedding a few tears. "I love you, Joel," I admit through tears. His mouth is left a gap as he stares down at me, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can almost hear his brain tick, tick, ticking as he thought. "Baby…" he shakes his head, "you don't love me. Kid, you don't know what love is,"

I feel more angry than sad. "Don't call me kid," I mutter as I pull myself out of his arms. How could he say I was incapable of loving someone yet loving him yet. I didn't need to live a million years to know I love him. "c'mon, you're just too sweet for me. We're too different." I was the sunshine, the light of everyone's day, and he was the rain clouds rolling in to ruin everyone's day. I quickly wipe my eyes before turning around to walk out of his house. "don't come crawling back," I mutter to myself as he shouts, "You know we can't be together without ruining both of our families."

The egotistical part of me wants to say I'm the best thing he'll ever have, but I know that's not true. I know there's going to be some age-appropriate woman who comes and sweeps him and his whole family off his feet. A girl who will single-handedly make him forget all about me. A woman, my dad, will talk about how 'good she is for him' and how 'this is it for him, I know it.' a woman I will try to force myself to hate, but I'll never be able to. She'll be the best thing he'll ever have, and I'll just be a fuzzy memory in the back of his head.

[lou-struck]

Little Surprises

Katsuki Bakugo x reader 

~ It's funny how making just a little change in your daily routine can change everything...

Wc: 2.4k

Warnings: Injury, mentions of violence, mention of death cliffhangers, angst.

"Tell me" "No" "Tell me!" "No. Stop askin'!" "Okay…" 

You look down at your text chain with Katsuki with a grin. The special trip he planned for you is a week away, and despite your best efforts, you still haven't figured out where he is taking you. Your Boyfriend is stubborn and unwilling to give you even a sliver of information. Clearly, you just have to push harder.

Chewing the inside of your lip you try to worm your way into the mind of Katsuki Bakugo. You twist your features into his signature scowl and try to think. When your caffeine-fueled brain reaches its first idea, you send him another text.

"The beach?" "Goddammit!!! I told you that I'm not telling you anything, so stop trying to guess. Don't you have work to do or something?" "You're deflecting! We are going to the beach, aren't we?" "Absolutely not, you dumbass. Get back to work."

You read his last message with a snort and shoot him a quick "I love you." before setting your phone face down on your desk. Looking around the office, you try and see if there is anything new to do to entertain you, but today is just a rather uneventful day; aside from a meeting with a prospective client and a few unanswered emails, there is nothing really to do.

"Hey," Mae, your favorite coworker, says, poking up from behind your cubicle. "Did you see our afternoon meeting got canceled? Apparently, the client's car got trapped behind one of Shoto's ice walls when he was chasing down a villain, and it won't be dethawed until the afternoon."

"Lucky us," you laugh, now clearing the last remaining item on your schedule today. "Do you think we will get sent home early today?"

She looks at you hopefully through her large wire-rimmed glasses. "They should. If there is nothing to do, it would be wasteful to have us here. Besides," she sends you a teasing look. "I'm sure you would love a bit more time to get ready for your Mystery Trip with your big shot pro hero boyfriend. Do you know where he is taking you yet?"

You let out a deep sigh and slap your hands against your wooden desktop. "Not a clue, and it's killing me. I keep trying to get little bits and pieces out of him, but he won't budge. I tried to ask some of his friends, but he knows that they would slip up, so no one is able to help me figure it out." 

"Oh my, isn't that a pickle?" your sweet little coworker giggles, adjusting the cat-shaped buttons on her cardigan. "Whatever it is he has planned, I'm sure you will love it. That young man certainly cares a lot about you."

"I know, I'm just not great with surprises." You smile gratefully at your older friend just as the door to the break room opens, and a putrid smell wafts under your nose. It takes everything in you to not gag at the smell of your coworker microwaving their leftover fish stew for the third day in a row."

"Dammit, Greg," the little lady huffs as the man steps out of the room with his probably poisonous lunch in hand, the paper bowl it's in sloshes as he passes by your desk. Her hand already reaching under her desk for her emergency can of air freshener to kill the lingering scent.

But instead of avoiding you, the man chooses to stop right in front of your workstation. 

"Shouldn't you be doing something productive, Y/n?" he sneers, looking at your blackened screen. "Especially since you chose to take off Friday and leave us to pick up your slack while you are on your little vacation," he says the last word bitterly as if the only reason you decided to take time off was to spite him.

Usually, you would make some kind of masterfully passive-aggressive retort back to his rudeness, but the smell of his lunch is practically lethal at this point, and you feel your life force draining. Thankfully Mae, your friend, honorary grandmother figure, and now protector, butts in. "Oh, don't worry about him, dear," she laughs, "He is just jealous that you are dating a Pro, and Pinky hasn't opened any of their digital fan mail or whatever it is you young folks call it." 

You stare at her in awe as Greg stomps away with his smelly soup and stinkier attitude. Now that you can breathe again, words come easier. "Thank you for that; that soup smelled so bad I couldn't think clearly. Those leftovers can't possibly still be good, can they?"

"Absolutely not; they are clearly rancid by now. But I think that his quirk makes him a human garbage disposal. Not everyone can create bombs like your Dynamite ca~ "She pauses mid-sentence and stares at the window behind you in confusion. 

"What is it?" you ask, spinning around in your chair, but your usual view looks no different than usual. Just buildings and the occasional pigeon flapping past 

"Wait, really? "You turn and look at your friend in disbelief, you were just talking about him. There is no way he just passed by. 

She put her little hands up innocently, "If you don't believe me turn on the tv, I'm sure some reporter is already on the scene watching Dynamite kick some villain ass."

You quickly snatch the remote for the office television and press down on the bright red power button. Sure enough, when the screen comes to life, you see a live report from just down the block from your office. He's moving far too quickly for the cameras to get a clear view of him, but you can tell from the sporadic explosions that shake the camera lenses that it's Katsuki.

Your stomach twists as your nerves take hold of you. Although he is one of the strongest heroes in the world, watching him fight live has you clenching your metaphorical pearls as you fear the worst. 

Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palm as you watch the screen. It only takes him a few minutes to apprehend the villains he was up against, but to you, it felt like hours.

"It looks like he got them all, "Mae says, noting your worried expression. "You should go down there and say hi to him. I'm sure it would make you feel better."

"I guess they're not too far away?" You say glancing at the clock, it's not lunchtime yet, but it's close enough to step away. Even if it wasn't your lunch break, you know that your manager would be fine with you going. "I guess I could take an early lunch and just wander over there."

Isn't it wonderful to not be working in a toxic workplace?

"Well, dear, you might as well just call it a day." Mae laughs. "There is nothing else to do anyways."

"Are you sure that will be alright?" you ask as she nods encouragingly. Although on paper, she is your coworker, you know that she has been working at your office long enough that she is practically upper management herself. If Miss Mae tells you to clock out, you clock out. "Alright then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."  

"Have fun with loverboy," they call after you. You don't have to see their face to know that they are giving you a teasing smirk.

~

Even if you didn't know where he was fighting earlier, the large crowd of people crowding the crime scene would've tipped you off. Reporters press against the caution tape, flashing their cameras at the cluster of unconscious villains being fitted into quirk-canceling handcuffs. Nosy civilians gossip with one another as they try to figure out everything they can about the altercation.

You weave your way through the crowd of onlookers and adoring superfans with practiced efficiency. It isn't long till you find yourself at the edge of a caution tape with a perfect view of everything.

Surprisingly, the fight didn't cause much damage to the street; the villains seemed to litter the ground more than the usual rubble of a fight. And standing in the middle of the chaos is Katsuki. The blond man scowls at his defeated enemies, ignoring the trembling hand of the red-lipped reporter trying to interview him. He's always hated having to deal with the press, so he simply chooses not to. 

His crimson gaze spots you in the crowd, and he sends you a satisfied smirk; you recognize that look; it's the one he uses when he knows he has impressed you. He turns away from the reporter and strides toward you, his dark boots blending into the asphalt and crushing shards of broken glass. 

The man next to you seems to buzz with excitement as he turns to his friend. "Dynamite coming over here," he whispers. "It looks like we can finally get that picture with him."

"Screw the camera; I want to try and get a piece of his spiky hair." his friend murmurs back, "I can add it to my shrine next to that tissue I won at that auction."

You cringe hearing their conversation and discreetly step away from the obsessive fanboys. As Katsuki's partner, you understand why so many people are obsessed with him. But they should be well aware that Katsuki won't hesitate to blast them into next week if they get anywhere close to his personal bubble, and that's not something you want on your conscience. 

He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and stops a few meters shy of the tape, "Well, don't just stand there, y/n, get over here."

The eyes of the crowd are immediately fixated on you as you slip under the tape, but you are too focused on him to care about their curious murmurings. He carefully places his hand on the small of your back to lead you away from prying eyes. The intimate gesture sends electricity up your spine as your knees wobble slightly. 

The two of you walk past the troves of law enforcement officers who nod respectfully at Katsuki while loading up the incapacitated criminals into their transportation vehicles. 

"It looks like you had your hands full today," you comment, comparing the villain's various bumps and bruises to Katsuki's unmarred skin. "I'm glad that you are okay."

"It was nothing; I just wish one of these idiots would give me a challenge every once in a while." He scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest childishly.

It's infuriating how he can pout in a situation like this.

He just put his life on the line, and he's disappointed that they didn't try hard enough…

God…You could just kiss him.

When he takes note of your clenched jaw, he smirks, closing the distance between the two of you. "What's the matter, babe? You don't like it when I kick ass?"

You roll your eyes and lightly press your hand against his sturdy chest. "I like it when your patrols are boring, and you are safe. I mean it Katsuki, I don't want to lose you on a random Thursday to some kind of wannabe bank robber or whatever it is these guys did to end up splayed out on the pavement."

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," he laughs confidently, but you notice a slight tremble on his lip. He knows more than anyone that he isn't invincible. His body is littered with scars, some of which have blossomed from near-fatal injuries. His tone softens as he gently takes your hand. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"You better not," you chuckle, trying your best to brighten the mood. 

"Is that a threat?" he asks amusedly. 

"Maybe it is." you tease grabbing his hand and pressing a soft kiss to the tips of his fingers. Katsuki has always been a sucker for PDA. He may be as tough as nails, but all it takes is a quick peck from your lips to turn the tips of his ears pink. 

"Ahhh, what did I ever do to end up dating such a damn troublemaker?" 

"You asked." you giggle, taking advantage of his rare, flustered state and pressing your lips to his. Cockily, you think you have the upper hand, but he soon proves you wrong. 

He deepens the kiss greedily; the subtle taste of burnt sugar on his lips sends you into a haze. Your knees go weak, and his arms have to slip around you to keep you steady. You feel his smirk against your lips as he notices the effect he has on you. 

Even as he pulls away you feel that you could bound over skyscrapers if he so much as asked you to. His gaze is full of adoration until he gets waved over by a sidekick. "Ah shit, these extras really know how to ruin the mood." He huffs, glancing back at that darn pesky active crime scene. "I gotta finish up here real quick, and then I'll meet you at home."

"Will you bring dinner?"

"Is that all you're thinking about?" he laughs, turning and walking away as if he isn't already planning out which one of your favorite meals he will cook for you later this evening.

He really is such a softie…

He only makes it a few steps when, all of a sudden, a panic shout arises from somewhere behind you. "THE CUFFS MALFUNCTIONED. EVERYBODY DOWN."

Your eyes go wide as you turn towards the chaos. One of the sidekicks from earlier is on his knees; the left cuff of his quirk-canceling handcuff has come loose, freeing one of his wrists. His gaze is dark as he raises a shaking hand in your direction. He must have an emitter-type quirk. "You're with Dynamite, huh? That jerk needs to be taught a lesson. I'm sorry that it has to be through you, though.

Before anyone can react, he shakily emits a Violet beam of light in your direction. You should try and dodge it or something, but at that moment, all you do is freeze.

Is this it?

Is this how you die?

You're so scared you cannot recall what your last words were.

A warm hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you roughly to the ground. The impact stuns you as you stare up at Katsuki. His gaze never leaves yours, even as the beam hits him square in the chest.

A blood-curdling scream echoes through the streets as his empty hero costume hits the floor.

End of part 1...

Tagging: @sleepyyshroom, @anjodedesgostoeerros, @isaacdaknight

[nanowrimo]

5 Tips for Building a Sustainable Writing Practice

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. First Draft Pro, a 2023 Camp NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a great writing app—whether you’re writing solo or with a co-author. Here are a few tips for building a sustainable writing practice, brought to you by author Ariana Brown and First Draft Pro.

We’ve all heard the advice to “write every day,” as if it were that easy! Translation: suck it up, no one cares if you’re tired. But what if there was another way to get writing done, without being unkind to yourself? 

Hi, I’m Ariana Brown, and I teach writers how to create a writing practice that is sustainable, flexible, and fulfilling. Most of my students are chronically ill, disabled, neurodivergent, or simply exhausted from the daily stresses of life. I know writing isn’t your only responsibility—capitalism makes sure of that! But I strongly believe that writing should be an enjoyable activity you look forward to.

Below I’ve compiled my top tips for exhausted writers who want to be kinder to themselves—and still get the work done.

1. Add pleasure to your writing routine.

Sensory pleasures are neither frivolous nor are they only for children. They’re a crucial part of being alive! They give us something to look forward to when times are tough and we need motivation. Candles, soft blankets, cold beverages, mood lighting, dance breaks, yummy treats—whatever you choose, make sure it’s something you love. Paint your nails a fun color so you have something beautiful to look at while you’re typing away. Make a playlist of your favorite songs and after you finish a chapter, blast one song so loudly you have to get up and dance. Then, get back to writing. Remember, even for the most focused among us, pleasure is a better motivator than shame.

2. Be clear about your intentions.

What brought you to writing in the first place? For some, it was the ability to escape into our imaginations. For others, it was the chance to finally express what we’d been holding inside. Identify your reason for writing, then ask yourself: Am I still enjoying this? Do I still feel connected to my reason for writing? If not, explore how you can strengthen your connection to your inner child’s reason for writing. 

3. Work with your brain, not against it.

If we know that everyone’s brain works differently, why do we force strict discipline and linear processes on ourselves? My advice: find or create a writing process that works for you. Maybe you love outlines; maybe you prefer to see where the words take you. Either way, make space for wandering, play, and discovery as you write. Take brain breaks. Doodle, map, dance, and draw when you get distracted. Body double with other writers, try new exercises and prompts to make the writing sing, and take plenty of breaks to stretch your body and talk to friends. We come to writing with our whole selves. Listen to your body, don’t shut it off.

4. Find a writing community.

You don’t have to wait for a community to come to you! I offer co-writing sessions on Zoom four times a month for my Patreon supporters, but do what works for you. Attend local open mics as an audience member and cheer on your peers. Invite your best friends to your living room once a month for a two hour writing/crafting session. Or check your local library and bookstores for free workshops and author events. You don’t have to do this work alone.

5. Develop a gratitude practice.

Finishing your draft is a huge accomplishment, but it’s not the only milestone to be celebrated. Consider creating opportunities to thank yourself throughout your writing practice. You’re doing an amazing and difficult thing. The fact that you keep showing up is worthy of celebration. Whether you decide to journal, rest, pray, meditate, or reward yourself, a little gratitude goes a long way.

Ariana Brown is a queer writer from San Antonio, TX, based in Houston. She is the author of We Are Owed (Grieveland, 2021) and Sana Sana (Game Over Books, 2020), and a national collegiate poetry slam champion. Ariana holds an MFA in Poetry, MS in Library and Information Science, and a BA in African Diaspora Studies and Mexican American Studies. She has been writing, teaching, and performing for over a decade. Follow her online @ArianaThePoet and www.arianabrown.com. 

[bisexual-horror-fan]

For the Valentines Ask Game: How would Danny Johnson force a very overworked bitch to forget all about work? NSFW would be much appreciated. For a CIS-lady, if that becomes of relevance. I'll be at work as per usual so no need to hurry with this one. I hope you have an awesome Valentine's day, and a fine weekend following it too! You are truly doing God's Work with these. Love ya Bexxx

Oh my GOD! YES! Hi Furball! I was hoping you would submit something and fuck me did I miss Danny! I hope you like this, I went kinda off, a good 1K all for you! I am really happy with this, it feels totally him and I wish I could have this kinda treatment, I hope you agree with his methods! I like this so much I might add onto it eventually, make it longer, who knows!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.2K. Danny Johnson X CIS Female Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Stalking. Obsession. Breaking And Entering. Restraints. Man Handling. Mask Kink. Sex Toy Use. Forced Orgasm. Banter. Taunting. Teasing. Praise. 

---

Relax, Take It Easy.

---

Rest is so important, without proper rest, good self-care, absolutely no one can function at their best, you are included in that, so why do you act like you aren’t? It isn’t enough to leave work for the day, you have to actually leave work at work, not bring it home, you are not supposed to drag the heavy oppressive mood through your front door, clinging to your shoulders like a backpack you can’t take off, weighing you down. This behaviour you engage in? It does you a great disservice, makes your life harder and worse still, it is selfish. 

You used to be Danny’s favourite form of entertainment, stalking you, watching you, cataloguing your life and planning your shared future, your ultimate end, how perfect it could be, but then you stopped taking care of yourself. It was yet another night of you collapsed on your couch and doing literally fucking nothing and Danny was frustrated, bored, this felt like a chore, and he realized he wanted to change the channel. He hated that thought, he loved you as much as he is capable of loving anything. He has invested so much time and effort, the last thing he wants to do is abandon it, he wants to see it through to its end and further still, he wants that end to be satisfying. 

You have provided so much joy to him, the least he can do is invest a bit more to try and salvage this before he thinks of cutting this thing between you short. This is what led to him breaking in while you were asleep on the couch, you were still dressed in your uniform from work, you hadn’t even bothered to get into your comfy clothing, he pulled out the cuffs he brought and set to work. The restraints were leather, padded comfortably and came with means to hook them together, two went around your wrists, two around your ankles, and then you were unceremoniously dragged onto the floor. You wake up with a start, body sluggish as he arranges you, to his liking. You are on your stomach, and he has your arms and legs positioned to connect the wrists to the ankles, leaving you effectively hog tied from the four points of contact and rendering your body totally useless. 

The lamp on the end table is turned on, you blink against the bright light, your brain is struggling to catch up to the new situation and information, but the two heavy black boots stepping into your line of sight help wake you up. 

“Hello.” The voice makes your head snap up, as much as it can, your eye line following up the black pants and further, up, up, to that white mask with the hollow eyes and mouth twisted to that permanent scream.

“Glad you are awake. Hate the fact this is our first formal meeting, but drastic times requiring drastic measures and all that, hm?” He was speaking as if he knew you, were friends, the tone mostly conversational but with an edge of resigned frustration? It was not only odd, but terrifying, a strange masked man in your house who has bound you helplessly, you take a moment and then find your voice, “Hi, uh, I’m sorry, who are you and what are you doing here?”

“You don’t know me, but I know you, the particulars are not important, I am here to help you.” He stated simply, staring down at you, even with no way of seeing his eyes you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. 

What kind of presumptuous asshole has found his way in here? You feel a wave of difference rising above the fear as you bite out, “Who says I need help?”

He scoffs, “I do, obviously.” 

You scoff in return, “And what are you here to help me with, exactly?”

“Help you unwind from that little job of yours, it has clearly been effecting every other aspect of your life, so I am going to ease your burdens.” He said it with authority, like he truly believed that he knew best and was sure he was going to be able to help.

He turns and steps away, not acknowledging your question of, “How?”, as if it was stupid and unimportant, if you just waited a minute more you’d get your answer. 

“Hello?! Stop ignoring me!” You call, and he laughs, “I am not ignoring you, trust me, you will get more attention than you will be able to handle in a minute.” 

The masked stranger was behind you, leaving you unable to see what he is up to, but you hear some shuffling around, and soon enough, he falls to his knees beside you and then something is put between your legs, pressed against your pants clad crotch, leaving you squirming and saying, “Woah, woah, what are you-”

Then he clicks the on switch, and you are hit with the strong vibrations that can only be from a wand. The stimulation is strong, immediate, and it knocks the air out of your lungs, your sentence breaks off into a weak moan of, “-ooooooooh.”

He laughs again, delighted, “This is what I am here to do. I am going to use this-” He turns the wand up one notch and your breath hiccups, “-to wring as many orgasms as it takes to make you brainless.”

What? You moan in a confused pitch that has him pressing onwards, “I’m not going to stop until it is impossible for you to be holding any thought in that pretty little head, let alone any tension.”

Overstimulation was quickly bleeding into genuine pleasure, it had been too long since you had experienced this, you had been neglecting yourself physically, and apparently needed this much more desperately than you had been consciously aware of. 

“I’m gonna start out easy, and after you cum like this, then you lose the pants, and then after another, your underwear, and I will keep on ramping it up, on and on. Who knows? If you are extra lucky and beg good enough, I might fuck you for the grand finale’ but that will take some serious convincing on your part.” 

No fighting it you suppose, might as well settle in for a long night, that first orgasm isn’t going to take much, you feel it starting to well up. "Just give in, you need this, you need to relax."

You can’t help it, no stopping it as you are hurtling towards it, moaning, hips moving of their own accord, causing you to grind against the instrument of your blissful torture. 

“There you gooo, look at you already! I knew this is just what you needed. Come on, give me that first one.” A black leather gloved hand is on your back, he moves the toy as you grind, helping you out further, cooing to you with his praise as it sinks into your skin.

Your head is swimming, your clit is throbbing, and you are so close, a few more seconds and with a strangled cry, forehead to carpet you stiffen as he forces your first orgasm of the night from your cunt. Your hips make small stuttered movements, wringing all the enjoyment you can from this, he doesn’t move the toy, but he turns it down one level, holding it looser to you.

“Good job! One down. Let’s see how many you need to get you into the right relaxed frame of mind.”

[itsbenedict]

How would you make mario a villain?

Huh! Tricky one. I mean, there's tons of Newgrounds parodies about how fucked up it is that Mario goes around crushing turts all day, and there's the obvious "silent scary henchman of the image-conscious dictator" angle. Tricky to cast him as the villain rather than the muscle, though...

There's only one thing that notably motivates Mario, and that's Princess Peach. Extreme devotion, there. For him to have agency, she needs to be removed from the picture- and I think that neatly answers the motive thing, too. Peach hasn't been kidnapped, this time- there's something more permanent. But what? "She's been killed and he's out for revenge" is a little 3edgy5me, and also if Mario sets out to get revenge I think he just gets it. His antagonists have rarely put up the kind of fight that would require him to concoct a villainous scheme.

Who's the protagonist, if not Mario? What is Mario doing that requires someone else to go on an adventure opposing him? How do we make this something that Nintendo would actually consider releasing?

...Okay, what's Mario's usual M.O.? How do we make that villainous? He... goes to dangerous places, nimbly circumvents all obstacles in his way, and claims powerful, usually star-shaped magical objects, in order to rescue the princess. This time... he isn't really concerning himself with who the rightful owners of said magical objects are.

It's a Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego situation. There's been a rash of heists committed by a strange masked phantom thief, and the protagonist's job is to find out how the relics were stolen and where the culprit hid them, and get them back before their clients suffer dire consequences as a result of missing-magic-item-itis. You investigate crime scenes, pick up the phantom thief's trail, chase him down, and bop him one but good to recover the relic and save the day.

This is complicated somewhat because this phantom thief is in league with Bowser, who keeps causing trouble in ways that the phantom thief takes advantage of to get past security. The Koopa Troop often assists the phantom thief in his getaways. Why are they working together???

Flash back. Mario standard plot- Bowser has kidnapped the princess. This time, he's done it using some magic item or invention doohickey whose provenance he doesn't quite understand, which has turned Princess Peach to stone. True to form, Mario goes through several another castles and thrashes Bowser and breaks his evil doohickey, and... uh. This fails to rescue the princess. She is still a statue.

Bowser doesn't know why she's still a statue, and both of them panic. How do they fix this?! They need to try something- find some new magic thing that'll bring her back! They've heard of the Sacred Star of Healing in one of the neighboring Kingdoms (which exist in infinite supply in the Mario universe to be adventured through precisely once and then forgotten about forever), and agree to work together to steal it and use it to restore Peach.

It doesn't work. They ditch it somewhere. They follow up on another rumor- the Golden Coin Spirit in the Treasure Kingdom or whatever, and that's a bust too. And after a couple of these, the international community is forced to call in an expert to catch this thief and bring him to justice.

So who's our protagonist? Who in the Mario universe is a famous detective who specializes in guarding star-shaped magical relics from would-be burglars? WHAT IMPROBABLY LARGE-BRAINED PENGUIN COULD POSSIBLY THWART THIS MASTER CRIMINAL?!?